SubRosa: Thank you so much for explaining the way you write chapters. I have been doing the opposite, and I think it shows the most in this last section. Instead of trying to cram a bunch of things in I should write the whole thing and then break it up. Like making a pie instead of cookies. Also I need to follow the advice that you already gave me, and slow down!

We’ll see more Maglir. I don’t think I can keep Jerric out of the FG forever, and I thought it would be more fun if there was history before Jerric had to decide what to do with him. Maglir cracks me up in the game with the whole “Let’s roll, payday” dialog.

Alas Jerric is like a tall person in a grocery store, everyone wants him to reach that jar / kill someone for them.

Acadian: Thank you so much for your comments. I went back and removed a few things from those bloated sentences that I think didn’t really need to be there. I should have taken more time with the Chorrol trip instead of telling a bunch of stuff that happened and cramming it all in one post. I’m instituting a one day minimum cooling off period. When I think something is ready, I should wait at least a day and look again! I do not want to rush, and that is exactly what I have been doing. You advised me to slow down before, I’m really going to this time!

I’m sure Jerric’s tongue will get him in trouble again, it’s becoming a character all on its own!

Winter Wolf: Thank you so much for your very kind words and encouragement. I am a beginner at this whole thing, and I find myself thinking I hope this doesn’t stink a lot. Your support means so much to me!!

mALX: Maglir makes me think of every random tough guy who wants to fight the biggest guy in the bar as long as there are people around to pull them apart. Then when something bad happens, he scuttles off like a cockroach leaving his girlfriend wetting herself and handing over her purse. I have a tall friend that we nicknamed “The Squirrel Magnet,” because we could be out in the middle of the afternoon on a lovely day and some jackass would always crawl out of the woodwork and start with the “are you looking at my girlfriend” business. Sheesh. Maglir, maybe I’ll think up an ugly death for him. Thanks, mALX!!


Chapter 5: Unloading the Amulet, Part 2

The next morning Jerric rose early to get ahead of the crowd on the Black Road. When he saw the sign pointing the way to Weynon Priory, his feet took him there while his mind was elsewhere. He was remembering the hours under the prison and the Emperor’s words to him. Great trees stood along the road, and as he walked he passed through pools of their shade. It was obvious when he reached the Priory grounds. Of the three structures Jerric guessed he would find the Brothers in the Priory house, not the chapel or the small cottage. He knocked on the door, and a monk in a black robe opened it. “Yes? Can I help you?” he said.

“I’m Jerric. I’m here to see Brother Jauffre.”

The monk looked him over, and his face showed no judgment. “Come in, he’s upstairs. Leave your burdens here if you like.”

Jerric dumped his gear inside the door and climbed the stairs. They split at a landing and led to two long lofts, all open to the room downstairs. One side was arranged with beds as a living area, and there was a robed Breton man reading at a very tidy work table on the other side. The man looked up when Jerric approached him, and his expression was composed and alert. “I’m Brother Jauffre. What do you want?” His tone did not invite foolishness.

Jerric decided to get to the point and hope for the best. He planned to take the stairs in two leaps and use surprise to get past the black-robed monk if he had to run for it. He had left the day pack with his potions on top of his gear so he could grab it and get out the door quickly. If he had to run he would leave the rest. “The Emperor sent me to find you,” he said. He glanced around for anything that Brother Jauffre might throw at him. Grandmaster Jauffre, he reminded himself.

Jauffre’s eyes narrowed, and Jerric’s stomach tightened. “Do you know something about his death?” Jauffre barked.

“I was there when he died,” Jerric said, and then he took a step back when Jauffre rose and walked to the railing.

“Prior Maborel, will you excuse us please.” The man downstairs left the house, and Jauffre pinned Jerric with a glare. “You’d better explain yourself. Now.” His voice made Jerric think of a bowstring right before the arrow flew.

“He gave me the Amulet of Kings.” Jerric started to reach for it, then stopped his hand.

“You have the Amulet? This cannot be. Let me see it.” Jerric handed it over and held his breath. “By the Nine! This is the Amulet of Kings.” Then the questions started.

Jerric answered quickly and honestly, and Jauffre seemed to believe him. He took the opportunity to ask Jauffre some questions of his own, and he learned that the Emperor had spoken of the Daedric Prince of Destruction Mehrunes Dagon, and that Oblivion was his realm. There was also something about the Dragonfires and magical barriers that he thought he didn’t need to fully understand. The reverence with which Jauffre treated the Amulet caused Jerric to flush remembering his own casual handling of the relic. “The Emperor said you knew where to find his last son,” Jerric said. He was willing to admit that part.

“I am one of the few who knows of his existence. Many years ago I served as Captain of Uriel’s bodyguards,” and Jauffre told the tale of a baby born on the wrong side of the blanket. “Now it seems that this illegitimate son is the heir to the Septim throne, if he yet lives. The Emperor didn’t need you to know about his last heir for you to deliver the Amulet to safety. I expect he chose to entrust you with that knowledge in the hope of your further aid.” Jerric was uncomfortable under Jauffre’s piercing look.

The Emperor had asked him to find his last son, but he thought he might have had enough of this kind of responsibility. “I don’t know if I can help you, Brother Jauffre. I’m long overdue at home, and I’m sure my family is worried about me.”

Jauffre continued as if Jerric hadn’t spoken. "His name is Martin," he said. "He serves Akatosh in the Chapel in the city of Kvatch, south of here. You must go to Kvatch and find him at once. If the enemy is aware of his existence, as seems likely, he is in terrible danger."

Jerric was astonished. "I know Brother Martin!" he exclaimed. "He taught me my first spell for throwing frost, though it was not exactly on the Chapel menu. I was just a lad. To think he is the Septim heir! I’ll talk to him for you, Brother Jauffre, I live in Kvatch. I wonder if he’ll remember me."

Jauffre did not seem surprised by Jerric’s revelation. "I don't have much here at hand, but you're welcome to anything you need. I keep some things here to resupply travelling Blades." He opened the long chest in front of the book case, and the cupboard doors swung back to reveal a rack of weapons. "Take what you need, I think this armor might fit you.” Jauffre picked up a quilted arming doublet with iron plates and held it out. “Can you wear this?”

Jerric put it on and made some adjustments, and Jauffre checked the fit. “It’s not the same as mine, but I can move in it. Thank you,” Jerric said. He repeated the process with greaves and plated boots. He shrugged his shoulders and bounced on his feet, swinging his arms. “Feels a lot better than just a shirt.”

“I know what you mean,” Jauffre said. He was examining Jerric’s short sword. “I can’t do better than this, but I have a claymore if you can use it.”

“I’m still training with one, I’m better with a sword and shield. I don’t see one of those katanas, I guess you don’t hand them out like apples.”

Jauffre snorted. “No, we don’t. Take a look at these daggers, unless you’re fond of your goblin blade.” Jerric held one in each hand, undecided. One was long and thin with a disc shaped pommel, and the other was curved with a basket guard. “Take them both, if you know how to use them.”

Jerric nodded. “Thank you, Grandmaster.”

Jauffre gave him a keen look. “Bow? Mace, axe?” Jerric shook his head. “Shield.” He held out Jerric’s leather shield and a smaller round one.

“No contest,” and Jerric took the round shield. He knew that its curved steel center would be better for deflecting blade strikes. Jaffre nodded in approval.

“Take all of these potions, they will restore your health and magicka. Whatever you have left you can give to Martin, or use on your journey back here.”

“I’ll talk to Martin, Grandmaster, but you should know I have a reputation in Kvatch. Nothing serious, but I don’t think a priest will drop everything and run off with a … me.”

“You must make him understand the danger he is in, and what his life means for the Empire. He knows that the people who raised him were not his birth parents. You saw his father murdered, and his last words were to you. Find a way, Jerric.”

Jerric nodded. “I’ll send word if he doesn’t believe me. No, I’ll send word either way. Running Wolf, that’s my family’s company. I’ll send a courier. If you don’t hear from me, you’ll know something went wrong.”

“There is food in the dining room. Prior Maborel and Brother Piner will also be able to help with your journey. You should speak to them before you go, though the details of your assignment should remain secret."

He went behind the Priory house and practiced moving with his new gear, then he went back in to speak to Brother Piner. He found him seated at the table just inside the front door struggling with a letter, if the balled up sheets of parchment on the floor meant anything. When he saw Jerric he stood and moved to the bookcase. “Here, perhaps you will find this useful. One of the books I saved from my Blades training, before I received the call to serve Talos in another way.” He handed Jerric a book titled The Warp in the West. “You go into danger. Jauffre didn’t tell us more than that, but know that our prayers go with you.”

“Thank you, Brother Piner. If you can spare it, I could really use a map.”

Brother Piner went to the shelves and opened a long box. “Take anything you need,” he said, and he turned his back and walked over to the fire.

Jerric looked through the maps and chose one that showed Cyrodiil and parts of the adjoining provinces. It was large enough to show the details of the settlements and roads, and there were markings that showed elevation. Other than that the wilderness areas were great blank spaces. “If you had to choose between a long route by road or a direct route through the wilderness, which would you take?”

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

“Thank you, Brother Piner.”

“I’ve packed some food for you, we are quite used to supplying travelers. You’ll find that everything is ready to eat as it comes out of the pack. Here is a canteen filled with kahve, cold is better than none at all, if it comes to that.” They said their farewells, and he left the house. Jerric had no illusions about becoming a priest, but he would happily have spent more time at the Priory talking to Brother Piner.

Jerric found Prior Maborel standing in the Priory stable. “I know that you are on an important mission for the Blades. Please, if you need a horse, take mine,” he said. The Prior had his hands on a paint gelding, and the horse stood quietly.

“I don’t know when I could get him back to you, Prior.”

“Not to worry. I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t do without him.”

"I'm not much of a rider," Jerric admitted. "I'm better off on my own feet. What I could really use is a pack animal."

"Flash is trained to carry a pack as well as for riding," said the Prior. “His pack saddle is right here.”

Jerric held out his hand and looked at the sturdy horse. Flash snuffed the hand and gazed blandly back at Jerric. He ran his hand down the horse's neck and gave him a firm scratch on his prominent withers. The horse reached over and wiffled some air against Jerric's chest. "Flash?" he asked dubiously.

"He's as steady as they come,” Prior Maborel said with a smile. “I guess someone got the wrong idea when he was a colt." The Prior watched Jerric groom and saddle Flash then carefully balance the load. The Priory’s Dunmer shepherd came in with a repair hammer for Jerric while he was working, and he returned with extra rope and canvas tarps. Jerric tied them over the packs to protect against any rain. He was grateful for the time he had spent as a lad on the caravan. There was little need for a guard to work with the pack animals, but he had not started off as a guard. By the time he was finished the Prior seemed satisfied, and he clapped Jerric on the shoulder in farewell. "Go with Talos’s blessing. Do not fail.”

Jerric raised a hand in thanks as he and Flash stepped out onto the Black Road south and downhill toward the Imperial City. He decided to stay on the main roads. From Weye they would take the Ring Road south to Fort Virtue, then the Gold Road home to Kvatch. He enjoyed one of Brother Piner’s excellent sandwiches as they walked, and then he shared some carrot sticks with Flash. The horse’s pace was comfortable for Jerric to match. They found themselves passing the other walkers, but Flash’s clopping hooves seemed to make people move out of the way. Flash’s head bobbed up and down gently as he walked, and the sound of his hooves and the creak of leather made the music that Jerric walked to most of the days of his life.

After a time he began to think that he didn’t need to hold the halter rope at all. When he draped it over Flash’s withers and the horse kept walking, he left it there. He tried stopping abruptly, and after a short distance Flash stopped and turned his head to look back at him. Jerric was delighted. He walked along for awhile and then dropped the halter rope to the ground with a “whoa,” and Flash stopped again even though Jerric kept walking. When Jerric came back and picked up the rope, Flash fixed a tolerant eye on him. He had yet to see how the horse would react when they faced a fight, but so far Jerric thought that Flash was a tremendous companion.

He suddenly remembered that they were heading toward a battle with goblins, and he decided that if the Odiils didn’t have a sturdy barn, they would just have to invite Flash to wait it out inside their house.

What a better way to spend a Saturday afternoon than with a tasty bowl of Grits?

Concerning writing mechanics, I think your idea of the day wait is a good one. After I finish my first draft of a chapter (which can take over a week if it is a long one), I do a single redraft of it once a day, for the following four days. The reason I wait a day between drafts is because if I look back at it again sooner than that, the words just blur together and I miss things. I have to clear my cache before crunching the words again. So usually it takes me two weeks to write a chapter, and by the end I have been over it five times.

A lot of the TF I am posting here was already posted before on the Bethesda forums. That is why I have been able to keep up a steady pace of posting every other day here. Because I am not doing that first draft on many of the chapters. I am still doing the normal 4 redrafts on every chapter before posting here though. Partly because things have changed in the TF 2.0, and partly just to find errors that I (and no one else) noticed in version 1.0.

Once I get through the backlog of old chapters my posting rate will slow down here. Probably to at least three days between posts, or four. Possibly with breaks between chapters of a week or two as well. So do not feel in a rush to post. There is no race to keep up.

Concerning what to focus on, and what to gloss over, do not feel that you have to put a tight spotlight on everything that happens. Speaking as a purist, if it does not contribute to the plot somehow, it should not be in the story. So we do not really need to know every detail about the protagonist's day. Since we are not writing to publish here, but for our pleasure, I feel free to ignore that to a large extent. Also my own personal writing is character-driven, rather than plot-driven. So I look to include any scene that helps build my characters. You will have to decide what matters to you, and what does not. Then focus on the important things, and do not worry about letting the rest slide.

Since in many ways Teresa is discovering the world for the first time, I spend time describing those things that are new to her. That both gives me the opportunity to build the world up, and build Teresa's character by her reactions to what she finds. But once she has been there and done that, I do not see any reason to go over the same thing in detail over and over again. For example, I devoted an entire scene to Teresa going to the Temple of Zenithar to open a bank account. I did it to show how banking worked in the world, but also to show how Teresa's socio-economic standing, and her views on it, have changed since she was a street urchin going through the garbage for cast off apples. But I will never bother spending 1.5k words on her going to the bank again. I will just give that a few sentences, or a paragraph at best. If I mention it all all.

Now, enough of my hot wind, and on to your story!

The reverence with which Jauffre treated the Amulet caused Jerric to flush remembering his own casual handling of the relic.
I loved this. At least Jerric did not wipe his rear with it!

a baby born on the wrong side of the blanket
This is a wonderful phrase!

This is one of the weakest parts of the Main Quest's plot. By making Jerric a resident of Kvatch, and better yet having him know Martin, you have done a good job of sidestepping its weaknesses. Jerric has a real personal stake in things now. For more reason than one. That always makes a stronger story.

Also a nice scene of Jerric gearing up for the future, with well-appreciated descriptions of RL weapons, such as the rondel.

Finally, Flash the paint pack horse! I like the name. Although it does make me think of Flash Thompson from Spiderman.


nits:
I’ll talk him for you
I think your to in between talk and him was frightened off by Jauffre!

SubRosa: At least Jerric did not wipe his rear with it!
Luckily it was not the Parchment of Kings!

I can’t tell you enough how much I appreciate the time you are taking to help me. In two months I have gone from wondering if it would be fun to write something to really wanting to improve. Thank you so much!!

I had a lot of free time to write at the end of the year, but that’s over for awhile. We’re iced in again today, but the atmosphere indoors is not exactly peaceful.



Chapter 6: Going Home, Part 1

By late afternoon Jerric saw the crooked pine tree that Valus Odiil had described, so he and Flash turned down the path it marked. There was an old yellow dog sleeping in front of the first farmhouse they passed just like he had said there would be. Jerric thought that while a map and road signs were more reliable, rural directions given out loud provided far more entertainment. All that was missing from Valus’ instructions was a reference to a landmark that no longer existed, and Jerric suspected that he would have included one if Jerric had been more familiar with the area.

They walked on past abandoned farmhouses and fallow fields until they reached a tidy homestead that Jerric thought must be the Odiil farm. A thatched stone cottage, a small stone and timber barn, and a few walled pastures nestled along the shoulder of a low hill. A split rail fence defined the large field visible above the cottage and barn. “Hail the house!” Jerric called as they approached, and three Imperials popped nervously out into the yard. Jerric saw the family resemblance in their compact frames and round faces.

“Good, you made it!” called Valus, and he introduced his sons, Rallus and Antus. Both wore swords, and Antus wore a look that Jerric had seen on many faces right before he killed them. It was the look of a person who knew that they had overreached themselves. “We haven’t much time. I’ll show you where they come from.”

“Hold on a moment,” said Jerric. “First we need to get my horse to safety. I didn’t have a horse yesterday when we met, but I do now. He belongs to a friend and I don’t want to lose him on our first day.”

“The barn is secure if you bar it from the inside,” said Antus, the younger brother.

“Who’s going to stay inside?” asked Jerric. No one answered. “The house, then.”

There was a burst of objections, and Jerric raised his hand. “We need to get this done, or I move on.” He saw Rallus gather himself in the manner his father had yesterday. “Don’t try your Voice on me, Imperial, or I’ll have to use my Nord power. It’s called my foot in your balls.” Jerric thought that he sounded pretty reasonable.

