Hi all,
To continue my story, I decided to break it up in more manageable chunks. The 200 post limit seems to be a reasonable number.
You can see Chapters 1-7 http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4423&st=0
Now begins Chapter 8.
Back on the road again, Julian catches up with a friend, and makes another, among the Legion riders. Riding along the Blue Road under the full moons is special. I hope I’ve managed to convey that feeling to all my readers.
This post is a little longer than my self-imposed limit, but it was hard to edit a much longer interlude down into something that was more manageable for the forums and still had the important stuff.
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Chapter 8.1 Bandits and Riders
Paint was eager to go. He chose to gallop around the Red Ring Road, only slowing down when we caught up to Marc Atellus between Sercen and Red Roxey Inn. Blowing and bouncing as he slowed down to match the Legion horse’s slow amble, Paint whickered at the other horse.
“Hello, Julian!” Atellus greeted me heartily. He slapped his left thigh. “Thanks to you, all healed now!”
“Good,” I mirrored his grin as I tried to catch my breath. “I’m glad to see you again, Atellus.”
“In these dark times, friends are more valuable than treasure,” the Legion rider commented as the two horses continued down the road at an easy pace. “Your horse looks well-rested this afternoon.”
“He should be, sir,” I responded, slapping the brown-and-white neck fondly. “He’s been loafing for the past two days, since I saw you last. He just galloped all the way from Weye.”
Atellus’s brows lifted beneath his helm. “All that way?” he whistled. “Paint must be feeling really good today!” He laughed as Paint tossed his head and bounced twice, as if in agreement. The Legion bay pinned his ears briefly at Paint, who subsided and became sedate again. “Shush, Bucky,” Atellus chided his mount quietly, with amusement in his voice. “Our horses may seem lazy,” he admitted to me, “but it’s because they go all day and all night, with little time for rest. They’re smart enough to conserve their energy.”
“I’ve noticed, sir,” I responded. “It’s a good thing when you have to ride long hours.”
“So, Julian, where are you and Paint headed on this fine afternoon?” Atellus asked.
“Cheydinhal, sir,” I answered. Ahead, in the shadows thrown by the westering sun, I saw a shabby little inn off to the north of the road, tucked beneath high mountains.
“That’s Roxey Inn,” Atellus pointed at it. “And we’re near the end of my patrol. You’ll run into Marius Tarquinius between here and Wellspring Cave, just past the Blue Road. Caelius Drusus patrols the Blue Road. He’s the youngest of us, and has never served in the provinces.”
“Is he the least experienced, sir?” I asked.
“Humph,” Atellus shook his head. “Actually, Drusus has done nothing but patrol,” he responded. “Started out as a forester, so he’s a pretty tough character.” He looked hard at me. “I mention him because he’s likely the least prejudiced of all of us riders.”
“Against Redguards, you mean, sir?” I asked, thinking of Adrian Remus, the rider I had encountered east of Skingrad. He had been cool, even suspicious, toward me, though he had maintained a professional demeanor. Atellus nodded, a little ruefully.
“And Dunmer,” he added. “That’s why he’s assigned to the Cheydinhal patrol route. That city’s half Dunmer as it is. He gets along very well with everyone there.” Atellus halted Bucky and threw me a half salute before turning the bay back westward. “Farewell, Julian!”
“Thanks for the company, sir,” I said. “Stay safe,” I called to his departing back. “And watch out for marauder archers!” His guffaw trailed behind him. Paint resumed his slow walk. Patting his neck again, I found it cool. “Out of energy, Paint?” I asked him. He tossed his head and bounced once, but resumed his walk immediately.
The night settled around as we turned onto the cobblestones of the Blue Road. The highway climbed steeply to the top of a ridge, and Paint marched resolutely up the slope. Near the top of the hill, I spotted the ruins of an old farmstead to the right of the road. When I saw movement within the ruins, I stopped Paint near an oak tree about twenty meters away. After I dismounted, I limped forward, the Kvatch Wolf in my left hand, my right hand near the hilt of my katana.
Two shadows detached themselves from the ruin, one carrying a hammer, the other a shortsword. They separated as they drew near. I recognized the tactic from my years in the service. They intended to attack me from opposite sides. I hobbled toward the swordsman, barely recognizable as a Redguard in the darkness, and ducked his blade, circling to get him between me and the hammer-wielding Khajiit. My katana picked up the starlight along its slender blade. My buckler blocked the sword strike from the Redguard, and I shoved him back into the Khajiit, sending both of them staggering.
Before the swordsman could recover, I brought the edge of my shield down on his sword arm, feeling the bones snap beneath the metal disc. With a groan, he hunched over his broken arm. In spite of his greater weight, I managed to knock him aside in time to backhand my katana against the man-feline. The tip of my blade sliced through the other’s upraised right arm.
The Khajiit spat as my blade caught on the edge of his leather cuirass. He pulled back, freeing my katana, and raised his hammer again with more difficulty. My sword slipped beneath his chin, twisting through his throat and tearing it out sideways.
As he fell back, a shout reminded me of the Redguard with the broken arm. As I hopped to my right and spun around to face him, I saw that a Legion rider had already engaged the bandit. Awkward with the sword in his left hand, the Redguard was no match for a fresh fighter, and a heavily armored one at that.
Kneeling stiffly to wipe my bloodied blade on the Khajiit’s sackcloth pants, I sheathed it as the rider strode up to me, his own weapon put away. “Caelius Drusus?” I asked, aware of his assessing gaze and the way his eyes lingered on the Kvatch Wolf in my left hand.
“Yes,” he answered, “and you must be Julian.”
“I see you’ve heard about me already,” I muttered. “Thanks for your help, sir.”
“Yes, I have heard about you,” Drusus remarked, amused. “Are you unhurt, I hope?”
“I’m fine, sir,” I answered. “Tired of battling bandits and marauders, though.”
“Well, if you’re going to Cheydinhal,” Drusus remarked, lighting the torch, “you’ll probably run into another bandit ambush about half a kilometer west of the city gates.” The torchlight illuminated the youth in the other’s face, as well as the experience in his level gaze. He shrugged. “They are never around when I ride by, but travelers have come to grief there. They’ve been particularly -” he paused, “bothersome lately.”
“Well, I’ll see when I get there, sir,” I commented. I turned back to look for Paint. “I left my horse back a ways.”
“I did, too,” Drusus admitted. “Tell you what, I’m weary of hearing about those invisible bandits. They’ll likely ambush you - with that white hair of yours they’ll think you’re easy game. I’ve got to ride on down to Fort Urasek,” he indicated the ruined fort on the lakeshore, past the end of the Blue Road, “then come back toward Cheydinhal. If you wait for me, maybe we can take care of those bandits once and for all.”
“All right,” I said. “I’ll travel slow until you catch up to me.”
“Travel real slow,” his tone was dry. I couldn’t help smiling at his irony.
Masser and Secunda were just rising over the eastern horizon when Paint and I passed the ruined farmstead. He was all too happy to remain at a slow amble for now. The road floated along the shoulder of the foothills to the north, the lofty Jeralls just visible beyond. To the south, on my right, the land dropped away into an expansive plain, dotted with groves, small lakes, and a single Ayleid ruin.
I spotted an overgrown gateway and a faint dirt path heading north into the foothills just past the farmstead. Briefly I wondered what lay at the end of that path.
Deer spooked at us and ran off, quick shadows highlighted by the white undersides of their tails. A grey ghost paced us from the side of the road, but veered off when Paint turned his head and looked directly at him without faltering in his stride. That wolf’s not hungry tonight. Bet those bandits up ahead are. I followed the wraithlike form with my gaze as the canine ran up a bank to the shore of a highland lake, just north of the road, its waterfall argent in the growing moonlight.
Ahead, the trees became thicker as the road began to rise into the foothills of the Valus Mountains to the east. A crenellated silhouette of a wall nearly blended into the treetops, only the right angles along the top of the barrier giving away its manmade origins. I slowed Paint even more and waited until I could hear the clopping of Drusus’s mount behind us. At the bottom of the slope, I stopped and dismounted from Paint. As I limped forward, I strained my eyes into the shadows on either side of the road, where thick trees and boulders crowded close.
Perfect place for an ambush. No wonder Drusus never saw anyone here - plenty of places to hide close to the road. Shaking my shield into my left hand, I drew my katana. A bird whistle - birdcalls in the middle of the night? - prompted me to raise my buckler as the thwap! of a snapping bowstring followed. The broadhead arrow smacked into the light iron, staggering me to the right. Booted footsteps on my right drew my head and katana around in time to catch the wrist of a mace-wielding woman. I kept my shield to the north side of the road, where I knew the bowman hid, and elbowed the female Redguard hard, freeing my blade from the bones of her wrist and kicking her legs from beneath her.
Drusus’s footfalls and clanking armor reached me. Still focused on the Redguard woman at my feet, I shouted at him, “Archer, in the trees on the left!” Drusus changed direction, and his footfalls went silent as he left the cobblestones of the road.
The woman regained her feet with an agility that surprised even me. She proved to be ambidextrous, just as adept with the mace in her left hand as in her right. She charged me, and before I could back away, she was inside my guard and swinging that mace low. The heavy iron head smashed into my right hip. With a groan, I danced left, chopping downwards with my katana to catch her left elbow. The blade bit into bone before skittering away, tearing muscle and tendon with it.
Effectively neutralized, the bandit dropped back, her mace striking sparks as it landed on the cobblestones and rolled away. Shouts in the trees across the road told me that Drusus had found the archer. Lifting the tip of my blade, I pointed it at the Redguard’s throat. “Are there more of you?” I demanded.
Her jaw clenched in defiance, the bandit used her right forearm to knock my katana away. Her left foot came up and slammed me in my belly, knocking the wind out of me. I managed to recover before she could follow through, and stabbed the katana into her lower abdomen. As I sliced the tip of my blade sideways, I heard her gasp, and stepped back as she shuddered to the cobblestones, blood appearing black beneath her body in the moonlight.
Short of breath, I looked around as the shouting fell into immense silence. Turning towards the trees where Drusus had disappeared, I limped across the road, my right hip stabbing with each step. The Legion rider reappeared out of the forest, sheathing his sword. A couple of arrows protruded from his chest plate, a couple more in his shield.
“There,” he said, catching his breath, and walking up to me. He yanked the two arrows out of his armor and looked at me, “That went rather well, I may say so.” His gaze sharpened on my face. “Are you hurt, Julian?”
“Ach,” I groaned as my hip twinged. “She managed to hit me once or twice, sir.” Together, we pulled the bandit’s body off the road, placing the corpse behind a clump of azaleas. I turned down the slope and started limping back to the horses. “It’ll heal,” I added, casting my healing as I spoke.
“I see Atellus is right,” Drusus said, an approving note in his voice. “You do know how to fight.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think I’m as good as I used to be, sir,” I answered. “It’s been a while.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll come back,” Drusus assured me as we reached the horses. My hip protested at the thought of mounting up, so I picked up Paint’s rein and started trudging for Cheydinhal. Drusus fell into step beside me, his bay trailing behind.
“I do hope I get it back, sir,” I muttered. “It would seem my work is far from done.”
“There are days when it seems like it never ends, huh?” Drusus commented. I nodded at the wisdom of his words. He may be young, as Atellus said, but experienced beyond his years. At the top of the slope, the closed gates of Cheydinhal visible less than a hundred meters away, Drusus stopped and mounted his mare.
“Thanks for your help, Julian.” He pointed out the stables to the left of the road. “There’s Black Waterside Stables. If you leave your horse in the corral, they’ll take care of him. You can pay them later.” He considered me a moment longer. “Get a bed at the Newlands Lodge. The innkeeper is a Dunmer, but it’s warm, cheap and comfortable. You’ll do well to stay there. There is the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn, but it’s more expensive.”
“All right, Drusus, thanks,” I said, leading Paint towards the stable corral. “I’ll see you again, sir.”
This was one of my favorite chapters before, and I still love it - but one of my all time favorites is coming up in the lodge!!!
Just caught up with chapters 7.4 - 8.1
Congratulations on starting a new thread here! Best wishes as you continue forward.
I enjoy travelling with Julian. I particularly like the intimacy that can be provided when you embrace the first person POV as you have so effectively done. I also continue to enjoy the personna that you bring to Paint. Well done!
Good chapter
The bandits will be avoiding her at this rate - if there's any left.
Again it's nice to see characters from earlier in the story popping up again, it gives a sense of a three dimensional living world. I can't wait to see how you deal with Chedinhal, it's a great city.
Only one nit:
“Are you unhurt, I hope?” -- it might be an accent thing but this read strangely to me. Either 'I hope you are unhurt' or 'You are unhurt, I hope' would seem more normal, to me at least.
Ahh, it is Marc again. Always good to see an old face. And Tarquinius? Would he be the last king of Wellspring Cave (before Brutus overthrows him of course)? Seriously though, I like that you are using ancient Roman names for all of them, it brings a sense of overall cohesion to the setting.
with that white hair of yours they’ll think you’re easy game.
Obviously those bandits have never met Elric of Melnibone... ![]()
The road floated along the shoulder of the foothills
This is a particularly lovely description.
So Julian will be spending the night at the Newlands Lodge? I wonder if she will bump into a red-haired Bosmer there?
nits:
“Started out as a forester, so he’s a pretty tough honoured user.”
Looks like the board got you. Somehow I think Marc intended to make a comment about the legitimacy of Drusus' parentage...
In spite of his greater weight, I managed to knock him aside in time to backhand my katana against the man-feline.
man-feline sounds a little odd. I know that Bethesda has not given us many terms to use for Khajiit and Argonians, but perhaps saying just feline , or cat, would flow smoother. Or even just a more generic bandit or outlaw.
The battles were picture perfect in description. I can see how you have really gone over them and tweaked the writing to perfection. However, one thing I am seeing is that you are portraying the bandits exactly as they are in the game. That is to say with a total disregard for their own lives. It makes sense that religious fanatics like the Mythic Dawn would be suicidal. Same with undead and perhaps some monsters. But simple outlaws? Showing bandits fleeing after being disabled would be much more believable behavior, imho. It all comes down to how you want to write the story, more like the game, or more like reality. I think that in many respects you want it more like reality, which is the only reason I bring it up.
And here we go to part two! I for one am not parting with you...
...I may not post after every chapter, but rest assured I am still reading along!
Starting a new thread after 200, eh? Yet another idea of yours that I am going to have to steal!
Like I told you the first time I read this chapter, I like the way that you deal with bigotry in Cyrodiil. One of my biggest pet peeves is the way that people mistake bigotry for racism. Adrian Remus east of Skingrad is not a racist, he is a bigot. If he had the power to keep Julian from joining the Legion in the first place, that would make him a racist.
I can see the attention to detail that you have been paying to the fight sequences. Your battle scenes are some of the finest I have read. The only minor thing that I will say to you by way of critique is to be careful that you don’t lose the suspense that I remember from reading it before. Julian’s fights are never easy, but not since she was in Oblivion fighting Dremora did I have the feeling that she could actually lose. I know part of that is her returning strength and skill, another part of it is the level of opponent that she has been facing of late. Still another part is that I am reading this (and enjoying it) for the second time. I am sure that you have something planned for later in the story, and I for one can’t wait to read the part where Julian is clearly over her head in a violent situation, and how she survives it.
@mALX: So the lodge scene is one of your favorites? Wait until she comes back to the lodge! I know you haven't read that part yet, since it has not yet been posted on the other forum.
@Acadian: Thanks for the continued support! I'll start posting new material next week that no one has read yet, so be sure to check in once a week at least!
@Olen: Good call on the remark by Drusus. I'll rethink that one and fix it later. I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. At this point in the story, Julian doesn't spend much time in Cheydinhal, but she will eventually come to love it as much as I do, dichotomy and all. However, Anvil remains our favorite.
@SubRosa: I hope you like how I portrayed Romalen here. She is one of my favorite NPC's in Cheydinhal. Darn the censor! Drusus meant it as a sign of respect. As for the description of the Khajiit, I struggled with that one. Cat-man? Man-cat? Feline-man? I wanted to indicate that though Khajiiti and Argonians may be descended from cats and lizards respectively, they are as - well, human as men and mer, and therefore just as deserving of respect and courtesy, at least from Julian's POV. And thanks for the reminder about the bandits. I'll keep it in mind as we go along.
@Foxy: As long as you let me know when I screw up my combat scenes, that's all I ask from my vulpine friend. I know I don't have to ask for innuendos from you!
@Destri: Bigotry is way more prevalent than racism in real life, and a lot harder to combat. No, Remus isn't racist, just a bigot. And he's quite perlite about it, too. Thanks for the comments on my combat scenes. Julian will get banged up and beaten down a few more times before the end of the Main Quest. I will keep that in mind, though. She does meet bigger and badder foes as the story goes on. However, it's not the foes she's scared of, it's the rookies she has to fight with that scare her. You'll see . . .
Now I'm getting to the part of the story that some of you missed over on the Unnamed Forum. Basically interest in it there has been dead in the water, so I'm unlikely to continue it there. I hope that all of you reading here will continue to find this a good read.
And today is an absolutely gorgeous day, so I'm taking my mother to the Morton Arboretum (outside Chicago) for a picnic lunch and a walk among the trees. She hasn't been there since she had her picture taken with her dad when she was thirteen. He passed away the next year. I've never been.
In this next chapter, Julian finally has a chance to rest and recuperate.
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Chapter 8.2 Searching for Enlightenment
After settling Paint in for the night, I limped up to the closed gates of the city. A lone guard stood outside, his mailed armor covered by a surcoat. Entwined green vines on an ochre background covered the front of his surcoat and marked his shield.
“Out late, traveler,” he greeted me.
“Yes, sir, and I’m tired,” I answered, hearing the persistent pain in my voice. “I’d like to head in and find a bed.”
“Of course,” he said, knocking a rhythm on the heavy wooden panel with his gauntleted fist. The thick timbers rattled as the crossbar on the other side thumped out of place. The gate creaked open, and another guard peered out. “A traveler,” the first soldier said. The other stepped back to let me in.
As I turned to help him close the heavy gate, his eye fell on the Wolf on my left arm. “Hey, you’re the Hero of Kvatch, aren’t you?” he exclaimed, his gaze moving from the shield to my face. “The one that closed the Oblivion Gate and saved the city?”
“It was too late to save the city,” I answered, too weary to shush him. May as well get used to it. The gate closed behind me, I regarded the quiet street before me. Two half-timbered structures stood near the gate, directly across from each other. Cheydinhal Bridge Inn, the sign on the right said. The Newlands Lodge stood opposite, on my left. With a good-night nod at the guard, I limped toward the inn on the left.
Its diamond paned windows gleamed golden in the late night. The moonlight shone on the pale river stones that made up its foundation and ground floor walls. The upper level, half-timbered in elaborate patterns, rose to a steep-pitched shale roof. Four stone steps, rounded to match the contour of the corner tower, led to the reinforced wooden door in the base.
Smoky darkness welcomed me within, the common room just a little warm for my comfort. Grouped around a couple of small tables, five or six Orsimeri dwarfed their seats as they hunched together, murmuring between themselves. They gave me an assessing gaze as I looked past them to another room, where I saw the bar and the proprietor. As I limped by their table, I returned the gaze of each Orc without pausing long on any one visage.
At the bar, I set my pack and shield down and selected a stool, adjusting the katana at my hip so I could grab it if needed. The hard stares of those Orcs did not sit well with me.
“Hello,” the Dunmer woman behind the bar greeted me, setting a clay goblet before me. “Welcome to the Newlands Lodge. I’m Dervera Romalen, proprietor. What’s your pleasure, muthsera?”
“I’m Julian, from Anvil,” I answered. “Water, and some hot food, please, muthsera.”
“Did you run into those bandits in the valley west of here?” Romalen met my gaze. Looking down at my hands, I saw the blood stains on my right wrist and on the front of my leather.
“They won’t be a problem any more,” I said, scrubbing my right hand on my greaves. Romalen dipped a clean rag in a bucket of water beside the bar, wrung it out, and handed it to me wordlessly. “Thanks,” I said, wiping the blood from my hands, then my cuirass. “So I’m tired, I’m hurting, and I want a place to sleep tonight. Drusus told me this was a good place for it.”
“Of course,” Romalen smiled at the compliment, placing a bowl of stew in front of me. “This is a Dark Elf bar. Cursing, spitting, and screaming? No problem. Fighting’s fine with me, too, only the Guard objects. They’ll fine you or lock you up.” She shrugged. “Not my call. But I’m glad Drusus put in a good word. You’d think he’d prefer the other place, being Imperial and all.”
“He said you’re a good value for the price,” I answered. “I think the other place would have a problem with me walking in covered with blood.”
“None of it’s yours, I hope,” Romalen commented as she watched me eat. I shook my head, my mouth full of food. A shout from the other room caused her to scowl. “Give me a moment,” she said to me. She filled a large clay pitcher with mead from the huge cask behind her and headed out into the front room. Those Orsimeri called for refills. Romalen returned with an empty pitcher after a moment. “I have a bed available upstairs,” she continued, returning behind the bar. “It’s ten drakes for the night.”
Pulling out a ten-drake piece, I laid three single drakes next to it. “I’ll take the bed, and this is for the food. It was quite delicious, muthsera.” I finished the last of it for emphasis.
“Thanks,” Romalen smiled at me as she collected the gold. “Sleep well tonight, then. Hopefully that hip will be better in the morning. The room is upstairs, first door on the left.”
“Good night, muthsera,” I said, picking up my pack and shield. Stiffly, I regained my feet and limped toward the stairs in the front room. One of the Orsimeri rose to his feet and stood before me, his bulk effectively blocking my way. I met his black gaze, watchful for trouble. He was quite a few inches taller than me, and easily twice my weight. Be careful. Your hip and knee will only slow you down. I said nothing, but waited, aware of the other Orcs watching me.
“Gro-Gharz!” Romalen’s voice cracked from the back room. “Better stand aside and let her be!”
“I thought she didn’t mind fighting,” I heard myself say quietly to this green mountain of a mer. He chuckled at my comment and stepped back to let me by.
“Nah,” he replied, amusement in his voice. “But she minds the Guard busting in here.”
“Good night, then,” I nodded at him, extending the courtesy to the rest of his group. They grumbled a chorus in reply as I headed for the stairs.
Going up the stairs hurt, really hurt. Straining not to wince from the pain, I made myself climb the wooden steps. Aware of the Orsimeri’s continued regard of me, I couldn’t convince myself that they wouldn’t take advantage of me if I showed any weakness. Something about these Orcs bothered me, something lacking from other Orsimeri I had met in the past.
The room Romalen had assigned me was plain, but roomy, with a wide bed and a dresser. It didn’t take me long to strip down to my undergarments. After I cleaned my cuirass and greaves, I mended the small tears here and there. A study of the Kvatch Wolf, revealed numerous dents in its painted surface and the crimping around the edge where I had used it to deliver blows. Too late to use the hammer - I’ll have to do this in the morning. I felt too full from dinner to lay down, so I pulled out Brother Piner’s book.
I read the second chapter, which summarized the apparently catastrophic events that led to the formation of the western provinces, including Sentinel. The struggle to make out the words made me even more tired. The text too blurry to continue reading, I put the book back in my pack. After a couple of healing spells, I scooted beneath the covers, pulled the blanket over my shoulder, and closed my eyes.
Bright sunlight poured in through the small window above my bed and roused me. As I pulled on my leathers, I noted that my hip didn’t hurt at all today, and my knee felt just a little achy. Every day, it throbbed after hours of walking and standing on it, but fortunately the pain subsided every night with some rest. Wishing it would subside all the way into nothing, I reminded myself that at least it was not getting worse.
Downstairs in the back room, Romalen was already up and cooking. She set a cup of klah in front of me. From my pack, I drew out my map and the little purple books, looking for more clues. Much of it did not make sense, speaking of places and beings I did not recognize, strange combinations of words, odd syntax. Red-drink. Blood? King Maztiak. Someone who had his carcass dragged through the streets? Mnemoli. Traitors? Traitors to what? Lord Dagon? That could mean most of us mortals. I found the words somewhat disturbing in their denseness.
Toward the end of the third book, a phrase jumped out at me: Starlight is your mantle, brother. Wear it to see by and add its light to Paradise. It was about the only thing in the entire series that made some sort of rudimentary sense to me. Starlight. Where I need to go, it will be dark, and I must go humbly. Only then can I draw near the heart of the matter - the Amulet of Kings.
As I considered the implications of my thoughts, I sighed to myself. Leaving my weapons behind rubbed against my grain as a soldier - just having them on me made me feel less vulnerable. That is the whole point of entering as a novitiate, I thought to myself. Stripping myself of all worldly possessions, going to meet my Divine - or in this case, my Daedric Lord, as naked as the day I was born, for this is a form of rebirth.
Can’t I just fight my way in and find the Amulet? I wondered, studying the map again. I could see the shoreline of a small lake near the location of the shrine.
The Amulet is buried deep. They will hear my coming, and hide it, or take it beyond my reach, I answered myself. Best to approach as one of them, get near the Amulet, before I reveal my true intentions.
“Traveling again, muthsera?” Romalen asked as she set the plate of eggs and ham before me, refilling my cup with more of the strong, black liquid.
Why would anyone visit a lake? I wondered to myself. “I thought I would go to this lake,” I indicated it on my map. “I’m thinking it might be a good place for a little fishing.” Kind of a weak story, isn’t it?
“That’s Lake Arrius,” Romalen said, looking at the markings on my chart. “There’s a Heaven stone north of it, and a cavern system to the west of it. The caverns are uninhabited as far as I know - nothing worth looting.”
“It’s cold up there,” she added, taking a seat behind the bar and sipping at her mug. “You’re not likely to find slaughterfish there, if it’s the scales you’re after. However, I believe there are some mountain trout, those make good eating. If you can catch enough of them.”
Given the situation, I decided to leave my pack behind and travel light. Placing another ten-drake piece on the counter, I looked up at Romalen. “I think I’ll be back tonight,” I said quietly. “I’d like to leave my pack here, if that’s fine with you.”
“No problem,” Romalen said, taking the coin. “Keep the key.”
Exciting stuff. I somehow doubt we've seen the last of the Orum gang... You showed the Newlands Lodge well and made Romalen quite likable, I suspect we might see more of her too.
And he's quite perlite about it, too
He is an amorphous, volcanic glass? ![]()
I feel your pain with the lack of terms for Khajiit and Argonians. I never liked the term "beast-races", as it does seem demeaning to me, as it compares them with animals. I think we need to simply invent some terms. Not just for them, but for all the intelligent races as a whole. Being a woman, "Men and Mer" is not something I want to use ("Women and Mer" maybe). I have been using the term "mortal" for lack of anything better. Calling people "sentient" might work I suppose. I am sure Tamrielites would have some kind of catch-all term for all the intelligent races.
Julian got one of her first "Hey, your're the Hero of Kvatch!" moments I see! I always hated that in the game. I see she is not to enthused about it either.
I love the level of description you go into with the Newlands Lodge. Not stones, but river stones, a shale roof rather than just a roof, etc... You go the extra distance here that I never think of.
Stripping myself of all worldly possessions, going to meet my Divine - or in this case, my Daedric Lord, as naked as the day I was born, for this is a form of rebirth.
Well said! This is indeed the case in initiation. Perhaps best conveyed in the legend of Inanna and her descent into the Underworld.
Can’t I just fight my way in and find the Amulet?
You can in the game!
Of course, reality would be a lot different...
nits:
A study of the Kvatch Wolf, revealed numerous dents in its painted surface, the crimping around the edge where I had used it to deliver blows.
I do not think you need the commas in the middle there. It stands well as a single sentence if you just put an and where the last comma is..
I am getting so wound up by the fact that we are about to start getting NEW CHAPTERS !!!!!!!!!!! WOOOOOOT !!!!!!!!
@Olen: I'm quite sorry, but if you thought that last chapter was a cliffie, well, wait until you read this one! Continue to enjoy when you get back from moving!
@SubRosa: I sure seem to have an aversion to the word 'and', don't I? Thanks for the catch! It has been fixed! As for 'perlite', I was trying to capture the Southern way of speaking. Oh well!
@mALX: Contain thyself, minx!
New Material starts (for you and D. Foxy anyway) on Thursday!
Now begins the adventure so many seem to be waiting for! Julian thinks she's thought things through, but this only proves the old axiom, Nothing ever goes as Planned (it's a hell of a notion, even Pharaohs turn to sand, like a drop in the ocean . . .). Okay, that was more a song than an axiom, but you get the picture!
Chapter 8.3 The Path to Dawn
After checking in on Paint at the Black Waterside, I found a gravel path leading north past the stable into the foothills. It led me to a ramshackle house surrounded by an equally ramshackle stone wall. The two-story half-timbered structure rose above overgrown hedges and shrubs, heavily shaded by tall trees. I skirted the wall to the west, continuing north. The land rose steeply in front of me, trees, grass and blooms giving way to gravel, boulders, and lichen.
I had left my pack and the Kvatch Wolf in my room, taking only the leathers I wore and the katana. Though the weapon was very distinctive, and might make me recognizable, I still couldn’t bring myself to leave it behind. The only other items I carried were my belt pouch, containing my coins, and the small bag, slung over my shoulder, containing the four volumes of the Commentaries, in case I needed them.
Soon the slope became very steep, forcing me to veer west. Before long, I encountered a rough cobblestoned road that lead to the top of the slope. Following the road, I soon came upon a small lake, its clear waters reflecting the blue sky. A waterfall burbled at its north end. The path I stood on turned to follow the western shore of the lake.
Winded from the climb, I sat on a nearby boulder to survey the area. To the west of the road, a cliff rose sheer, running back further into the mountains themselves. Above me, at the top of a faint trail that crossed the face of the escarpment, I could see a cave entrance. The trail ran north towards the road, meeting somewhere along the western shore of the lake. That’s got to be the cavern system Romalen spoke of. As I consulted the map in my head, I studied the contours of the land around me, matching what I saw with what I recalled. Satisfied that the two matched, I pushed myself off the rock and started limping up the road. The shrine has to be in those caverns.
The sun stood well past the zenith when I reached the entrance to the cave. The light dusting of snow that had accumulated in front of the door showed signs of prints of people entering and leaving, and grooves left by the bottom of the door as it opened and closed. The solidity of the latch belied the battered, weathered appearance of the door.
The wooden panel swung open with a loud creaking. I froze, listening for alarm from within, but heard nothing but the rising wind blowing cold from the northern mountains. Ducking inside and closing the door behind me, I flinched at the noise. They never oiled the hinges. A very effective alarm. The tunnel within was immediately warmer, once I was out of the wind.
Daylight seeped through the cracks in the door behind me, lighting the first few meters of the tunnel. The rest of the passage dropped through shadow to an amber glow at the bottom. The light had the flickering quality typical of torches. So they’re no longer hiding the fact that this cavern is occupied.
“Who’s there?” a voice called from below. My katana drawn with the tip toward the floor, I limped down the rough corridor. My heart pounded as I stepped into the torch light, finding myself in a large domed cavern. A young man, dressed in the characteristic red robe of a Mythic Dawn acolyte, stood at the far end before a pair of torch standards. Unarmed. Probably knows a few summoning spells. I sheathed the katana and approached, my palms open and out to the side.
His red hood cast shadows across his face, making it hard for me to see his expression. I stepped to one side of him to force him to turn partly into the torchlight. Enough of his visage emerged for me to see his boyish Imperial features. He watched me warily.
“I’ve come for the Mythic Dawn,” I said quietly. His eyes flickered from my white hair to my katana, narrowing thoughtfully at me.
“Dawn is breaking,” he intoned.
What? Something surfaced in my whirling thoughts, spoken in Raven Camoran’s voice during his condescending lecture to Baurus. “Greet the new day,” I responded reflexively.
“Welcome, sister,” the doorkeeper remained dubious. “The hour is late,” he continued, “but the Master still has need for willing hands.” He stepped between the torch standards to the door set in the rock wall. Swinging the door open, he pulled on a cord hanging next to the jamb. A chiming sounded from within as he returned to where I hesitated, between the flares. “You may pass into the shrine,” he said, pointing me to the open doorway. “Harrow waits within. Do not tarry.”
With a deep breath, I entered the dark, winding passage beyond the door, its far end glowing with torch light. As I limped my way toward the light, a shadow fell across the passage. My right hand twitched for my sword hilt, but I kept it clenched at my side.
The Dunmer blocked my path, eye to eye with me. Tall for a Dunmer, he matched my own slightly above average height, and the black hair springing from a pronounced widow’s peak gave him additional stature.
“I am Harrow,” he said in the hoarse voice typical of Ashlanders, “warden of the Shrine of Dagon.”
“I am Julian,” I answered, reaching into my small bag and pulling out the four volumes of the Commentaries. “I have these -”
“You have followed the Path of Dawn hidden in these writings of our Master, Mankar Camoran,” Harrow said, waving the books away. “You have earned your place among the Chosen.”
I put the books back in the small bag and glanced up at him. “Your doorkeeper said I’m late?”
Harrow shrugged. “The time of preparation is almost over, and the time of cleansing draws near,” he explained. He led me to an alcove behind a torch standard and drew out a red acolyte’s robe from a small dresser placed there.
“As a member of the Order of the Mythic Dawn,” he placed the robe on top of the dresser, “everything you need will be provided from the Master’s bounty.” His eyes gleamed as they rested briefly on first my white hair, then on the hilt of my katana. “Put on this initiate’s robe, and leave your possessions here.”
I eyed the Dunmer dubiously. He cocked a slanted eyebrow at me. Reluctantly I turned away from him and unbuckled the katana. I laid it on top of the dresser, forcing my hand to leave it there. My small bag went next to it. Then I unbuckled my cuirass and shrugged out of it, placing it over the katana so I wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. After I removed the padded tunic, I pulled the robe on over my head, its woolen folds warm on my skin after the brief exposure of the cool, damp air of the passage.
After I removed my boots, I unlaced my greaves and slid them off, dropping the skirts of the robe over my legs. Harrow stopped me as I reached for the boots I had set aside. He looked at the hem of the robe, which reached my ankles. “Leave the boots, too,” he said. I stared at him, stunned. “All initiates must go barefoot to Dagon,” he explained. “Once you are initiated, you will be provided with appropriate footwear.” My soul screaming at leaving the katana, I turned around to face the Dunmer, my hands shaking. His hands mimed raising the cowl over his head. My own hands mirrored his movement at the collar of my robe and I found the heavy folds and covered my head, pulling the edge forward over my face.
“Very good,” he said, eyeing me up and down. His gaze stopped on the ring on my little finger. “Take that off, too,” he ordered. My heart in my throat, I obeyed, tucking the ring into my belt purse. Harrow stepped forward and took the belt purse, leaving the rest on the dresser. His long blue fingers did linger on the hilt of the katana in a caress that left my skin crawling. Tucking my purse into a pocket of his robe, he turned and led me to a second door. “Now I shall take you to the Master,” he spoke over his shoulder.
My feet recoiled from the cold stone floor as I followed after the Dark Elf warden. My heartbeat dunned in my ears with each step I took away from my katana. He led me first into a second shadowy cavern, a stone dais in the center lit by more of those flaming torches. As covertly as I could, I scanned the cavern, but saw little outside the light of those brands. Harrow skirted the platform and led me toward another corridor leading out of the cavern. Two red-robed men, one an Altmer and the other an Imperial, passed Harrow as they left the passageway. “Dawn is breaking,” each said to him.
“Greet the new day,” he responded to each in turn. They eyed me as I followed Harrow into the corridor, but did not speak. Before I continued after Harrow down the passage, I watched them take up positions around the dais.
Harrow led me to another door, lit by another pair of torch standards, with yet another one of the red-robed members, this a Dunmer woman. “Dawn is breaking,” she said to me as Harrow opened the door.
“Greet the new day,” I managed to respond. My mind was still screaming for the katana - Fool! Never leave your weapon behind! Hobbling after Harrow, I found myself on the upper level of a huge, shadowy cavern. The center was well below the outer rim, too far to jump down. There a high platform with a horned altar at one end and a colossal statue of a four-armed Daedra Lord, served as the focus of a gathering of acolytes. That has to be Mehrunes Dagon, I studied the sculpture. That’s one ugly lavasucker.
Harrow paused and turned to me. “How lucky you are,” he said, barely suppressed jubilation in his voice, “to be initiated by the Master himself!”
I tore my my gaze away from the dais, where a blue-robed Altmer held forth sermonizing to his audience, and stared at Harrow. “Th- that’s Mankar C- Camoran?” I stammered.
“Aye, that he is,” Harrow said proudly. He pointed out the equally tall woman, dressed in red with a mages staff at her back. “And the lady with him is his daughter, Ruma.” He led me to a wide flight of stone steps that led down a landing, where another set of stairs rose to the upper level at the opposite side of the cavern, and a third set dropped down to the floor. Scanning the cavern, I spotted at least four shadowy figures around the upper level. Guards. Harrow led me to the group of several acolytes standing before the dais, who listened to Camoran with rapt attention.
“- Dragon Throne is empty,” the stentorian voice rang out, “and we hold the Amulet of Kings!” As I drew near the platform, I recognized the large red diamond in Camoran’s left hand. The Amulet of Kings! How dare he! “Praise be your brothers and sisters,” the Altmer mage continued, tossing back his iron-grey hair. “Great shall be their reward in Paradise!”
“So sayeth Lord Dagon!” the acolytes around me chanted, mesmerized by Camoran’s charisma. “Praise be!” As Camoran continued pontificating, I glanced at Harrow. He watched me, his red eyes speculative.
“The time of cleansing is now here!” Camoran’s roar snapped my attention back to him. “I go now to Paradise, to meet with Lord Dagon! When I return, Lord Dagon shall walk with me at the coming of the Dawn!” As he stepped back from the altar, he turned his back on the acolytes. At the center of the dais, he tipped his head back to look up at the colossal statue at the far end and lifted his hands. My breath stopped as Camoran brought his hands, the Amulet between them, together above his head and disappeared into a ball of argent light.
ARGH!!!! I am so hyped I have been doing a victory dance, and we all know I can't dance!!! This is Awesome! I can't wait till Thursday !!!! Great Write !!!!!
I just noticed you changed the topic description in this, the 2nd thread of OHDH! Subtle, and accurate!
This is now virgin territory for me, as I gave up on the Beth forum at this point. So now the fun of rediscovery has turned to the wonder of seeing events through Julian's eyes for the first time. ![]()
Good touches with Julian's eye noticing the footprints outside, the grooves made by the door, its sturdy hinges, etc... Then the creaky door being left that way on purpose as an alarm.
“Dawn is breaking,” he intoned.
Well go out and fix it!
Sorry, I always think that when they shout that at me. Seriously though, I like how you handled the secret password, and Julian's quick-thinking to realize what the response was.
Good work portraying Julian's apprehension at leaving her armor, weapons, and the ring (I do not remember that, was it an family heirloom?). Especially delicious was the way Harrow caressed her sword, and how his eyes lingered over her white hair. I can see that he recognized her there. I think the International Woman of Mystery is going to have a warm welcome next post!
btw, are you ever going to get an avatar?
nits:
The light dusting of snow that had accumulated in front of the door showed signs of prints, prints of people entering and leaving,
Pints is showing up twice here, I think you can just delete the second occurrence and it will read fine.
Chapter 8.2 Searching for Enlightenment
@mALX: I gather it's a good thing that I live in a different state from you, and can't see what passes as your victory dance.
@SubRosa: The ring is the Jewel of the Rumare, which Julian keeps on her at all times to remember her friendship with a certain Breton fisherman. Leaving it behind was almost as hard for her as leaving that lovely katana behind. As for that avatar, I don't think so. I tried getting a picture to upload, and it wouldn't work. Probably something to do with the fact that I'm on a Mac? Oh well, I've never used an avatar, so it's not a burning issue for me. Your nit has been fixed.
@Destri: I tried to convey the Orum Orc moving out of her way because of the comment she made defusing the situation. As for the awkward sentences, I did rewrite them, but I wanted to convey that Julian didn't want to turn her back on Harrow, a potential assailant. She would rather keep him in front of her, with or without her katana.
@all: This is the final post on the other forum. Few of you likely have seen this one (I only know of two), and this is a chapter I really struggled with, but feel very proud of the end result. Starting on Thursday, it will be new material to everyone but myself. Enjoy! Oh, and Destri, I wrote this chapter for you!
Here is the rest of Julian’s adventure in the Dagon Shrine.
*************
Chapter 8.4 The Dagon Shrine
Stunned, I stared at the afterimage of the portal. Harrow approached me before I could recover my composure. “Don’t worry, initiate,” he assured me, clapping his hand on my shoulder. “You will soon follow the Master into Paradise!” He led me to the side of the dais and pointed out the stone steps in the edge. “Go to Her Highness, Ruma Camoran, for your initiation!”
On the dais the Altmer woman, her face shadowed by her cowl, waited for me. Still reeling from the disappearance of the Amulet, I climbed the stairs, Harrow steering me with his hand on my shoulder. As I stepped onto the dais near the foot of the statue of Mehrunes Dagon, I glanced to my right and spotted a bound Argonian laying on a low altar at the statue’s base. Nude but for a loincloth, his scaled skin had the grey undertone of ill health, and his eyes were closed.
Harrow guided me to where Ruma Camoran stood near the horned altar. A silver ceremonial dagger rested on its surface, next to a large volume bound in a bone-white leather cover. “You have come to pledge yourself to Lord Dagon’s service,” Ruma intoned, her feminine voice an echo of Camoran’s. “The ritual requires red-drink. Take the dagger,” she indicated the silver weapon laying on the taller altar at the front of the dais. “Sacrifice to Dagon for your initiation,” she pointed at the Argonian.
Blood sacrifice? I looked back at the Argonian, who lay with his eyes open, watching me dully. No, I can’t do this. Harrow reached up with his free hand and drew my cowl back before gripping my other shoulder. Ruma’s eyes gleamed as they fell on my white hair.
“Or would you prefer to be the sacrifice, Hero of Kvatch?” her voice held a note of triumph. The blood fled my face as I realized the danger of my situation. They’ve recognized me!
My mind started spinning through options, slipping into combat mode. Free the Argonian. Take the book. Kill Ruma Camoran, and Harrow, if I have to. Get my money back from that fetcher. Get the Argonian out of here alive. Find my armor and sword. Use the dagger on Ruma first, get that staff away from her. She’ll be dangerous with it.
The rising panic suddenly dissolved, replaced by a familiar calmness, the same calmness I felt standing in the ranks waiting for the order to engage. I may well die here, but by Akatosh, I will fight as if I’m immortal. My long-forgotten personal mantra came back to me, slowing my heartbeat to a sedate thumping in my chest.
“Ki’ire!” The long-forgotten word escaped my lips, white energy cascading around and through me. Of its own volition, my body shook off Harrow’s grip and sprang for the altar, my right hand closing around the grip of the dagger. My fingers brushed against the volume, sending shocks of energy tingling up my nerves. In that instant, the large glyph on its bone-white cover sent chills down my spine. That looks like an Oblivion Gate, I realized. But I had no time to dwell on the mystery of that book.
Shouts whirled around me as I spun toward Ruma. She backed away, bringing her staff around. As I chased her, I caught the head of the staff with my left hand and yanked it toward me. This brought Ruma within blade-range of the dagger, which flashed across her throat. Her grip on the staff eased, and I wrested it from her slack fingers as she crumpled away. Beyond her, Harrow sprang for me, teeth bared in a hateful grimace.
My grip slid down to the center of the staff, and I whirled it in my hand to bring the steel-capped end into Harrow’s soft belly. His lungs emptied as he bent forward, his own throat meeting the edge of my dagger. I moved toward the Argonian, his eyes now sparking with interest. A nearby guard charged me, and I blocked his mace, letting the horned weapon slide down the shaft away from me.
This brought me within his guard, and I sank the dagger into his side, between the front and back plates of the bound cuirass. Hot blood cascaded around my hand, telling me I had struck something vital in his belly. As his weight slid off my blade, I leaped for the Argonian, who now sat up, his bound hands in front of him.
The dagger flashed, trailing blood, and parted his bonds. Behind me, shouting warned me of another attacking sentry. Whipping my left hand to the side and behind me, I brought the steel-capped end of the staff against his cuirass, feeling the solid thwack! which sent him staggering back.
“That’ss a magess sstaff!” the Argonian shouted at me. “It firess sspeellss!”
I shoved it at him. “Here, then! I don’t know how to use it that way!”
Apparently, the intended sacrifice did, for he lowered the gnarled head of the staff toward the knot of assassins now climbing the steps to the dais. Yellow sulfurous fire sizzled forward from the tip of the staff, engulfing the three attackers in sickly smoke. They collapsed, two of them vomiting blood, another voiding his bowels violently. The odor of sickness pervaded the air.
Panicked acolytes ran toward the stairs leading out of the chamber, screaming and waving their hands in the air. Their flight hampered the attacks of the rest of the guards from the upper levels.
The book! I ran for the altar and seized the volume, shoving it into my robe, where the belt created a loose pocket in front of my chest. My skin crawled from the contact with its power.
Behind me, the colossal statue crumbled with a loud crack, falling into pieces over the sacrificial altar and the stairs, just missing the Argonian. The screaming escalated as the acolytes ran for the entrance to the cavern, only to have a heavy iron grate slam down, shutting off their escape. Two more attackers made it down to the cavern floor, trailing yellow smoke from their summons.
Catching the Argonian’s elbow, I leaned to his ear. “I’m Julian. What’s your name?”
“Jeeliuss,” he hissed back. He hefted the staff and aimed it at the two oncoming assailants. “You lead the way.” The two attackers crumpled to the floor, with similar results as the first group.
I hobbled to Harrow’s body, holding my breath against the stench of illness. A quick search of his robe, located my belt purse and an ornate iron key. I snatched them, shoving both into the pocket of my own robe. Desperate to get out before my summoned adrenaline wore off, I scrambled over the pieces of the statue to the steps leading off the platform. I could hear Jeelius’s bare feet slapping the stones behind me.
Ahead, the acolytes ran up the second set of stairs that led to the far side of the upper level. Fighting against their panicked flight, more guards streamed in through a second entry I had not noticed before.
“Give me room!” Jeelius hissed, and I ducked sideways against the wall as he shot more of that sickly spell at the armed attackers. They scattered before the spell reached them, and it hit only two of them. The other three came on, maces swinging.
Two of them attacked Jeelius. It became clear to me that the Argonian was no fighter. Ducking beneath the swing of the third one, I stabbed him in the throat and grabbed his crotch with my left hand. I placed my right knee behind his legs and raised my left hand, upending him over my thigh. He flipped over the edge of the stairs. My Argonian friend managed to block one mace strike with the staff, and I felt anger rise in my chest at the unfair odds.
Martin’s words on the Gold Road, when we were walking to Weye from Skingrad, surfaced in my mind. I clenched my left hand against the rage, letting it build up and seethe. When flames licked around my fingers, I flung the flare spell at one of the two assailants. He caught it full in the helm, which became scorchingly hot.
With an agonized scream, he yanked the metal cover off, and his face came off with it. I ignored the gruesome sight and jumped toward the other guard, sinking my dagger into her unprotected thigh. With a twist of the blade to cause as much muscle damage as I could, I elbowed her back into the stairs. With a painful shout, she threw her mace at me in desperation. The weapon struck my right shoulder and clattered away down the steps.
Another flare-spell flew from my fingers into her face, and I kicked her over the side of the stairs. Then I grabbed Jeelius and hauled him up the stairs after me. The second entrance was now locked, but Harrow’s key opened it. We bolted through the door, and heard more shouts ahead.
What followed was a chaotic impression of maze-like passageways, attacking assassins, fleeing acolytes, and the staff spitting that horrid yellow fire.
Jeelius proved to be a solid supporter. By using the staff on the attackers when they were still some distance away, he thinned their numbers for me. He also sent convalescence spells my way whenever I was wounded or hit by spells. Suddenly the staff went dark in his hands.
“Out of charge,” Jeelius spat, throwing the staff away in disgust. We kept running.
We came to a locked, bolted door. Jeelius cast a quick spell at it, and I heard the lock click over. I went through to find myself in a small chamber, a narrow passageway dropping downward to dead end at a rock wall. I started to backtrack, but Jeelius directed my attention to a hand crank mounted on the wall at the top of the passageway. He spun the lever clockwise, and the wall at the bottom of the corridor rumbled into the floor.