“I’ll stay in the barn,” said Valus. “Let’s go, bring the horse.”

They got Flash comfortable, and Valus showed Jerric how he would bar the door. “If it gets bad, you can retreat here and I’ll let you in, or you can go in the house and lock it behind you,” Valus told them. Then they walked up to the field, and Valus gave them their plan. He spoke with calm authority, and his voice held none of the fear and shame that had colored it in Chorrol. It seemed that the goblins always came in three groups. One group tried to break into the house, one raided what they could carry out of the fields, and the third raided the barn. The Odiils had always waited out the attacks in the locked house, so they could only tell Jerric what they had seen through the cracks in its shuttered windows. They agreed on the plan, then Valus went and secured himself with Flash in the barn.

Jerric had a good feeling. The light was in their favor, there was plenty of room to move in the field, and the goblins should be coming up from lower ground. He thought that if the Odiil boys had planned to tackle the situation alone, the three of them should do all right. Of course, anything could happen. “You two will be behind me, so if you decide to retreat, you’d better yell and not leave me out here alone.” Jerric said. He looked at each of them earnestly. “Really, don’t do it.” Both brothers seemed ready to fight, and Antus looked like he expected to die. Jerric felt better knowing that neither of them planned to run. “I’ll probably summon a scamp or a skeleton, don’t attack it. Just the creatures. All right? Any last words? Ha ha. Let’s go.” He put out a fist and they bumped it with theirs, and the three of them took their positions in the field.

“We will spill their blood in the name of our father!” Rallus cried. Jerric expected he would feel the tension once he had his eyes on the enemy, but for now it was just another beautiful afternoon. He looked around at the green mountains and the open woodland falling away in front of them. A grassy hill rose up to their rear. The farm was situated on a natural terrace, and Jerric could imagine why the Odiils wanted to stay there. He didn’t think he would make a good farmer, but he was sure he could enjoy the view. He bounced from foot to foot and slapped his arm across his chest to stay focused.

His reverie was interrupted by Antus. “Here they come!” The creatures were goblins as he thought, and three of them ran through a gap in the fence carrying small axes. Jerric slashed through one’s throat, and its arrested strike bounced off of his armored thigh. He turned and thrust his sword into another’s back as it ran toward the Odiils. Rallus stabbed through the last one’s middle, and Antus got his blade wet when he finished it on the ground. Jerric thought that the boys looked suitably riled up and unlikely to run. Rallus pointed his sword and shouted, so Jerric turned to meet the next group.

Four came at them now, and one of them carried a sword and shield. Jerric slowed one down with a frost spell before he summoned a skeleton and closed with the shield bearer. He could see the next group coming up the hill, so he got busy. The goblin thrust his sword toward Jerric’s groin, and he brushed it away with his shield then chopped down through the goblin’s arm. The goblin reeled back screeching, and Jerric looked over to see his summoned skeleton drop his jaw at him over another dead goblin. “Did you see?” he heard Antus shout behind him, and he guessed that Rallus must still be alive to yell at. He shoved the goblin’s shield aside with his own and thrust his sword under it into its belly. He yanked it back out and moved to intercept the next group.

Still no archers, Jerric was pleased to see. He hated getting shot, but even worse was removing the arrow. These four were spaced far apart and coming over the fence, so he guessed that they might have seen him cut through the first group. He summoned a scamp for its ranged attack and started casting frost spells. The scamp cooperated with its fireballs, and one goblin went down smoking while another fell crusted with Jerric’s ice. Jerric and the scamp ran toward the same third goblin, and Jerric had to stand back to avoid the wild leaping and clawing that ensued. He had never seen a scamp fight a goblin before, and he thought that they could teach a lot of Arena fighters something about showmanship. The scamp raised its claws in victory as it disappeared, and Jerric heard Antus shout, “Ha ha, we beat them! Did you see how well I fought?”

Jerric glanced over to make sure that the boys were both on their feet, and then he checked himself for damage. There was a dented plate over a sore spot on his thigh, but he was pleased with his borrowed armor. Overall he felt good. He jogged back over to where the one-armed goblin lay clutching its belly and opened its throat. He rolled his shoulders and looked out at the forest wondering if there would be another group this time.

Valus joined them on the field, and Jerric guessed that since the old man was in charge he could relax. Swords were brandished excitedly as they thumped each other in relief and congratulations, so Jerric gave them some room. “Foul things!” exclaimed Valus. “They deserved the death you brought them.” Valus sounded relieved, and there was a lot in his face that he wasn’t saying. Jerric’s eyes went to Valus’ sword. He still hadn’t gotten a peek at the blade. Valus seemed to read Jerric’s thoughts. “My boys are safe! I can’t thank you enough for sticking with them and helping a foolish old man.” He unbuckled his belt and presented the sword to Jerric. “Please, take this. I won’t be needing it any longer. My battles are over. I plan to live out my days here on the farm in peace and quiet.”

Jerric glanced at the Odiil boys and didn’t see any hard feelings. He guessed they were happy enough to both still be alive. He took the sword and drew it, catching his breath at the magicka that shimmered across the blue blade. “Frost damage,” he whispered reverently, and Valus smiled.

“And weakness to frost. It’s name is Chillrend. It seems fitting that you should have it.”

Jerric nodded his appreciation and put Chillrend away. There was still work to be done, and he could play with it later. “Valus, I must ask you a favor. May I stay in your barn tonight? It will take some time to pick up your field.” Jerric also wanted to get a closer look at the goblins.

“In the house, lad, I’ll go start the meal while you boys finish up. I’ll put your horse in the pasture, I don’t think he even flinched during the fight.”

Valus handed out healing potions, then Jerric and the Odiil boys dragged the goblins down into the woods until Rallus was satisfied that they wouldn’t stink up the farm. There was some loud talk and laughing as they let go of the rest of their tension. When they made a pile against the cottage wall out of the nine axes, two short swords, and shields, Jerric thought that if the goblins had been expecting resistance it could have gone quite badly. He had examined the garments and chest adornments that they wore, but they didn’t tell him anything new.

Jerric cleaned and repaired his equipment, and then he couldn’t stand it any longer. He went behind the barn with Chillrend and spent some blissful time with his new blade. He was sure it was the most valuable thing that the Odills owned, and their willingness to give it up showed him the depth of their gratitude.

The sun was setting by the time they were ready to clean off the sweat and blood. They stood on the hill below the well scrubbing and shouting while Valus poured buckets of cold well water over them. They dried off, and Jerric went to check on Flash where Valus had turned him out to pasture. The two of them walked to the barn in the gray dusk, and Jerric took the opportunity to give Flash a summary of the action. He made his way back over to the cottage by the light from its windows.

Valus had prepared a shepherd’s pie, and the portion he placed in front of Jerric was easily twice the size of the others.’ Jerric thought that probably said a lot about how Imperials view Nords. There was also a giant platter of fresh lettuce, sliced tomatoes, carrots, and radishes. When he saw the blackberry pie Jerric thought that you could not beat Hearthfire for a time to visit a farm. It seemed that Valus did all of his drinking in Chorrol, so they quenched their thirst with clay tumblers of well water. It turned out that the Odiil boys were both older than Jerric, and he attributed their youthful appearance to clean living on the farm with no women to chase and no ale to subsequently drown their sorrows.

They tucked into their meal, and after the first hunger pangs were satisfied Jerric started to work on his curiosity. “Valus, I’m surprised you were going to let your boys tackle this fight on their own. They don’t even have any armor.”

Valus gave Jerric a level look. “I’m going to come clean with you, Jerric, and hope you keep a cool head. I would never have sent them out there on their own. I’ve trained them both, but Antus had never even seen a fight like this until today. I had to find someone like you while we still had some crops and a roof left to live under. When I saw you at The Gray Mare, I did what it took to get you out here. I hope you’ll forgive an old man.”

Jerric put his fork down and looked at Valus. He reached over and thumped his fist into the point of Rallus’ shoulder. “That was for your fa,” and he picked up his fork again. He didn’t want to go back down that path when Chillrend had already closed the gate. “I passed a few farms on the way here, why are they empty? Is it the goblins?”

“Sickness, deaths, people got old or moved on. They’re good homes and land, but I don’t have the hands to work them. It’s a quiet life out here, I guess folks want the excitement in the city. We never had goblins before this year. Now that they know we’re not worth the trouble, I hope they don’t come back.”

“I hope not, too. So if someone wanted to start a farm, they could what, buy one? Lease it?”

“They’d have to go to the Castle for that. We’re County Chorrol out here, though the Chorrol Watch won’t help us. You thinking about doing some plowing, Jerric?”

Jerric choked on his shepherd’s pie and washed it down with some water while Rallus took his revenge pounding him on the back. “No, Valus, I believe I’ll stick to what I know. Although I confess, plowing is never far from my mind.” Antus caught his eye with a silent laugh, and Jerric had to look away to keep his composure. “I traveled with some Bretons, said they were heading to Hope Valley. Have you ever heard of it?”

“Kahve farmers, I’ve heard of it. It’s a fairly new settlement up in the Highlands. Off the Orange Road. I don’t know anything about growing kahve beans, but something about the mountain air makes them better.”

Jerric nodded and tucked the information away in his memory. “What’s that plant you have in the bowl? I’ve never seen anything like that before. Is that what’s making the noise?”

“I don’t know what it is, but it looks like it might be valuable. I’ve shown it around in Chorrol, but no one seems to know anything about it.”

“Draw me a picture, and I’ll show it to a mage I know. I’ll have to send it to him, but he knows every alchemical plant there is. I’d draw it myself, but …” and he held out a hand. “Not really made for a quill.”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll break off a piece and you can take it with you, leaf and root. It grows well in the pot, it just needs a lot of water. We were thinking…” Valus glanced around as if there might be a spy sitting on the mantle, “we might grow it to sell to mages.”

“I’ll send you what I find out. Odiil Farm, County Chorrol?”

“Add Troll Rock Lane, and that should do it.” He saw the question before Jerric could ask. “There’s a big rock up the lane that someone thought looks like a troll.” He snorted. “Show me a rock that doesn’t look like one.”

“Do you have any books you’d like to swap with me? I have a few I’ve finished.”

The boys looked at each other. “We’ve little use for books out here, but I know there’s one around here somewhere. Oh, here it is.” Rallus reached under a bench and removed the book that had been keeping it level. “Take it, we can use a piece of wood or something.”

The title was The Book of Daedra. “Thank you,” said Jerric. It was an effort not to open it and take a look. He decided not to ask any more questions or make any more comments, or they might end up giving him everything that they owned.

“Do you have The Lusty Argonian Maid?” asked Antus.

“I did but I traded it already.”

“Do you remember any of it?”

“Sure, I remember. Do you want me to tell you?” and Jerric told the story of Crantius Colto and his maid Lifts-Her-Tail. Then the Odiil boys repeated it, acting out the voices. Jerric thought that they were pretty entertaining, but it would have sounded better with some ale.

The time had come for Jerric to decide if he wanted to share his air with three other men or one flatulent horse. He looked around the small cottage and decided on the horse. Valus sent him off with a lantern and a spare key and told him to come in as early as he liked to start the kahve. Jerric wished them all a good night.

rural directions given out loud provided far more entertainment.
Indeed they are!

I’ll have to use my Nord power. It’s called my foot in your balls.
I love this!

Excellent description of the Odill farm on its terrace. Followed by a rousing description of the battle with the goblins. The entire scene with the Odills was excellent. You really brought the little farming family to life in their interactions both before, and especially after the battle.


nits:
It that what’s making the noise?
I think those goblins swiped your is, and replaced with their it.

The famous scene with Jauffre! You did it justice. I was impressed by Jerric's patience. Buffy angrily replied to Jauffre's grilling with, "You're not the boss of me!" as she stormed out. I guess Jauffre wised up with dear Teresa, simply trying to reward her and send her on her way. Looks like Jauffre found a 'keeper' with Jerric though. I thoroughly agree with SubRosa that your choice to make Jerric a resident of Kvatch made this work beautifully.

The fight at the OK Odil corral was extremely well done. Your pacing and level of detail was just right. Heart pounding without bogging down. Wonderful use of summons as well.

Jerric's view regarding taking care of his new friend Flash surely endears him to me. You can tell a lot about how a person interacts with an animal - and in this case, all of it good!

Such a wonderful touch: Jerric, Nord, frost, mage . . . Chillrend! One of those slap my forehead moments!

Delightful 'fleshing out' of the Odil family as well.

OMG! That was priceless!



Oh my

Very nicely done. Like others have said, you brought the family to life wonderfully

SubRosa: I waited to finish this part until I could hear them all talking. It was much more fun than the paragraphs of description I started with. Thank you, SubRosa!

Acadian: Lucky for Jauffre that Jerric is on his way home, otherwise he might have to go for a walk himself. I remember when Buffy told Jauffre off, that was impressive! Thank you, Acadian!

Jacki Dice: If he ever has to talk to a Count or Countess, let’s hope they don’t mention plowing. Thank you, Jacki Dice!


So, I tried something different here with some flashbacks/remembering. I would love advice on how I could handle it more gracefully!


Chapter 6: Going Home, Part 2

Jerric stopped walking and tried to squint through the mist over Lake Rumare. It had rained for days through the Great Forest, finally stopping when he and Flash turned onto the Red Road. His Aleswell cloak had kept him dry from the outside, but his sweat soaked through everything from underneath. There were a number of intersections and roads in this area on his map, and Jerric didn’t know which one to take. An Imperial man appeared out of the fog, leading a donkey and cart. “Is this the way to Weye?” Jerric asked.

The man kept up his pace. “You missed it. Follow me, I’ll put you on the right path.”

“Thanks.” Jerric and Flash turned and fell in step behind the cart. “Is there an inn?”

“The Wawnet Inn, you’ll walk right by it. Fellow across the road has a stable.”

It was full dark when they stopped outside the Wawnet Inn, and they were both ready to sleep. Jerric listened to the tavern noise without enthusiasm. A short Breton man hobbled out from the cottage behind them and offered a non-traditional greeting. “You know, stranger, there comes a time in every man’s life when he has to admit that he’s lost the fight. Well I’ve fought, and I’ve lost. Who did I lose to? Who is my great enemy? Well don’t laugh, it’s a bunch of damn fish.”

Jerric could usually find the humor in a situation, but not tonight. “I’m not laughing,” he said. “If you let me and my horse sleep in your stable, I’ll listen to your story. Maybe I can do something for you in return. I’m Jerric.”

The man was Aelwin Merowald, and he needed a dozen Rumare slaughterfish scales. Jerric said he’d get the details in the morning, and he and Flash retired to the empty stable.


Jerric stood ankle deep in the water at the edge of Lake Rumare, blood and water streaming down his skin. His hair was in his eyes, and his soaked drawers did not want to stay up. I am fighting a fish with a sword, he thought, and it is winning. The fish thrashed over the lake's surface, trying to get at him again. Its wicked teeth gleamed in the morning sun. 'Slaughter' fish, he thought. That should have been my first clue. I need a new plan. He thought back to his time in the Anvil Mages Guild, remembering one day in particular.

He sprawled across the bed with his arms and legs flung out in every direction, gazing up at the coffered ceiling. Warm light slanted through the deep set window. His eyes were heavy, and his breathing was becoming slow and deep. Abiene had slipped back into her robe, and now she stepped around the room picking up the clothes that she had carelessly pulled off of him. "Wake up!" she said, and she tugged his leg off the edge of the bed. His foot thumped on the floor. He was not inclined to stir. "Jerric! You have to get up. There is no way they are going to believe we spent all afternoon studying restoration." Her dark eyes flashed with annoyance. "I'll have to teach you another spell in a hurry."

Jerric had lifted his head. "The water breathing one.”

Now he hoped he could remember it.


Jerric strutted into Weye triumphantly with his sword in his hand and the great fish slung over his shoulder. He gathered an increasing crowd of the village’s old and young trailing behind him as he went. He strode to the work table in Aelwin’s side garden and proudly thumped the fish down. “Aelwin!” he called.

He grinned around at the circle of his new friends. Flash stood behind the thatched cottage knee high in clover, hipshot and chewing. Flash did not seem impressed by Jerric’s achievement. In fact, most of the folk who now leaned against Aelwin’s stone fence were not looking at the fish. He laid his sword on the table and hiked up his sodden drawers, retying them. Now he thought they might pay attention.

Aelwin hobbled around the side of his house. “Look at you,” he crowed, “you got one!” Aelwin stood beside Jerric and viewed the fish.

“I cut him up a bit, but there are way more than a dozen scales left on him.”

Aelwin reached up and thumped Jerric’s back with his gnarled hand. “A dozen fish, lad. The scales from a dozen fish.”

Jerric’s stomach dropped. He had planned to walk all day and not stop until his feet were on the Gold Road. On the other hand, he had a few extra days before he was late for his Ma’s party, and his laundry could use some more time in the sun. He might as well help this man as loll around in some brothel in Skingrad. Maybe he would have time for both. He looked around at the villagers and decided to keep fishing. He had to admit to himself that the inviting smile on one young Breton woman’s face had some influence. He looked over at Aelwin. “Do you have a big hook or something I could borrow?”

Aelwin gave him a gaff hook, and Jerric went back to work.


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

He dropped the fish on the grass next to Aelwin’s table. Aelwin was elbow deep in fish blood, and the smell was impressive. “What are you going to do with the meat?” Jerric asked. He was feeling a little hungry.

Aelwin shrugged. “The boats have already gone to today’s market,” he said. “I guess we could dry it, but with the coin I get from the alchemist, I don’t ever intend to eat another fish!” He cackled with glee.

Jerric looked around. Most of the village was hard at work, but enough folk had the leisure to stand around watching and gabbing. “Let’s have a cookout,” he said to them. His suggestion was well received. Before they all scattered to make their preparations, he had one more request. “Does anyone have a handcart I can borrow?”


Jerric rested his feet against the lake bottom with his knees bent and his short sword ready. He could see the massive fish approaching him, drawn by the blood leaking out of his arm. The spell that turned the water in his lungs into air also let him see under water, and timing its re-casting claimed part of his attention. He could not let his spell or his magicka run out and leave him blind with his lungs full of water.

He carefully adjusted his sword as the fish angled for its attack. The strike would be too fast for him to see, and he had learned that gaffing the fish before he got his blade in would cost him a great deal of pain. He was lucky this time, and his sword went into the great jaws and out beside the dorsal fin. He jabbed the hook into the fish’s flailing side and dug his heels into the lake bottom, dragging the fish along with him as he backed out of the blood clouded water. Experience had also taught him to exit the lake before another fish came along to take a bite out of him.

He thrashed onto shore dragging the fish and threw it away from him. His sword arm was chewed again, but this time the blood was just flowing out instead of shooting into the air. He healed it a little and carefully approached the fish to make sure that this one was really dead. With their great lidless eyes it was hard to tell. This one was finished, he decided, so he heaved it into the barrow with the others. The boys were waiting to push it back up the hill to Aelwin for him. “Go ahead lads, I’ll be up in a moment.” His entourage now included several girls who were old enough to be too curious for his comfort. “You too, I’m taking a break,” he said to them. He was not a shy person, but he intended to clean up and get dressed, leaving his drawers drying on the bushes. He was sure that he had already provided the town with enough gossip.

Jerric executed his plan and entered the Wawnet Inn in search of a late lunch. He turned down the short flight of stairs into the dimly lit common room and stared at the innkeeper in frank admiration. He had never felt attracted to an Altmer before, and he was suddenly aware of his disheveled state. Her smooth hair and skin looked gilded in the candlelight. At least I washed off the fish slime before I came in here, he thought.

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

Jerric folded his hands in greeting. "I'm Jerric. Pleased to meet you." There was a moment of silence. The inn was empty, as it was the middle of the afternoon. Eventually he remembered why he was standing there. "I'd like a meal, please," he said, "if it's not too much trouble."

Nerussa offered him fish soup in a creamy tomato base with a round, crusty roll. She served him at the counter with languid grace, and then she kept him company while he ate. He caught her scent, subtle and spicy. "I saw you bring in the first slaughterfish. You were injured," she observed.

"I guess it’s easy enough to find trouble but too hard to stay out of it. I learned to heal myself."

"Aelwin mentioned that you are an adventurer. If you know how to heal, how did you come by that scar?" she asked with a smile. Maybe it was the honey in her voice, but for the first time the question didn't rankle.

"Minotaur," he said. Nerussa waited, so he continued. "I was working with an archer. The minotaur caught her in the belly with its horn. Pulled her guts out onto the road." Nerussa's smile faded. "I used up all my magicka trying to heal her, so I got to keep this." Jerric pointed to his brow. "Seems like there are never enough potions, even on a caravan." I'm talking too much, he thought.

Nerussa folded her elegant arms on the counter and changed the subject. "You might have noticed my display as you entered. I am quite fond of collecting all manners of wines from all over Tamriel. But one vintage continues to elude me: Shadowbanish Wine. How I would love to add it to my collection.”

“I’ve never heard of it, but I don’t know much about wine.”

“Shadowbanish Wine is so rare because it was only made in one small batch. It’s the product of a vintner who was also an alchemist. Besides tasting incredible, the magic within the wine allows the imbiber to be gifted with Night Eye! The vintner made it special for the Legion soldiers posted at the forts when they were active long ago. It was perfect for keeping lookouts warm on cold nights and helping them see better in the dark. Isn’t that clever?”

“He must have been skilled. I don’t think I’ve ever made a potion that didn’t taste disgusting. I wonder what Shadowbanish Wine tastes like.”

“Oh, it is far too rare for anyone to actually drink it. Say, that gives me an idea."

With that voice she could ask me to do anything, and I would consider it, Jerric thought. This may be the most dangerous female I have ever met. He gave her his attention while he spooned up his soup.

“It seems you’re not afraid to put yourself at risk. If you can retrieve six bottles of Shadowbanish Wine, I’ll gladly pay you well. I cannot tell you exactly where to find them. All I know is that bottles can sometimes be found in fort ruins all over Cyrodiil.”

Jerric finished his meal and pushed back his soup plate. "I'll keep an eye out for it, if I’m ever in a fort ruin." He would need a better reason than coin to go back under ground, but he thought it was in the realm of the possible.

"Is there anything else you want before you go? Anything you need? I might be able to assist you." Nerussa's eyes were golden in the inn’s light, and her smile made him think of a long life filled with secrets. He had to catch three more fish for Aelwin, and he didn’t want to spend too much more daylight before he got them. There was something that he needed, but he hesitated to ask. He looked across the counter at Nerussa.

"I could really use a haircut," he said.

I bet Aelwin tricks everyone who passes by with that line of his!

On the subject of flashbacks, most people put them all in italics, so it is clear to the reader what is taking place in the past, and what is in the present. If it is a small flashback, you do not even have to section it out. If you have an entire scene then you should put dividers up around it, the same as with any other change of scene. In your case I would just italicize that paragraph with Abiene.

Which brings me to Abiene. So she rode the white horse!

In fact, most of the folk who now leaned against Aelwin’s stone fence were not looking at the fish.
Doh!, and now all of Weye is looking at his horse!

Her low-pitched voice made him think of firelight on velvet.
I love this description. In fact, I love the justice you do to Nerussa, she of the seductive wines.

I guess it’s easy enough to find trouble but too hard to stay out of it.
Sounds like the words Jerric lives by!

With that voice she could ask me to do anything, and I would consider it, Jerric thought.
Yep, just like she hooked Teresa!



nits:
Nerussa offered him fish soup in a creamy tomato base with a round, crusty roll. She served him at the counter with languid grace, and then she kept him company while he ate. He caught her scent, subtle and spicy. "I saw you bring in the first slaughterfish. You were injured," she observed.


"I guess it’s easy enough to find trouble but too hard to stay out of it. I learned to heal myself."


"Aelwin mentioned that you are an adventurer. If you know how to heal, how did you come by that scar?" she asked with a smile. Maybe it was the honey in her voice, but for the first time the question didn't rankle.


"Minotaur," he said. Nerussa waited, so he continued. "I was working with an archer. The minotaur caught her in the belly with its horn. Pulled her guts out onto the road." Nerussa's smile faded. "I used up all my magicka trying to heal her, so I got to keep this." Jerric pointed to his brow. "Seems like there are never enough potions, even on a caravan." I'm talking too much, he thought. Nerussa’s silence gave him too much time for remembering.
You have some extra spaces between your paragraphs here. This can happen from time to time when copying and pasting into the forum.


The archer’s name was Feleri. She had been a tireless and joyful hunter, always the first to make a joke and the last to give up teasing. Her ash-gray skin and charcoal hair made her nearly invisible at night. The few times she had joined him in his bedroll she had twisted them into knots that he could never have imagined on his own. She died kicking in agony because he had frantically tried to put her back together instead of simply giving her some peace. He felt her shadow rising up to darken his mind, bringing others with her. He stared into his bowl and made himself remember it as if it was a sad story in a book.
This paragraph seems to be more telling than showing, and feels forced into the story. You might to consider taking all, or most of it out. Or rewording it to make feel more natural.

First let me say that I've been reading this story from the beginning and enjoying it immensely. I find myself liking Jerric a great deal.

Now on to more immediate matters. I really enjoyed your unique take on the "Go Fish" quest, as well as the start of the "Shadowbanish Wine" quest. Your tongue-in-cheek approach is oh, so delightful, and Jerric thinks like most men I know!

SubRosa already picked out the parts I liked the best, so let me just add that your inclusion of the local kids (leaving his sword with a couple of girls, the growing entourage including tweenie girls that are curious about you-know-what, etc) really shines! Good thing I had put my tea down before reading this!

I read this after you worked in SubRosa's comments.

I must say I thought your flashback to Abiene was very well-done, evocative and fit perfectly where and how you used it.

"I cut him up a bit, but there are way more than a dozen scales left on him.”
Doh!!! As soon as I read this, I figured what was going to happen, and you did not disappoint.

Jerric had a great idea here: A fish cook out!
Jerric had a dumb idea here: When the Altmeri goddess of passionate seductiveness asks if there is something you would like, asking for a haircut tops the list? Seriously, I loved the way you ended this!

A very fun interlude in Weye!

SubRosa: Thank you so much for the advice, SubRosa! I cleaned up those sections and just removed the archer flashback. It was too much of an interruption, and I’m much happier without it.

Your comment about Abiene and the horse had me spitting out my tea and holding on to the table. Eventually people will learn to stop asking me why I’m laughing so hard. Abiene wants back in the story, and she’s pushing me!

When I thought of Jerric and Nerussa the first word that came to mind was outclassed, so I went with it. She is a bit relentless and demanding (Did you find the wine yet? Keep looking for that wine!), so she must be pretty special to get results. Teresa’s Nerussa has thoroughly eclipsed the game Nerussa in my mind, so I am glad that you approve!

haute ecole rider: I’m so happy that you’re reading! Thank you so much for your kind words, they mean so much to me!

The Weye kids started out as part of Jerric’s version of stone soup: do you have a gaffing hook, may I borrow a cart, how about those kids to push it. Then they took over. I think Cyrodiil must be knee deep in youngsters to keep up with the death rate.

May I approach you as an authority on equestrian matters: Flash is the product of distant memories of a Shetland pony and searching lots of phrases such as “can a horse climb stairs.” If you see me put his hooves too far out of line, may I ask you to correct me? He is at risk of becoming a big dog wearing a pack saddle in my hands.

Thank you haute ecole rider, I’m glad you’re enjoying Jerric’s adventures!

Acadian: Aelwin gets me every time with that, and he still wants twelve dang fish. Jerric in the game has not finished Go Fish yet, it’s a beast for an Atronach sign with no Marksmanship and low Alteration. I have a new plan, though. I just really don’t want him to drown.

I’m glad you enjoyed Jerric’s request – he made it very clear what he was not going to ask the Altmeri goddess of passionate seductiveness to do for him!

Thank you for your encouragement on the revised flashback. A learning experience for Grits!!



Chapter 6: Going Home, Part 3

Jerric hefted the fish into the hand cart and stood back with a sigh. “All right lads, that’s the last one. I’ll follow you shortly.” He watched the parade of village children heading away from him. “Say, why weren’t you in school all day?” he called after them. He was counting the days, but only by number.

“It’s Loredas!” chorused the girls, and their laughter rang back to him as they disappeared over the hill. His life was ordered for him by the caravan schedule, and he seldom thought ahead past when he next had to report for duty. Now that he had delivered the Amulet he was immensely enjoying his freedom. Aelwin had described him as an adventurer, so he decided that for a few more days that’s what he would be.

He stood and looked out over the lake, listening to the gulls cry far above him. There was a sea eagle hunting in the fading light, and he watched until it plummeted to the water and winged away with a fish. Small shore birds ran along the edge of the gentle waves, and he wondered what they were scooping up in their long bills. The White Gold Tower shone over it all with the setting sun’s orange light.

Jerric returned to Weye with his sword on his hip and his drawers in his hand. He could hear the music all the way from Aelwin’s house. It seemed that the village had decided that the day of a dozen slaughterfish should be celebrated not just with a party but with a festival. Colorful ribbons fluttered in the evening breeze from stakes planted all along the road. He followed them to the center of town where strings of bright paper lanterns hung over the open square, and torches burned in brackets on all of the buildings. Someone had painted a banner depicting a massive slaughterfish with a sword sticking out of it. Many folk had food and handiwork for sale, and Nerussa poured ale and wine from a table at the side of the festivities. Everyone brought their own drinking vessel, so only a few speedy lads and lasses were needed to run back and forth to the inn with supplies.

A group of red-cheeked women served Rumare slaughterfish to the appreciative crowd for free. They grilled the fish with a spicy sauce and wrapped it in thin flatbread to be eaten out of the hand. The young Breton woman he noticed earlier walked up while he was getting his serving. “I’m Jerric,” he said. He handed her his fish roll and got another.

“I know. I’m Anette.”

“Pleased to meet you, Anette.” They walked a short distance and stood to eat their meal, like the rest of the village.

“I’m so glad they liked your idea,” said Anette. She licked the tips of her fingers. “All of the slaughterfish we catch goes to market. It’s so expensive, no one in Weye can afford to eat it.”

“I didn’t know that. No wonder everyone’s in such a good mood.” Jerric watched her lick sauce from her thumb, and his mind began to wander.

“Plus we haven’t had a party since forever. This summer was so boring. I had to work almost every day. My mother never lets me do anything.” Anette rolled her eyes.

Jerric had a distressing thought. “Say, Anette, uh … how old are you?”

“Fifteen. My birthday was in Second Seed. Why? How old did you think I was?” Anette tipped her head to the side and looked up at him with a smile.

“Um …” Jerric struggled to find an explanation that didn’t sound condescending or include a reference to her bust. “It’s just that you’re so mature. I thought you were at least eighteen.” Then add three years, he thought. He mentally adjusted his plans for the evening.

“Ugh. Here comes my mother now.” Anette rolled her eyes again. “Ever since my father left, she never lets me out of her sight.”

Jerric thought that Anette’s mother was no fool. She appraised him openly as she approached, and her smile let him know that he had missed an opportunity. She shared her daughter’s prominent attributes, only hers were no doubt accessible. Jerric smiled back and inwardly kicked himself.

“I’m Dionne Lavois. Anette’s mother.” Jerric waited for her to extend her hand, and then he took it carefully in his.

“I’m Jerric. Pleased to meet you.”

“I know.” Her eyes laughed at him. “Is this your first visit to Weye?”

“It is. I’ve been to the Imperial City before, but I crossed the lake from the docks at Fort Virtue. I met Aelwin on the road last night, and now here we are. This is a pretty big town square for a fishing village.”

“Weye is also a market town. Wholesalers come from the Imperial City and buy goods directly, then they sell to the city merchants. That way folk don’t have to spend the time getting their wares all the way to the Market District. Some still make the trip to get a better price, but this square fills up every Tirdas and Fredas with those who don’t. Plus there’s the local market. You missed it this morning, you were at the lake.”

Anette rolled her eyes and snorted, looking pointedly away from Dionne. “May I get you something to drink?” Jerric asked Dionne.

“Wine would be nice, thank you. Yes, you may, Anette. Just one.”

“If you have some goblets, I’ll go get us a bottle,” he said.

Dionne nodded to her daughter. “Go ahead, Anette.”

Anette didn’t go two paces before she was arm in arm with another girl. Jerric didn’t need to guess what they were talking about. He joined the line at Nerussa’s table, but the villagers cheerfully pushed him to the front. Nerussa herself stood there, looking as poised and polished outdoors in the lantern light as she had inside the inn. “Ah, our adventuring fisherman. May I interest you in some ale, or perhaps a bit of wine?” Her voice sent a delightful shiver through him.

“A bottle of wine, if you please. I don’t know what kind, you pick.”

“Hmm. I noticed you were chatting with Dionne. May I suggest Tamika’s West Weald Wine. It’s special enough for a celebration, but not so rare that one need stop at a single bottle. I think it will be well received.” Jerric nodded and she opened it for him.

“Thank you, Nerussa.” The smile she gave him in return could mean anything or nothing. He decided that if the goal of her mysterious air was to make him think about her, she had succeeded.

Anette had brought the goblets by the time he returned with the wine, so he poured for them. “New friends,” he offered, and they drank a toast. The wine was smooth on his tongue, and he thought he could taste vanilla and blackberries. He decided that Tamika’s West Weald was a name he should remember.

“I saw Rullus casting frost spells at you earlier,” said Dionne. “I thought he had lost his mind. What was that about?”

“I can’t regenerate my magicka, so I asked him to do it. Target practice for him, all the magicka I can absorb for me. Only I didn’t absorb all of them. Frost is best for that, it doesn’t hurt me as much when it hits me.”

“You’re lucky a Legion Rider didn’t see you. He might have gotten the wrong idea.”

“One did,” Jerric said ruefully, “but we got it straightened out.”

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

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

“Let’s go watch the jugglers,” said Jerric.