Through the new opening I recognized the entry cavern, where I had encountered the door keeper. That young man was nowhere in sight. Halfway through the cave, I collapsed to my knees as the adrenaline I had called failed abruptly. Jeelius knelt beside me, calling my name in concern.
“I’m all right,” I gasped, shaking violently, my forehead on the rocky floor. “It’s just the adrenaline crash.”
“That was the famous Redguard adrenaline rush?” Jeelius asked softly. “I’m impressed!”
“Oh, I hate it,” I muttered. “It tends to leave you at the worst possible time.” That’s what happened before. As my hammering heart slowed down, and my breaths became less painful, I staggered to my feet. When my battered feet and right knee took my weight again, I stifled a cry at the pain. With Jeelius staying close to my side, I wobbled to the passageway that led into the shrine, where I had first met Harrow.
Relief nearly overwhelmed me when I found my armor on top of the dresser, as I had left them. The leather felt smooth in my hands, and I sighed at the sight of my katana. I took the bone-white book out of my robe and slipped it into the small bag, underneath the four Commentaries. Stripping out of the loose-fitting robe, I glanced at Jeelius. His back to me, he looked cold in the damp air of the cavern. I handed him the robe, then quickly slipped into my padded tunic and leathers.
My katana belted on my hip, I felt complete, though still shaky. As I turned toward the entry door, Jeelius stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. Warm white light passed from him to me, and the shakiness disappeared. Grateful for his healing, I handed him the ceremonial dagger.
Quietly, to avoid attracting attention of any remaining survivors, I led Jeelius to the tunnel leading for the surface. We stepped outside into falling snow, glimpses of stars visible through chinks in the overcast above. “Feels late,” I commented. As if in answer, my stomach growled. “Jeelius, let’s get to Cheydinhal. It’s about two hours away.”
“I need to get back to the Imperial City,” Jeelius said, falling into step behind me. “Not to ssound ungrateful, but -” his voice trailed off. Glancing back at him, I saw the uncertainty in his expression.
“My horse is at Cheydinhal, and I’ve also got a room at the inn there,” I responded. “I’m hungry, and tired. Come with me, I’ll get you food and a bed as well. We can leave in the morning.”
Jeelius did not speak again until we left the slippery trail and reached the shore of Lake Arrius. “You will esscort me to the Imperial City?”
“I’m going to Bruma,” I answered, “but yes, I’ll escort you as far as I can.”
And the next will be totally nude!
ER er er I meant totally new!!!!
Can't wait to see it!!!
... the STORY I mean.... just in case you were thinking of anything else, which I'm sure my pure, innocent, virginal mind cannot imagine.
WHEW!!!! (exhales loudly) - Holy [censored] !!!!!! Hauty.... WHEW!!!! - Holy [censored]!!!! - Awesome Write!!!!!!!!!!!!
How could I forget the Jewel of the Rumare! Probably because you have me thinking of Aelwin all the time, but not his precious gift. That, and since Julian rides a horse everywhere, she never has an opportunity to put the ring to good use by swimming across Lake Rumare when she comes and goes. One of the reasons I do not like using horses in the game.
Having a mac will not prevent you from uploading pics. It was probably just too big. This board will only allow you to use images up to 90 pixels by 90 pixels in size, and only in the gif, jpg, jpeg, or png formats. Take a look at the pic you wanted to use, and either crop or resize it down to within that if it is too big. Or just try using one that the board comes with. Scratch that, they are not too good.
I like Julian's mantra. A good one for a warrior. I will have to see if I can work that into the next chapter of the TF.
I may well die here, but by Akatosh, I will fight as if I’m immortal.
Her reaction from touching the book was a good touch as well. The Son's Companion is not likely to mix well with the words of Mehrunes Dagon!
A very exciting, chaotic running battle! Also we finally get to see the famous Adrenaline Rush! I never use once a day powers like that in the game. Usually I forget I have them. Or I always wind up saving them for that one special moment, and never use it because I never know when that is. I have been working on changing all of the racial powers to either make them permanent (with lower bonuses) or have them cost magicka and be usable any number of times, the same as a regular spell.
, and his face came off with it.
ewww!
nits:
slowing my heartbeat to a slow thumping in my chest.
You have slow twice here. Perhaps use the word easing in place of the first instance?
Three chapters.
The first was a wonderful interlude full of character development at the Newlands Lodge - I loved it.
The second was a transition to and into Mankar's lair. Necessary and nicely done to set the stage for what would follow.
The third required an epic fight scene. Oh my. You did not disappoint. It was magnificent, my friend!
I continue to really enjoy Julian's story.
Whew... All caught up now and that last part was quite something, really exciting
And we have another character, I'm interested to see how you deal with Jeelius, I've never had him alive when I've left the base so it will be a first for me meeting him.
@ D.Foxy: Nudity is, as always, purely optional.
@mALX: You are much too easy! Fainting at Foxy's innocuous comments?
@SubRosa: I have the exact same problem as you - I always forget about those once-a-day powers. My Dunmer has never used her Ancestor Guardian, my Imperial has never used her Voice, and my Nord has never used - what the heck is it Nords have??
@Destri: Your comments are almost as much fun to read as my chapter was to write (the last draft of it anyway). I'm glad you enjoyed this chapter!
@Acadian: Thank you, Paladin. Julian and I aim to please! (aside to Foxy: quiet!)
@Olen: It takes me several run-throughs and multiple saves to get Jeelius out alive. I like his reward when I catch up to him again in the Temple of the One later in the quest. Though Jeelius will not adventure again with Julian like that, he will be a friend in much the same manner as Aelwyn. There will come a time when Julian will need such friends. As for the slowing of the heartbeat at the moment of discovery, I wanted to convey how much Jelin's teachings have affected Julian's combat style. Think of Jelin as a kind of Zen warrior monk, and you'll see that in Julian's mindset at scary moments like this.
After much fanfare, this marks the first post of entirely new material (i.e. never before seen on any forum). Enjoy, everybody!
After the chaos of the Dagon Shrine, Julian is looking forward to a peaceful night’s sleep. Will she get it? We’ll see.
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Chapter 8.5 The Newlands Lodge
The snow had changed to rain by the time we reached the city gates. Bone-tired and weary, we trudged up to the guard, who looked as miserable as we felt.
He grinned at me in greeting, but his welcome faded as his eye fell on Jeelius, soaked woolen robes unmistakably red in the darkness. “This is Jeelius,” I said, anxious to avoid trouble. “He saved my hide more than once today. That in spite of the fact that he was the intended sacrifice for a Daedric cult.” Catching the guard’s stare at the red robe, I realized the source of his unease. “I gave him that robe to stay warm,” I finished, putting firmness in my tired voice.
“Any of those worshippers still alive?” the guard turned his gaze back to me. “Can we expect any more trouble from there?”
“A lot of them are dead,” I shrugged. “As for the rest, who knows?”
“Perhapss they will ssee the error of their wayss and leave the cult,” Jeelius volunteered, his voice carefully neutral. He gestured at me. “If not for Julian, I would have been dead, mysself. It iss I who owe my life.”
I shifted my feet as the guard grinned at me, rapping the gate at the same time in the signal to open. Again, the gate was unbarred and opened from within. Again, the guard inside greeted me as the Hero of Kvatch.
“It’s late,” I said to Jeelius, leading him to the Newlands Lodge, “and I’m tired. Let’s get inside and get some food and sleep.”
“Ssoundss good,” he answered. “It hass been a very long day.” The right corner of my mouth twitched at his ironic tone as I opened the door and waved him inside.
Within, we encountered the Orsimeri again. They gave me a quick glance, and stared at Jeelius with open hostility. I paused beside their table and waited until they looked away from Jeelius, carefully avoiding my gaze. As we moved to the back room where Romalen waited, I heard the Orcs muttering behind me, but could not make out their words.
“Hello, muthsera,” I greeted Romalen, remembering the Dunmer honorific. “I’d like supper for two,” I indicated Jeelius and myself, “and another bed for the night.”
“Of course,” Romalen had already begun filling two plates with hot, hearty stew. “Any friend of Julian’s,” she set a plate in front of Jeelius, “is always welcome here,” she smiled at the Argonian as she set the second plate in front of me. Easing the small bag from my shoulder to the floor, I picked up my fork and started in on the grub.
“It sseemss Julian is well known here,” Jeelius replied, following suit with his own utensil. “I am grateful to you, muthsera.”
Romalen glanced at me. “How was the fishing?” she asked. I looked blankly at her before recalling our conversation earlier in the morning.
“Ah, they didn’t bite,” I answered, pointing at Jeelius with my fork, “but I caught something better - a new friend.” In the corner of my eye I saw Jeelius’s fork falter on its way to his mouth.
“Maybe next time,” Romalen said with a smile.
“Why?” I asked. “Would you like some?”
“It’d be a nice change from the usual, wouldn’t it?” she countered. Her eyes flickered beyond me scornfully. “Not that they’ll appreciate it, though.”
I shrugged. “Most Orsimeri are appreciative of good cooking,” I remarked. “At least the ones I’ve known. They tend to have generous hearts and good spirits, for all that they’re so brusque and curt.” I couldn’t help smiling at the disbelieving glances from both Romalen and Jeelius. “After all,” I slapped my cuirass pointedly, “it was an incredibly skilled Orc smith who took this cuirass from something ordinary and made it into my second skin, and wouldn’t accept fair recompense for the work.”
“I had wondered about that,” Romalen spoke slowly, uncertainty in her red eyes. “I hear that you’re the Hero of Kvatch. Is it true?”
I looked down at my plate, concentrating on my meal. Beside me, Jeelius finished the last bite and set his fork down with a soft clink on the clay dish. “Aye, I believe sso,” he said softly. “I had heard the rumorss in the Imperial City, before I wass kidnapped.” He cast a sidelong glance at me. “A sskinny Redguard woman, with white hair, carrying the shield of Kvatch, iss the ssame woman who went into the Oblivion Gate outsside the city and clossed it by hersself.”
I sighed. So that’s how they recognized me. Heard the same rumors, likely. “I won’t deny it,” I said finally, finishing my food. “But I’ won't talk about it, either.”
“But your story is the best news we’ve had in a while,” Romalen exclaimed softly. Beside me, Jeelius nodded. “All right, I won’t speak more of it,” the Dunmer shook her finger at me warningly. “But get used to it. People will seize any shred of hope, any bit of good news, in dark times.”
“And we need it, thesse dayss,” Jeelius agreed quietly.
Romalen cleared away the plates. “Julian,” she turned back to me. “I can see that both of you are tired. I’ve held the room you took last night, but I have a customer in the other room. There’s only a bed out on the landing just outside the two rooms.”
“That’s fine,” I answered. “We’ll take that bed, too. How much for it, ten drakes?”
“Of course not!” Romalen exclaimed in mock offense. “What do you take me for, a scalper? That one bed’s half-price because it has no privacy.”
With a smile I handed her the gold. “Here you are, then. Thanks, muthsera.” I rose to my feet, picking up the bag. “Good night, and we’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, friends,” Romalen returned, returning the smile. “Sleep well.”
Jeelius followed me back to the common room, where the Orsimeri still nursed their brews. This time, they did not look up as we passed, but their murmurs took on an ominous tone as we headed up the stairs. They sound like trouble. At the top of the stairs, I surveyed the landing, spotting the bed off to one side near the doors. Though I didn’t like how exposed it was to the stairs, I liked the sound of the Orcs below even less.
“Jeelius,” I led him into the room I had used the night before. My pack still sat on the bed where I had left it, undisturbed. The Kvatch shield rested against the wall, the bow and Daedra Slayer still laid on top of the dresser.
Placing the pack on the floor next to the dresser, I picked up Daedra Slayer and turned to the Argonian. “Sleep here,” I gestured toward the bed. “I’ll take that one out there.”
“You’re paying for the room,” Jeelius matched my quiet tone. “You sshould have the privacy.”
“I’ve slept in barracks for years,” I countered softly. “I’m used to the lack of it. Besides,” I hefted Daedra Slayer, “I’m better armed than you.” His eyes widened at my words.
“You expect trouble?” he hissed. “Very well, I sshall trusst in your judgment.”
“And lock the door,” I said as I stepped out. A second later, I heard the lock click, and moved quietly to the cot. Carefully, soundlessly, I drew my katana and laid it along the edge of the cot, Daedra Slayer on the floor within easy reach. After I turned the lamp beside the bed down, I lay on my left side, the katana’s hilt beneath my right hand.
It wasn’t long before a soft scuffle on the stairs roused me from a deep slumber. My right hand tightened involuntarily on the katana as my eyes searched out the source of the noise. The bulk of an Orsimer creeping up the stairs greeted my gaze, surprisingly quiet in spite of his bulk. As he moved towards my location, I caught the glimmer of a dagger blade in one large fist.
By his groping movements, I knew his night vision hadn’t returned after the relatively bright light downstairs. Once he was within blade-range, I sat up, whipping the katana forward to rest the tip against his bare throat. The Orsimer froze, not breathing.
“Did you expect an unarmed guest?” I whispered, for I could hear the snores of the guests in the rooms behind me. While I wanted to avoid making a scene, I wanted to make my intent clear - make the wrong move and you will be dead.
Very good.
I personally would have put a clanger (something to knock over in the dark and make a sound ) at the head of the stairs, but overall your security procedures are quite fair.
Continue the good work!
Nords get blond hair! Seriously though, Nords get a once a day shield and a once a day frost attack, plus a hefty resistance to frost. The Imperials really seem to take it on the chin when it comes to racial abilities. They can absorb fatigue (in Morrowind that would help, but in Oblivion I found I can just ignore fatigue completely with no issues) and get a once a day charm. I have been trying to think of good bonuses to give them instead. With the idea of making them more like Romans, I gave them an endurance and willpower bonus. I was thinking of removing the dragon skin from the Bretons and giving it to the Imperials instead, as the extra magicka and resist magic that Bretons already have is already uber as it is.
But this is supposed to be about Julian. On to her, I wanted to observe that I like how you portray the gate guards as exactly that, guards. They are there to look over whoever wants in and out of the city and stop people who might be dangerous. Where in the game they feel ornamental (unless you have a bounty on you, in which case their guard radar will pick you out for that apple you stole in Hammerfell two years ago).
I see our poor Redguard is being tortured with praise again! Oh horror of horrors!
The way you worked that into Julian's realization of how she was recognized by the Mythic Dawn touched my economical writer's heart.
And now look who ends with a cliffhanger!
WOO HOO !!!!! Already the Mythic Dawn are seeking Julian out for killing their brethren! WOOOOOOT !!!!!
I am so hyped about getting new material on this story!!!!! YEAH !!!!!
Hmmm a fight with the Orum gang, well an encounter anyway. You've ended on a cliffy, again. I'm confused as to the Orc's motive, but I'm sure all will be revealed.
And more of her trying to duck out of fame, just wait until the Mythic Dawn start attacking her, then its really going to be hard to avoid being noticed and applauded. It should be fun to watch her squirm, she's a really strong character now and things like that round her off excellently.
I await more with excitment
I always wondered why I haven't caught up yet on your wonderful story. Is is because I'm busy? Nah. Is it because of my stories? Of course not.
Or is it because of my self centered attitude? More likely! Lolz.
Anyway, I liked the description of the battle in Chapter 8.4. Brutal and outright pandemonium erupted, I like that in stories. And your description of the bittersweet taste of Adrenaline Rush is just fantastic!
And expanding Jeelius' role rather than a prisoner? Brilliant!
I will stay tuned and wait for the next update, H.E.R!
SubRosa has already beaten me in praising your use of the guards that mind the gate into Cheydinhal. I might add that, in addition to their ‘guard radar’ that gives them knowledge of past crimes committed, the in-game guards prove useful if your horse is being chased by a pesky troll that you can’t be bothered to swat.
Julian continues to prove herself equal to the title ‘Hero of Kvatch’. Her reluctance to acknowledge it is precisely what makes her worthy of it. What was it that Tumindil said in the Skingrad Chapel (I think it was Tumindil)? That Julian is a natural protector. Well, she does give Jeelius her bed to protect him from the Orum gang.
Sounds like a ‘Hero’ to me.
@D.Foxy: Julian, like me, is a light sleeper and wakes easily at the slightest sound. Besides, an Orc trying to sneak quietly up the stairs? His brachycephalic breathing would rouse the dead! But thanks for the advice, I'll keep the clanger in mind.
@SubRosa: Yes, Julian has a hard time adjusting to the praise. It'll be a while before she's comfortable being recognized as the Hero of Kvatch. Worse is yet to come for her!
@mALX Kitty: As always, your enthusiasm is welcome!
@Olen: I think you'll like her first encounter with a Mythic Dawn secret agent. Though why we call them secret beats the heck out of me, since they always blow their cover at their first sight of the Hero of Kvatch. Wait until she has to explain that one! As for the Orum gang, my feeling is that a come-to-Jesus meeting between these Orcs and Julian is inevitable. Whether this encounter is enough to clear the air, or more needs to be done later, I'll let Julian (and the rest of us) find out.
@ureniashtram: Welcome to Julian's world! I'm glad to see you here! I hope you continue to enjoy this story. I try to throw in enough testosterone for the guys to balance the chick stuff. I'm glad you enjoyed the slam-bang-pow-bash in Chapter 8.4.
@Destri: Julian finds the guards useful when dealing with the Mythic Dawn agents!
Thanks for remembering Tumindil's comment that Julian is a Protector. I am forever grateful to that Altmer for so clearly defining Julian's natural instincts.
And now I shall end the cliffhanger.
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Chapter 8.6 Trouble
With the tip of my katana against the Orsimer’s throat, I sat up and swung my feet to the floor. I waited until he spread his hands, lowering the dagger to the floor. My left hand reached to the floor and picked up Daedra Slayer, shaking the scabbard off the enchanted blade. I rose and walked forward, keeping the katana against the other’s neck, forcing him back one step at a time. When he reached the top of the stairs, he paused. Now I stood next to the dagger, and I kicked it over the edge of the landing, hearing it clattering down the stairs.
With a pointed gesture from the katana, I motioned for him to turn around and head down the steps, resting the tip of my blade against his back, over his left kidney. “Slow,” I warned him. “One step at a time, friend.”
His hands up, he obeyed, walking down the stairs slowly. My katana still on him, I followed, extending Daedra Slayer to my left over the bannister as we cleared the upper floor. I could see the other Orsimeri standing beside their table, on the other side of the common room. One of the mer held Romalen in his fist, other hand over her mouth. He met my gaze over Romalen’s dark head, and I recognized gro-Gharz.
“I’m not in the mood,” I warned, hearing the implacability in my tone. “Release the lady now.”
“Why?” gro-Gharz challenged me. I nudged the Orsimer in front of me with the katana.
“What’s your name?” I asked him. “I like to know the names of my friends.”
“Magub gro-Orum,” he answered, his voice filled with anger. “And I’m not your friend!”
“Really?” I asked. “Are you sure you want to be my enemy?” Not waiting for an answer, I looked at the others. “And the rest of you?” At the bottom of the stairs, I stepped to one side to keep all the Orsimeri in my line of sight. Two of them were female, and seemed uneasy, but the two male mer scowled at me. “Come on,” I put a joshing tone in my voice, “I like to know who my friends are.”
“Borba gra-Uzgash,” one of the females, stylishly dressed with a courtly hairstyle, answered first. She stepped sideways, away from the others, her open palms held out at her side. “I run Borba’s Trade and Goods next door.” She shot a scornful glance at the men. “I want no part of this,” she spat, her fierceness directed more towards the males than at me.
“Then leave peacefully, friend,” I said to her. “I shall not hold this against you, gra-Uzgash.”
“Thanks,” she said, backing toward the door, more wary of the other Orsimeri than of me. The other female made to follow her, but stopped when I shook my head at her.
“Oghash gra-Magul,” she answered my look. “Like Borba, I want no part of this.”
“I believe you, friend,” I responded, moving my blades to encompass the men, still clustered together. “Leave so I can settle this misunderstanding.” Gra-Magul did not need encouragement. The door closed quietly behind her as she left the inn.
“Magub gro-Orum,” I said, when the other mer remained angrily silent, “why don’t you introduce your friends?”
He glowered at me. Stay cool. If they really wanted to harm me, they would already have done so. They are angry because they have misjudged me. I locked gazes with him.
“Magub, I have no wish to get the Guard involved in this,” I kept my tone neutral. “But if you have no wish to be my friends, then I’ll have to kill you all.”
The third Orsimer snorted derisively. “I am Dulfish gro-Orum,” he growled. “I run the Orum gang, and you don’t scare me at all!”
I turned my gaze on him. “Then, Dulfish, I shall have to admit that you scare me,” I kept my tone quiet. “And like the scamps and dremora who have scared me, I shall have to kill you.” His black eyes widened at my words, whether at my admission of my fear, or the reminder of the rumors about the Hero of Kvatch, I wasn’t certain.
Dulfish gro-Orum spoke sharply to gro-Gharz in an undertone. The big Orsimer released Romalen, who moved to stand behind me, clear of my blades. ‘You would admit that you are afraid of us?” gro-Orum questioned. “Of me, of Magub, of Bazur gro-Gharz?”
“I fear my enemies, but not my friends,” I answered. “My friends do not harm me, nor do they betray my trust in them.” I shrugged, Daedra Slayer mirroring the flickering light from the lanterns with its own fiery shimmer. “Do I have reason to fear you?”
“You bet -” gro-Gharz began, but gro-Orum slapped him up the back of his head.
“Quiet, Bazur!” he snapped. Looking back at me, he held his hands out to his sides. “It would seem that we have underestimated you, Hero of Kvatch,” he remarked, his tone deceptively casual. “You are quite smart - for a Redguard.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’m that smart,” I refused to take the bait and kept my tone mild. “Just common sense, and years of experience, that’s all.” Again I shrugged, again Daedra Slayer shimmered. “If we have cleared up this misunderstanding between ourselves, then there is no reason why we can not continue to be friends.” As I lowered the tips of my swords to the floor, Daedra Slayer thrummed in my left hand as it flared on contact with the wooden boards.
Gro-Orum’s eyes flickered at the enchanted sword, and I knew he understood the lethality of the iron blade. “Aye, just a misunderstanding, Redguard,” he repeated. “No harm intended.”
“Good,” I said. “Now it’s late, and I’m sure you would like to head home. This little episode can be forgotten by morning. Agreed?”
The tension among the three Orsimeri eased at gro-Orum’s sudden grin. “Aye, it will be forgot by morning!” he exclaimed. Clapping Magub and gro-Gharz on their broad shoulders, he nodded at me. “And you are right, it’s late, and we have had a little too much to drink! Good night, Hero of Kvatch!”
“Good night, friends,” I returned quietly.
The Orum leader gestured the others to precede him out of the inn. In the entry tower, he looked back at me. “This doesn’t make you one of us, Redguard, nor are we bosom buddies,” he said warningly.
“Aye, I don’t expect us to get close at all,” I replied lightly. “All I expect is civility from each other.”
Romalen waited a few moments after gro-Orum left, then moved to the door and barred it. Turning to me, she shook her head.
“As soon as I knew what they intended, I tried to warn you,” she said, her tone anxious. “But they wouldn’t let me!”
“Just what did they intend?” I thought I knew, but I wanted to be certain.
“They thought your friend Jeelius would be on the cot on the landing, while you would be sleeping in your room. They intended to rob him, and maybe scare him a little.”
“All right,” I assured her. “There’s no harm done. I had Jeelius take the room, and lock the door besides.”
“How did you know -?” Romalen’s brows climbed higher.
“I had a feeling about them,” I answered. “Other Orsimeri I’ve met aren’t mean-spirited like these are.”
“Borba gra-Uzgash is a good woman,” Romalen mused. “She tried to stop them from going through with the robbery. She said it was a bad idea. They wouldn’t listen to her.”
“Hopefully the next time they think up another cockamamie plan, they’ll listen to her,” I smiled ironically. “I’m tired, and it is late. Go to bed, muthsera. Jeelius and I will see you in the morning.”
And off the cliff we go!
“But if you have no wish to be my friends, then I’ll have to kill you all.”
Exactly what I was thinking!