The music changed with a flourish, and the square quickly cleared. “Let’s go!” cried Anette, and he barely had enough time to hand Dionne his goblet before she dragged him off into the dancers. Despite Anette’s efforts and whether Dionne was watching or not, he made sure they stayed away from the dark corners. When the festival ended Jerric was ready to say goodnight to the Lavois women. It had been a long day under the lake, and he was still sore from Rullus’ frost spells.

He saw Aelwin leaving the square and jogged to catch up with him. “Your fish were popular tonight, Aelwin.”

“Jerric, I’m surprised to see you trailing along behind an old man. Where’s your little lady?”

Jerric laughed. “I’m nearly twice her age, you dirty … fellow.”

“I’m nearly twice her mother’s age, but it wouldn’t stop me if I had a chance with her!” Aelwin cackled. “I guess she just wore you out with the dancing.”

“That she did, and I guess wine makes me tired. You Weye folk are a peaceful bunch. Not too many bottles broken, and no fights at all.”

“There’s enough work to go around in Weye. It’s idle hands that turn to brawling. Well, here we are. Only one day since you stood on this spot and listened to my troubles, and you looked as heavy-eyed then as you do now. Good night, lad. You’ll come in for breakfast, and I’ll have your reward for you.”

“Will do, Aelwin. Good night.” Jerric stretched out on the straw and fell asleep listening to Flash pass an impressive amount of wind, he guessed from his own long day in Aelwin’s clover.


Jerric woke the next morning with Aelwin’s finger poking into his arm and a mug of kahve under his nose. It was still dark, and Aelwin had hung a lantern from an overhead beam. Jerric shoved himself upright and sipped the bitter brew, blinking at Aelwin. Aelwin plopped down on a bale and heaved his bad leg into place. The Breton was likeable but eccentric, and Jerric wondered what he would do next. Aelwin put his hand in his pocket and looked at Jerric.

Jerric took another sip, then sucked in some air to cool his tongue. “How does the day greet you, Aelwin?” he asked groggily. “What’s it going to be today, twelve golden mudcrabs? A dozen unicorn horns?” He scratched some straw out of his hair.

Aelwin’s round, weathered face spilt into creases with his smile. “Let it never be said that there are no kind souls in this world. You were a stranger, but now I count you as a friend. You have my thanks for your help, but there is something more.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket and passed a ring to Jerric. “This ring is for you. It served me well all these years, but I have no use for it any more. I imagine it would be very valuable to someone like you.”

Jerric looked at the ring resting on his palm. It was a silver band with blue and gray stones smoothly set in a wave pattern all around it. It could be gray for water and blue for sky, or the other way around. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. He looked at Aelwin for more explanation.

“It’s the Jewel of the Rumare. It allows its wearer to breathe water and move more easily. You’ve shown me kindness, and I will think of you often in the long, comfortable days ahead.”

Jerric held the mug between his knees and slipped the ring onto his finger. He felt its magicka wash through him, and he took an experimental breath. Apparently it would not interfere with breathing air, so he decided to wear it. “Aelwin, thank you for this. You’re right, it is very valuable to me. But I have to ask, did you think it might have been helpful for me to have this yesterday when I was at the bottom of the lake?” Jerric took another sip of kahve, and hissed again. It was still extremely hot.

Aelwin cackled. “That I did, but by then you had the Lavois ladies hanging on your arms. The Rumare Slaughterfish Festival will be an annual event in Weye, once they all agree if it should be held on Heartfire the eighth or the nearest Loredas. I hope you’ll come back and visit us! You can sleep in the cottage next time, now that I know you’re not after my retirement savings. Now come inside, and I’ll make you breakfast.”

Jerric looked out the open door and saw no light in the sky. Retired or not, fishermen were disgustingly early risers. He waited for Aelwin to move before he flailed out of his bedroll and onto his feet. “Let me cook it for us, Aelwin, I’ll be there in two shakes.” If the kahve was any indication of Aelwin’s skills, Jerric imagined that he could produce a meal that was at the same time raw and burned beyond recognition.

“Shake it over the wall, lad, your horse has already drowned my garden.” Aelwin cackled again and hobbled out, leaving the lantern for Jerric.

Having trouble with Go Fish? I have found several ways to deal with those pesky slaughterfish while suffering minimal harm. Most of them are based on a trick I learned a while back while fighting with a claymore, but it works with most all weapons and even touch spells. The idea is to stay in the sweet spot where the enemy is in range of your weapon, but you are not in the range of theirs. Since they will naturally advance to hit you, you have to keep backpedaling to stay out of their reach. With a shorter range weapon what you have to do is move in quickly, strike, and then back up fast. It takes timing and practice, but once you have it down, you will hardly ever be hit in melee combat (this is how you can play a melee glass cannon in fact).

I would love to see more Abiene, including a fic just her own like the Saturalia short that you did. Reading about her makes my little girlie heart go pitter-patter in that way usually only Jane Austen can do.

The Nerussa in the TF is pretty special, just ask Teresa! She is demanding as well, but Teresa is quite happy to provide for her needs.

Now, to today's episode.

I loved your description of evening on the shores of Lake Rumare and the fish festival in the village. It really makes the setting come to life. Your inclusion of the children is especially nice. It is so strange not seeing them, or real families, in the game (have you noticed that almost no one seems to have a mother or father in the game? and they only have a brother or sister if it is quest-related.)

He decided that if the goal of her mysterious air was to make him think about her, she had succeeded.
Yep, that is our Nerussa!

Jerric stretched out on the straw and fell asleep listening to Flash pass an impressive amount of wind
Ewwww!

“What’s it going to be today, twelve golden mudcrabs? A dozen unicorn horns?”
That is what it seems like to me too!

You’re right, it is very valuable to me.
Could it perhaps be... precious?

All in all a very fun episode. With this and the last episode, I think you are really hitting your stride with your writing of Jerric. He feels much more alive and well-rounded now. I get the impression that you know him better now, so you can convey his Jerricness better.

Of course you can ask me anything equine related (or canine, or feline . . .)! Just shoot me a PM!

On to this latest installment - I loved the festival air you gave Weye. Also making this little hamlet on the way to the capital a market town makes great sense. It's nicer than the Waterfront, and feels friendlier for being a waypoint on the road.

I see SubRosa has already noticed the same thing about Flash that I did! Oh, boy, does that bring back memories! Of course, cattle are worse!

And yes, Jerric is really coming alive, thinking like a typical male ("how old are you? darn! oh, your mom's more my speed - and available too. darn, again!"). You've got that down pretty pat, imho.

Great line !!! Jerric's character is a masterpiece - I bragged about it to a writer on the un-named forum last night! Great Write!

I will readily agree that you are really hitting your stride! Reading this is quite soothing and beautiful, like Tamika's wine.

'He stood and looked out over the lake, listening to the gulls cry far above him. There was a sea eagle hunting in the fading light, and he watched until it plummeted to the water and winged away with a fish. Small shore birds ran along the edge of the gentle waves, and he wondered what they were scooping up in their long bills. The White Gold Tower shone over it all with the setting sun’s orange light.'
Your care and talent in crafting this rich description really shows.

"May I suggest Tamika’s West Weald Wine. It’s special enough for a celebration, but not so rare that one need stop at a single bottle. I think it will be well received.” Jerric nodded and she opened it for him.'
It is wonderful to see Nerussa's reputation as a wine enthusiast in action. It is easy to overlook amidst her other talents.

“I can’t regenerate my magicka, so I asked him to do it. Target practice for him, all the magicka I can absorb for me.
Another wonderfully clever reminder of Jerric's masochistic birthsign - somehow, it really suits him!

SubRosa: Thank you for the strategy, we’re going to take another crack at it today. It is good melee practice for a new character, since he can just get out of the water. I’m going to let him take a nap between fish this time, since he’s taking so much damage and the whole Atronach thing. I’m still looking for that sweet spot! Also I may have been too ambitious bumping up the difficulty slider.

You made me swoon with the Abiene comment. I’m wondering how I could work her story in with Jerric’s without having it be too choppy. Weye was a great little break, Jerric could just be himself without anyone dying at his feet and demanding world-saving. Although he can’t seem to get away from strange men giving him jewelry.

haute ecole rider: Thank you! When I pictured Flash in the clover, I knew what had to happen next. I’m glad Jerric’s character came across before things get hectic for him. It’s been fun to rediscover Cyrodiil with this story, now I like Weye even more than Aleswell.

mALX: Thank you, mALX! You’re making me blush!!

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! I have a tendency to take a break for the scenery with Jerric, which is not something my girlie game characters have ever done. I think he needs a beach house!!



Chapter 6: Going Home, Part 4

Jerric stopped on the Gold Road and looked at the ancient stone steps ascending off to the side into the forest. “What do you suppose is up there?” he asked Flash. “I didn’t get to look when I passed with the caravan. I don’t know when I’ll get another chance. Even if Rothmund hasn’t fired me, I doubt he’ll approve a side trip when I’m working.”

The steps were wide and shallow. Jerric thought for a moment. “I wonder if you could make it up there. I bet you could.” He checked to make sure the halter rope was secure over the pack saddle in a way that wouldn’t fall loose but still gave Flash his head. “I’m going up. If you want, you can come with me.” He went up about halfway and stopped, looking back at Flash. “I think I’ll have an apple.” He got one out of his day pack and took a bite. Flash’s ears perked forward. “Now that is delicious. First harvest of the year, I bet. Not like those wrinkled ones we got from the Priory.” He bit off a chunk and held it out toward Flash. He didn’t want to lead him up the stairs, he wanted him to come up on his own. “Look at that, see how juicy? Did you ever have a little filly flip her tail at you before they… you know. Well this apple is sweeter.” He felt his face grow hot and shook his head. “Pathetic, I can’t even lie to a horse. Anyway, Flash, I’m going up.”

He walked the rest of the way up the stairs. “This is as far as I can go without you,” he said as he went. “I trust you of course, it’s every other fetcher on the road I’m worried about.” When he got to the top and turned around, Flash gave a snort and came up after him. “Go Flash! That wasn’t even hard. I bet they made these stairs for horses. Here you go, see I wasn’t kidding. That is a good apple.” The two of them proceeded up the path, crunching the apple as they went. “If we see any buildings, I’m going to ask you to wait. A Nord and a horse are not going to sneak up on anything.”

After a few minutes he did see the tall white arches of an Ayleid ruin, so he got Flash turned around on the path and dropped his lead. He walked forward with his shield on his arm, watching his footing. There was a lot of forest debris on the stone path, and he didn’t want to step on a stick. As he approached the ruin he saw that the stones formed a large ring made of wedge shapes. A stone staircase to nowhere still stood in the middle, and he guessed that he would find the entrance to any underground chambers there.

When he approached the entrance his eyes picked out the shape and color of steel-blue entoloma mushrooms growing all around it, and he made a little hiss of delight. As soon as he bent to pick the first cap, he heard the distinctive sound of a targeted fire spell attack. He ducked and rolled, and the flare roasted his mushrooms. “Dammit!” He popped up, looking for his attacker.

A scamp stood at the edge of the stone ring, readying another fireball. Jerric hadn’t heard a conjurer so he focused on the scamp. “All right, let’s go!” He bent his knees and got ready to dodge. As much as he hated fire, he hadn’t sparred in so long it was making him twitchy. The ground was clear around the stones, and he could always wait for the scamp to come to him if he got tired of jumping over them. The scamp threw the fire, and Jerric sidestepped. “Ha ha!” He heard another flare behind him and turned in time to catch it full on his chest. The magicka surged through him as he absorbed the spell, and that helped him keep his good mood. “You sneaky fetcher!” he laughed. As he ran to the outer ring where he could see both scamps he started to wonder what they were doing out here. He decided that only a fool would use them as lookouts, so if anything they must be guards. In that case he could go ahead and have some fun.

He worked up a sweat dodging fireballs until the scamps ran out of magicka and ran at him. That was when he saw a third scamp, and suddenly the game became serious. He summoned his skeleton. “Go, Slim!” He pointed at the nearer scamps and jogged toward the third one, ducking its fire attack. Slim didn’t kill his scamp, but he damaged it enough to slow it down. Jerric had time to open the third scamp’s gut before the next one reached him. He took his time with it, testing his reach with Chillrend’s short blade. He was pleased to find that the frost effect caused little noise or recoil in his hand.

It wasn’t long before he was kneeling with the knife from his day pack peeling off their skin for Sigrid to use in her Mages’ Bane poison. The resident alchemist at the Kvatch Mages Guild had been his instructor for several years, and he knew that a bag of dried skin would go farther than a dozen roses to gain her favor. Not that he had a chance with her, but Jerric thought that a person should have some goals in their life.

He checked to see if the entrance underground was passable for the sake of his curiosity. There was no way he was going in there today. The door was clean and solid, and he decided that there must be something down there that the scamps had been guarding. He decided to hurry up and pick his mushrooms in case anyone came up to check on the scamps.

Jerric jogged back to Flash and secured the halter rope around the saddle again. “That was fun, thanks for waiting.” He got out a carrot for them to share as they walked back down to the road. “I’ll carry the scamp skin, you probably won’t like the smell. I guess I smell bad enough already.”


Jerric dropped Flash off in Tilmo’s capable hands at the Grateful Pass Stables and took the West Gate into Skingrad. He approached the gate guard for some information. “Greetings, Nord. Something I can help you with?” asked the guard.

“Are you much of a chapel-goer, sir?” Jerric asked.

The guard began a speech about the splendor of the Great Chapel, the wisdom of Julianos, and Jerric didn’t know what else because he thanked the man and went over to the other guard.

“Yes?” the other guard said. There seemed to be a hint of amusement in his tone.

“A brothel,” said Jerric.

“The Painted Posy,” said the guard, “Chapelside, can’t miss it.”

Now Jerric knew where not to go. “Are they Guild?”

“No. That is to say, I don’t know.” said the guard.

“It’s for my boss,” Jerric lied, “he’s an Imperial, very picky. Big coin purse, lots of rules. Has to be a Guild establishment.” He hoped that his flush would be interpreted as embarrassment instead of dissembling.

“Oh, well in that case take him to The Colovian Rose. Of course I don’t know myself being a married man, but I hear that Servilla the Serpent is something else.”

He thanked the man and headed to the Mages Guild to clean up and drop off his gear. The clouds had been rolling in all afternoon, and as he entered the front hall it began to rain. His eyes went immediately to the large yellow tile medallion set into the center hall’s wooden floor. It reminded him how little schooling he had in the arcane arts. Two long benches faced each other on either side of the double staircase, he guessed for the unimportant to use while they waited for their betters. The heavy tapestries hanging on the stone walls contributed to the dour atmosphere.

Jerric walked through the hall and looked into the open rooms on either side. A balding Nord loitered at the long counter to his right. He was richly dressed in a gold trimmed black velvet tunic and velvet leggings. “Hail, Vigge,” Jerric said. “Any room in the common quarters? I’m just passing through.”

“Well met, Associate. It’s been quiet for weeks, you’ll have your choice of beds. The common quarters are on the third floor, around the corner to the right.”

“Great. Who should I talk to about trading alchemy supplies?”

“There’s no alchemist here, you’ll have to go to All Things Alchemical. It’s right around the corner here in Hightown. If you’ll be back for dinner, you should let Cook know.”

“I’ll be out, I have some other business. I’ve had some adventures on the road.”

Vigge didn’t seem to care about adventures. “Well, you could sure use a wash. Bathing chamber is down by the kitchen. Let me know if you need someone to heat the water.”

“All right Vigge, thanks.” Jerric made his way to the second floor, where he almost bumped into an Argonian standing beside the tall bookshelves. She was wearing an easily identifiable blue robe. “Excuse me, Apprentice,” he said politely.

“What? Who are you? Oh... who cares. I'm Druja. You want something? Or you just practicing your Cyrodilic?"

“I’m Jerric. I’m an Associate. I’ll be in the common quarters, just for tonight.”

“Good for you.” Druja’s scaly cheeks were pulled downward in displeasure.

Jerric didn’t know how to reply to that, so he proceeded through the library. He found Adrienne Berene reading at a table next to the stairs, gowned formally in blue velvet. She looked up irritably as he passed. “I trust you have good reason for interrupting me?" Jerric simply shook his head and walked by. This did not seem to be the time to remind her that they had met on his last visit to Skingrad.

He ran up the stairs to the common quarters and found it as empty as Vigge had promised. The diamond shaped panes of glass in the tall windows and thick rugs covering the floor reminded him of home. He liked the way the doors were made to rise up to a point at the top like an onion. The wooden ceilings soared all the way to the peaked roof line, and he expected that the room would be chilly in the winter. He chose a bed with a large cupboard and a table nearby so he could take care of some chores. Then he picked out his best shirt and headed down to the bathing chamber, trying to walk more softly this time.

He found himself in a medium sized stone room with a drain in the floor. A shaving stand stood along the wall next to an empty table with a low stool in front of it. The shelves on the wall were loaded with clean towels, soaps, and unlabeled glass bottles. He opened one and sniffed it experimentally. It smelled like flowers, so he left it alone. He found no tub, but one wall housed a mysterious apparatus. Jerric dropped his things on the table and stuck his head into the kitchen. “Hail the Cook! Are you in here?”

Cook turned out to be a short, irascible Imperial man of middle age. “Don’t tell me, your mother never taught you how to bathe.”

“Well…” Jerric was tempted to put him through a wall for the comment, but in this case it was somewhat true. “I can’t figure out the contraption.”

“Follow me. Look, here is the handle. Open it, and water comes out. See that, it’s metal. Put your fire spell on it, and the water will be hot. If it’s too hot, open this handle and cold will mix in. This is soap. You use it to get the stink off your body. Those are towels. You get the idea. If you blow anything up, Adrienne will kill you. Ask Vigge if you want help. I’m sure he’ll wash your back for you.” Cook stomped off, and Jerric eyed the mechanism with mistrust.

He followed Cook’s instructions and found that being showered with a steady stream of hot water was far superior to the Odiil’s bucket method. He made quick but thorough use of the soap, and when he shook the water out of his eyes he found he had company. “Vigge! Something I can help you with?” Vigge seemed overdressed for a bathing chamber, and Jerric hoped he would stay that way.

“You figured it out! Not everyone can. Just seeing how you were doing.”

“Thanks, I got it.” He stood there dripping. “Uh, hand me a towel, will you?” After an uneasy shave, Jerric left Vigge’s company and headed back to the kitchen.

Cook looked up irritably. “What now, do I need to teach you how to use the pot?”

“No thanks. What’s your name? I’m Jerric.”

“My name is Cook. I’m the cook, get it? Adrienne keeps firing us, so they just call us Cook now. Did I ask for your name? No. You’re a pain in my sack, so I’ll just call you Pain. Have a nice day, Pain.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to call me Sack?” The Imperial gave a short bark of laughter, and Jerric took his leave. He thought of the warm welcome he had received when he studied in Anvil, and of all the hardworking, friendly mages in Kvatch. He decided he was lucky he had been able to study Destruction so far at his home chapter instead of coming to Skingrad.

Although he can’t seem to get away from strange men giving him jewelry.
Maybe we should start calling him the midnight cowboy?

I loved the entire part of Jerric coaxing Flash up the steps with the apple!

A Nord and a horse are not going to sneak up on anything.
As Clint Eastwood said: "A man's got to know his limitations."

Slim the Skeleton. A great name to go with Flash the horse!

a bag of dried skin would go farther than a dozen roses to gain her favor
Ewwww! Somehow I doubt Buffy has to worry about her being alone with Savlian after all!

Servilla the Serpent
Hawt!

Just an idea to throw out, in ancient Rome sex with a prostitute was not adultery, it was a simple business transaction. Likewise with a slave. The main reason probably being that a child from such a union could not be a possible heir. But the other being that sex was not seen negatively in society or religion. Rather it was a simple given that people wanted to have sex. Given that Cyrodiil has had a prostitute's guild for a long time, it might not be too much of a stretch for the same to apply (I plan to use this for the TF).

I’m sure he’ll wash your back for you
Yep, that's Vigge!

A delightful description of the Skingrad Mages Guild, not only physically, but of the colorful, and unfriendly characters there. Not to mention one that is a little too friendly. I cannot wait until Jerric meets Falanu Hlaalu! I bet she will like his pale Nordic skin.

Enjoyed this chapter a great deal.

I suppose that Ayleid ruin is Ceyatatar? Flash is like most horses - he'll do anything for a juicy, crunchy apple! Just one thing that jumped out at me. "Ground tying" is more an euphemism than anything else - it consists merely of dropping the rein or lead on the ground. Horses (especially working cow horses) can be trained to stand in place with a dropped rein. They are actually not physically tied to anything. I avoid the term because it can be confusing for many non-horse people, and just mention dropping the rein (or lead, in Flash's case). Just something I wanted to point out to you. Maybe you know what it really means, but I'm sure most of our readers don't.

It's surprising how close your depiction of Vigge the Cautious came to mine. I just finished writing the Skingrad chapter and there is a bit about their sleeping habits.

Scamp skin for Sigrid? That's my kind of girl! I don't go for roses, either! Sounds like Jerric really knows how to woo a woman!

Great fun to see Flash climb the steps. Animals steal the show, don't they?

“Ha ha!” He heard another flare behind him and turned in time to catch it full on his chest. The magicka surged through him as he absorbed the spell,
Gosh, that Atronach birthsign sooo fits Jerric! Being big and not so sneaky, he is quite the target so it works perfectly for him! What a fun and exciting little fight scene! Nice little touches of harvesting steel blue entoloma and scamp skin.

I smiled all the way through your entire depiction of the Skingrad guild. Wonderful detail you lavish on the guild and its denizens. Buffy was taken aback when she met Druja as well - about the first cranky Argonian she had ever met!

I like how the dialogue doesn't feel forced at all. It feels like two people are actually talking

That gave me the image of a Nord and a horse entering a china shop...

I love the detailed descriptions of the mages guild. I could easily picture it myself.

HOW IN FREAKING HELL HAVE EYE MISSED THIS UNTIL NOW???!!!

Oh, the writing! The style! The Humour!

The opportunities for DHERTEE IN YO END-0!!!

But now that I have cum into this thread (somebody break out the tissues) rest boat sured that I shall be following - er - stalking this!!!

SubRosa: Ewwww! Somehow I doubt Buffy has to worry about her being alone with Savlian after all!
No matter how velvet-clad, platinum blonde, and busty, an alchemist is likely to have her pockets full of things that are revolting!

Thank you for sharing your thoughts about sexual mores in Cyrodiil. The game gives us everything from Sanguine worshippers to Alessia Ottus, and it’s fun to see how different people take it in their own directions.

Thank you, SubRosa! Falanu is up next. Joe Buck and the necrophiliac.

haute ecole rider: I suppose that Ayleid ruin is Ceyatatar? Indeed, but Jerric doesn’t know the name yet.

Thank you very much for the advice about the ground tying/lead dropping – I changed the wording. It never crossed my mind that people would think he was tying the lead to the ground, but that’s exactly how it sounded.

I think anyone who has awakened with Vigge the Creepy in their bed or standing over them will relate! I am too baffled by the nocturnal activities at the Skingrad Mages Guild to even try to explain them. I can’t wait to hear what Julian thinks of that bunch!

Acadian: Flash has been such unexpected fun! I’m learning more about the Atronach birthsign with more game time, and the biggest thing is how much time he has to spend doing alchemy. Thank you for your kind words!

Zalphon: Thank you for your comment! Dialog is my favorite part.

Jacki Dice: Thank you!
That gave me the image of a Nord and a horse entering a china shop...
I wonder if they have tea cups in Skyrim.

D. Foxy: Welcome, Foxy! Or should I say wellcu-, no I’ll leave that for you! It’s great to have you here, despite the extra cleanup!


Chapter 6: Going Home, Part 5

Jerric jogged through the streets of Skingrad in the rain. He loved the way they ran up and down with big rocks jutting out of the ground. The buildings were orderly and fine, but the land was wild underneath. The rain turned all of the stone to dark gray, and he felt as if he was winding through twilit canyons. Little rivers of rainwater ran down the steep streets, adding to the effect. There were few people out in the rain, so he could look around as he went instead of minding where he put his feet and elbows. He made his trades on the market street, and then he hurried to his last errand before the shops all closed.

He entered All Things Alchemical and flipped back his hood, shaking off water. A female Dunmer stood smiling behind the counter. Jerric didn't know much about fashion, but he could tell that her gown was expensive. Her short, red-gold hair framed her face nicely, and she had the ruby eyes and delicate features of her race. He noted the curve of her lips, and his appreciative gaze dropped lower.

“Greetings, Nord," she purred, and Jerric pulled his eyes back to her face. She reached over the counter. "Give me your hands." Puzzled, Jerric complied. Her hands were small and warm on his. "Pale as the snow and cold as the grave," she murmured, as if to herself.

Jerric pulled back far too quickly to be considered polite. The hair on his arms stood at attention, and his sensitive parts were in full retreat. He had to firmly squelch the urge to flee. "It's raining," he gulped in explanation. “I’m Jerric.”

"I'm Falanu. House Hllaalu. As if that matters here," she said pleasantly.

He took the plant that Valus had given him out of his bag. “Do you know what this plant is?”

"I don’t know. Never seen that sort of root before. Head over to the West Weald Inn and talk to Sinderion. He’s a botanist. He could identify it for you I'm sure."

“Thanks,” he said, and he put his bag on the counter. “I need water hyacinth nectar, stinkhorn caps, and lichor. I have some things to trade, I might be able to take all you’ve got.”

They completed their transaction, but Falanu seemed to want him to linger. “I'm the only alchemist in Skingrad,” she told him. “Not much business here, but I can't go back to Morrowind. It's just like anywhere else in the Empire. By the way... do you happen to know what the fine is here in Cyrodiil for necrophilia? Just asking."

She had her hands on him again, and his mind was filled with broken glass. “Huh...what?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering.”

Jerric escaped the shop and weighed his coin purse with satisfaction. Falanu must have liked him. He was sure he could buy a round or two at the West Weald Inn and still afford a few of his favorite things at The Colovian Rose. He decided to grab a quick meal at the inn, proceed to The Rose, then time permitting stop back at the inn to make some new friends before crashing into bed at the Mages Guild.

His musings had carried him to the inn, and he hung his dripping cloak by the door. The silk-clad publican greeted him right away. “Welcome to the West Weald Inn. I'm Erina Jeranus, the proprietor. If you'd like food or a bed, speak to me.”

“I would like a meal please, and wine while I wait. Tamika’s West Weald.” She gave him a look that made him pat his hair and check to see if his shirt was sticking through his fly. He wondered if Erina disapproved of all of her customers, or if he was somehow special. “Is there a Sinderion here? I’d like to talk to him."

Erina nodded toward a door. “In the basement.” Jerric decided not to knock, he just opened the door and went down the stairs.

He found himself in a large, candle-lit room containing neatly organized storage for the inn as well as living quarters and a work area. An Altmer male stood in the middle of the space, dressed plainly and holding a vial in his hand. Jerric looked in amazement at the long, well-equipped tables. “Falanu said she was the only alchemist in Skingrad,” he said in surprise, completely forgetting his manners.

The Altmer laughed. “I am well known as a botanist, and I do not compete with Falanu. If I can avoid that young lady’s attention, I will consider myself fortunate,” he said.

Jerric folded his hands respectfully. “Apologies. I’m Jerric. I have a plant to show you.”

Sinderion folded his hands in return. “I am Sinderion. Botanist, as you know, and alchemist, as you have surmised. I conduct my research here. Plants, specifically their alchemical properties.”

Jerric got out the plant sample. “A farmer had one of these growing in a bowl. It made a strange noise, so faint you almost couldn’t hear it.” He handed over the plant.

Sinderion’s face wore a gleeful smile. “Nirnroot! What a nice sample. What do you know about this plant?”

“Nothing. I was hoping you could tell me about it.”

That seemed to be the answer Sinderion was looking for, and he settled into an instructive manner. “A few years ago an adventurer not unlike yourself sold me a musty old tome containing alchemical formulas. Most of them were worthless, but one page contained a recipe for the Elixir of Exploration, a sort of ultimate dungeon delver’s potion. The formula looks sound, but it contains an extremely rare ingredient. You guessed it, Nirnroot!” He patted the wilted plant. “I have so many delicate experiments going on, I can’t possibly go out plant hunting. I had to put the recipe aside. But now that you’re here, that changes everything! Since you know what to look for, you could collect some for me. Do you feel up to a little expedition?”

“I have to get back to work, but I’ll keep an eye out for it in my travels. I’ve never seen it before, where should I look?”

“I wrote a short missive about it for the Imperial Alchemy Symposium. If you’re interested…” Sinderion retrieved a folded parchment and handed it to Jerric. “The best place for you to look is Shadeleaf Copse, in the Great Forest northeast of here. Do you have a map? Here, I’ll mark it for you. You’ll find it always grows near water. If you find ten samples of at least this size, I should be able to brew a weak version of the Elixir. I would give one to you for your trouble, and of course I would make the rest available at a huge discount.”

“What about growing it as a crop? Do you think that would work?”

“What an interesting idea. I suppose… you would need to give it plenty of water. I do hope you’ll bring any that you find to me, so that I might determine if the recipe even works. Then I could advise you if Nirnroot is suitable for agriculture.”

Jerric felt completely at ease talking to Sinderion. He couldn’t tell if it was his delight over the Nirnroot or just a jovial nature, but the Altmer was a welcome friendly face. He decided he would keep Nirnroot in the back of his mind. “I need to send word to my friend who found this sample. Do you have a sheet of parchment I could buy?”

Sinderion reached into a pile and handed one to Jerric. “With my compliments, in the hope of a long and fruitful association.”

Back upstairs in the inn Jerric fetched his wine and found a table where he could work while he waited for his meal. He carefully wrote out his message to Valus, then he handed it over to Erina with a coin for its postage. He settled in to read.

The Book of Daedra told about the different Daedric princes and their realms, a subject he had not thought much about until recently. The inn was filling up with patrons, but the seat opposite him remained empty. He held the book at arm's length, trying to catch the light and still focus on the writing.

"Is this seat taken?" asked a female voice, high-pitched and flirty. A young Imperial woman with wavy brown hair and blue eyes stood smiling at him with a wine goblet in her hand. She looked as round and soft as a fresh dinner roll. Local girl, he thought. Old enough to know better and young enough not to care, his Ma would say. Jerric gestured to the chair, and she seated herself with a bounce and a giggle over her shoulder. A cluster of what looked to be her friends had their heads together over a nearby table, and Jerric suspected he had become the object of a dare. "I'm Antistia," she said. She pointed to his forehead. "Where did you get that scar?"

Jerric closed the book and leaned back in his chair. I got it on my face, he thought. How long before my food is ready? He glanced over at Erina, but her attention was elsewhere. "I'm Jerric," he said politely, but he ignored the question.

“You look like a fighter,” she observed brightly. “How many people have you killed?” Jerric was dressed for a night on the town, and his shirt still had its buttons. He wondered how she had drawn that conclusion. Then he remembered what his nose looked like.

"Just the ones who needed it.” He thought that this promised to be a boring conversation, so he consoled himself by staring at her chest. “Tell me something about you, Antistia."

She didn’t have anything to say, but that didn’t stop her from talking throughout his meal. The West Weald Inn was full of nicely dressed, well spoken people, and Jerric began to feel like a marauder in merchant’s clothing. It made him itch to punch someone in the face, which of course would only prove that Antistia and her friends had been right about him. After dinner he rose abruptly and left without a proper farewell.

It rained the whole way to The Colovian Rose, but when he got there Jerric found a warm welcome. Everything he saw was something that he liked, and his smile started to hurt his face. “You’re new in town, aren’t you,” his hostess asked. “Have you heard of Servilla? Of course, she’s famous. You’re lucky tonight, if you like she can see you right away.”

He decided to find out what made Servilla famous, and she did see him right away.

Before he returned to the Mages Guild, Jerric stopped back at the West Weald Inn and found it darker, smokier, and louder than before. He picked up his bottle from Erina, and she still did not look happy to see him. When he turned to survey the room he was surprised to hear someone calling his name.

“Jerric! Over here!” It was Maglir. Jerric found there was plenty of room at his table.

“Maglir, that was fast. I thought you were going to ride it out in Chorrol.”

“Didn’t last long, that damned Oreyn had his eye on me.”

“I don’t know him.”

“He’s the Fighters Guild Champion, you’d think he’d have better things to do than pick on an Associate.”

“Well anyway, you’re here now. You must have passed me on the road.”

“The road! I’m a Bosmer. I went through the Reserve.”

“How long did it take you?”

“Oh, four days if I remember. I would have done some hunting, but it rained the whole way.”

“How did you find your way?”

“Kept going downhill. Have you never been in the Imperial Reserve? It’s not hard, unless you’re too much of a city boy.”

“I’m used to the roads, but I’ve always wondered what was out there. Are you good with a map?”

“Does a spriggan squat in the woods?”

“I’m guessing that’s a yes.” Jerric took out his map and the small box with his ink block and brush. “Here, mark what you know.”

Maglir placed some landmarks on Jerric’s map. “I know this route along the base of the mountains well. This part is a big valley. Look, you can’t miss these ruins. Stay away from Hackdirt, that place is bad news. Here, I’ll mark it. You’ll know it by all of the burned buildings.”

“Thanks, Maglir. I hope I get to see it all someday. Say, I found an Ayleid ruin here. Do you know the name of it?”

“Because I’m a mer, I must know the name of every Ayleid pile of rocks?”

“Uh...”

“Well, I do know that one. That’s Ceyatatar. Are you drinking wine? Aren’t you afraid you’ll lose your Nord credentials?”

“Well, we’re in Skingrad. Here, have some if your cup is empty.” Jerric had run out of conversation. He shifted in his chair.

Maglir filled his goblet. “What happened to you, sit on a minotaur horn?”

“Servilla the Serpent.”

“Oh ho! You got her special?” Jerric nodded uncomfortably. “I bet you were surprised.”

“Yeah, I was surprised. I should have asked for the details first. Still, ‘The Serpent,’ I’m sure I’m not the first to guess wrong about that.”