That was a very tense segment (see I found a word for these partial chapters that you and I post), brimming with the threat of violence! Julian handled it all with both daring and diplomacy, and I am glad to see that she did not have to make use of that famed Redguard adrenaline again.
Argh, I had thought it was the Mythic Dawn starting their attacks, lol.
The Newlands Stalemate! I see that Julian is not against using the role of Hero of Kvatch to avoid confrontation. That was the first time that I have seen her accosted by the title without being embarrassed. Her decision to let the orcs draw their own conclusions about what she can and cannot do made this chapter segment (thank you SubRosa). I especially liked the brief interaction between Bazur gro-Garsh and Dulfish gro-Orum. What better way to define each mers place in the gang hierarchy than a smack to the back of the head? There is a small part of me (okay, maybe not so small) that was hoping that the orcs rose to Julian’s challenge, but I must admit that it turned out better this way.
And haute . . . Stoney Jackson?!
I echo what's already been said, solid part filled with tension. You show more of Julian's calm and self-control here though I can't see it completely smoothing things...
Nicely done with the constant threat of violence.
@SubRosa: Julian does not like the Redguard Adrenaline Rush very much. She was glad the Orums didn't call her bluff, as she was just too tired for more fighting.
@mALX: You will have to wait until Julian heads off to Bruma to see the Mythic Dawn blow their cover.
@Destri: I was channeling Jethro Gibbs in that little exchange between Bazur and Dulfish. Yes, I thought that smack to the head was appropriate given the situation.
@Olen: No, things with the Orum gang will be quiet for a while, but they'll be a problem again later on. Julian's just glad she doesn't have to deal with them right now.
Time to leave the wonderful Newlands Lodge and head out again. We get to know Jeelius a little better. And so Chapter 8 finally draws to a close.
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Chapter 8.7 Jeelius
Morning came without further ado. The guest in the other room roused me as he left. My eyes opened in time to catch the hilt of the hammer at his back disappear down the stairs. Rising stiffly from the cot, I gathered my two swords. With a soft knock on the door to Jeelius’s room, I called his name softly.
The lock clicked and the door opened. Jeelius, dressed in the red woolen robe, greeted me. He looked better today - his scaled skin had more of its beautiful color this morning. His orange eyes were bright with concern. “Good morning, friend,” he said. “Trouble lasst night?”
“Not really,” I shrugged, not wanting to tell him I had been right about those Orcs after all. I stepped past him into the room and gathered up my pack, small bag, my bow and quiver. “Are you hungry? We have a long trip ahead of us.”
“Ssome food would be wisse,” he responded. “I am ready if you are.” He took the small bag off my shoulder. “Let me help you with ssome of that.” I hid my reluctance at letting him take the bag containing that mysterious book.
“Then let’s go see what Romalen has for breakfast,” I said. Heading for the stairs, I glanced back at Jeelius. “Sleep well?”
“Yess,” he answered. “Once I fell assleep.”
“Take long?” I asked, wondering if he had heard the exchange between me and the Orum gang last night.
“A little while,” Jeelius answered as we reached the bottom of the stairs and headed for the back room. “It’ss not eassy to forget what hass happened,” he added by way of explanation.
“As long as you had no nightmares,” I commented as we took seats at the bar. With a silent good morning nod at the blond Breton already seated there, I recognized him as the other guest by the war hammer at his back. “Good morning, muthsera,” I greeted Romalen as she set two laden plates, full of bread, amber honey, and cooked eggs, in front of us.
“Good morning, both of you,” she greeted us. “Sleep well?” her tone was bland, as well as her face when I shot her a sharp glance.
“Yess,” Jeelius said again, diving into the food with gusto. “The room wass very comfortable, thank you.”
“Good,” Romalen’s tone lightened. She did not speak again while we ate our breakfasts. The Breton watched us bemusedly, nursing his steaming cup of klah. Jeelius pushed his plate away before I finished my last bite.
“That wass quite good, muthssera,” he commented, stretching his spine. He rose to his feet and bowed to Romalen. “I sshall tell everyone in the Imperial City of your generous hosspitality.”
“Thanks!” Romalen exclaimed as Jeelius picked up my small bag. As the Argonian made for the front door, the Dunmer’s gaze fell on me as I gathered my gear. “Don’t worry about the Orums,” she murmured as she took my plate.
“Certain they won’t cause you any trouble?” I asked, just as quietly. Romalen shook her head dismissively.
“They’ve caused trouble before, but have never held any grudges against me.”
“If they start, you’ll let me know?” I pressed. I did not feel comfortable with the idea of the Orum gang continuing to visit Romalen’s inn for their drinks. She smiled lopsidedly at me.
“Borba is a good friend of mine,” she remarked. “She’ll keep the others in line.”
Didn’t do such a good job of that last night, I kept my thoughts to myself. “I’ll see you again, muthsera,” I said before following Jeelius.
After settling Paint’s account with Mivryna Arano at the Black Waterside, I loaded my gear onto the horse and led him out of the corral to where Jeelius waited near the road. Paint nudged my back as we stopped next to the Argonian. “Sorry,” I stroked Paint’s arched neck. “We’re not riding today.”
We walked down the hill toward the broad valley in companionable silence, each of us alone with our thoughts. Jeelius is likely thinking of the past couple of days, like me. As for Paint, only Paint knew what was on his mind.
We soon reached the little lake to the north of the road, at the bottom of the valley where I had seen the wolf two nights ago. He was nowhere in sight, but I still watched for him. Jeelius exclaimed softly and asked me to wait. He darted off the road to the lakeshore, kneeling beside some plants. Leaving Paint beside the road, I followed, my hand on my hilt, watching for predators. The surrounding hills were peaceful, and I looked to see what had seized Jeelius’s attention. Several plants, some with broad, round leaves and brilliant red or yellow blooms, others with fine yellow flowers and tall feathery leaves, clustered near the water.
Jeelius selected one of the red-flowered plants and uprooted it, showing me the forked root. “Ginsseng,” he said to me. “The root can damage luck when used in bassic potionss.” He showed me the taller plant with the small flowers. “That’ss fennel,” he explained. He showed me a few dried blossoms hidden by the brilliant yellow blooms. “Their sseedss are good for resstoring your energy.” He picked the seed pods, careful not to damage the flowers.
“The besst time to collect them iss in early winter,” he added, studying the pods in the palm of his hand. He tore a strip of wool from the hem of his robe and wrapped the ginseng root and the fennel seeds carefully in it. “They are uncommon around the Imperial City,” he added, as we returned to the road.
“There’s so much to learn about alchemy,” I commented. “Beginning with what the plants are.”
“Aye,” Jeelius agreed as we started up the other side of the valley. “That by itsself can be a daunting tassk.”
Reaching into the pack at Paint’s cantle, I fished around until I found the Pocket Guide to Cyrodiilic Flora. I handed it to Jeelius and asked, “Is this any good?”
“Yess, it iss quite valuable, when you are sstarting out,” Jeelius answered. “Once you get more experiensse, however, you will need more advanced guidess.”
“With everything I’ve been doing,” with a sigh, I placed the book back in the pack without breaking stride, “it’ll be a long time before I need an advanced guide.”
“But that time may come before you know it,” Jeelius glanced at me, his pointed teeth bared in a grin, his orange eyes sparkling with humor. “Jusst focuss on what you need to know now.”
Paint tossed his head at the sound of hoofbeats on the cobblestones ahead. The mounted rider appear over the top as I looked up the hill. “There’s Drusus,” I said. “He’s a good man to know.”
As the rider approached us, the bay’s ears flicking at Paint, I waved a greeting. Drusus stopped when we drew near, his mare touching noses with Paint. As the horses blew softly at each other, I caught Drusus’s questioning glance at my Argonian companion, his eyes narrowing at the red woolen robe the other wore.
“This is my friend Jeelius,” I offered, pulling Drusus’s gaze to mine. “He ran into some trouble with the Mythic Dawn north of Cheydinhal, so I’m escorting him back home.”
“And where is home, Jeelius?” Drusus asked coolly. To his credit, Jeelius met the rider’s gaze unflinchingly.
“I am a priesst in the Temple of the One, in the Imperial City,” he answered smoothly, his voice matching the other’s tone.
“How did you end up so far from home?” Drusus’s voice warmed slightly.
“I wass taken five dayss ago,” Jeelius replied. “They blindfolded me and took me out through the ssewerss. After that, I do not know where they took me, until Julian,” he nodded courteously at me, “resscued me and brought me to Cheydinhal.”
“How did you know they took you out through the sewers?” his persistent suspicion caused me to regard Drusus with some surprise.
“The ssmell,” Jeelius answered simply. Drusus laughed in response. I stared at the horseman’s abrupt change in demeanor.
“Well said, Jeelius,” he said when he had caught his breath. “And Julian is escorting you home?”
“Part way, at least,” I answered, glancing at Jeelius. “I’m traveling to Bruma, but I’ll escort him as far as Weye, unless we run into Atellus.”
“Actually,” Jeelius responded, “once we get to Lake Rumare, I’ll be fine.” Again his eyes sparkled. “It iss much quicker to sswim acrosss the lake than it iss to walk all the way around.” He shrugged. “Once I’m on the isle, I can take care of mysself.”
Drusus chuckled silently at my expression. “He’s an Argonian, after all, Julian,” he commented. “More at home in water than on dry land, no?”
“The water iss my natural element, yess,” Jeelius agreed affably.
“Then I’d best let you continue on,” Drusus remarked, his bay pawing at the cobblestones, her shoe sparking with a ring. “Mariel does not like to stand still for long.”
Jeelius bowed stiffly to the rider. “It wass my pleassure to make your acquaintance, good Drussuss,” he spoke formally. “May Akatossh guard your path.”
“As he has guarded yours,” Drusus tossed off a salute with a sidelong glance at me. “And farewell, Julian. May the Nine watch over you.”
“And the same to you, as well,” I responded as his mare - Mariel - stepped past Paint. The three of us, Jeelius, Paint and I, resumed our climb up the hill.
“That Legion rider sseemss to think well of you, Julian,” Jeelius commented as we crested the hill. Scanning the road ahead for bandits or predators, I shrugged.
“We met when I was ambushed by a couple of bandits. Drusus came along in time to keep me out of trouble.” I answered quietly, glancing at him. “I find traveling easier when I stay on the riders’ good side.”
As we walked on a little more, we encountered a rising mist, the sun fading into overcast. “Lookss like rain,” Jeelius commented.
“Feels like it, too,” I nodded in agreement. The mist grew heavier, thicker, beading silver on Jeelius’s woolen robe and my leather cuirass. The air grew cooler, until I started looking for our breaths. Not quite cold enough. We reached the junction of the Blue Road with the Red Ring Road about mid-afternoon. The stone arches that marked the intersection did not appear out of the fog until we were almost underneath them.
Jeelius turned to me. “Here, we musst part wayss,” he said quietly. “Your path liess to the north, and mine iss due wesst,” he pointed in that direction, past the ruins of Fort Urasek. “Good luck on your misssion, Julian,” he continued, holding his right hand to me. Taking the proffered hand in return, I matched his long-fingered grip.
“When you get back to the Temple,” I said, “pray for me, and above, all, pray for the Empire. In these dark times, we can use all the help we can get.”
“I will pray for you, Hero of Kvatch,” Jeelius responded, his eyes shining. “You have done much for me, and I will never forget.” He squeezed my fingers a little more firmly in emphasis. “When next you come to the Imperial City, find me in the Temple of the One. I will be glad to ssee you again, friend.”
“I will,” I promised him. “I will come to see you.” I felt a smile warming my damp cheeks. “Rather sooner than later, friend.”
I am wondering if he was suspicious because of the red robe, but when Drusus said
A nice, quiet segment for a change! It was nice to take a relaxing walk and just look at the scenery. And Mariel I see. I like how you continue to give the horses in your fiction names and personalities, making them characters as much as anyone else.
Jeelius forgot to mention that fennel is quite tasty too. I always put it in my dough when I make calzones.
“It iss much quicker to sswim acrosss the lake than it iss to walk all the way around.”
My thoughts exactly! I always thought it was strange that they put no way across the lake except for the bridge in the west. I think I have seen a mod that add a boat that will take you across the eastern side.
nits:
After settling Paint’s account with Mivryna Arano at the Black Waterside, I loaded my gear onto Paint and led him out of the corral to where Jeelius waited near the road.
You have Paint twice in the same sentence. I think you can just trade the last instance for "him, or "the horse".
As for Paint, only Paint knew what was on his mind.
same here.
Drusus’ questioning of Jeelius struck me as too pointed to be the innocent concern of a Legion rider. He knows Julian, the two of them have fought and spilled blood together, so when she vouched for Jeelius that should have been the end of it. The fact that he continued to question the Argonian makes me wonder what his motive is.
I imagine that saving Jeelius from the Mythic Dawn isn’t an easy thing to do. I applaud Julian for seeing it through and escorting the poor fellow home.
SubRosa already pointed out the repetition of Paint. That was my only nit for this chapter.
Good piece, a distinct feeling of calm before the strom though...
I agree with Destri that Drusus seemed highly suspicious, though I suppose he only knows Julian's ability and not her cultist killing passtimes.
Nice touch with Jeelius swimming the lake, help to show how the races are different and how it changes what they do (this is one of the reasons argonians are my favourite race, their gameplay is actually different).
I liked the ginseng and fennel, the first makes good tea and the second is great in hard tack (it's an appetite supressant and makes it slightly more edible). Along with the details of the horses it really amkes the setting come to life for me, it's things like that which are so good ![]()
And now back to see Baurus again?
I think the reason for Drusus' suspicion was the fact that Jeelius was wearing a Mythic Dawn robe. He and the other "authorities" should know to look for those robes by now, as all the dead assassins of the Emperor and his sons were found wearing them.
Three chapters, and I loved them.
I like Orcs. Quite a bit actually. It was heartening to read how Julian likes them too and quickly embraces that there are good and not so good individuals within any race. In fact I like how she openly accepts all the races and notices the beauty in each, such as how the beautiful color had returned to Jeelius' scales and the sparkle in his orange eyes.
The stand off with the gang was great. Full of tension but not a drop of blood shed.
I believe I detect a growing richness in your wonderful writing. I know I am certainly enjoying traveling with Julain.
@all who noted Drusus's suspicion of Jeelius, it was triggered by the red robe. No good law enforcement takes just the word of an acquaintance alone.
@mALX: I'm glad you are enjoying the new material.
@SubRosa: You and I have the same feeling about Lake Rumare. A lot of times, I just swim across. There is actually a couple of places that are truly fords, where the water is shallow enough to walk across. Makes me wonder how ships make it to the Waterfront! I have fixed your first nit, but left the second one alone as 'Paint' is repeated twice for effect.
@Destri: That is just another example of Julian as the Protector. Why would she leave him to fend for himself and find his way home? Especially after the way he helped her during their escape from Lake Arrius Caverns?
@Olen: Yes, back to see Baurus again!
@Acadian: I love Orcs, and Argonians. Orcs because I can be as grouchy as they are! Argonians just because they're so different from the standard Elven/Human/Orcish races.
The next turned out to be a very short chapter and really served as a bridge between the Path to Dawn quest and the Spies quest.
***********************
Chapter 9 - Return to Cloud Ruler Temple
By the time we reached the road leading from Bruma to Cloud Ruler Temple, the sun had disappeared behind the western ranges. The alpenglow escaped through a crack in the overcast, lingering on the high peaks to the east of us and lighting our path. Paint cantered through the dell, as anxious as I to reach the end of the road. However, when we reached the steep climb up the escarpment, I reined him back to a walk, letting him catch his breath. Stars glinted through fast-dispersing clouds by the time we reached the gates to Cloud Ruler Temple.
I dismounted and led Paint through, then dropped his reins to close the tall gates against the night. Booted footsteps came down the stairs, and Jauffre’s bald pate appeared beside me, helping me with the heavy panels.
Once the gates were barred, I thanked Jauffre between puffs of cold air. He clapped me on the shoulder as we returned to waiting Paint. “Thank Talos you’ve returned safely!” his tone was anxious and relieved at the same time. “Baurus told me you were on the trail of the Mythic Dawn. Do you have the Amulet?”
With a sinking heart, I shook my head. “No, sir. Mankar Camoran has escaped with it.”
“Mankar Camoran?” Jauffre exclaimed, picking up Paint’s rein and starting up the steps. I fell into step beside him. “That man lived over four hundred years ago!”
“He’s Altmer, sir,” I responded, shrugging.
Jauffre muttered under his breath as we climbed the stairs, his face flushed with emotion. Roliand met us as we reached the top, giving Paint a pat on the neck. Jauffre handed him the rein and helped me take my gear off Paint’s saddle.
“Please tell me you have some good news, Julian,” Jauffre could not keep the despair out of his face and voice. I shrugged, watching Roliand lead Paint to the stables.
“I have something that might be useful, sir,” I admitted. “I think it was something Camoran used when he escaped with the Amulet. He left it behind.”
“What is it?” he demanded, leading me to the Hall of the Blades, carrying my pack with the bow and quiver attached.
“It’s a book, sir,” I answered, “written in a script I don’t recognize. I can feel power in it, though.”
Jauffre’s face brightened. “Take it to Martin right away,” he said. “He’s hardly taken time to sleep since you left.” He looked down at the pack in his hand. “Is it in here?”
“No, sir,” I patted the small bag slung from my shoulder. “In this.”
“All right,” Jauffre led me into the timber-framed hall. Setting the pack down near the door, he waved me toward a table halfway down the hall, to the right. By the light of the lamp on the table, I recognized Martin’s face. A few books were stacked at his elbow, along with parchment, quills and ink pots. His intent gaze focused on a book in his hands.
Behind him stood Baurus, back in his blue and brass armor, in that pose of alert watchfulness I remembered all too well.
The warmth of the hall made my frosted cuirass feel suddenly cold, and I shivered involuntarily. I stopped at the table and waited for Martin to notice me.
“Ah, you’re back, Julian!” he greeted me, welcome and gladness in his weary expression. “I told Jauffre not to worry.” Now he frowned at me, waving me to sit down. I took the bench across from him all too gratefully. “But I see from the look on your face that you have bad news,” he said more somberly. “You weren’t able to recover the Amulet, were you?”
“No, Sire,” I answered, watching his face fall. Digging beneath the purple volumes of the Commentaries, I drew out the bone-colored book and showed it to him, my fingers twitching from its power. “But I have this.” His eyes widened when his gaze fell on the cover.
Seizing the book from me, he looked at me with horror and alarm. “By the Nine!” he exclaimed. “Such a thing is dangerous to handle!” He laid the book carefully on the table, hovering his hands protectively over it. “Forgive me, Julian. You were right to bring it. But these Daedric volumes hold such great power, they can corrupt those who are not prepared for them.”
My brows rose high. “Daedric volume?” I repeated. “You do know what that is, then, Sire?”
“Why, this is the Mysterium Xarxes,” Martin met my gaze. “Do you mean to tell me you never guessed what it is?”
I stared at him. The Mysterium Xarxes? I found the actual Mysterium Xarxes? The idea scared me more than the thought of facing that den of Mythic Dawn without weapons. “N- no, Sire, I c- couldn’t read the script on the c- cover,” I stammered. “This is the book written by Mehrunes Dagon himself?”
Jauffre leaned over my shoulder to regard the book. “Now I believe it was Mankar Camoran himself you saw, Julian,” he said gruffly. He looked up at Martin. “Can that book help us find the Amulet, Sire?”
“Fortunately I know a few ways to protect myself from its corrupting influence,” Martin mused, resting an elbow on the table and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Still, I will need to be very careful -” his voice trailed off, his eyes on the daedric volume in front of him. He hadn’t touched the book once he had laid it on the table. His hazel eyes lifted to mine. “Julian, you have no idea -” He straightened his spine. “Well, I don’t know, Jauffre,” he said firmly. “But Julian, you will have to tell us how you happened to come by such a powerful book.”
My stomach growled before I could respond. Will you shut up for once? This is important stuff. Learn patience!
“It is past the dinner hour,” Jauffre clapped my shoulder, his fingers steadying me when I almost flopped face first into the table. “But I believe there is still some hot food in the dining hall. Let us retire there so Julian can eat something and warm up while she regales us with tales of her adventures.”
Shooting him a startled glance, I only saw neutral curiosity in the Grandmaster’s face. Martin slapped his hands firmly on the table, rising to his feet. “Excellent idea, Jauffre,” he agreed. “I’m a little hungry for a midnight snack, myself.”
“No, Julian,” Jauffre shook his head at me when I reached for my gear. “Leave it, for now. Come on, I want to hear your report.”
Baurus grinned at me as I passed him, following Jauffre and Martin to the east wing. Inside the dining hall, Captain Steffan looked up from his own plate as we entered. He made to leave, but Jauffre stopped him.
“You may as well hear Julian’s report,” he said to the tall Blade. “She’s traveled far today, and has brought back something of immense value.”
The Captain’s expression brightened. “The Amulet?” he asked. Like the others, his face fell when he was told no. Jauffre steered me to sit across from the Imperial, then moved to the sideboard, where he heaped food onto a plate. Martin sat down at the end of the table, Baurus taking up position behind him.
Jauffre set the laden plate, this time containing warm bread, sliced roast boar and aged yellow cheese in front of me, and took the chair next to Steffan. The Grandmaster filled a cup from the teapot in the center of the table.
“Now, let’s hear it,” he ordered. “Start with when Baurus left you in the Imperial City.” He tapped the table next to the plate. “But don’t forget to eat.”
Between bites of the grub, I described the key hidden in the Commentaries. How I determined the location of the shrine. The decision to infiltrate the Mythic Dawn as an initiate. The discovery of Jeelius on the sacrificial altar. The theft of the bone-colored book. Our heart-pounding battle through the cavern system.
“After we got out of those caverns, we went back to Cheydinhal, spent the night there, and left this morning,” I finished, drinking the last of the tea. “Jeelius and I separated at Fort Urasek, he went to swim across the lake, and I came straight here.”
“Who is this Jeelius?” Jauffre asked warily.
“I know of him,” Baurus spoke from his place behind Martin. “He is a priest at the Temple of the One. A kind man, especially to the poor and the beggars.” As I snagged an apple from the platter in the center of the table, I nodded agreement.
Steffan caught my gaze. “Something is bothering me,” he remarked. “They recognized you? If so, why did they let you so far in?”
Thinking back on yesterday’s events, I shook my head. “I don’t think the acolytes or guards recognized me,” I responded slowly. “But the Warden - Harrow, may have. He made me cover my head before we went in there. Then he exposed me in front of Ruma.”
“It’s possible,” Jauffre spoke, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “that only the upper levels knew of Julian’s involvement in the Gate at Kvatch.” He glanced from Baurus to me. “Did you happen to leave any of the Mythic Dawn agents you found alive?”
“No, sir,” Baurus responded for both of us. “Julian even made certain the ones she engaged were good and dead.”
“That said,” I met Jauffre’s gaze, “it’s still possible for one to witness our activities from the shadows.” I shrugged. “Some of those acolytes in the caverns didn’t face us, only ran. Such people would have reported events to their superiors.”
“If there are any left,” Steffan responded, his gaze on his mug of tea. “Raven and Ruma Camoran are dead, so is the Warden. Is there anyone else left?”
“Mankar Camoran,” Martin responded into the silence. “From what Julian described, he may not be back for a while, until his own preparations are complete.”
“But we don’t know how long he’ll be gone,” Jauffre added.
A short chapter indeed, at only one post. But it does exactly what you said, returning Julian to Cloud Ruler Temple and bringing the rest of the Scooby Gang up to date on her goings on. Once again our favorite Redguard is eating well I see. Roast boar, apples, no polenta there! Jauffre sets a good table when he is not busy putting heads on pikes.
By the time we reached the road leading from Bruma to Cloud Ruler Temple
This first line catches my eye most of any other. The reason is the "we", which you use to describe Julian and Paint. Most writers would have made that singular, but you have made Paint so much a character, rather than a conveyance, that he does indeed merit the "we".
Short but it brought things into position for the next section without seeming to be doing so. It flowed well in the story and had the feel of character building (which it was) rather than filler (which you seem most adept at avoiding). And she didn't recognise the Mysterium Xarxes which I suppose I did notice in the last part but failed to pay heed to. More improving on the game world with her having to be told things.