“Hey, that reminds me of a joke,” said Maglir, and Jerric didn’t need to provide any more conversation. When the time came he was happy to tip the rest of the bottle into Maglir’s goblet and head back out into the rain.

Caught up! And I must say;

Servilla the Serpent? Does that mean she has a one eyed-snake or what?

Loved how you potray Maglir! The descriptions are so good in the West Weals Inn, its almost like you can actually see the interior of that fine establishment! Eagerly waiting for the next update!

OMG! That scene with the Imperial girl in the West Weald was wonderful, especially when Jerric guessed she was there on a dare!

Servillia the Serpent? Sore butt? Somehow my mind's going in a direction involving whips, cuffs, chains . . . No, stop it right now, girl!

The encounter with Falanu was also very well done. Sinderion's comment about her ties the two together very well in an absolutely delicious way!

"Pale as the snow and cold as the grave,"
Hawt!

She had her hands on him again, and his mind was filled with broken glass.
A lovely metaphor!

I got it on my face, he thought.
I love this! Too bad Jerric didn't say that!

so he consoled himself by staring at her chest.
Yep, Jerric is male alright!

“Does a spriggan squat in the woods?”
This is a lovely setting-friendly phrase. Remind me to steal it!

Sounds like Servilla had a serpent up her skirt! No wonder Jerric has a sore bum! Very nice to see a trans character. One does not see them too often in ES fan fiction.


nits:
I’d like to talk to him.
”
Looks like a space got thrown into the end of this line, between your period and quotation mark.

An Almer male stood in the middle of the space
Some thief stole the "t" in Sinderion's race!

I heartily agree with the wonderfully clever lines that have already been quoted. I also continue to really enjoy Jerric's take on Cyrodiil.

I quite like Sinderion, and was pleased to see that Jerric liked him for the same reasons! That Jerric pondered growing nirnroot as a crop is testimony that he is no dumb Nord.

Antistia was a neat little interlude and fun to read:
'He thought that this promised to be a boring conversation, so he consoled himself by staring at her chest.'
'She didn’t have anything to say, but that didn’t stop her from talking throughout his meal.'

My instant reaction to Servilla's serpent was exactly what SubRosa said - (which, by the way ... reminds me of an experience my character in Fallout: New Vegas had last week with a robot called "Fisto" - nuff said, lol). Great Chapter !!!

Oh... Servilla the serpent... Makes me wonder is it a garden snake or a boa constrictor? Poor Jerric. I bet he was surprised!

Grr! Procrastinating!

I've got some catching up to do...

ureniashtram:I’m glad you’re reading! Thank you for your comments. Maglir is fun, he keeps giving himself more to say.

haute ecole rider: Thank you! Skingrad was a fun place to watch Jerric explore. I think in the future he’ll be a little less reckless, though!

SubRosa: I enjoyed writing about Skingrad. There are such interesting folks there. Thank you, SubRosa! Looks like I ran afoul of the paragraph editing again. D’oh! Thank you for pointing it out so I could fit it.

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! In this case I have to give Valus Odiil the credit for thinking of growing Nirnroot as a crop, Jerric was asking on his behalf. I have given Jerric kind of a different way of thinking, thank you for noticing!

mALX: “Fisto,” OMG! Thanks, mALX!!

Jacki Dice: LOL! He says he’s done talking about it.

Thomas Kaira: We’ll be here whenever you can get to us. I’m glad you’re still reading!

I had days of trouble over the little tussle in this post. Thank you so much for your help, Foxy!!!



Chapter 6: Going Home Part 6

Jerric and Flash walked along the Gold Road alone in the sunshine. They had left Skingrad with a group of travelers, but all of them had turned off the road or fallen behind. He thought they were approaching Ra’sava Camp. The large rocks ahead on the right looked like an excellent place for an ambush. Jerric took his shield from Flash and wished once again that he had his team of scouts and archers. He asked Flash to wait while he walked ahead.

He wasn’t surprised when a Khajiit wearing fur armor stepped out in front of him. “You’re using my road. The fee is one hundred gold. Pay up, or else,” he said. He had a short sword in his right hand and a dagger in the other.

“Who walks around with a hundred gold?” Jerric moved so that he could see the other side of the rocks. “I don’t have it.”

“Your fee just went up. Put down your sword and leave the horse. Or this one will take your life.” The Khajiit’s teeth were bared in contemptuous grin.

“No good.” Jerric looked around and didn’t see anyone else. “Are you sure you want to die over this?”

“We can play it that way if you like. In fact, that’s how this one prefers it.” His grin widened to a snarl and his ears flattened back as he smoothly advanced in a balanced crouch. He kept his head and shoulders bobbing and weaving to confuse Jerric, and it worked. Jerric drew Chillrend and backed away to open the space. The Khajiit simply flowed into it with feline grace. His fluid motion now included his wrists, and Jerric couldn’t keep up with the multiple angles of his attack. The highwayman’s grin widened to a sneer. “The prey is as slow as it is stupid,” he taunted.

Jerric wished again for the familiar long sword that waited for him at home in Kvatch, and then he realized even that wouldn’t be enough against this enemy. He didn’t have a chance to cast a spell, the Khajiit’s continuously flicking blades kept him far too busy. He knew he was outmatched, and cold fear rose up in his gut.

The highwayman slapped Jerric’s first real thrust away with his sword, swaying aside without moving his feet. His dagger hand was perfectly balanced for the lightening fast counterstrike, and Jerric saw it flash under his shield before he could think to move it. His mind exploded with white-hot pain.

The Khajiit’s dagger had slammed into his side low in the gap where the plates didn’t meet. Jerric’s breath left him, and he reeled with the pain. The highwayman yanked out his blade as he twisted behind Jerric, and he slashed through the unprotected back of Jerric’s thigh even as he whirled past.

Jerric went down heavily onto one knee, and when he couldn’t get back up he knew what the pain was telling him. He’s behind me, Jerric thought. I’m finished.

Then the Khajiit was in front of him again, and Jerric saw that he wanted to face him for the kill. “Now who is going to die over the horse?” he sneered. His jaws were open in a mocking grimace.

I have a chance as long as he wants to play, Jerric thought. Just one chance. “Hey, fur licker,” he wheezed, and that was the limit of his creativity. The second’s pause let him call his Nordic Frost up from deep inside.

“The prey should have stayed home with its mother!” howled the Khajiit. His sword slashed toward his head, and as Jerric ducked down and took the blow on his shield he reached out in a last desperate strike. His hand found the Khajiit’s leg. Frost boomed, and Jerric saw the dagger slice the air in front of his face as the Khajiit flew backward onto the grass beside the road. He followed his frost with lightning spells until he saw that the Khajiit was not going to rise.

Jerric put down his shield and held his side, bracing his other hand against the ground. He closed his eyes to concentrate and felt through the wounds with his magicka, then he healed himself. It took a few potions before he was able to get his leg under him again.

He glanced back to check on Flash, then he walked over and looked down at the Khajiit. His yellow eyes were open and his shallow breaths hissed rapidly through his teeth. Ice glittered over his leg and up his body, and the blood on his lips told of the damage inside. Usually folk were crying out or struggling at the end, and Jerric was fascinated by the ones who were calm.

Jerric picked up the Khajiit’s sword. He didn’t need Chillrend for this. He wondered what would pass through his own mind at the end, or if he would even know it was happening. This time the thought that it was over had come to him as a fact, but then his mind had filled with survival.

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

He went about the chores that come after a kill, pausing to empty his stomach onto the grass. Flash walked over when he whistled, and Jerric gave him a carrot and a long scratch on the withers under the saddle blanket. He adjusted Flash’s packs for the weight of his new salvage, and Flash held still when Jerric rested his face against the horse’s forehead. Jerric missed his team’s noise and camaraderie. He decided that being alone had given him too much time to think.


By afternoon they had reached the path to Gnoll’s Meeting Camp. Jerric had slinked out of there with Velwyn like a chastened puppy. That was no way to behave, he thought, even if your most recent acts had likely been vile or at the least disgusting. He gathered his courage and turned down the track.

Flash didn’t flinch when they passed the gallows with their decorative occupant, so Jerric led him down into the camp. He spotted Carmia tending the cook fire and watching the entrance. “I’m looking for a toothless, dirty woman. Have you got one?” he called out in a voice that carried.

Carmia let out her deep belly laugh. “If it’s Foul Festia you want, you’ll be disappointed, she’s moved on. She left word for you, though. She says you’ve ruined her for other men. She says when she sees you next, she’s going to ride like she’s late for market day.”

“Sweet Mara,” said Jerric. “I’ll settle for just a dirty one, then.” Carmia laughed again, and Jerric hugged her around her neck. She smelled of onions, and her breath could knock a mudcrab off a manure pile. With a woman like Carmia, you just had to keep her pointed in the right direction.

“It’s still early. You staying?” she asked.

“Not this time, I’m going to push on until I drop. I think I can make Kvatch by lunch tomorrow if the weather holds. Where’s Lavina? I brought something for her.”

Carmia called her daughter, and she came running barefoot over the dirt. “Jerric the Nord!” she shouted.

Jerric laughed. “I’m sure you’ve met more Nords by now, Lavina.”

Carmia snorted. “You’re The Nord, don’t you know. Not many pay her any mind, and no girls her age to play with.”

Jerric pulled the goods out of his day pack and knelt down. “The doll or the sling?” he asked her.

Lavina stood thinking. Her fingers pulled at her lip, and she looked back and forth between his hands. She started to reach for one, then she reached for the other. “The doll!” she finally decided, and Jerric handed both to her.

“Practice every day with your sling, and you’ll never go hungry,” he told her. “Yours is just like your brother’s, he can show you.” Lavina jumped up and hugged him, then she clutched the doll to her chest. “Any more loose teeth? Show me. Hanging by a thread, ugh. Say, that’s a nice doll. What’s her name?”

“Jerric,” Lavina announced proudly. “Jerric the Doll.”

Jerric shook his head. “All right then, now don’t cry when Jerric gets dirty, just take her to the stream and wash her.” Another squeeze from Lavina and she scampered off.

“You remembered her birthday.” Carmia was pleased.

“It’s in Heartfire, same as my Ma’s. I don’t remember yours though, so don’t get any ideas.”

“It’s First Seed the fourteenth,” she said, and she gave him a playful bump with her hip.

Jerric pointed to his face. “This is what I look like when I’m forgetting.”

Lason had ambled up with a sly grin on his face, and Jerric braced himself. The Redguard didn’t waste any time on preliminaries. “I never took you for a troll-humper, Jerric.”

Jerric gritted his teeth under his smile. “If she’s willing. Who’s your alchemist?”

“Sa-Teega, he’s off somewhere. What do you want?”

“Tell him he better have some pretty words ready when I meet him, or his name will be Eats-My-Fist. I left a trail all the way to Skingrad, and that’s not funny.”

“Hah! It sure sounded like you were having a good time, though.”

“Stendarr’s balls, I did not need to know that.”

“Who improved your looks for you?”

Jerric felt his wreck of a nose. “I wish I remembered so I could thank him. I have to go this time, but I’ll see you soon.”

Lason nodded at Flash. “Aren’t you going to introduce your new girlfriend?”

“Do not disparage my horse.”

Matilene had joined them, and she had some news for Jerric. “Rothmund came around asking about you. I guess you went for a walk and forgot to tell him.”

“Something like that. I was a guest of the Watch. Fetching Imperials, no sense of humor. No offense, Carmia.”

“None taken,” said Carmia.

Lason tapped his knuckles on Jerric’s iron plate. “Where’s your shiny suit? Looks like you’ve come down in the world.” He was enjoying himself.

“It needed some alterations. My stick keeps getting bigger.” He looked around and didn’t see any more of the camp’s residents. “Next time, Matilene.” He took a breath and hugged Carmia again, then he and Flash headed back to the road. He was sure that Carmia, Lason, and Matilene would tell the tale of his shameless return, and he could hold his head up on his next visit.

Foxy's always a good one for the combat stuff! As for the bed scenes, wehlll --

The tussle was well-written, especially the vomiting afterwards. Yup, that's the way it goes sometimes.

But I really loved Jerric's return to Gnoll's camp! No trolls this time?

Excellent battle with the bandit. Not simply because Jerric was out-matched, but especially so due to the drama you attached to it. You took what is often a very simple act in the game, and even simpler one in many fan-fictions, and gave it real emotional weight. As I said before, you are really coming into your own now. Bravo!

she’s going to ride like she’s late for market day.
Yowzers!

Likewise, Jerric's return to Gnoll’s Meeting Camp was a lot of fun! Very light-hearted and amusing after the grim battle.

Awesome Chapter !!! This has to go into my list of favorite chapters so far !!! My fave line:





Great Write !!!

1. EXCELLENT combat scene - you have been learning well! KUDOS!

2. mALX and others have already shown their (much deserved) appreciation of your writing skills so I will just add -


DITTO!!!




“It needed some alterations. My stick keeps getting bigger.”

And you, madam, are getting naughtier by the hour!!

I love that you don't overflow your story with combat. But by Mara, when you do grace us with a fight, it’s a damn heart-pounder!

I have a chance as long as he wants to play, Jerric thought. Just one chance.
This was both the magic moment and the Khajiit's fatal flaw.

The highwayman didn’t flinch when Jerric opened his neck. Jerric stepped back and waited for the life to drain out of him. He watched for the moment when the Khajiit left and the meat stayed behind, but he didn’t know it had happened until he heard the final breath rattle out. Jerric had been told what to believe, but he wondered what it was like to lie on the warm grass one moment and then be somewhere else entirely. He supposed that the dead Khajiit knew the answer now. He dropped the sword when he started shaking.
For this old paladin, the above passage struck chillingly close to home. I hope you will take that as a compliment to your skill.

*

The scene at Gnolls Meeting Camp was wonderful as well.

“It’s First Seed the fourteenth,” she said, and she gave him a playful bump with her hip.
Jerric pointed to his face. “This is what I look like when I’m forgetting.”
This interchange really showcases your talent at blending dialogue with supporting action. So delightfully natural and real.

haute ecole rider: No trolls at the camp this time, luckily, or he might have installed a lock on his belt and thrown away the key. I’m glad you enjoyed the visit. I appreciate your comment on the tussle, it seemed like this one would be spew-worthy. Thank you for your encouragement, it means a lot to me!!

SubRosa: I can thank Foxy’s guidance for the bandit drama, there were whole layers that I had forgotten to put in that scene above the who does what to whom. I had a lot of fun with the Gnoll’s Meeting section, I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’ve written some more for Abiene while I’ve been struggling with Kvatch, she’ll be back in Jerric’s story soon. Thank you, SubRosa!

mALX: I’m glad you enjoyed it, mALX! You say the sweetest things!!

D. Foxy: Your help is so valuable to me!! I know what goes on during a tea party, but the combat stuff keeps me guessing. Thank you so much, Foxy!! As far as the greaves alterations, I had to get a little naughty in before Kvatch. A whole chapter coming up without any lewd talk or crotch-grabbing. Sigh. It was hard for me.

Acadian: The whole point of the fight was to get to the passage you pointed out. It seemed like something that needed to be addressed. It means a lot to me to hear that it worked for you. Thank you so much for your support! I’m glad you enjoyed Gnoll’s Meeting. I didn’t think of the characters until after Jerric and Velwyn had left, so he had to go back to redeem both of us!



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 1


Worry tightened Jerric’s chest as he turned onto the steep Kvatch Road. Acrid smoke had scented the air all morning, and now he could see it. A strange cloud hung high over the city. Sudden storms often swept in and darkened the sky over Kvatch, but he could see that this was no thunderhead. Something was horribly wrong. He clicked his tongue to Flash and increased his pace.

As they turned a corner a wild-eyed Altmer nearly staggered into him. Jerric caught him and steadied him by the arms. "Come on!" the Altmer gasped into Jerric's face. "Run while there's still time! The Guard still holds the road, but it's only a matter of time before they're overwhelmed!"

"Calm, friend!" Jerric gave the mer a shake. "What are you saying?"

"Gods' blood, you don't know, do you? Daedra overran Kvatch last night! There were glowing portals outside the walls! Gates to Oblivion itself! There was a huge creature... something out of a nightmare... came right over the wall... blasting fire. They swarmed around it... killing... Kvatch is a smoking ruin! Everyone else is--"

Jerric let go of the mer and ran up the road. Cold fear gripped him. Every tree and rock that he passed should be welcoming him home, but this time he wasn’t looking. When he reached the wide level place between switchbacks, he found a crowd of people milling around there. Most of them wore night clothes, and many were barefoot. He realized that they had fled from the city.

Jerric dashed through the refugees, searching for beloved faces. There were so few people there, and all of them looked terrified or numb with shock. The children, he thought, where are all of the children? He spotted a familiar figure in a soiled blue gown. It was Sigrid from the Mages Guild. He ran to her, out of breath. "My family," he begged, "Have you seen them?"

Sigrid’s face was streaked with ash and tears. “They’re not here. No one else has come down from the barricade for hours, and I haven’t seen them.”

He braced his hands on his knees and struggled to catch his breath. He had to fight the air past the dread that froze his chest. When he stood Sigrid reached for him with trembling hands. She gripped him as if she thought they both might fall. “Sigrid, think,” he said. He couldn’t keep the panic out of his voice. “When the attack came, where would they go? They must still be in the city.”

"The thing came over the wall, and daedra flooded in through the city gate. Captain Matius got us out behind them. We’re all that's left." Her voice was rough with tears and smoke. “A few made it to the Chapel, and I heard Captain Matius say there are some trapped in the castle, but… They cut us down in the streets, Jerric. They burned us out. Everyone else is dead.” Her voice broke into sobs, and fresh grief flowed down her cheeks.

Jerric shook his head, unwilling to believe it. He dropped her hands and backed away from her. It isn’t real until my own eyes see it, he told himself. “My horse,” he said, pointing down the road. Then he turned and ran the rest of the way up to the city.

When he reached the Kvatch plateau Jerric slowed and stared in raw shock. Red clouds laced with lightning boiled above him, and the mid-day sky had turned to black night. Thunder cracked and rolled over a noise he couldn’t describe. Behind the city wall Kvatch was in flames. His mind recoiled from what he saw in front of the city gate. Great glistening black claws reached up from the ground forming an oval frame that dwarfed the city wall, and a vertical pool of fire swirled within it. The very air crackled with its power. He knew he was looking at the Gate to Oblivion.

Men’s shouts sounded like the cries of small birds under the noise. Jerric’s eyes went to a crude barricade between the road and the gate. He saw a group of soldiers gathered there. Their white surcoats told him that they were Kvatch City Guard. The shouts came from three who were engaged with a scamp and a small clannfear on the open ground in front of the gate. They finished the daedra and fell back to their cover as he watched.

Jerric ran to the guards who were sheltered behind the barricade. One of them turned and stalked toward him. He had lost his helmet, and a band of filthy cloth kept the sweat and blood out of his eyes. He gripped his sword in one hand and waved Jerric back with the other. “Get back to the encampment!" he called. "This is no place for you!" Jerric recognized him. It was Savlian Matius, Captain of the Kvatch Guard.

"My family!" shouted Jerric. He closed the distance to Matius. "They're still in the city!" The Gate’s roar was overwhelming.

"We can't get through with that Gate in the way!" yelled Matius.

Close shut the jaws of Oblivion. Jerric remembered the Emperor's words. "Close it!" He grabbed at Matius, frantic. "We have to close it!"

Matius shrugged him off. "I don't know how, but it must be possible from the other side." He pointed to black marks and ridges that scarred the area around the Gate. "Look there, the enemy closed the ones they opened during the initial attack."

Without a word Jerric sprinted through the barricade and across the violated ground. For a few strides he still heard Matius shouting behind him. One leap carried him through the Gate, and he landed with a jolt on a hill of cracked, blasted rock. Tumbled boulders loomed around him under a scorching red sky. He saw great black walls and tall gates below him, with huge spiked towers jutting up behind them in the distance. Seething rivers of lava sent ribbons of heat and fumes into the air. The Deadlands. Jerric stumbled a few paces, terrified. His packs were still on Flash, and he didn't even have his shield.

He forced the hot air into his lungs and turned to look back at the Gate. It looked the same as it had on the other side, and he couldn’t find any means to close it. The noise was different here, a low, powerful hum. He circled the Gate again, frantically searching for anything that he might have missed. His hope that he could somehow jump back through as it closed drained away, and cold fear flooded in after it.

In front of the Gate again, Jerric turned away to try to gather his thoughts. Now he noticed a charred figure twisted on the ground right at his feet. A long sword lay beside it. The person had been burned until he couldn’t even tell if it had been armored. The fire that haunted his worst nightmares flared to life in his mind. His heart raced, and he felt that the pitiless air was smothering him. His breath came in dry, shallow gasps. Panic tightened his muscles until he felt his arms couldn’t bend. He knelt and tried to bring himself back under control. Sweat ran into his eyes, and when he closed them he braced his shaking hands against the hot ground.

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

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

He heard a shout and a hooting whistle down the hill from his position. A Kvatch guard was running toward him, pursued by a clannfear and scamps. Jerric ran down the hill until he reached the guard, and the man turned beside him to fight. The ground where they met was open and level, and the enemy approaching them was familiar to Jerric. He began to forget his fear when he felt the first scamp’s muscle and bone split open under his blade. He decided to conserve his magicka, and the fight sent his blood singing through his veins. When the clannfear reached them it charged straight at Jerric. He had plenty of room to dodge and thrust his sword into its side behind the bony head frill as it passed. He finished it on the ground and looked for his next target.

The guard was the only thing left standing. Scamps lay in pieces around them, and their blood was splashed over Jerric’s armor. The stench from their spilled insides filled his mouth. Bile rose in his throat, but his tongue was too dry to spit it out. When he felt for his magicka, he silently thanked his stars that he had absorbed some of the scamps’ fire spells.

"Thank the Nine!" gasped the guard. "I never thought I'd see another friendly face." His voice cracked with strain. The man stood heaving with exhaustion and dripping with sweat. Blood and scorch marks stained his white surcoat, but Jerric decided that he moved well enough to go without healing.

Jerric noticed that he still had his day pack, and he got out a canteen and handed it to the guard. He knew that the one on his belt was already empty. “Water,” he said. “I’m Jerric.” Introducing himself made the situation seem more sane.

The guard drank and got his voice back. "I’m Ilend Vonius. Captain Matius sent us in to see if we could close the Gate." Jerric took just enough water to moisten his throat. He pulled Vonius over toward some rocks and crouched down for cover. "The others are dead, and Menien Goneld was captured," Vonius continued."I saw them take him into that tower. We should search for him, he might have learned something of this nightmare place."

“How do we get to the tower? Those gates are blocking the way.”

“We’ll have to go around, down there.” Vonius pointed to a black trail through the rugged terrain. “That’s how I got out. They closed the gates behind us when we were out there on the bridge. Most of us died in the ambush. I got away, and I saw where they took Menien.”

Jerric took a moment to think, his mind had not been clear since he first noticed the smoke. The Kvatch wolf on Vonius’ surcoat brought the burning city back before his eyes. He pushed away the panic for his family and focused on the situation before him. Akatosh guide me, he thought. I am not good with plans. “Go back through the Gate, Vonius," he said. "Tell Captain Matius what you know. If I don’t make it he can send someone else. I'll search for Goneld so we can shut the Gate." Jerric decided not to tell Vonius about Martin. If the priest was still alive he would just have to keep himself that way until Jauffre figured out that Jerric had failed.

Vonius nodded. Weariness and guilt filled his face. "I don't know how you’ll get home if you manage to close it," he said. “I was just trying to get away and go back through the Gate.”

"Tell Captain Matius to give me time to get to that tower. Don't let anyone else get stuck here."

A rumble came from above them. Vonius pushed Jerric to safety and jumped after him as rocks crashed down around them. One clipped the guard's knee, and now there would be no arguing. Jerric healed it only enough to let him stand.

"Take my shield," Vonius said. He gripped Jerric's shoulder in farewell and limped back to the gate. Jerric crouched on the rocky ground and watched him go. The noise hadn't drawn more enemies. Vonius passed through the Gate, and Jerric turned to look at the distant tower.

He had to let go of his fear so it couldn’t take him again. He made himself accept what he had known since he leaped through the Gate. His life would end here under the red sky. He could only hope for one thing at a time, and now it was to find Menien in that tower. But first he'd have a long run through the Deadlands to get there.

You have done a wonderful job describing Jerric's first impression of the Deadlands - the terror and the heat and the noise et. al.

The interaction with Vonius was well done, too. And now Jerric has his own Kvatch Wolf to carry! May he earn it!

Concerning your comment, it takes a lot to make me spew during tussles. Strong stomach and RL experience with blood and gore, you see. Believe me when I tell you there are worse things than blood and gore.

Jerric has come home at least. Thank goodness that brawl ended him up in prison. I wonder if he might have been in Kvatch during the attack if that had not happened? And thusly have been killed in the attack?

It isn’t real until my own eyes see it, he told himself.
This is absolutely perfect!

Jerric's reckless charge into the Oblivion Gate, with no preparations, show not only his youth, but his very real and believable desperation to rescue his family. Now I see has a new sword: The Kvatch Blade? Vengeance? Retribution? It will need a name to go with his new Kvatch Wolf.

A wonderful description of the blasted horror of the Deadlands. That Jerric looked for a way to close the gate from the other side of it made perfect sense. It always seemed strange to me that the gates would form so far away from the sigil stones. If the stones create them, they shouldn't they be right next to the gates?

This is absolutely the best, most realistic rendition of the chaos in Kvatch after the attack that I have ever read - much better than the Bethesda version even!!! I am in awe!!

You captured the burning, fear, fire and devastation wonderfully, both in your descriptions and the reactions of everyone Jerric encountered.

Jerric did not surprise me here. Impetuously leaping into that gate. I appreciate how he fully understands the danger. His hope was to flip a switch just inside the gate and jump back to the safety of Cyrodiil. He realizes now that whatever it takes to close the gate will place him too far away to escape before the gate closes. He reasonably assumes that he will not survive the closing. His willingness to continue speaks volumes about his nature - all good. Stones? Yup, Jerric's got a pair.

haute ecole rider: I wasn’t going to give him a shield, but he picked one up in the game. Sadly for the guy who dropped it. Still not sure if he’s going to get to keep it. Thank you for the encouraging words!

SubRosa: Yes, he would certainly have been there for the attack. It’s something he’ll have to deal with soon. Good idea for a sword name. Hmm. Thanks, SubRosa!

mALX: Thank you for the encouragement! It bugs me that in the game the camp doesn’t change after the quest, and the city stays burning.

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! I’m glad Jerric’s thinking and character came across. He’s taken kind of a big step to get here from the brews, babes, and brawling.

Folks: I find that the Kvatch part of the game is pretty gut-wrenching, I hope I haven’t been too heavy-handed with it. Your feedback and guidance is very much appreciated!!



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 2

Jerric stood on the ramp inside the great tower, catching his breath. A column of flame as wide as his body roared the whole way up through the open center, and its light seemed to somehow penetrate even the narrowest adjoining spaces. The sound had covered his noisy progress through the tower’s resident daedra, but its vibration shook his bones and the underlying hiss set his teeth on edge. His long sword dripped a trail of scamp blood as he walked cautiously up to the next level. The inner ramp seemed to always lead to series of separate corridors and chambers, then back onto a higher level of the ramp. He had followed one into the next moving ever upward in the tower. Looking up he could see there were several more levels yet above him. He reached the end of this level and opened the door, ready for a fight. The narrow, sloping hallway beyond appeared to be empty, so he jogged up in the near darkness to the door at the top. It opened from the center with a sound like tearing cartilage. The scamps in the large chamber beyond turned toward the noise.

They led him on a chase around the benches and pillars in the room, but they soon ended like the rest in pools of blood on the floor. Jerric rotated his tired right shoulder, then turned toward a new sound. Booted feet. He barely had time to wonder what this enemy would be before it stalked in through the open doorway.

An armored dremora carrying a mace in its hand. Jerric had seen conjured dremora, but never this close. Its long legs ate the distance between them. That thing is huge, he thought with rising concern. I’ll have to dodge and strike at its head. Or take off its hand. He backed around a bench and threw his frost spell at its chest, looking again for a weakness in the armor.

The frost didn’t slow it down much. “On your belly!” it howled at him. Its voice sounded like metal grinding on metal. It swung its mace across its body too low for Jerric to duck. He lunged backward and yelped as he lost his footing. Pain exploded in his head, and then confusion. He looked to the side and met the dead gaze of a scamp lying next to him on the floor.

“Shatter!” said the metal voice. Jerric groggily raised his head, remembering where he was. An armored boot entered his field of vision. The pain in his head doubled and his eyes went dark.

Jerric’s scalp felt like it might part from his skull. “Join my trophies, bloodsack!” the dremora roared from above and behind him. He realized that it was dragging him by his hair. He tried to bring his sword up and discovered that his hand was empty. With a flash of horror he remembered the torn corpses hanging on the posts around the room. Not all of the cruel hooks were yet occupied.

Panic took over, and he kicked out frantically with his legs. One foot slipped wetly over the floor, but the other caught on something. For an instant it slowed the dremora. Nordic Frost surged up inside him before he realized that he had called it. His groping hand found the dremora’s wrist, and the frost boom was followed by a crash and roar from the dremora.

Years of habit more than deliberate thought made Jerric summon his skeleton, and he belatedly hoped that his foggy mind got the spell right. He sent healing light at the roaring pain in his head and rolled over to get back into the fight. It looked like Slim was chopping away with his axe at something thrashing on the floor. Jerric’s eyes were clouded and burning, and he couldn’t see well enough to tell what was happening. He heard Slim’s victory rattle and the sound of the spell releasing him. The dremora stayed down. Jerric pushed himself up to his knees, sliding a little in the scamp’s blood. He couldn’t believe that Slim had finished the dremora.

When he tasted blood he guessed why he couldn’t see. He found the scalp wound with his magicka and closed it easily, but his blood still blinded him. He started wiping with his fingers, but that hardly helped. Neither did the cursing.

Eventually a trickling noise penetrated his thoughts, and he stilled himself. He could hear running water in the room. Thirst pushed its way quickly to the front of his thoughts, and he groped his way toward the sound. His hand dipped into a fountain, and his heart soared with relief. I’ll never take another little stream for granted, he thought, as he gulped down handfuls of liquid. He splashed some onto his face to clear his eyes.

A copper taste still filled his mouth, and all he could smell was blood. His eyes had become even more fogged. As he wiped them again this time with his cleaner hand, he felt powerful healing working inside him like a potion. Finally he could see that his palm was filled with blood. Disgust drove away his wonder. He had discovered a fountain, but it did not contain water. He spit and gagged for a moment until he brought himself back under control. Somehow this blood fountain had healing properties, he could feel it. He told himself that squeamishness and curiosity were luxuries he must put aside. He just needed to stay alive. He drank from the fountain and pretended it was something else to keep it down.

The pain slowly receded from his head as he examined the dead dremora. He found the weak points in its armor, but he doubted he had the skill to exploit them. It appeared that Slim had simply hacked at its unprotected face while it was still on the floor. The mace was some distance away, the dremora must have dropped it. Jerric couldn’t believe his luck. One solid hit with the dremora’s mace and his summoned skeleton would have been in pieces. He thought about summoning his scamp next time, but he wasn’t sure if he could control it here.

This dremora was nothing like the bandits in light armor he was used to fighting outdoors. He hadn’t even thought to keep his feet out of the blood that was already on the floor. He thought of the steep ramp in the center of the tower. He needed a plan in case he encountered this enemy where it could shove him over the rail. Slim’s method was ugly but effective, he decided. He would try to knock the dremora down with shock spells and then target their heads. And not fall over the railing. He picked up his sword and headed up the next corridor, still searching for Menien.

It seemed like hours later when he reached a dead end. The doors in front of him were locked, and he couldn’t find a way around them. He hadn’t found Menien Goneld, but any one of the shredded corpses he had passed could have been him. He still had no idea how to close the Gate. The last of his hope faded with a sickening lurch in his gut, and his will to go on went with it. The walls inside the tower looked like the shell of some giant crab or insect. Even shaking with exhaustion, he couldn't bear to lean against them. He knew he was in the right place, only one tower glowed at its top with baleful yellow light. He would have to turn back and search for something that he might have missed. He had to admit that for a time he had gotten lost. Despair crept into his heart, and he knew he had to fight it.

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

He moved back up the hall and opened another door, then he staggered in surprise. Red light blazed in from the Deadlands. He had discovered a door in the outside wall. It led to a bridge high in the air over the Deadlands to another tower. Jerric swayed and caught himself against the chitinous frame. Carefully he stepped out onto the narrow bridge. Scamps and clannfears went about their alien business below him, and he felt the hot urge to kill them all. He fixed his eyes on the bridge. One step at a time, he told himself. Don't look down. Balancing was tricky with the long sword in one hand and the Kvatch shield in the other, but he crossed more easily than he expected. The air out here was hot but still, and it he welcomed the quiet after the constant rumble and whine in the big tower.

He entered the smaller tower and found himself standing on a narrow ramp with no railing. The interior was simply one tall, open space lit from above by the red sky. A human corpse hung by its feet directly in front of him, stripped of its clothing and some of its flesh. He had no time to react to the sight, an armored dremora stood to his right on the ramp just above him. The dremora recovered from its surprise more quickly than he did. "You should not be here, mortal," it growled in a voice that threatened to turn his bowels to water. "Your blood is forfeit, and your flesh is mine!"

The dremora rushed him, lifting its mace. This is a bad place for a long sword, Jerric thought. He had no time for a shock spell. He dropped his sword and grabbed the dremora’s spiky left arm, falling quickly back into a squat. The dremora’s momentum made it easy for Jerric to yank it off balance. The mace clanked onto the ramp as he sent the dremora over the edge with his feet. It roared out its fury as it fell, and Jerric scrabbled wildly on the smooth ramp to keep from following it. So much for the plan, he thought.

A man's parched voice from above broke the sudden silence. “Up here! In the cage!”

New hope washed over Jerric. “Menien?” he called. He started up the ramp toward him.