Only one thing rang a little strange for me:
So the book that Julian recovered is the notorious Mysterium Xarxes? Cool! One thing that I don't get is why, if you are the Daedric Prince of destruction, would you write a set of instructions for building a portal to Paradise?
There was something about the attitude of all the Blades, and even Martin to a lesser extent, that made me feel sorry for Julian. Think about it, she carries the Amulet of Kings safely to Jauffre. He promptly looses it while she is literally fighting her way through Oblivion itself to rescue the last Septim heir. She sees that heir safely to Cloud Ruler Temple where she is made into a Blade in order to clean up Jauffre’s mess. She goes back to the Imperial City and deciphers the clues leading her to the secret headquarters of the Mythic Dawn. She infiltrates that hideout, rescues a priest of the Temple of the One, and fights her way clear with the Mysterium Xarxes without any backup or help from her fellow Blades, and all they can say upon her return is ‘Where is the Amulet of Kings?’ I, for one, would be willing to excuse Julian if all she wanted to do was tell them all to 'go #@%& yourselves, take your wild boar and shove it up your @#&!'
Love the new avatar! I expected something ‘horse related’ from you, but I like this.
@SubRosa: When I'm horseback riding, I literally put my trust in the horse under me. Most horses will live up to that trust. That is the one amazing thing about these creatures. I'm glad that you've noticed Julian regards Paint as her partner in her travels. The Scooby Gang, indeed!
@Olen: I've always felt that fanatic leaders are very selective regarding what their fanatic followers know about. With everything necessary being provided by the Master, why should a novice head outside a cold, damp cave?
@Destri: Jauffre is a bit single minded, isn't he? Your rant made me laugh. I don't think it bothers Julian as much as it bothers you. After all, she's accustomed to the bumblings of higher-ups from her years in the Legion.
As for my new avatar, the ouroboros and the yin-yang symbols are two of my favorite symbols through the years. I first learned of the ouroboros in Organic Chemistry, of all places. It's the one thing I remember well (along with the boat and chair) from that class! But I can post something equine if you prefer!
Now starts Chapter Ten, and Julian's first visit to Bruma. mALX, her first encounter with a Mythic Dawn agent is in this chapter, so stay tuned!
****************
Chapter 10.1 What is a Spy?
Again, I met the sunrise on the plaza, next to the western brazier. Fortis and Pelagius were already on the practice sands. As Cyrus watched in silent approval, I moved through the Way of the Crane that Jelin had taught - no, pounded into me - all those years ago. Pleased that the movements felt less awkward, I noticed that my knee didn’t hamper them as much.
“Much better this morning, Julian,” Cyrus greeted me as I walked up to the Hall doors.
“Good morning, Cyrus,” I answered. “Felt better too,” I added. “Though that brazier felt good starting out.”
“The movements help get you warm, though,” Cyrus observed. He nodded at the lightweight green shirt I wore. “Go see Jena,” he suggested. “She may have something more suitable for this cold weather than that.”
Cyrus was right, Jena did have something more appropriate for the high Jeralls. While I ate breakfast, she brought me a long-sleeved woolen blouse with a quilted doublet, and a heavy dark green flannel skirt. Since we were the only ones in the dining hall at the moment, she helped me try them on.
The flannel skirt was heavier and bulkier than the light tan skirt I had worn in the Imperial City, and tangled around my ankles more readily. Jena instructed me how to kick the skirt out of the way as I walked, so I wouldn’t trip on them. Swishing the heavy fabric thoughtfully around my legs, I looked up at Jena. “I haven’t worn skirts in such a long time, and certainly not long and heavy ones like this.”
“I’m certain not since you started soldiering, Julian,” Jena responded, adjusting the doublet on my shoulders. “Oh, but I think this outfit suits you rather well. It’s perfect if you don’t want people to mistake you for a Blade.”
“Thanks, Jena,” I responded, smiling at her. “I appreciate the help.” Just then, Jauffre entered the dining hall, halting as his gaze fell on us. Jena and I exchanged amused glances, then I walked up to the Grandmaster, stifling a giggle at the look on his face. Enough. I’m too old for that girly stuff. “Good morning, Grandmaster,” I said when I stopped in front of him. “Jena thinks I won’t be mistaken as a Blade in this.”
“Ahem,” Jauffre cleared his throat. “It would seem so,” he remarked. Giving me one last look up and down, he met my gaze. “I’ve got a new task for you, if you’re ready.”
“What is it, sir?” I asked as Jauffre moved to the sideboard and started gathering victuals for his breakfast. Pouring him a cup of klah, I sat down across from him when he took his seat.
“The gate guards have reported seeing strangers on the road for the past several nights.” He looked pointedly at me. “I cannot leave Cloud Ruler Temple undefended while I have men combing the mountainside for these spies, but they must be eliminated.”
“If they are spies, sir,” I countered cautiously.
“Aye, if they are spies,” Jauffre agreed impatiently. “Talk to Captain Steffan, he can tell you where he has seen them. Also, Captain Burd of the City Guard in Bruma may be able to help. I’ve asked the Countess to have the guard keep an eye out for strangers.” His eyes hardened. “Track down these spies,” he held up his hand when I opened my mouth in protest, “if indeed they are spies. Find out what they know, and what they are planning, if possible.”
Torture? I thought to myself. During my years in the Legion, I had seen enough torture to know the techniques, but I had never participated in such matters myself. One gets more flies with honey than with crap. Persuasion, maybe. I knew a thing or two about persuasion. “If they are spies, Grandmaster,” I said quietly. Looking down at my new clothes, I caught his gaze.
“Should I go as a Blade, or as an agent, sir?” I wanted to know.
“This isn’t strictly undercover work,” he responded. “But the fewer that know you’re one of us, the better.”
“All right, sir,” I said, thinking of my storage chest in the armory. “I’ve got a few items that I’d like to sell in town. I’ll ask around and see what I find out.”
“I’m counting on you to find those spies,” Jauffre’s tone remained implacable. “We can’t afford to have the Mythic Dawn operate out of Bruma with impunity.”
I had to agree. “No, sir, we can’t.”
Jauffre’s expression became worried, as he finished the last bite of his breakfast. “I hope Emperor Martin knows what he is doing with that evil book,” he muttered. “I fear what it can do to him if he’s not careful.”
“The Mysterium Xarxes?” I answered. “Somehow, I think he’s well-equipped to handle it, sir. Not too much knowledge to be over-confident, but just enough to understand the precautions he needs to take.”
“Yes, but I think he is pushing himself too hard,” Jauffre responded, his tone still concerned. “He’s barely slept or eaten since Baurus returned from the Imperial City. All he’s done is study, study, study.”
“He does have a lot to learn, sir, if he is to be Emperor,” I commented. “Haven’t you tried getting him to stop and take a break?”
“Hmmph,” Jauffre scoffed wordlessly. “Me order the Emperor to eat or sleep? Rather like you telling the sun to stop coming up in the morning.”
“But the sun goes down every night,” I responded. “Why would I want to tell it to stop coming up?”
Jauffre stared at me incredulously. “Julian, you are proving more and more to be well-named,” he finally said with a short laugh. “Look, your arrival got him to eat something last night. If you can get him to do it again, and even sleep a bit, I would be much grateful to you.”
************
Captain Steffan was out on his patrol of the walls when I found him. “Captain Steffan, sir, may I have a moment of your time?” I asked, falling into step beside him. Once he got over his initial surprise at my feminine garb, he nodded. “Jauffre told me you saw some strangers on the road?”
“Jauffre thinks they may be spies,” Steffan responded neutrally. “We always see them near the runestone at dusk.” He shook his head in disgust. “They aren’t very woodscrafty, but Grandmaster Jauffre has forbidden us to range too far from these walls.”
“Those are my orders, sir,” I responded. “I’m to find those strangers and see what they are up to.” Looking over the edge of the wall, I caught my breath at the vista spread out below. “Can you show me the runestone?”
We reached the easternmost of the two watchtowers overlooking the gate and the road below. The Blade standing watch, one I had not yet met, turned at our approach and nodded at Steffan. The Captain led me to the front parapet and pointed down at the curve in the road where it turned south. Only by squinting could I just barely make out the rough shape of the menhir, surrounded by smaller standing stones. The whole complex stood on a small hillock just west of the bend in the road. “You can see that?” I exclaimed softly.
“Actually,” Steffan jerked a thumb at the Blade standing next to us. “Achille can. He’s got eyes like a hawk.” Achille smiled briefly at us when we left the watchtower, returning to his scanning of the vista below.
As Steffan and I walked back to the plaza, I glanced at the tall Imperial next to me. “What do you know of Captain Burd, sir?”
“Captain Burd?” Steffan repeated. “He’s ex-Legion, like you,” he continued after a moment, stopping near the practice sands to watch Fortis and Pelagius. “Nord through and through, but gets along all right with the southerners in town.” He glanced sidelong at me. “Something you need to know about Bruma,” he added. “Many of the Nords there are Skyrim born and bred, and don’t hold well with Chapel teachings and Nibenese habits. There’s always an undercurrent of tension there. Things look pretty peaceful on the surface, and I think it’s because Burd works hard to keep it that way.”
“Not all of them feel the way he does, then?” I asked quietly, remembering the Nords of Skyrim. Steffan shook his head. “Well, sir, I was posted for a few years in Skyrim. Learned how to stay out of trouble there, sir.”
“Not easy for a Redguard,” Steffan agreed. He spoke true, I knew. Redguards and Nords have been fighting over territory on the borders between Skyrim and Hammerfell. Not always the best of friends. Now he turned to face me. “I know you’re pretty capable, Julian, so don’t be offended when I say be careful. If those strangers are spies, they may try to kill you.”
“I’m not offended, sir,” I answered, matching his serious tone. “And yes, I’ll be careful. I haven’t lasted as long as I have in the Legion by being careless, sir.”
Julian is still improving I see, moving more easily through her Crane kata, and not being bothered as much by her knee. I half expect her to get some magical implants to replace her bad parts, giving her super-heroic abilities. The Six Million Septim Woman!
Enough. I’m too old for that girly stuff.
Never!
Achille can.
I hear that guy is a heel... Sorry, could not resist!
nits:
One gets more flies with honey than with crap.
You might try vinegar. Flies are attracted to feces, their larvae eat it.
I am limping along like Julian as I try to catch up. Just reached the part with Mankar and the Dagon shrine. The battle where Julian and her Argonian friend had to fight their way out was as exciting as I knew it would be. I held my breath during that intense scene and didn't release it for minutes afterward. Wow !!!
So cool to see the Adrenaline Rush used during that scene. Everytime I play a Nord or Imperial fighter I find myself looking for the Rush spell and not finding it. Lol.
Time to keep reading....... Awesome write.
Oh, and you have an Avatar. Wow!!!
So she's dressing all effeminate now and the bad knee is receeding (which is fine but I'm sure healing spells can't be good for you in the longrun). I can imagine she'll regret the long skirt when it comes to fighting.
I like that a lot of the dialogue happens with day-to-day stuff going on in the background, it brings cloud ruler to life and makes it seem more realistic and belieavable.
After your descriptons of the other cities I'm looking forward to Bruma.
@SubRosa: Thanks for your observations. Six Million Septim Woman indeed!
@Winter Wolf: Glad to see you back! Keep limping along, Julian's always glad to have your company. Thanks for the comment on my avatar.
@Olen: Like most women (including myself), Julian knows some occasions call for feminine clothing, other occasions call for more workmanlike attire. Obviously she isn't planning on fighting. Nice thing about the full skirts, though, is that a women can grab a chunk of hem and tuck it into her belt. Men like it when she does that, as they get to check out her gams.
@Boxee: Thanks for the link concerning the ouroboros in Organic (Orgasmic) Chem.
Finally Julian gets to check out the city she can see from Cloud Ruler Temple.
******************
Chapter 10.2 Bruma
After some consideration, I decided to take my katana and find a smith to repair it. I wouldn’t be a Legion soldier if I didn’t keep the blade keen. I also took the pack, laden with the potions, gems, jewelry and scrolls I had collected in my travels. People in Bruma, especially the Nords, may be more forthcoming with me if I appear to be an friendly old trader rather than an armed fighter. Besides, if Burd is as Captain Steffan says, his guardsmen will be enough protection.
My knee felt good today, and my hip hadn’t been bothering me for a few days, so I decided to walk to Bruma. Paint certainly deserves a day off. Before I left Cloud Ruler Temple, though, I visited him first and shared an apple with him.
At the North Gate, I found the gates closed against that cold north wind at my back. I put my hand on the heavy ring secured to the left hand panel at shoulder height and pushed experimentally. The reinforced wooden door swung ponderously open with a loud groaning. A guardsman stationed within, his Imperial face boyish beneath an iron helm, turned to look at me. Taking in my appearance, he sprang to assist my entry. Once inside, I helped him close the gate against the biting wind.
Pausing to look around, I took in the sturdy log and stone construction of the buildings that made up Bruma. Perched on a steep slope, the structures made up rows on three terraces. To my right, the castle loomed at the top of the slope in the northwest corner of the city wall. Snow, cleared off the cobblestones, lay piled high on either side of the streets. A large brazier burned near the guard post, and a tall bell steeple showed above the peaked roofs off to the south.
I thanked the guard. “Protect and serve, it’s what we do, ma’am,” he responded somberly, but I could see he was pleased by my courtesy. “Did you come by the western back road over the mountains?”
What road? I recalled the faint path that led west, from the North Gate. “I’m Julian,” I answered, “I came from Anvil.”
“Peter Brugels,” the young man responded. “Very few come through the North Gate, ma’am,” he continued. “Old Mrs. Draconis, from Applewatch, and sometimes a Blade from Cloud Ruler Temple.” He eyed me up and down. “Do you know Mrs. Draconis?”
“Not really,” I answered. “I just arrived in the area.”
“How in the world did you make it on that back road, ma’am?” Brugels exclaimed, his brows rising. “It’s remote, not patrolled at all, and full of beasties and bandits. Then there’s Sancre Tor -” he shuddered. “That place’s haunted!”
I shrugged. “I just kept my eyes and ears open,” I commented quietly, studying the terraced city. “So I take it you don’t get many strangers here.”
“Not so much these days, ma’am,” Brugels responded, shaking his head. “Not with these Oblivion Gates opening all over the place.”
Catching my breath, I shot Brugels a glance. “Oblivion Gates?” I repeated. Gods, no, not more of them.
“Yes, ma’am,” Brugels nodded vigorously. “Haven’t you seen one of them yet?” His eyes widened melodramatically. “In fact one opened just last night where the Orange Road meets the Silver Road, just south of here!”
I didn’t see it when I came back to Cloud Ruler Temple. I bit my lip to keep the words from coming out. “Really?” I said instead. “I’ll have to be careful, then.”
“Captain Burd would know more, ma’am,” Brugels added helpfully, pointing at the path leading up to the castle. “At this hour, he’d be in the barracks having lunch with his lieutenants.”
“I wouldn’t want to disturb him -” I began, but Brugels shook his head.
“Nay, Captain Burd’s nice enough, he won’t mind, ma’am.” Now his brown eyes turned assessing, though his face remained open. “Besides, he likes to know everyone that comes into town.”
“Well, I’d best stay on his good side, no?” I remarked. “Thanks, sir, for your help. I’ll go see Captain Burd first.”
“Bye,” he said as I limped toward the castle. The sentries posted outside the castle gate eyed me as I entered the courtyard, but did not challenge me.
Large braziers in the courtyard barely kept the chill away as I made my way to the County Hall, the heart of the castle. Within, a dark, shadowed area with sooty stones, soaring columns and heavy tapestries greeted my gaze. Stepping down onto a threadbare rug, I paused, looking around as my eyes adjusted to the dimness. A passing guard paused nearby.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked.
“I’m looking for Captain Burd,” I answered. “Peter Brugels told me he would be in the barracks?”
“Came in the North Gate, eh?” the guard responded. He pointed to my right, indicating a colonnade running the length of the north wall. “Through the door on the right, ma’am.”
“Thanks,” I replied. Heading for the indicated door, I listened to the silence in the hall, broken only by booted footfalls as sentries changed watch. Too easy, I thought. They seem too lenient. Or would they be so lenient had I come through the East Gate, off the Silver Road? What was it Brugels said? Only Blades come in the North Gate? I shook my head regretfully. So much for being undercover.
Two bare-headed men in the yellow Bruma livery hunched over their klah as I entered the barracks. Against the far wall, other guards slept on a row of cots.
“I heard a cult called the Mythic Dawn is behind the Emperor’s assassination,” the Imperial, a war axe at his back, was speaking to his companion. He glanced up at me as I drew near. The other, his claymore-decorated back to me, caught the look and turned around. Taking in my white hair and feminine clothing, he rose to his feet - and kept rising. Damn! What is it about this place? Imperials as tall as Nords, like Captain Steffan, and now a Nord as tall as a fricking Altmer!
Looking up into his chiseled features, wind-tanned with crows-feet at the corners of his eyes, I swallowed my heart back into my chest. “Hello, ma’am,” he said, shooting a brief glare at the seated Imperial, “what can I do for you?”
As the other man rose to his feet, I took a step back. “Captain Burd, sir?” I asked the Nord.
“Aye, that’s me,” he answered, his brown gaze steady on me. “Commander of the Bruma Guard. That stripling lad,” he nodded at the Imperial, who wasn’t exactly young, “is one of my lieutenants, Gerich Senarel.”
“I’m Julian, from Anvil. I just arrived in Bruma, sir,” I began, unsure how to proceed. Jauffre hadn’t said secrecy was essential, yet discretion was key. “Peter Brugels recommended I check in with you, first.”
“Ah, yes, ma’am,” Burd nodded, grey-streaked brown hair gleaming in the lamplight. “Through the North Gate, then. How did you come to Bruma?”
“From the north, sir,” I answered, holding Burd’s gaze. His eyes narrowed.
“From -?” his voice trailed off. Shaking his head, he studied my face. “I’ve never seen you before, ma’am.”
“I was sent because there have been reports of strangers on the north road,” I took a deep breath, trying not to be too evasive. Burd’s level brows rose.
“Really?” he tilted his head at me, then looked over at Senarel. “He knows everything I know,” he continued. “You may speak freely, ma’am.”
“I’m told strangers have come to the runestone at dusk,” I continued quietly. “Not very woodscrafty from what I hear, but certainly suspicious enough to cause concern.”
“Hmm, I see,” Burd mused, rubbing at that chiseled jaw. “I’d be concerned too,” he mused. “But other than Jearl returning from a trip down south, things have been pretty quiet around here. Not much travel now between the Emperor’s assassination and Oblivion Gates opening around the country.” Though his mouth remained serious, his brown eyes twinkled at me. “The Countess has asked that the men keep an eye out, and I’ve ordered so. Until you came, I’ve had no reports of any strangers here in Bruma.”
“Well, let’s hope it stays that way,” I muttered to myself, looking around the barracks. Meeting Burd’s gaze again, “Permission to ask around myself, sir?” Again, Burd’s eyes narrowed at me. Not a stereotypical dumb Nord, this one.
“No, not at all, ma’am,” he responded. “Just remember this: I make sure my guards respect the local Nords and their ways. You would do well to do the same, Redguard.”
“Yes, sir, I will,” I answered. “Thanks for your time, sir.”
“Senarel is on his way out to the East Gate,” Burd nodded at the sturdy Imperial. “He can show you to Olav’s. That’s a good place for the local gossip.”
After all the time riding around Bruma, Julian finally goes into the city. Maybe she should have brought Paint after all? He probably would have liked the stable, since that was his birthplace as I recall.
The subdued suspicion of the gate guard was a good touch. The way that they half-expect people coming from the north gate to be Blades, because the only thing off that way is Cloud Ruler Temple and Applewatch. Also good touches on how when she mentions the name of the guard she spoke to, the others knew which gate she had come in from.
And more Oblivion Gates opening up now. I think I read in the wiki that they start doubling in frequency after you do Lake Arrius Caverns. Not that they are a threat to anything (except foolish wannabe knights who go inside them). I have seen the few daedra that aimlessly walk around them killed by wildlife on more than one occasion. It is great fun watching a mountain lion tear apart an atronach!
Good stuff, I too like the fact that the road she used half blows her cover and gets her preferential treatment from the guards, and that rather than saying she entered the north gate she simply said the guards name. It more oblique and espoinage-like, and seeing as she's meant to be a spy now she's a blade...
I look forward to seeing Bruma's other inhabitants, I never really got the city, it didn't seem to have a soul to it in game but you seem to have other ideas so I can't wait to read them. The guards discussing what's happened also lent it some more realism as we hear what the rumour mill comes up with as it lags behind events.
And as for using the ouroboros to describe benzene... well I think I'll stick with the schrodinger equation (and either some outragous simplifications or a very large computer
).
Someone? I wonder who could that be???
Dremora: (points his claymore upwards while grinning like an idiot)
Imperial Scribe: Why are you pointing at the sky, Dhertee-Innuen?
Dhertee-Innuen: But Doe, I already told you! That 'somebody' is above us!
Doe: Above us? What are you talking about, my dremora friend? Only those who are above us is the Divines! Wait. Could it be?
Dhertee-Innuen: Yes! Your puny mortal brain finally figured it out! Enlighten my smottled brain will ya?
Doe: Is it... Dibella?
(the Dremora smacks his head in frustration and stalked towards Doe menacingly. Suddenly a Dunmer appeared out of nowhere and shouted:
Dunmer: Dhertee-Innuen, Doe! Would you two please get out of there!
And off the trio went.
=
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Dhertee-Innuen and Doe... wait a minute, I think I've heard of them before.
Hmmm.... are they related to Phil thee-mine and Bor Dee H. Yumore?
Personally I think that, despite the skirt and the affected limp around the guards (nice touch, that), the hilt of Julian’s Akaviri Katana probably did more to break her cover than which gate she came through. I agree with SubRosa and Olen, the business with the gates was terrific. I wish that she had brought Paint with her, if for no other reason than that his presence would have reinforced her cover story with the guards. But I like the way that you are showing that all this cloak-and-dagger business is completely foreign to a woman whose training consists of putting the pointy end into the enemy!
*Destri swiftly changes the subject before the innuendo sinks in.*
I have no real nits to speak of, but I am curious . . . did you edit out a scene between Julian and Martin in Chapter 10.1 (where she tries to get him to rest)?
Caught up on your new chapters and I love m. The part in Bruma was really good.
@SubRosa: Of course a mountain lion can tear apart an atronach! They're quick, agile, and very bad-tempered, not to mention those powerful jaw and those nasty sharp claws. If a domestic house cat can flay the skin from his owner's arm with his dull back claws (something I've actually witnessed!
) then imagine the damage a cougar can do. Yikes! While Paint likes Wildeye Paint Stables, he likes Roliand at Cloud Ruler Temple more!
@Olen: As for Schrödinger's equation, there's always the Cat Who Walks Through Walls. Hey, that'll be a cool avatar for a science geek like me! Bruma is a place of contradictions for me - cold enough to see your breath, but cozy and warm at heart. Oh, and didn't you know that rumor travels faster than the speed of light? Of course, there's nicer, kinder, gentler agents than benzene (talk about the smell of death - benzene is worse). But I chose the ouroboros because it represents the Eureka! moment so well for me.
@ureniashtram: Thanks for the kudos! As for O.C., that was what Cornellians called it when I was there about twenty five years ago. Both science majors and non-science majors referred it to as orgasmic chem because of the block plan. We had to take a semester's worth of work in three and a half weeks. The final was on you before you had a chance to recover from the brutal mid-terms. Nine blocks through the school year. Oh, and it's not Cornell University in Ithaca, New York, it's Cornell College in Mt. Vernon, Iowa.
@D.Foxy: I think U beat you this time!
@Destri: I think you got it right - Julian is finding the cloak and dagger business pretty challenging. I guess that's why Jauffre had her go to Bruma - it's a fairly benign town to be learning that stuff in, compared to - say, Leyawiin, or Chorrol. As for Bravil, don't get me started! As for scenes edited out of Chapter 10.1, a lot has been removed, due to length. You're pretty good at picking up on that.
@Remko: Hey, good to see you again! I'm glad you're still enjoying this!
Next, Julian discovers my favorite place in all of Bruma - Olav's. Ahh, the hours I've spent in there, enjoying the drink and especially the company. I hope Julian enjoys it as much as I have (except for the drink, of course).