"Yes! Have you got the key? You must get the Keeper's key -- it's the only way into the Sigil Keep!"

He spun around and ran back down the ramp. A key. Jerric’s hope swelled into elation. Hold on, he thought to his family. He searched the shattered Keeper until he found the gore covered key, then he ran back up to Menien, grinning with triumph.

Menien was imprisoned in a metal cage swinging over a platform at the top of the tower. Blood and filth streaked his bare skin. Jerric immediately started searching for some kind of lock. Menien knelt in the cage and looked down at Jerric. "Quickly, quickly! There's no time!" urged Menien. "You must get to the top of the large tower. The Sigil Keep, they call it. That's what keeps the Oblivion Gate open! Find the Sigil Stone. Remove it, and the Gate will close! Hurry!"

"You need healing. How do I get you out of this?" Jerric demanded. Hope had brought back fear for his family, and a renewed sense of urgency pushed him.

"Don't worry about me, there's no time!" Menien's knuckles were white under the blood. "Get moving!"

Jerric stared at him, appalled. Menien was badly bruised and torn, and Jerric could not imagine what torment he had already endured. "Look what they’ve done to you! I won't leave you here to die!"

"You will, son." Menien placed his hand over Jerric's on the metal bar, and his gray eyes burned in his broken face. His fingers dug into Jerric’s, and he spoke with calm intensity. "You have the key. You must do this."

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

Jerric made the impossible decision. He would take the stone first, and if somehow he survived he would return to Menien.

He pulled the dagger from his belt and handed it to Menien through the bars. No more words passed between them.

The entire Kvatch quest, including the battle for the Castle, is pretty heart-wrenching.

Leaving Menien behind like that was the worst thing for me as the player. How I really wanted to rescue him! You've captured that feeling very well.

Keep it up - you don't need to document the entire time in the Deadlands - only the high points. That's what I did way back in the beginning. You need only the emotional moments, such as the one with Menien.

Oh, and don't you hate it when one of those guards fall? On the one hand I say oh, goody, a light iron shield! I like it better than leather at low levels, though I much prefer the leather to mail armor. And how cool is it to carry a Kvatch Wolf? But on the other hand, I feel bad for the guard that died to give me that shield.

That is one of the worst places in the game, having to leave Menien caged to an almost certain death. Your rendition of Jerric's emotional dilemma was perfectly portrayed. Awesome Write !!!

The last paragraph....


I salute you, woman.

Kvatch is horrifically powerful and you rendered the full measure of bloody justice to it here!

'His long sword dripped a trail of scamp blood as he walked cautiously up to the next level.'
Scene-setting and evocative.

'Its long legs ate the distance between them.'
Wonderfully clever and effective!

'Jerric’s scalp felt like it might part from his skull. “Join my trophies, bloodsack!” the dremora roared from above and behind him. He realized that it was dragging him by his hair. He tried to bring his sword up and discovered that his hand was empty. With a flash of horror he remembered the torn corpses hanging on the posts around the room. Not all of the cruel hooks were yet occupied.'
You sure captured Jerric's terror here.

'He thought about summoning his scamp next time, but he wasn’t sure if he could control it here.'
What a perfect 'Jerric' thought!

'the three of them walking in his Ma's sunny garden. Right now he should be with them. Grief surged through him, and rage followed it.'
Just the right touch of home at the right time to make us remember what is at stake.

'Menien's courage was a balm to Jerric, but it was also an arrow through his heart.'
Magnificent.

Again, Grits, super well done here! The mood, feel, atmosphere, terror, pacing and choices you made in presenting this were great.

I loved this chapter. The first gate was near sickening with the unexpected gore. And I like Jerric's thoughts on whether he would be able to control his scamp in the plains of Oblivion. Excellent write ♥

A wonderful description of the interior of the tower, filled with the sights and sounds of Oblivion. You paint a very vivid picture. Also, by skipping over Jerric's trudge to the tower itself, you relieved us what would have quickly become tedious, and cut straight to the heart of the matter instead.

Phew! That was some encounter with that dremora! Once again Jerric's Nordic Frost saved him. With a little help from his friend Slim as well. I like that Jerric is an all-powerful god-slayer - as one so often sees in fantasy fiction - but is rather a man with vulnerabilities.

And a very wonderful introduction to the blood fountains! Lets face it, how many people would ever seriously try drinking out of a fountain made of blood in the first place, without knowing that they heal you? Aside from the vampires and serial killers, probably not many folks. But Jerric's natural thought that it was water led him to it perfectly. As did his willingness to override his revulsion once he learned not only what it was, but what it could do.

Especially good was Jerric's natural despair. Then his even more natural resolve to continue on after thinking of his family.

Plus a wrestling throw to kill the dremora! Now that was nice to see!

OK, back up-to-date now.

I must say, you wasted no time sending us into the depths of Oblivion! Fear can drive us to do crazy, often stupid things, and I'd say entering an Oblivion Gate with no weapon, armor, or even a simple waterskin is definitely up there. But with his family's lives on the line, how could it even be possible to blame Jerric?

Jerric's brief tussle with the Dremora was quite well done. Edge-of-the-seat reading at its finest, made ever that much better with the threat that HE was going to become one of the gruesome corpses you find hanging all over the Deadlands! Visc... SLEDGEHAMMER!!! (Sorry, inside joke)


Argh! The irony of the Blood Fountains. At least we know Jerric isn't a vampire now, and therefore requires no slayage.

Jim the Slim... he just loves it when you snap into him....

*Sees Slim staring*

Oh, come on, it's not THAT bad!

*Still staring*

haute ecole rider: The first time I played this quest I was too upset to even pick up a shield from the fallen Kvatch soldiers! Yikes. Thank you very much for the advice – I’m still re-working the castle part of the battle, figuring out what to include. I’ve written it and then dumped it twice, so it’s a real learning process.

mALX: I have to agree. I think leaving Menien was the lowest point for me. Thanks, mALX!

D. Foxy: That paragraph was the only one I didn’t have to re-work. Thank you, Foxy.

Acadian: Most of the lines you pointed out came went in on the last re-write. If I don’t think it’s ready, then it’s not ready – that’s the lesson that’s given me some confidence. Thank you so much for your guidance, Acadian!!

Jacki Dice: I’m glad you liked it, even though it did get bloodier than expected. Sorry, I should have warned you!! Scalp lacerations are an umbrella seller.

SubRosa: Thank you for your encouragement, SubRosa! That Nordic Frost is a life-saver at this level. I never used those once a day powers until Jerric, he almost dies a lot in the game. The throw was inspired by recent MMA viewing, I’ve been hanging out with Mr. Grits too much! I need to watch some cooking shows to rebalance.

Thomas Kaira: You’re right about the impulsive run into the Deadlands. He just couldn’t wait. Sorry, I should have made it more clear, Jerric did have the stuff that he carries on his person. I appreciaye your comments, TK!
Jim the Slim... he just loves it when you snap into him.... It seems that Slim does not approve of the word “snap”!



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 3

Jerric stood on a flat, metal ring at the top of the great tower. The pillar of fire terminated in a seething ball of flame in front of him. Or perhaps this marked its beginning, he thought. The small, round sigil stone hovered between metal spikes. It made a patch of malevolent darkness within the blaze. A part of him marveled that something so small could be the source of such power.

He reached out and clutched the shrieking stone in his arm before he could let himself think any more about it. The orange pillar of fire burst up and instantly engulfed him with a furious roar, and he closed his eyes against the blinding light. To his surprise, there was no pain. The ring tipped under him and then fell away from his feet. He felt nothing around him. No heat, no air, no vibration from the relentless howl that filled his ears. Not even a sense of falling, only noise. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, waiting for what would come. Hold on, he told himself. Hold on.

He felt ground under his feet again, and the cacophony faded away. The stone resonated against his chest with awful power. Cool air touched his face, bringing with it the sound of trees in a rising wind. Jerric opened his eyes.

The red clouds cleared over the Kvatch barricade, revealing the low, dark sky of a Gold Coast thunderstorm in the making. The grey light could have been dawn, dusk, or mid-day. Jerric stood in the remains of the Gate frame, swaying on his feet. Unbelievably, he had returned to Cyrodiil. Menien, he thought. I left him. The Kvatch Guards’ rough cheers were answered by the rumble of genuine Kvatch thunder.

He dropped to one knee and let the stone roll away from him. His raised hand released all of his healing magicka, knitting cracked bones and soothing the worst of his burns in seconds. He flexed his shield arm and took a deep breath. The smoke made him cough. I’m alive, he thought, but no joy came with it.

Captain Matius pulled Jerric to his feet and pounded him on the shoulder. "You closed the Gate! I can't believe you really did it! This is the perfect time to launch a counter attack. First we’re going to evacuate the chapel." Matius held Jerric by the arms and looked up at him, hope and determination shining in his face. "We've got to move quickly before they have a chance to barricade the city gate. You were in there for days, but I’ve no time to let you sleep. Are you with us?"

Days, that’s not possible, Jerric thought numbly. He met the captain’s eyes. "I'm with you." He couldn’t keep the exhaustion out of his voice.

The other guards gathered around them. Ilend Vonius passed him a canteen, and Jerric gratefully emptied it. The question on Vonius’ face sent sorrow though him, and he shook his head. He handed the Kvatch Wolf shield back to Vonius. “I need to get mine off my horse,” he said to Matius.

Matius turned to one of his men. “Go get it from Batul. Bring the others up from the encampment, and everyone left who can heal. Like we planned. Bring back something to clean him up a little.” He turned to Jerric. “Rest here while you can. Never stand when you can sit, lad. I’m afraid there’s nothing for you to eat.”

“I’m glad to hear it, if an orc has my horse.”

The crackling sound of the fire pulled at Jerric. He tried to listen to the wind instead. One thing at a time, just like in the Deadlands, he told himself. Do not run into the city by yourself. He stepped away from the broken Gate and sank gratefully onto the unspoiled ground. He lay back on the dirt with his knees up and closed his eyes against the flames still visible over the city wall. He decided to leave the long sword and carry Chillrend. He was not used to fighting in close quarters, and he thought he might be a dangerous ally for the guards.

It seemed like a single heartbeat later and Matius was shaking him awake. He sat up and saw the entire remaining Kvatch Guard squatting or kneeling in a circle that included him. Matius knelt at his side. He handed Jerric a damp cloth, and Jerric scrubbed his face with it. From the amount of filth that came off, he imagined he must have presented quite a sight. Matius spoke before he finished. “Jerric, you have more combat experience with this enemy than anyone here. I’d like you to tell us what you know,” he said.

Jerric was astonished. He looked around at the tense, attentive faces, too embarrassed to speak. Many of these men had hauled him off to the drunk tank more than once. Public intoxication and brawling weren’t serious crimes, but he knew his arrest record took up a significant amount of parchment at the prison. To be recognized on sight by most of the law enforcement in Cyrodiil’s second largest city was something of an accomplishment. In his long stint of self-indulgent behavior, he had never considered a scene like this. He scratched his fingers through his hair and cleared his throat. “You’ve fought scamps and clannfears out here, I can’t tell you anything more about those. I didn’t see the daedric army when I was in the Deadlands, do you think they’re still in the city?”

“No,” said Matius. “We saw many return through the smaller gates before they closed.” From the looks on their faces Jerric guessed that the tactics that had kept them alive were still not popular with most of the guards.

“The ones that look like men are dremora,” Jerric said. “All the ones I’ve fought carried maces. They’re huge and very strong. If you can, get behind the armored ones and cut through the backs of their knees. There’s a weak point there with no plating. Under the arm and the head are good targets if you can reach them, better yet try to get them down and finish them on the ground. I didn’t see any wearing helmets. Don’t try to block, dodge their strikes or they’ll break your bones. Watch out for those spikes on the armor, they can catch a blade and pull it right out of your hand. I guess the best thing against dremora armor might be a dremora mace, but I’m not skilled enough to pick one up and try it. What else?” Jerric thought for a moment. “The mages like to summon things, I saw mostly scamps. Get around them if you can and go for the spell slinger. They’re robed but they use shield magic, so don’t let the recoil surprise you. They can all cast destruction spells. Keep your shields up. Oh, shields. One fetcher I fought had a shield, but he was even slower than I am. I managed to get behind him. Back of the knees, down he went. Their necks aren’t much harder to cut through than ours are. Don’t get hit, that’s the main thing. But I guess you didn’t need me to tell you that.” Just talking had made Jerric tired, and he began to doubt how effective he’d be in the upcoming fight.

The guards nodded and exchanged comments. “What about the archers?” asked an Altmer.

Jerric shook his head. “I don’t know anything about their archers. Oh, use your shock spells if you’ve got them. If I summon anything it’ll be a skeleton, so let him do his work.”

“What about the flame atronachs? There were a lot of those in the attack.”

“Uh, I didn’t see any in the Deadlands. Let me think.” Jerric searched his memory. “Well, they don’t carry weapons but they can burn you with fireballs and with their touch. Don’t bother using fire against them. Use your frost or lightening spells, I think frost is best.” Jerric looked around and guessed that none of them had been trained in destruction magic. He addressed Captain Matius. “I don’t know how to fight with a unit. If we come up against flame atronachs or dremora mages, maybe I could go after them. If that’s all right.”

“I’ll send you out when I see an appropriate target. Remember, we have archers too. Don’t get in their line of fire. Is there anything else?"

“No, sir.”

Matius still spoke directly to Jerric, and he realized that the soldiers already had their orders. “We’ve determined that Chapel Plaza is completely cut off at Guild Square and Market Street. The steeple has fallen, cutting off access to Pinder Court and the castle. The south and west chapel doors look accessible. We’ll clear the south side of the plaza and regroup on the chapel steps. On my order we’ll enter the chapel and finalize the evacuation plan once inside. Today we take back our city! Archers on Merandil. Jerric, you’re with me. Take your positions inside the gate. We’ll move on my signal.” Jerric compared his own rambling discourse to Captain Matius’ crisp delivery, and he recognized that much more than age separated the two of them. The guards began to move, and Matius held Jerric with his eyes. “It’s far worse in there than you’re thinking, lad. We’ll look for them in the chapel first. I can’t have you running out into the city. Your best option is to stick with us.”

“I understand,” Jerric said. It was the same thing he had been telling himself.

Jerric followed the soldiers through the city gate and got into place beside Captain Matius. The houses along the city wall lay in ruins. The guild halls were split in half but still standing with the interiors exposed. Wind-whipped fire raged all around them. He should be able to look west through Guild Court straight down his street, but flames and wreckage obscured his view. The great trees were burned to blackened stalks. He could see the steeple where it had fallen straight ahead across the chapel plaza. Jerric forced himself to look away from the torn figures that lay scattered on the ground, and focus on the enemy. Scamps, mostly. The men of the Kvatch Guard were energized by the chance to finally strike back, but Jerric felt the magnitude of the devastation overwhelming him.

Captain Matius gave the signal, and Chillrend sang into Jerric's hand. "For Kvatch!" Matius cried, and Jerric’s voice sounded among the guards’ furious reply. They swept into the plaza, spreading out in a line. The guards in front engaged the scamps, and when Jerric heard the twang of bowstrings he knew the archers had started their work. His eyes searched the ruins for dark robed figures.

The light from a summons spell shone behind a shattered wall, and a scamp darted out. Jerric’s eyes picked out the shape of a dremora mage in the shadows. “There!” he called to Matius, and pointed with his sword.

“Go!” Matius shouted, and Jerric’s legs forgot their exhaustion. He added his voice to the frost he hurled at the mage, and he lost himself for a moment in the surge of anger it brought him. The dremora’s shock spell sank into Jerric’s body, and he shouted defiance as he felt the magicka join his own. Jerric’s frost spells thundered over the sound of the fire until he got close enough to use his sword.

Jerric kept his weight low and balanced as he closed with the dremora. “Break and fall!” it screamed at him, and Jerric dodged its strike. The mace barely skimmed over his shield. He stepped back into place and thrust Chillrend up through the dremora’s abdomen, trying to puncture a lung. The impact jolted his shoulder. He twisted his wrist and howled as he pulled the sword back out. The mage staggered and reached its hand out toward Jerric as he stepped back. He bashed the hand aside with his shield and drove Chillrend back into the mage’s chest. His hand slipped on the wet grip, and he used his shield to help shove the dremora to the ground. He voiced his fury again as he slammed his heel down into the dremora’s throat. It didn’t move. Jerric felt his arms start to shake, and he knew he had to pull himself together. This is only the beginning, he told himself. He quickly dried his hand and the sword hilt on the black robe before he pulled Chillrend out of the dremora’s chest. Dammit, he thought. I was supposed to use shock spells.

Shouts reached his ears, and he looked over toward the sound. Captain Matius stood in front of the chapel waving him in. Jerric glanced around and saw that he was among the last to rejoin the group. As he jogged over, his thighs started trembling with fatigue.

Jerric climbed the chapel steps until he stood below the guards. He looked up and saw Ilend Vonius, sweaty and blood-spattered. Righteous anger blazed in his face like a terrible light. Jerric stopped and turned beside him. He felt the weight of the Imperial’s hand on his shoulder as they looked back over the ruined courtyard. Smoke and flames were the only things moving. There was nothing left alive.