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Chapter 10.3 Local Gossip
Senarel showed me where the smithy lay, just east of the North Gate. He waited while I dickered with Fjotreid about the cost of sharpening my blade. Back outside, the lieutenant led me to Olav’s Tap and Tack before returning to his rounds.
Stepping inside the small inn, I found myself in a dimly lighted, smoky room. A few Nords looked me over, but their expressions lacked hostility. One of the men, still tall and unbent despite his advanced age, greeted me warmly. “Greetings Redguard,” he lowered the clay pipe from his mouth. “Ongar the World-Weary, they call me hereabouts. I’ve been everywhere, and done everything. Now I’m settled down for a good, long rest.”
“Here in Bruma, sir?” I asked, thinking of warmer climes for retirement.
“Aye,” Ongar tipped his head back, his blue eyes twinkling in the smoky air. “Bruma is the perfect town for a Nord man of leisure. Bracing mountain air, good food and drink, and lively Nord fellowship.” He gestured for me to sit across the table from him.
“I have to admit you make it sound appealing, sir,” I remarked, taking the indicated seat and lowering my pack to the floor. “But I prefer Anvil, myself. I’m Julian.”
Ongar pointed the stem of the pipe at me. “And yet here you are,” he said acerbically. I laughed quietly.
“You have a point, sir,” I said. “I’m new to Bruma, but not to Nord ways.”
“Really?” Ongar’s grey brows rose. “How so?”
“I spent some time in Skyrim,” I answered. “Pretty country, but a little cold for my taste.”
“Well, then this will be more your taste,” Ongar chuckled at me. “You’ve come a long way, traveler. I’m sure you are hungry and weary.”
“Hungry, certainly, sir,” I responded as my stomach growled softly.
“Olav!” Ongar shouted at another man near the fire. The innkeeper turned at the sound of his name. Handsome in a rugged way, he shot Ongar a glare. “Some hot food and spiced ale for my new friend Julian of Anvil!” Ongar ignored the other’s look.
The glare disappeared as Olav transferred his steady gaze to me. He moved to bring me a pitcher, but I held up a hand. “Water, or klah, if you have it, please,” I said.
“Of course, Julian,” Olav poured a mug from the klah pitcher hanging from a hook in the fireplace. “Food?”
“Whatever’s hot,” I said, reaching into my pouch. Olav set the mug in front of me, then returned to the fireplace. He glanced at me as he ladled some soup into a bowl.
“Cheese and potato dumpling soup,” he said proudly. Hmm, sounds good. Smells better.
“How much?” I asked.
“Three drakes,” Olav answered in a matter-of-fact manner. I laid three coins on the table. Setting the bowl before me, he picked up the coins and waited for me to take my first taste.
“Hmm, this is delicious,” I exclaimed. “Never had anything like this.”
“Not even in Anvil?” he asked. I shook my head.
“Too warm for soups and stews,” I answered. “Mostly roast meat, fish and vegetables.” I looked up in surprise as Olav set a chunk of bread next to my elbow.
The remaining Nord in the place, a beautiful woman with long blond hair framing her oval face, looked over at me from the adjacent table. “Hello,” she greeted me. “What news do you bring, Julian of Anvil?”
I thought fast. “The Dark Brotherhood isn’t responsible for the Emperor’s assassination,” I remarked. “At least, that’s what a Legion rider told me.”
“Really?” the woman commented.
“That’s Alga, bard and speechcraft trainer,” Ongar introduced her. “Honmund’s her partner.” His gaze on me was crafty. As I returned his gaze, I nearly missed Alga’s scowl.
“No offense,” she said to me, shooting Ongar a glare, “but I don’t want to hear about any ‘Mara Mother Mild’ and Chapel family business. Honmund and I live together in the old Nord way. Good enough for my Fa and Ma, good enough for me.”
I realized that she had heard enough from southerners about living with a man without the advantage of a Chapel wedding. Recalling that marriages in Skyrim were more a private agreement between the involved parties, I met Alga’s gaze squarely.
“If it’s good enough for you,” I said quietly, “it’s good enough for me.”
Alga nudged Ongar’s shoulder, making him scoot over on the bench a little. She sat down across from me, next to the old man. “You’re not like the others,” she remarked, her smile touching her brilliant blue eyes.
“What others?” I responded, spooning up more of the wonderful soup. The woman regarded me thoughtfully for several moments.
“Bruma’s a funny place,” she said finally, as I sopped up the last of the soup with the bread. “Half Cyrodiil, and half Skyrim.” She placed her left elbow on the table and propped her chin in her left palm. “Some of the southerners disapprove of us Nords,” she continued after a moment. “And some of the Nords think southerners are weaklings.”
“Hmm,” I responded, taking a sip of my klah. “And what do you think, Alga?”
“Honestly?” Alga held my gaze. “I’m not as confident in my thinking as I used to be. Take Cirroc, for example.”
“Cirroc?” I repeated.
“The chapel healer,” Ongar said, his eyes twinkling. “Redguard, like you. Only you’d think he was a Nord, the way he acts.”
“How does he act?” I smiled at Ongar.
“Like a Nord,” Ongar returned, his chuckles making me laugh in response.
“Have you traveled far today?” Alga asked me, her gaze open and curious.
“Not as far as I did yesterday,” I responded. “But I’m glad to be here for the noon meal.” My gaze on Olav’s rugged face, I popped the last of the cooling bread into my mouth. “The food is absolutely delicious.” He grinned in pleasure at my compliment.
“And you’ll be moving on soon, I suppose,” Alga remarked casually. Sensing some deeper purpose in her comments, I met her gaze.
“Not right away, I don’t think,” I indicated the pack on the bench next to me. “I’ve picked up a few things in my travels, and would like to sell them. I prefer to travel light.”
“Well, Fjotreid at the Hammer and Axe, and Olfand at Nord Winds will buy and sell weapons and armor, and Skjorta, Olfand’s woman, will buy and sell clothes.” Alga paused, waiting for a response from me. Keeping my face neutral, I waited. “And Suurootan in Novaroma will barter everything else.”
“Is that all?” I responded when she did not continue further. “Just the three shops?”
“Bruma isn’t Imperial City, that’s for certain,” Alga’s gaze turned cool.
“Hmm, could have fooled me,” I answered, finishing the last of the klah. “It’s a pretty good sized city, and the only one for kilometers around.” I met Alga’s eyes again. “You must get a lot of strangers passing through here.”
“Hmm, not lately, right Olav?” Alga turned to look at the innkeeper over her shoulder.
“No, not many since the assassination.” Olav responded, swirling the ladle in the soup kettle.
“And now with these Oblivion Gates opening up all over the place,” Alga added, “people are staying home more.”
“Except for Jearl,” Ongar pointed out. “She just got back from a trip south. Didn’t have much to say, but seemed a little smug.” He met my gaze. “She’s a Redguard, but not like you. Or Cirroc.”
“How so?” I asked, tipping my head at him. “She doesn’t act like a Nord?”
“Ach, she acts like she’s better than every one else in Bruma,” Ongar’s eyes turned cold at the thought. “Doesn’t give the time of the day to anyone. Walks around in those raggedy clothes of hers as if they’re velvet.”
“She keeps to herself, mostly,” Alga added. “Though she works in the castle, cleaning the Great Hall, she doesn’t seem to do much else.”
“She’s been going out the North Gate in the late afternoon lately, though,” Ongar glanced sidelong at Alga. “Ever since she got back.” He rubbed his chin. “Stays out until the chapel bells strike ten, then comes back home. Don’t know what she does out there.”
Hanging around that runestone at the base of Cloud Ruler Mountain? “Is that odd behavior for anyone?” I asked.
“Well, my Honmund goes out in the mountains for days at a time,” Alga responded. “But he does prospecting. Jearl isn’t out long enough to do anything productive, if you ask me.”
“Then there’s that face in the window,” Ongar added, taking a sip of his ale.
“Face in the window?” Alga repeated, shooting a glance at him. The old man nodded.
“Yes, every day I see someone looking out the window of Jearl’s cabin. I know it isn’t her, because she’s at the castle working.” Ongar looked at me with that sly look again. There’s more to him than a retired old man enjoying the life of leisure. He sees more than he lets on. So much for the dumb Nord act. I always knew that was bullcrap.
“Hmm, maybe that’s the reason she’s been smug lately,” I remarked softly. Alga and Ongar stared at me, then the old Nord began guffawing heartily.
I agree with Rosa. Loved how subtle you brought in her spy mission into the conversation.
Second to agree with SubRosa. Staggeringly outstanding dialogue with the Bard, the World-Weary and the Proprietor.
And the conversation about Jearl and the face that comes out of the window of her house... made me grin.
Nice update and am waiting for more!!
Caught up again. Thanks for the chow. First there was this:
@SubRosa: Think you this old soldier is just gonna hop in the sack with her superior?? She's a bit too professional for that! The missing scene is just a little conversation where Julian convinces Martin of the value of rest whenever and wherever you can get it, just like the old soldier she is. I wasn't happy with it so I edited it out. As for klah, well, coffee grows in mountain forests in tropical zones, so that would be Elseweyr or Valenwood. Black Marsh I believe is too low in altitude. Hammerfell and High Rock have the altitudes, but I believe they are too far north. The idea of klah smuggling is an interesting concept and something I'll think about for the next one!
@Remko: I'm glad you thought the whole spy thing was subtle enough to be believable. I enjoyed watching Julian struggle with the concept of undercover work.
@ureniashtram: That last comment of Julian's about the reason for Jearl's recent smugness just escaped her mouth, and I just left it in. I'm glad you enjoyed the conversation in Olav's. I always enjoy sitting there for a few hours and listening in on the NPC's there.
@Acadian: Thanks for reading and enjoying! If Buffy goes to Bruma again, tell her to duck into Olav's and tell him Julian sent her! It's the warmest spot in all of Bruma, I guarantee it!
Now Julian finds out if Jauffre is right.
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Chapter 10.4 - Spies, Really
The residences changed from sturdy log houses along the east side to ramshackle board-and-batten structures along the west side as I limped along the narrow cobblestoned path running around the chapel. People, mostly Nords, greeted me as they passed me, or as I passed them.
As I rounded the southwestern corner of the immense chapel and started back toward the square, I heard a door open behind me. I glanced back as a Redguard woman stepped onto her dilapidated porch. Her black eyes locked with mine and she gasped, her left hand flying upwards.
“You cannot escape the Master’s vigilance!” she shouted, as yellow smoke swirled around her, obscuring her face and figure in daedric armor. The sound of another summoning spell reached my ears as another horrifying figure appeared in the doorway behind her. “For Lord Dagon!” She leaped off the porch toward me.
My right hand reaching to my empty left hip, I cursed myself for not bringing a backup blade, and turned to run. The dark green wool tangled around my ankles, and I slipped on an icy patch, but I managed to keep my footing. My bum knee stabbed as I slid sideways into the stone wall of the chapel to my right.
With a shove of my right hand, I pushed myself off the wall and gathered the skirts up in my left hand, running. Booted footfalls pounded behind me, drawing nearer. A glance over my shoulder indicated the first of the two assassins was only a couple of paces behind me and gaining, her horned mace rising for the blow.
Pain spread through my knee joint and shot up my thigh as I put on another burst of speed. Ahead, I spotted the yellow surcoats of two Guardsmen, already turning at the commotion behind me. They sized up the situation efficiently and unshouldered their bows, shouting for reinforcements.
Reaching the steps of the chapel, I ducked to my right. Arrows whiffed past me toward the two assassins while I scrambled across the granite pavers. As I headed for the East Gate, I avoided the additional guards running up the broad avenue.
Again my foot landed on another patch of ice, and I fell to my knees. A cry escaped me at the sharp stabbing now reaching my right hip. I turned in time to see the nearer assassin go down under the assault of multiple arrows. They didn’t even try to arrest her!
Running up from the East Gate, Senarel positioned himself between me and the remaining Mythic Dawn assassin, his war axe ready. With shouted commands to the four guards, he braced himself for her attack. Four bowstrings twanged nearly simultaneously, and the assailant dropped less than two meters from Senarel and myself. The armor and weapon disappeared in sulfurous smoke, leaving behind the corpse of a Dunmer woman.
One of the guardsmen called the all clear, and they shouldered their bows. Another walked up to the Redguard woman and tipped her body over with a booted foot to see her face. He shot a glance at Senarel, “It’s Jearl, sir,” he reported.
His war axe shouldered, Senarel turned to look at me, his eyes scanning my frame. “Are you hurt, ma’am?” he asked. Still gasping from the pain, I shook my head, gulping down deep breaths of the cold air.
“I’m fine, sir,” I struggled for breath, “thanks to your men.” Senarel took a step toward me and held his hand out. Gratefully I accepted his offer of assistance and regained my feet, shaking out the skirts. Once he was certain I had my balance, Senarel released my hand and stomped to the Dunmer woman, kneeling beside her to look at her face. With a stifled groan at the stabbing in my right leg, I followed him and looked over his shoulder.
“I don’t recognize her,” he muttered under his breath.
“A stranger in town?” I asked. He shot me a glare. “I’m sorry, sir,” I hastened to assure him. “I didn’t mean to imply anything, sir. Ongar said he saw someone looking out the window of Jearl’s cabin. If she stayed inside the entire time -” my voice trailed off.
“Must have,” he growled, searching the woman’s body. Recovering three drakes and a key from the woman’s belt pouch, he handed them to me. “Keep the gold, she won’t be needing it any more. You may want to find out if that key fits somewhere in Jearl’s house.”
Surprised at his words, I took the coins and the key from Senarel. Suddenly overcome by the need to see the face of the woman that had just tried to kill me, I limped over to the Redguard. Her face was young, her black hair pulled back in tight braids along her scalp.
Kneeling awkwardly beside her, I searched her body. Like the other, I found only a few coins and a similar key. I glanced up at Senarel, holding out the items.
“Help yourself,” he said, his tone easing a little. Again he offered me his hand. “Are you certain you aren’t hurt?” His grip was strong and steady as he drew me effortlessly to my feet. “You’re limping pretty badly, ma’am.”
As I brushed the snow and dirt off my skirts, I shook my head at him. “No, sir,” I answered, meeting his dark gaze. “That’s an old injury that never quite healed.” With a sigh, I looked back down at Jearl’s body. “I’m not used to running, sir, especially from danger.”
His eyebrows shot up as Senarel considered me. “Really?” I could see him revising his opinion of me. “What do you usually do with danger, then, ma’am?”
“Usually I stand and face it,” I replied. “Sometimes I’ve gone looking for it.”
“Adventurer?” Senarel’s eyes narrowed at me.
“Half a lifetime in the Legion,” I answered. I could see my estimation soar in Senarel’s eyes. He rocked back on his heels, his eyes steady on me.
“Well, then,” he turned his dark gaze back to Jearl. “Take those keys and go through Jearl’s house, see what you find. I expect a full report from you when you’re done.”
“Certainly, sir,” I agreed. Well, he’s entitled to find out why these two attacked me. Oblivion, I’m entitled to that, too. With a healing spell cast, I turned back to the narrow street leading south. I looked at the keys in my hand, the iron cold in the mountain air.
Reaching Jearl’s house, I stepped through the open door. Within, I found myself in a single room, with an alcove toward the back. A plain bed stood within the small area. A search of the cupboards turned up only food, and a rusty iron cuirass. Pausing with my back to the fire, I looked around the room again. Not many hiding places here. That bed only sleeps one. How did Jearl have a guest?
My eye fell on the rug, laid crookedly under the table. The light from the fire illuminated a square outline beneath the worn fabric. My toe slid beneath the edge of the rug and I flipped it back, exposing a trap door.
Kneeling beside it, I tugged on the iron ring set into the door. Locked. The first key I tried didn’t fit, but the other key did. The trapdoor swung back to reveal a crate below the opening, the musty air typical of cellars rising to my nose. I groaned to myself at the lack of rungs or ladder to ease my aching knee.
I sat at the edge of the trapdoor and lowered myself to the crate, taking as much of my weight on my left leg as I could. A quick look around showed an alcove set off to the side, with another bed in it, behind a cupboard. On top of it, I recognized one of the purple-bound Commentaries. A table placed against the left-hand wall, beneath a guttering torch, drew my attention. Another purple volume rested on it, on top of an open scroll.
Jauffre was right, they were spies. Picking up the scroll, I tilted it to read by the torch light.
Jearl,
The Master was pleased to hear of your activities outside of Chorrol. The more gates that we open the nearer we are to the Glorious Cleansing.
The Master has chosen you and Saveri Faram for a most crucial mission, a sign of your achievement through the ranks of the Chosen. We have learned that the Septim heir has gone to ground at Cloud Ruler Temple, the lair of the cursed Blades. The Master has made its destruction the top priority of the Order, and Lord Dagon has committed whatever resources are required.
Pending your report on the Septim’s activities at Cloud Ruler Temple and your assessment of Temple defenses and possible routes of escape, we plan to open a Great Gate on the open ground before Bruma as soon as possible.
Remember the first three Lesser Gates represent only the preliminary stages of Great Gate deployment. Do not in any way compromise your cover in defense of these gates. New ones can be quickly and easily reopened. And once the Great Gate is opened, the fall of Bruma is assured. Cloud Ruler Temple cannot stand long after this, and the Septim will be caught like a rat in a trap.
We would appreciate any further details you can offer concerning the Imperial agent who rescued Martin from Kvatch, but again we caution you, do not risk a confrontation. This individual is not to be trifled with.
Dawn is breaking.
Ruma Camoran.
Suddenly breathless, I looked up into the flickering torch light. —Not to be trifled with, am I? Obviously, Jearl thought otherwise. My eyes widened at a sudden thought. Ruma knew about me before I went into those caverns. No wonder she recognized me. My hand rose to my hair. People are talking about a white-haired Redguard closing the Kvatch Gate. How many white-haired Redguard women are there?
Recalling Matius’s description of that horrifying night, I considered the spies’ orders. They are to open three smaller gates so a Great Gate can open. Once that Great Gate is open, they can send that siege engine through. If that happens here - I inhaled sharply at the memory of the devastation I had witnessed at Kvatch followed by the thought of the same happening to cold, snowy, warm, friendly Bruma.
Not if I can help it. Re-reading the opening paragraph, my mind caught on another detail. Chorrol? What was Jearl doing at Chorrol? Weynon Priory! She stole the Amulet! That’s why Mankar Camoran was so pleased with her! Suddenly I didn’t regret her death. They killed Prior Maborel.
Well, Hephaestion was a member of the most professional army of his time, and it did not stop him from sleeping with the boss! (I just love the saying: Alexander was never conquered, except by Hephaestion's thighs...)
If Julian does not show an interest in someone soon, the rest of us are going to have to start writing Julian slash to make up for it (hmmm, starts thinking about Julian and Jena...).
I suspect that Julian will never wear a skirt again! That was a very exciting chase. I like that fact that Julian is not the one to kill the two Mythic Dawn agents, but rather the guards that come to her rescue. Most fan-fics would have the opposite. Well done!
Ruma's note warning Jearl not to attack Julian rang true to my ears. After how Julian had laid waste to the Arrius Caverns, she is not someone I would be sending anyone but my best after. Perhaps Jearl figured that bagging Julian would insure her promotion?
It was also a nice touch in tying Jearl to the theft of the Amulet of Kings. When I read Chorrol, that was the first thing that came to my mind.
Oh, and since you are using klah, that means you might want to use phrases like "Not worth a hill of beans!" or "You're full of beans!" sometime.
nits:
Ahead, I spotted the yellow surcoats of two Guardsmen ahead, already turning at the commotion behind me.
You have ahead twice here. I think can just delete the second instance.
Very nice! I always this like this part of the MQ. I loved your conclusion Jearl must have been one of the thieves that took the Amulet and had a hand in the death of Maborel.
Not sure if you perhaps meant Redguard here:
Woo I've caught up and an exciting catch up it was, I like the pace and range of this piece. Her sitting with the nords getting information was great for character then you plop in the excitment of the last section which caught the tension built in previous parts very well.
I agree with SubRosa about the note telling Jearl not to attack, it rings very true. I never quite understood why they always attacked in game, given what happens in the caverns, and that they are surrounded by guards, and that it will blow their cover... Still they are meant to be nutters.
Having her run to the guards was sensible and worked vastly better than having her do something verging on uber, it works perfectly with the character.
Good stuff.
I like Julian’s self reflection (How many white-haired Redguard women are there, indeed?), it goes a long way towards explaining why Jearl chooses to attack. Unfortunately, it doesn’t explain why Jearl would choose to wait until the moment that she has finally gained the master’s notice and favor to suddenly start disobeying orders. That is a flaw in the games story, not in yours. I am enjoying this foray through Bruma immensely. Part of me would love to see Julian join the Thieves Guild if for no other reason than that she gets Ongar as a fence.
For the first time since Kvatch it seems like Julian has stumbled into a situation in which she finds herself in over her head. Allow me to echo the praise already heaped upon you for your handling of the first assassination attempt against her.
Oh Rider, there is so much to love in this chapter!
Your ambient descriptions (cold, ice, chapel, house structures. . . ) are, as always, wonderfully immersive.
You portray the guards in the same professional, even noble way that I see them.
You do wonderful justice to the power of bows here.
It is so easy to love Julian when you allow her vulnerability to shine through as you did here. Skirt, no sword, good decisions. Yet, you temper it when she shows her steely determination to the guards after the fight.
What I didn't love was the pain that Julian felt from her knee. You brought that to life so well that I am rubbing my own knee in sympathy now.
Would Julian ever be up to learning how to summon her own dagger for such emergencies? Is she too old to learn that new trick? I just worry about her.
@SubRosa: Have patience! The old libido takes a while to rear its head after being sick and addicted for so long! Besides, Julian has already met the love of her life (or so she thought), and it turned out badly. She's been gunshy ever since. But in this story, she has already met the one she's going to fall in love with. More I can not say . . .
@Remko: Good point about the Imperial agent. I took it into consideration, but decided to leave it be, since she was working for the Blades at the time, and still is, so that makes her an agent of the Empire, such as it is without a recognized Emperor.
@Olen: Welcome back! I'm glad you enjoyed catching up, instead of regarding it as a chore. Yes, that was one of those situations where Julian is in over her head. As for the Mythic Dawn agents, I think you slammed the nail on the head pretty hard. Yes, they are nutters! After all, they are cultist fanatics. I think that is what the game designers were trying to convey with their senseless attacks. After all, they're not Dark Brotherhood.
@Destri: You'll be disappointed anyway, so let's get it over with - Julian never joins the Thieves' Guild. But that doesn't mean she doesn't enjoy a visit with Ongar the World-Weary in Olav's Tap and Tack from time to time. After all, the old man knows everything that goes on in town!
@Acadian: How wonderful to see you again! Julian will learn that not all city guards are as professional as Burd's men, and not all of them treat Julian with courtesy or respect. And I'm touched that you worry so about Julian's knee. It will hold her back for a while longer, but in Chapter Fifteen that will be the end of it, so don't worry! As for learning a summon weapon spell, that's on her to-do list after this!
After that close call, Julian isn't looking forward to hiking all the way back to Cloud Ruler Temple. So she decides to finish up in town and look for a place to sleep.
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Chapter 10.5 - Merchant’s Row
As I entered the dark confines of Nord Winds, I shivered when the warm air hit my cold skin. The Nord woman at the counter scowled at me as I stamped the snow off my feet on the rug just inside the door. She stood as tall and majestic as Sigrid, but her face was less pretty, marred by a frown.
“Skjorta,” she introduced herself curtly. “Nord Winds. We sell clothing and armor. And I’ve got a headache, so keep your voice down.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologized, keeping my voice very low. My foot-stamping must have been unbearably loud. Still, she winced. “You’re not sick, I hope?” I whispered.
“No, no,” she answered, her scowl easing. “I was at Olav’s last night.”
The reason for her headache dawned on me. “Ah, yes, I know how that is,” I commented a little ruefully. Skjorta smiled tightly at me.
“We drink because we’re happy,” she averred. “We’re Nords. It’s just the thick tongue and the fat head the day after that makes us unhappy.”
“Oh, I hear you,” I put as much feeling as I could into my whisper. “Have you tried the chapel healer?”
“Cirroc?” Skjorta scoffed. “And have him scold me for having a little drink and fun? You won’t get me inside any chapel!”
Feeling sorry for her, I dug into my pack, pulling out a couple of weak healing potions. “How much will you give me for these?” I asked, holding the vials out on the palm of my left hand. Her eyes gleamed as she read the script.
“I don’t sell potions,” she said, “but I’ll buy these off of you for seven drakes each.”
“Only seven apiece?” I asked. “I think they’re worth more like ten.” Actually, I’ve seen them priced as high as twenty-seven, but let’s face it, I know all too well what she’s feeling right now.
“Oh, that’s so much,” Skjorta sighed, but she counted out two ten-drake pieces from the lectern. “Practically highway robbery.”
I set the vials on the counter and collected the coins, tucking them into my belt pouch. “Thanks, Skjorta,” I whispered. “I hope you feel better soon.” Beyond her, a male Nord, which I assumed to be Olfand, looked up from his leather-working and met my gaze, a glint in his dark eyes. As I limped for the door, I gave him a nod before leaving.
Next door, the two Altmeri within Novaroma did not seem hungover, to my relief. The auburn-haired woman greeted me in a friendly manner, and the tall male with the slicked-back red hair hailed me heartily. “I’m Suurootan, proud owner of Novaroma, a little slice of Heartland Empire here in the lofty Jeralls!”
“Hello,” I replied. “I’m Julian, from Anvil.”
“Anvil!” Suurootan exclaimed. “You’re a mighty long way from home! What brings you to such a remote corner of the Empire?”
“How can it be so remote with a place like Novaroma?” I responded, pleased to see his face light up even more.
“I see you have a full pack, Julian,” he said. “Have you items you would like to barter?”
“Mostly spell scrolls, potions, and some jewelry,” I answered. As we haggled and bickered our way through the contents of my pack, I was glad I had taken only those items I had no need for. By the time my pack was emptied, except for the message and books from Jearl’s house, my belt pouch was just over five hundred drakes heavier.
“Where are you staying, traveler?” Suurootan asked, as his wife Karinarre started placing the items on display around the store. I considered his question. It was already getting late, the sun had set, and the air growing very chilly. I dreaded the walk back up the mountain, especially with my knee hurting so badly from the running earlier in the afternoon.
“I thought I’d spend the night at Olav’s” I replied.
“Aye, Olav’s is good,” Suurootan said, then crooked a finger conspiratorially at me. When I leaned closer, he whispered, “but a word of advice, if you do much traveling. Join one of the guilds, and have a free bed in practically every town!”
“You mean the Fighters Guild?” I asked. Suurootan leaned back to look at me up and down, sizing up my skinny frame.
“Or the Mages Guild,” he said. “If you carry no weapons, then powerful spells will be your best friends on the road. You can learn new spells, and practice them.” He considered me a moment. “Though you may be a Redguard, you have the potential to build up a pretty decent collection of spells in different schools. Out on the roads, restoration and destruction spells would be very, very useful.”
“Oh, well, I’ve always left the magic up to the battlemages,” I remarked. “But I’m on my own now, so maybe that’s what I’ll have to start working on.”
Suurootan considered me quizzically, frowning at my words. I met his gaze squarely. “The Legion, Suurootan,” I said quietly. The Altmer’s face brightened in comprehension.
“Ah, well, then, the Fighters Guild may have need of your skills,” he said. He frowned again at my silence. “But you’re tired of fighting,” he mused.
“More like all fought out,” I answered. “Lost my youth, my health, and my skills along with it.” Might be a good time to start learning new ones. Maybe I’ll follow in my mother’s footsteps after all. Swinging the empty pack to my shoulder, I tipped my head up at him. “Where can I find the Mages Guild?”
“Next terrace down, on Guild Row,” Suurootan said. “Out the door, turn right toward the Chapel, walk down around Honmund’s house just below us, then back north past the Fighters Guild. You’ll recognize the Mages Guild by the green banners. It’s almost all the way to the Hammer and Axe.”
“Thanks, Suurootan,” I turned for the door.
“Good bye, Hero of Kvatch!” the Altmer said behind me. My hand on the door handle, I paused to glance back at him. He only grinned wider at the expression on my face. My breath soughed visibly in a long sigh as I stepped out into the cold.
Nearly instantly, my teeth started chattering. A bitter wind swirled between the buildings, numbing my cheeks and sending shivers down my spine. Overhead, the sky was dark with sunset and overcast. Large flakes of snow began drifting down.
Tempted to turn back into Novaroma if only for the warmth, I hunched my shoulders against the cold and started limping toward the Chapel. My hip twinged with every step, and my knee complained about the cold.
At the Septim statue, I decided to keep trudging south and seek some healing in the chapel. Though my bum knee had been steadily improving, the new pain warned me that all the healing of the past few days had been undone in that frantic run from the assassins.
Entering the chapel, I breathed deeply of the warmer air. The structure was much like the chapels in Kvatch and Skingrad, large, imposing, with stained glass windows of the Divines around the nave. My limping footsteps echoed faintly in the mostly empty chapel as I approached the altar.
My hand on the stone rim, I inhaled deeply of the healing energy as it coursed through me. The throbbing in my hip subsided, and my bum knee grew quieter. Feeling better, I turned to see an aged Imperial man seated in one of the pews, watching me silently.
Dressed in a green brocade doublet topping silvery-green silk breeches, he smiled at me. “Hello, ma’am,” he greeted me, his voice soft in the stillness of the chapel. “Did you receive the healing you seek?”
“Yes, sir, I did,” I answered. He frowned at me as I started down the aisle.
“Yet you still limp, ma’am,” he murmured. Pausing, I met his gaze.
“It is an old wound,” I shifted my weight onto my left foot. “It never healed right. I can only hope to ease the pain, sir.”
His eyes grew somber. “Only hope?” he repeated. “The Divines have the power to do so much more; all you need is faith, and your prayers will be answered.”
I knelt beside Dibella’s altar, sobbing from the pain and despair. Though I had prayed to the Divine of my childhood, to the Divine I had been named after, and to the Divine I had served for so many years, they remained silent. The pain hammered in my head, in my knee, in my left hip.
Drawing on my memories of chapel-school, I screamed the name of each Divine in turn, pleading for relief. None came. The chapel remained silent and dark. The healer hovered over me, her face blanched, her hands useless.
Finally I pushed them all away, and staggered out into the rain. I made my way to the dockside inn and sought refuge in drink. Only there did I find some kind of relief from the pain, though not from my despair.
“I suppose I’m not faithful enough, sir,” I responded, hearing the bitterness in my tone. “It may be why they didn’t answer my prayers.” When I did pray, I added silently.
He regarded me thoughtfully. “Your heart must be humble, your mind clear,” he said quietly into the dark chapel, so like the one in my memory. “Only when you are most open will the Divines respond to your prayers.”
I shook my head and started down the aisle. His feet scuffled on the stone floor, the pew creaking as he rose to his feet.
“Julian of Anvil, do not give up on the Divines!” he called after me. Halting, I spun on my left leg to gaze back at him.
“How did you know my name?” I demanded.
“News gets around town very quickly,” he said dryly, walking toward me. He stopped an arm’s length away. “A white-haired Redguard woman, with a limp, who introduces herself as being from Anvil, though we all know she is the Hero of Kvatch.”
Staring at him, I couldn’t think of a response to his words. He smiled at me. “You do not like being called a hero, I see,” he commented. “My name is Arentus Falvius, Primate of the Chapel of Talos,” he gestured at the stone walls around us. “Should you need to discuss the purpose of the Divines and the nature of faith further, come find me.”
If you ever want to learn more about Talos, I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have. Prior Maborel’s kind voice echoed in my memory. With a swallow against the lump that knotted my throat, I turned my face away so Fulvius couldn’t see the tears. “Thank you, sir,” I managed to mutter without my voice breaking.
The primate remained in the main aisle as I limped away, toward the doors leading outside. He did not speak again, and I escaped into the cold night.
But in this story, she has already met the one she's going to fall in love with. More I can not say . . .
Ooo, now we can guess which one it is. Valen Dreth?
But what is this about the chapel of Dibella? Very neat. Is that from after being discharged from the legion I suspect? Or from the broken heart you alluded to in your comment? More of that please!
Good part and a nice development of Bruma and more of Julian. Makes me wonder which (if either) guild she'll join, and how much magic she'll be doing soon, certainly she's drastically different that she was at the start so full marks on development.
Good stuff with her bitterness at the world and the gods too, fits her character well and developed it naturally.
After the encounter with the assassins this quiet interlude of a chapter is exactly what was needed. I like how you allowed Julian’s dialogue with Suurootan to continue before making it known that he (and everyone else in Bruma, it seems) knows who Julian is. So much for undercover, eh?!
The scene in the chapel was just great. I have always had the sense of an abiding sadness that covers Julian like a grey cloak. With all that has happened to her since she woke up in prison the times that we see her melancholy have been rare. I thought that her failure at prayer combined with the memory of Prior Maborel effectively dramatized her sadness in this quiet moment that precedes the next storm. I look forward to more subtle insight into her character as the story continues.
@SubRosa: Valen Dreth??!! Now that I'm done laughing, let me catch my breath and say - Guess Again! Yes, that flashback to the Chapel of Dibella goes back to Julian's return to Anvil after being discharged from the Legion. I wanted to show the depths of despair she felt during those dark days, when she turned to drink (and eventually skooma two years later). That first love turned sour is much earlier. We'll learn a little more about that as the story grinds on . . .
@Olen: Thanks for picking up on the dark undercurrent running through Julian's personality. Yes, she is bitter, but she tries to hide it. And yes, she'll continue growing and developing. There's so much she'll learn to do! Fortunately, you won't have to wait long to learn which guild Julian joins.
@Destri: Again you show an uncanny knack at picking up the essence of Julian's character just by reading between the lines. Yes, melancholy is always with Julian. I do plan to show more of it as we progress through the Main Quest.
@Acadian: I loved the in-game dialogue with Skjorta. The fact that she runs around town drunk from 10 pm until 3 am before going to bed is one of the most, well, amusing NPC's behavioral characteristics I've ever seen. The way they gossip about her around town too adds flavor to Bruma. Poor Olfand! Once, with my thief character, I sat in their house and watched him pace around the house waiting for Skjorta to come home. It was pathetic and very sad. I'm glad the interlude in the Chapel of Talos left you wanting more. That was not part of the original drafts, but after writing Chapter Fifteen, I felt I needed to develop that aspect of Julian's character a little more, so I went back and worked this segment a little more. The scene in the Chapel just felt right at this point, and it felt like a good time to introduce the reason for Julian's disillusionment with the Divines. I'm glad you and Buffy are enjoying Bruma vicariously!
Now Julian decides to join a guild so she can have a warm bed to sleep in before hiking all the way back to Cloud Ruler Temple. Only thing is, she finds herself in yet another situation! P.S. Here is another NPC I had lots of fun writing!
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Chapter 10.6 - Joining the Mages Guild
Thoroughly chilled by the time I entered the Mages Guild, I was glad of the warmth within. A small Breton woman behind the counter glanced over as I paused on the entrance rug to look around the well-lit hall. Shelves lined the walls to either side, filled with books and alchemical equipment.
“Hello there!” she greeted me, her right hand lifting up in summons. A scamp appeared in front of me, making me jump. My hands moved for the sword hilt that wasn’t there. The creature ignored me however, and stood in place for several seconds, until it dissolved into sulfurous smoke. “I’m Jeanne Frasoric, head of the Bruma Mages Guild Chapter,” the woman smiled at me brightly. “Are you here to join the Mages Guild?” her voice turned faintly condescending in its light tone.
“I don’t know,” I answered, moving closer to Frasoric. “Should I?”
“Well,” she considered me thoughtfully, pug-nosed and flushed. She smoothed back her braided strawberry-blond hair, “the Mages Guild lost quite a few members when the practice of necromancy was banned. If you’re interested in studying magic and gaining knowledge, and as long as you don’t practice necromancy, we’d love to have you!”
I took the plunge. “Then yes, I’d like to join.”
“The Guild is always looking for new members, and you seem capable enough!” the woman chirped. How can she tell? I wondered to myself. She hasn’t asked me what spells I know! She must have sensed my hesitation, for she frowned slightly at me. “Are you certain you want to join?”
“Yes, I’m certain,” I replied. Am I? Do I really have what it takes to be a mage? But I want to get better at healing, so I can cast convalescence spells on Paint if he gets hurt, or on my friends. I want to learn more about alchemy. I want to get better with my flares.
“Very good!” the small woman bounced on her toes. “You are now an Associate of the Mages Guild. What a wonderful opportunity for you!” She handed me a key and a small volume. The Mages Guild Charter, I read the gold script on the spine. Great. More reading material.
“Now,” she continued, drawing my attention back to her, “please remember, if you wish to enter the Arcane University, you’ll need recommendations from every Guild Chapter in Cyrodiil.” I blinked. Enter the Arcane University? Why?
“Why would I want to enter the Arcane University?” I repeated my question out loud. Remembering Raminus Polus, I considered how polite and welcoming he had been when he spoke to me in the lobby of the Mages Tower.
Frasoric’s eyebrows lifted, as did her heels. “Why, all the important people in the guild are there!” she declared. “Arch-Mage Traven lives there, in the tower - it’s such a fabulous place - you really should see it some day. I’ve been there many times myself,” her tone became braggart. “The Imperial City wouldn’t be the same without it. Maybe some day, if you know the right people -” her tone implied that she was one of those right people, “you might get a chance to see it.”
Now she straightened her spine and stood as tall as she could, lifting her chin. The top of her head barely reached my nose. “I dare say that my opinion may carry more weight than others, if you take my meaning.” I kept my face as straight as I could. Yes, I do. Her type was all too familiar to me from my years of soldiering. “Still,” she continued, “all are necessary to proceed. Good luck to you!” Her heels came down with a thump on the floorboards.
“So what can I do if I can enter the Arcane University?” I pressed. What is so special about the University that I can’t learn in the chapter houses?
“Oh, Guild members who have access to the University can craft their own spells, not to mention chat with the most important members in the Guild,” again that snooty tone crept into Frasoric’s voice, again she rose on her toes. I was beginning to get a sense of the measure of her self-esteem.
“Not like here, in Bruma?” I commented, deciding not to tell her that I had spoken with Polus himself, had been in the tower she spoke so excitedly about. Her heels might hit the floorboards so hard to break them.
Frasoric dropped her heels. “Oh, you know, it’s like anyplace else,” she said with a shrug. “Make lots of friends, look busy, same as always.” She turned partially away from me, raising her left hand again. I braced myself for her summons, but only a faint green tingle sank from her hand. “Oh, pooh,” she pouted. I bit my lip.
This is the chapter head? I asked myself. Even an old soldier like me can tell she has no aptitude for magic, let alone skill. Clearing my throat, I hoped that my face did not reflect my own incredulous thoughts. “About that recommendation -”
“A recommendation?” Frasoric turned back to me, growing a few centimeters taller again, humility dripping from her voice. “From me? Well, of course Raminus would naturally want my opinion, wouldn’t he?” she thought for a moment. “Hmm, this is a situation we both can benefit from, Associate. You do me a small favor, and I’ll happily send along a glowing recommendation. If you can find J’skar, I’ll write it immediately.”
“J’skar?” I repeated. Frasoric returned to her natural height.
“He’s disappeared,” she pouted. “I mean, really disappeared. No one here has seen him in days. Volanaro thinks maybe a spell backfired.” She huffed in an exaggerated manner. “If someone from the Guild was to stop by and find him gone, it’ll look bad for me. I can’t have that.”
I was beginning to sense the nature of the issue. “So you want me to find out what happened,” I stated, just to make things clear.
“Talk to the mages here and see what you can find out,” Frasoric rose and dropped down on her feet in a single breath. “If you can make J’skar reappear, you’ll have your recommendation.” Again she turned away, raising her hand for another summons. Again the spell fizzled ineffectively from her fist. I watched her try, and try again, intense concentration on her face. She’s trying too hard.
I had to bite my tongue to refrain from giving her advice I myself was ill-equipped to give. Have to give her credit, she’s not giving up, I admitted to myself as she kept trying. Turning away, I went to one of the side rooms, which led to a stair hall leading down to the lower level.
The basement was stone-walled, wood-floored, and cozy. A central hall ran from one side of the building to the other, with two doors leading off on each side of the passage. Voices emanated from an open doorway, drawing me to a dining room. A young Altmer, handsome with wavy red hair and a green silk outfit, looked up from setting the table. Her back to me, an older Imperial woman caught his glance and turned around to see me. She wore a lovely blue velvet dress that complemented her womanly curves, and dark hair waving in a short bob framed her oval face.
“Welcome,” the Altmer said after a moment. “I’m Volanaro, at your service. Need a spell? Need an item recharged? Need a witty practical joke played on someone? I can handle it all.”
Practical joke? I bet that’s what’s going on with J’skar. “Hello,” I returned. “I’m Julian. I just joined the Mages Guild. I’m learning my way around.”
“Oh, welcome!” the woman exclaimed. “I’m Selena Orania, Journeyman.” Her smile was warm and genuine, her tone truly welcoming. “Have a seat, join us for dinner.”
“Thanks, I will,” I took a seat at the table, across from Volanaro. Orania passed me a platter of roasted vegetables. Taking a healthy portion of them, I poured myself a tumbler of water. “How do you do here in Bruma?”
“Oh, it’s a little too rugged up here for me,” Volanaro said fastidiously. “Add a couple of hairs to a Nord and you’ve got a bear.” I spluttered violently at his words, then apologized fervently to Orania for spitting water on her lovely velvet gown.
“Oh, it’s quite all right,” she assured me, shooting a fierce look at the Altmer that made it clear who she blamed for the ruin of her dress. “Volanaro tends to have that effect on people, especially those meeting him for the first time.” Volanaro only grinned back at her, mischief in his dark eyes. “As for me,” Orania continued, “sometimes I feel we’re not welcome here. The Nords don’t like Heartlanders very much.” She waved her hand at Volanaro. “And in case you haven’t noticed, Volanaro has a twisted sense of humor. But he does have a few nice spells up his sleeves. If you want a bound sword, talk to him.”
I could have used that this afternoon. “Maybe I will,” I swallowed my mouthful first. “But I have a feeling that spell is beyond my capabilities.”
“Oh, you’ll grow your magicka quickly enough,” Volanaro assured me. “Just practice the lesser spells until you can do it without thinking.” I heard the snicker in his voice, and thought of poor Frasoric, trying so hard with her summon spell upstairs. Orania had a more difficult time keeping the frown from her face than I did.
“By the way, I understand there is another Guild member here, J’skar?” I remarked casually. I did not miss the glare Orania shot Volanaro.
“Look, I like you and all,” she said to me, her voice holding suppressed disapproval, “but I really don’t want to get in the middle of this. If Volanaro and J’skar want to have their fun, fine. I’m not going to participate, and I’m not saying another word about it. Take it up with them.” Setting her chair back with a bang, she rose from the table and left the dining room.
Looking at Volanaro, I raised my eyebrows at him. He matched my look, his own bushy brows climbing his narrow forehead.
“It’s a shame Selena doesn’t participate in our fun,” he commented by way of explanation. “But you’d be hard pressed to find a better alchemist. She takes her role here very seriously. If you need supplies, she’s the one you want to see.”
“And J’skar?” I pressed.
“You want to find J’skar?” he countered.
“Well, I’d like to meet him,” I answered.
“All right,” Volanaro rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His dark eyes sparked. “I can help you with that. But you have to agree to do something for me first. And whatever it is, you can’t tell Jeanne about it, all right?”
My eyes narrowed at him. It felt all too familiar, the direction this conversation was headed. Some of my comrades in my second Legion posting had played a prank on a despised lieutenant. Jelin, our pilus prior, had caught them out. They had been flogged, the ringleader kicked out of the Legion in disgrace, and the other three participants posted to the remotest Legion outposts. It was a lesson I had taken to heart.
“What is it?” I asked, putting as much suspicion as I could muster into my voice.
Volanaro was either too dense to sense my wariness, or chose to ignore it. “That’s the spirit!” he exclaimed softly. “You help me pull off a little prank, and I’ll help you find J’skar.”
“What prank are you thinking of?” I regarded him with distaste.
“Ha!” Volanaro laughed. “You’re really going to love this! I’ll teach you a spell to unlock things. What you need to do is get into Jeanne’s desk, and bring me her Manual of Spellcraft, okay?” He winked at me. “Her room is upstairs, on the second level. Make sure no one sees you. You do that, and I’ll make sure you can find J’skar.”
“That doesn’t sound very respectful of our chapter head,” I commented, holding Volanaro’s gaze with what I hoped was my coldest stare. He shifted uncomfortably.
“With all due respect to our esteemed leader,” he scowled, indicating he had anything but due respect, “she couldn’t cast her way out of a paper sack. It’s insulting working here for her when she knows nothing. She’s managed to butter up the right people just enough to keep her position, and there’s nothing we can do about it.” A demonic glint moved through his eyes. “But we have our ways of coping with the situation.”
“I’m certain you do,” I could hear the acid in my voice, and judging by the look in Volanaro’s eyes, he didn’t miss it, either. “As long as the right people don’t find out about your propensity for disrespect.” Still, I need his help to locate J’skar. I don’t know how to cast a detect life spell. I rose from the bench. “Keep your spell,” I said, thinking of the lockpicks in my belt pouch. “I have my own ways.”
Jeanne Frasoric... annoying wench.... I just know I'm gonna love this
Hmmm, well if Valen Dreth is out, then let me venture another guess. Luther Broad!
So it was the Mages Guild after all. I was guessing that was where she was leaning rather than the FG, given her thoughts about following in her mother's footsteps.
You really did Jeanne Frasoric extraordinarily well, capturing her lack of magical aptitude, conceit, and social climbing. They way you intalicized specific words to highlight her inflections on them spoke volumes of the air within her head. All style, absolutely no substance. Goddess did I run into tons of girls like that in high school!
Jeanne isn't quite as I imagined her but I think your version is better, I can certainly see why winding her up would be good fun (surely Julian can manage to enjoy it a bit
). I had suspected she'd go for the mages guild but wasn't certain, now it seems she'll be becoming a mage.
Well if we're all guessing I'm going for her elopeing with Brother Piner to become antequarian book dealers in Port Televanis.
What a fun romp!
What little time we spend in Bruma is trying to stay warm at the mages guild hall. You captured it nicely. I am so delighted that Julian joined the Mages Guild.
Jeanne Frasoric has always struck me as a woman to feel sorry for. Kind of a bubbly, clueless airhead. Over her head, but not ill intentioned.
My guess is that Julian will demonstrate her typical loyalty to her new mates in the guild of mages and relish improving her magic skills for functional and practical purposes (hitting, killing, curing); however, I see in her the Hero of Kvatch and future Champion of Cyrodiil, not a future Arch Mage or Master Wizard. It will be fun to learn if I am right or not.
@Remko: Julian shares your opinion about Frasoric! As for enjoying this, well . . .
@SubRosa: I had my fair share of those airheads in my high school as well! I guess there's about ten or twenty in every high school across this country, though they may be overrepresented in So. Cal. I'm really glad that you enjoyed my portrayal of Frasoric.
@Olen: Julian has had wayyy too many incompetent officers in the Legion to enjoy yet another incompetent superior. She has the experience to handle them, though, like any old USMC sergeant. I'm sure Acadian will agree!
@Destri: Yet again you prove to have uncanny insight into Julian's character. She can't let go of the sword long enough to rely on magic (much like myself when playing these games). She'll find magic useful in conjunction, but will take the spell efficacy hit in lieu of being weaponless and unarmored. I do hope you enjoy meeting J'skar in this next segment.
@Acadian: You are right as well in your assessment of Julian's attitude toward magic. She will come to respect the Legion battlemages even more than she already has, but she won't aspire to be as good as they are, let alone take on the MG questline. I have no plans for her to tangle with the necromancers at this point.
@all guessing at Julian's love: this is starting to sound like a pool here! Luther Broad, Brother Piner (kudos to Olen for creativity!), Grandmaster Jauffre, and Merowald. Hmm. Y'all are wrong so far! More guesses are always welcome, but I'm not going to say yea or nay until it is revealed in the story!
A little late today, since I spent the day having lunch with friends, then running errands all afternoon. But here is the conclusion of the quest for J'skar. You get to see a little more of Julian's old habits coming out.
**************************
Chapter 10.7 J’skar
Limping out into the hall, I saw Orania conferring with Frasoric. Is she telling Frasoric about Volanaro’s prank? “Julian seems nice enough,” Orania was saying, “and I think she’ll fit in well with us. I think she’s capable of keeping the younger ones in line.”
“Who, me?” I asked. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing.”
“Oh, not at all,” Frasoric assured me, rising and falling on her toes. “Selena was just telling me that another member of her maturity would be most welcome.” I saw the pained look in Orania’s face, and knew my own expression mirrored hers. Frasoric seemed oblivious to the effect on us of her choice of words and pranced away toward the dining room.
“Look,” Orania whispered to me, “I suppose I like Jeanne well enough. It’s a shame she doesn’t know more about her craft, though. Still, I don’t think she deserves the hard time the others give her.”
A glance behind me told me we were the only ones in the hallway. “I agree with you, Orania,” I whispered back. “But for now, I’m going to play along. I really need to find J’skar to get my recommendation from Frasoric.” I lowered my voice even more. “But be certain, I’ll make sure Volanaro and J’skar will regret this practical joke before I’m finished.”
“If you can do that,” Orania responded, “you’ll make me very happy.”
Turning from her, I headed to the south end of the hall. I found my way to the second level above the lobby, where Frasoric’s private quarters lay. The door was unlocked, and I let myself through. Within, I found an ornate desk that took up nearly half the floor space. Most of the drawers were full of parchment and quills, but one was locked. Pulling out a couple of lockpicks, I stroked the first one in the lock. The simple one-tumbler lock was easily picked, even with my rusty skills.
Inside, I found the volume Volanaro wanted, Manual of Spellcraft. It was well-thumbed, the pages worn, the spine cracked. Frasoric must have spent a lot of time studying. It’s too bad she hasn’t benefited as well as she should have. I hated to remove it, but the idea of going to the Arcane University and crafting my own spells held too much appeal to me at the moment. I’ll make sure it gets replaced, I promised myself. Re-locking the drawer, I turned for the stairs.
I found Volanaro in one of the sleeping rooms. “Have you pulled that little prank yet?” he asked me.
“Little prank?” I repeated, handing him the volume. “More like a prank too big for your britches.”
He ignored my comment, looking at the worn volume. “I see you got Jeanne’s book, all right. Meet me here just after ten tonight.”
“Ten bells,” I said. “What time is it now?”
“Oh, you’ve got an hour or so yet, before Jeanne goes upstairs to bed,” Volanaro responded. “I’ll show you J’skar then.”
I spent the intervening hour upstairs in the main hall, looking over the books on the shelves, reading their titles. Several copies of The Fundaments of Alchemy caught my attention. Taking one copy from the shelf, I sat down in a comfortable chair near one of the tall candlestands.
Before it was time to meet Volanaro again, I had progressed through the introduction. I decided to study it along with The Amulet of Kings, Piner’s book, and Sigrid’s little volume. Returning downstairs, I found Volanaro waiting impatiently for me. “Ready to find J’skar?” he asked. I nodded silently. “Just watch, then,” he said. “You’ll see!”
He turned to one side and threw a purple glow from his left hand at a space next to me. Startled at the near miss, I stepped back as a Khajiit appeared at my side. The man-feline turned to me, his amber eyes bright with glee.
“Hello,” he purred. “I hearr you’rre looking forr me.” I narrowed my eyes at him, not saying anything. His eyes rounded, and his ears went down. “Please, don’t be angrry. We werre just having some fun.” Now he scowled. “We just get tirred of Jeanne lorrding herr position overr us, when she barrely knows anything about magic. Everry now and then, we like to trrick herr.” He smiled. “We figurred it was time to move on to a new prrank. This one was getting borring, anyway. So you can tell Jeanne you’ve found me!”
“Do you think so?” I said skeptically.
“Finding ways to confuse herr just neverr gets old forr me. It’s good prractice of ourr skills, too, but mostly it’s just forr fun.” J’skar smile faltered, and the tip of his long, thick tail twitched.
“You’ve got nothing better to do here?” I asked him.
“Therre’s not much to do in the Brruma chapterr,” J’skar responded. “If you can get to the Arrcane Univerrsity, though, they let you make yourr own spells therre.”
“It was a good idea, wasn’t it?” Volanaro chuckled, moving to sling his arm across J’skar’s shoulders, leaning on the shorter Khajiit. “I wonder how long she’ll spend trying to figure out where she put that book down!” he slapped his free hand against J'skar's. The two young mages exchanged chuckles and mirthful glances. “She won’t be able to figure it out for weeks!” Volanaro crowed. “Oh, it’s times like this I enjoy what I do.”
I eyed both of them, feeling my jaw tense. Limping to the door, I closed it softly, then turned back to face the two pranksters.
“If you think all I’m going to tell Frasoric is that I’ve found J’skar,” I spoke as icily as I could, watching the glee fade from the young men’s faces, “you are sadly mistaken. What you are doing is disrespectful,” I chopped my hand forcefully down between us when Volanaro opened his mouth to protest. “I know she’s not very competent,” I met his gaze with my fiercest glare, “but she is your chapter head. She deserves your support, more so with her own lack of skills.”
I moved my gaze to J’skar. “Every time you prank her, you undermine her authority, not only in your own eyes, but in the eyes of all of Bruma.” I took a deep breath, realizing that I now stood ramrod straight, as if I stood on the drill field in front of the Ninth Cohort. “And each time you do that, you degrade the reputation of the Mages Guild.” I pointed at the Khajiit, his ears abject. “You want to gain entrance to the Arcane University?” Now I pointed at Volanaro, who straightened up and dropped his arm from J’skar’s shoulders at my glare. “You want to get out of Bruma?” I shook my head. “The only way you’re going to accomplish that is to suck it up with Frasoric. She alone has the power to send you along to better posts, and the only way she’s going to do that is if she feels you deserve it.” I paused to give them a chance to think. “Am I clear?”
The two mages shifted their feet, glancing sidelong at each other. I only glared at them. Finally, J’skar hung his leonine head. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured.
“I can’t hear you!” I snapped, my tone cracking across the room. Both young mages stiffened, and J’skar’s tail lashed violently from side to side in alarm.
“Yes ma’am!” J’skar’s voice hissed. I turned my glare to Volanaro.
“Clear as a bell!” he spoke crisply, just as surprised as J’skar at the sudden change in my demeanor.
“Now, about that book,” I held Volanaro’s gaze. “I have no problem telling Frasoric about my part in this particular prank,” I kept the ice in my tone. “I’ll take my consequences. The question is, are you prepared to take yours?”
“Uh, I’ll return it,” Volanaro promised, his tone abject. “In the morning, when she’s up and downstairs.”
“See to it,” I growled at him, “and she won’t hear of it from me. Delay, and you’d better be prepared.” Now I scowled at him. “I don’t accept any excuses.”
Turning to the door, I opened it and stepped out, closing the panel behind me. As I did so, Orania stepped out of the shadows between the sconces.
“Is there a problem ma’am?” she asked me. On a deep breath, I shook my head.
“No, no problem at all, Journeyman,” I answered, secretly satisfied at the bland tone in my voice. Orania eyed me thoughtfully.
“For a moment there, I thought I overheard a dressing-down,” she said quietly.
“Maybe you did,” I replied.
“The Legion shows,” she said pointedly. Startled by her perception, I shot a glance at her. Finally I shrugged.
“I had a couple of very tough pili,” I remarked. Orania shook her head.
“Sounds to me like you were a very tough pilus,” her tone was firm and decisive. Recognizing the futility of hiding that aspect of my history from her, I said nothing for several moments.
“Between experience and attrition in the ranks,” I remarked, “it’s almost inevitable, if you stay in long enough, to get into a position where you’re going to get killed because of a stupid recruit mistake.”
“But you didn’t,” Orania responded, waving for me to follow her down the hall to the sleeping room next door. Feeling suddenly weary in my old bones, I limped after her.
“I was nearly killed by a stupid recruit mistake,” I commented. Orania eyed my limp thoughtfully, closing the room door behind us. She waved me to the bed on the right hand side.
“You can sleep there,” she said. “But first let me see that knee.”
Setting my pack down beside the indicated bed, I glanced sharply at Orania. “I’ve been to several healers,” I began, but she shook her head.
“Ever been to a Mages Guild healer?” she asked. “Or an alchemist?” Her gesture was imperative. I sat down and raised my skirts above my right knee. The scar was livid with inflammation, the joint swollen from the pounding it had taken earlier.
Orania knelt beside me to take a closer look. Though her touch was feather light, I still sucked my breath between my teeth as she gently felt the swelling. “This is an old wound,” she said softly. “It never healed right?”
“It festered,” I said breathlessly. Something made me show her the wound on my left side. “Same with this one. It’s not bothering me any more, thank Akatosh.”
“Well, the infection is gone from both of them,” Orania said after she finished examining the wounds. “But the tissues,” she indicated my knee, “knitted wrong.” She looked up at me, sitting back on her heels. “It would be difficult to heal it without cutting.”
“No,” I said flatly. “I’m not taking a risk like that again.” Orania frowned at me.
“Who did the original surgery?”
“Someone in the Legion,” I answered, reluctant to remember his name. “These wounds got me kicked out of the service.”
“Not your fault,” Orania countered. “Look, let me speak to Cirroc, the chapel healer. He’s very good. Maybe he can help you.”
I shrugged. “I can’t stop you,” I said. “But I’m not agreeing to anything.”
“Neither am I,” Orania replied. “But for now, get some sleep.”
I didn’t argue with her. Removing the quilted doublet and the skirt, I cast my nightly healing spells, then crawled beneath the brocaded coverlet.
My this is one big chapter! We are at the seventh segment and still going strong.
The old centurion returns! Julian shows us not only the disciplined soldier who follows the rules and respects her superiors, but also the seasoned veteran who understands that you respect the rank, even when you cannot respect the person who wears it. Because without that the entire group breaks down, and everyone is screwed.
With the old pilus comes another glimpse at the circumstances that caused her injuries as well, which I welcome. The more of Julian's past that you show us, the better. A person of her maturity
has been shaped by the events of her past. Seeing those events helps us better understand who she is today. Please give us more of these little flashbacks and insights!
And since my previous guesses were out, let me venture a third: Raminus Polus. As the song by Heart goes, he's a magic man...
Somehow, I just know that she enjoyed this. Yup:
Gunnery Sergeant Julian of Anvil, Imperial Legion, Retired.
And don't piss her off!
This was so fun to read! Julian reminded me of Jack Webb - both as the DI and as Joe Friday.
Ooh, I'm thinkin' that knee may get the attention it requires (I hope, I hope).
You have taken a wonderful fun little quest and made it your own. I loved what you did with it!
Julian just gets more likable all the time. ![]()
Oh, take a peek at this:
Sub Rosa - STOP PHISING!!!
Nah, Ruslan is out of the question imo. Not enough spine in that one.
@SubRosa: Yes, I thought the Bruma recommendation quest was annoying, and my own reaction was quite similar to Julian's (though hers was stronger and much more effective). She got to do just what I wanted to do so badly! Lucky woman! I'm glad you picked up on the hints at her background and how she came to be discharged from the Legion.
@Acadian: I just had a feeling this segment would appeal to you in particular. I knew it did when you called Julian a retired Gunnery Sergeant. That is exactly how I see her, myself! Thanks for catching that nit. Muscle memory, you know (I type up to 100+ words a minute - not nearly fast enough when my mind is running in fifth gear). As for her knee, well, it'll be a few more chapters yet of limping before it finally gets fixed, but yes, it'll be Cirroc the Redguard from the Chapel of Talos who accomplishes the impossible.
@D.Foxy: He he.
@ureniashtram: Thanks for adding more candidates! I'm glad you're enjoying this so far.
@Remko: I'd agree with you, but Julian? Who knows what she will think when she meets him?
So far, the candidates we have include Raminus Polus, Baurus, Cyrus, Adamus Phillida, H. Lex, Ernest (that was his name), and Ruslan. Like I said, I'm not going to say yea or nay. I'd rather wait and see if anyone spots Julian's love before she gets blindsided.
On to a new chapter - much happens in Chapter 11.
********************
Chapter 11.1 Reporting the Results
The two younger mages were silent over breakfast the next morning. Both of them eyed me uneasily throughout the meal, each picking at his plate. Part of me felt bad for killing their high spirits, but the old pilus I used to be remained implacable toward them.
Orania noticed their subdued attitudes and shot me a meaningful glance, but I was in too much pain from my knee to pay much attention to her. I wanted to finish this job, get my recommendation from Frasoric, make my report to Gerich Senarel, then hike the long uphill climb back to Cloud Ruler Temple to report to Jauffre.
The three healing spells I had cast this morning helped with the swelling in my knee, but the pain still shot up my thigh when I walked on it. Again, I silently cursed myself for leaving my backup weapons at Cloud Ruler Temple. Still, I knew that my knee had been much more painful not that long ago. I had become accustomed to the decreased pain recently. Resentful of this relapse in the old wound, I realized that my left hip remained mostly pain-free. I decided to be grateful for small mercies.
After my meal, I headed upstairs, finding Frasoric squinting at a volume.
“I found J’skar,” I said simply.
“Found him, did you?” she repeated. She seemed distracted this morning. “Well, that’s good.” I was surprised at her lack of enthusiasm. Beyond her shoulder, I saw Volanaro tiptoe across the south stair hall, a familiar volume in his hand, toward the stairs leading up to Frasoric’s quarters.
“Yes,” I answered. “He was trying out a new invisibility spell and got carried away.”
“Oh,” she said faintly. Then her eyes focused on me. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she said worriedly. “I seem to have misplaced something -” her voice trailed off. I groaned inwardly. Don’t ask me to find that damned book for you. “Hmm, yes, well - let’s never mind that,” she shook herself. “You’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain, I’ll fulfill mine. Raminus will have my recommendation.” Now she simpered at me. “And don’t forget about me once you’ve finished your training!” She bounced on her toes in that characteristic manner of hers. “I’m sure we can help each other out!”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I said, secretly glad she hadn’t asked me about her missing book. I hated lying. Volanaro returned back across the stair hall, his hands empty. He caught my gaze and nodded once. That book has been returned. Good. “As for what you seem to be missing,” I said to Frasoric, “where is the last place you remember seeing it?”
“Oh, on my desk,” she responded. “But it’s not there, now. Hmm -”
“Where do you normally keep it, on top of your desk?” I asked her. She shook her head.
“No, I keep it in the drawer. Maybe I should look again -”
“It’s amazing what we miss right under our noses,” I commented quietly.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Frasoric tapped her lower lip thoughtfully. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and have another look then.”
“Good bye, ma’am,” I said, as she headed for the stairs. She waved absent-mindedly at me. Turning toward the front door, I saw J’skar and Volanaro standing in the north stair hall, watching me anxiously. I felt guilty at destroying any little fun they might have had in what they considered a forsaken corner of Cyrodiil.
“Remember,” I said, walking up to them. “No more pranks on the chapter head. No matter what your feelings about her capabilities. However,” I regarded the abject young men, “there is nothing harder to prank than an expert prankster.” I stifled a smile as sudden comprehension dawned on their faces. Volanaro and J’skar exchanged glances, each assessing the other. “Have a good day, gentlemen,” I said, and turned for the door.
Orania caught me as I reached for the latch. “I’m sorry to see you go, Julian,” she said quietly, pressing a couple of vials into my hand. “Use these when you have great need,” she warned. Strong Potion of Healing, the cursive script on each vial read. Slipping the precious potions into my belt pouch, I smiled at her.
“Thanks, Orania,” I said. “I appreciate this gift of yours. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
Outside, the sky was overcast, though the air remained clear and crisp. I shivered in the cold, and limped north along the terrace toward the Hammer and Axe. After picking up my newly-sharpened weapons, I turned west up the hill towards the Castle.
Inside the Castle, I found Burd and Senarel at breakfast in the barracks. Senarel spotted me and waved me to join them. Refusing the food he offered me, I sat down in the indicated seat. Burd poured me some hot klah without asking, which I accepted gratefully.
“It was very cold last night,” he commented.
“Yes, I spent the night at the Mages Guild,” I answered. “I didn’t feel like hiking out in the dark.” Burd only grunted. Taking the clay mug, I wrapped both of my hands around it, my chilled fingers soaking up its heat.
“Well,” Senarel looked at me. “Anything to report?”
“Jearl was working for the Mythic Dawn, the cult responsible for the Emperor’s assassination,” I sighed. “I found her cellar - she had another bed there, and the first two volumes of the Commentaries of the Mysterium Xarxes -”
“Wait one second, Commentaries of the Myster-” Burd interrupted me.
“The Mysterium Xarxes,” I answered, pulling the two volumes out of my pack and setting them on the table. “There are four volumes of these books, that make up the canon of the Mythic Dawn cult. They refer to the Mysterium Xarxes, which is said to be written by the daedric Lord Mehrunes Dagon himself.”
Senarel whistled. “Mehrunes Dagon!” he exclaimed. “Is he the one behind these Oblivion Gates that are opening outside cities all across Tamriel?” I nodded. “Gods preserve us!”
Burd only glanced at the younger Imperial. He turned his level gaze back to me. “So you found the first two volumes of these books?” he prompted me. I nodded.
“There was a door in her cellar that opened into a cavern system. I followed that to an entrance on the south side of the mountain, just below the city walls.” I looked at Senarel. “That must be how she got the other woman inside her home. That Dunmer, by the way, is Saveri Faram. She, too, was a Mythic Dawn agent.” I took a deep breath, thinking of the scroll in my pack. Should I show it to them? They need to be aware of the danger Bruma faces.
Reluctantly, I put the warm mug down, and reached into my pack, drawing out the scroll. “I also found this,” I continued. “I need to take this to the Grandmaster, but I think you have to see this too.” I handed the scroll to Burd. He unrolled it and started reading it, while I nursed the klah in my two hands, hunching over its steaming warmth. Burd’s face grew grim as he perused the meaning of the orders to Jearl. When he finished, he handed the scroll to Senarel, meeting my gaze squarely.
“There is no doubt that Jearl was a spy for the Mythic Dawn,” he said quietly. “Do you know what she did in Chorrol?”
I shook my head. “I do know that Weynon Priory, just outside of Chorrol, was attacked by Mythic Dawn assassins,” I answered. “The Prior was killed before the brothers managed to fend off the attack.” Burd regarded me silently, but I offered no further information. He seemed to know better than to ask.
“Hmm,” he said as Senarel looked up from the scroll, stunned. “These Oblivion Gates,” he continued, taking the scroll from his lieutenant’s slack hands and rolling it up before handing it back to me, “how dangerous are they?”
Before answering, I took a sip of the hot klah. “Very,” I said shortly. “They are disks of pure fire suspended between something resembling tusks or fangs rising out of the ground. At least four times as tall as a man - a Nord.” I looked at Senarel’s incredulous expression. “You can see through it, you can walk around it, but if you touch it -” I caught my breath at the memory of my disorienting transition, “- you’re sucked right through into the Deadlands.”
“Mehrunes Dagon’s plane of Oblivion,” Burd commented.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Senarel sat up. “You,” he pointed at me, “you’re the one who went into the Kvatch Oblivion Gate and closed it, aren’t you?”
I didn’t answer Senarel, only looked into my klah.
“Yeah, yeah, you are,” Senarel nodded to himself. “That explains a lot of things.”
I glanced at him, then met Burd’s level gaze. “The Deadlands are not to be traversed lightly,” I continued. “There are enemies everywhere, the land itself is hostile, and the Gate can be closed only by taking the sigil stone out of its source of power. Break that focus, and you destroy the Gate.”
“And what happens to you then?” Burd said, arms crossed on his chest.
“You end up back where you started.” I answered. “Alone.” I shrugged. “At least, no enemies followed me through the Gate, but then, few were left alive.”
We were silent for a few more moments, then Burd uncrossed his arms and stood. “Well, better notify the Guard what to watch for.”
I finished the last of the klah. “Well, if you’re satisfied with my report,” I looked at both Burd and Senarel. Both men nodded. “I’ll be heading back to Grandmaster Jauffre, then.”
“Right, then,” Burd said. “Give my regards to the Grandmaster.”
“I will, Captain.” Picking up my pack and slipping the scroll inside it, I stood. The pack slung at my shoulder, I nodded at the two men and limped out of the barracks.
Peter Brugels greeted me when I limped to the North Gate. “Hello, Julian,” he hailed me. “I heard you had a spot of trouble yesterday.”
“Aye, but your fellow Guardsmen saved my behind,” I answered. “I’m grateful for their accurate aim.”
“Hey, we’re here to protect and serve, ma’am,” Peter said as he pushed the great panel open for me. “Travel safe, and stay away from those Oblivion Gates!”
I laughed, but felt hollow. “I’ll try!” I said as I stepped through. As the gate closed behind me, I sighed. Something told me I had more Oblivion Gates in my future.
Something told me I had more Oblivion Gates in my future.
Gee, I get the same feeling!
The old soldier shows strongly once more, both in her conversations with the two delinquent mages, but also with her conversation with Jeanne, and later with Burd.
It is also good to see Julian's knee acting up still. As someone who suffers from chronic knee problems, I love seeing someone else in the same agony! Seriously though, having a main character with very real physical vulnerabilities like that is refreshing to see in the fantasy genre.
Masterful, Rider! Julian is one cool woman!
What a neatly composed update. The MG recommendation finale was a delightfully light romp. Then back to spies and gates.
Julian's descriptions and assessments of Oblivion Gates were stunningly chilling - and she should know!
I don't envy her the limpy walk back up that cold hill to CRT.
Ooohh! A contest to guess Julian's love!!!! Oh, I'm so terrible at this. I can't figure out 'whodunits' until Mrs Acadian tells me during the closing credits! Hmmm, I have a guess though, perhaps a wishful one. I'm not familiar with Julian's exact age; particularly as it might relate to Redguard menopause. . . . I was kind of hoping that while at CRT, perhaps the seeds for another heir to the Dragonblood could be planted. See where I'm going here? Yup, that is my humble guess.
@SubRosa: I assure you, the knee will be a bum for some time yet. Oh, about four more chapters or so. That old soldier aspect of Julian’s nature caught me by surprise as she was reaming the young’uns a couple of new ones. But I have to admit, I relished writing that scene, especially since they irritated me so much the first time I played the game and encountered them.
@Acadian: You’re not the first one to wish that poor Martin would get lucky. Don’t worry, we’ll learn Julian’s exact age in a couple of chapters! In any case, I think the Septim line ends here. If you read the Lore, the Septims have been holding the Amulet only for the last 400 years or so; previous Emperors are not related to Tiber Septim, so blood relationships are not required to hold the Amulet. Unfortunately it gets destroyed at the end of the MQ, or things might get pretty interesting . . . As for figuring out who Julian falls in love with, I think she might be the last one to know. I had it figured out by Chapter 15, but then, I’m the writer!
A bit long this time, but I hope it's not noticeable. Enjoy Julian's day off!
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Chapter 11.2 A Day Off
The hike up the mountain to Cloud Ruler Temple took the rest of the morning. The pain in my right knee slowed me down, and the chill didn’t help at all. It felt colder this morning than it had yesterday, before I left the heights of the temple. By the time I limped up the stairs, I was shivering, and my jaw felt tight with the pain. Captain Steffan paused on his patrol of the walls to look at me in concern.
“Julian, are you all right?” he asked. “You look like you’re in a lot of pain.”
“Those two were spies,” I answered, more curtly than I intended. I met his gaze regretfully. “I’m sorry, sir. They attacked me, and I had no choice but to run.” I tapped my knee. “And this old thing doesn’t like running.”
“So how did you manage?” he left the question incomplete.
“The Guard is very well trained,” I said quietly. “And their aim very accurate.”
Steffan nodded in satisfaction. “Burd is a good commander,” he said simply. Jerking his head towards the temple, he ordered me inside, out of the cold. “Get some hot lunch, and some hot klah, put your foot up by the fire, and take it easy.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied. As he walked away from me, I limped towards the Great Hall. Captain Steffan’s a good commander, himself.
As Jena opened the front door for me, Jauffre called to me from the west wing, “Hail, Julian!” He frowned at my face when I turned to look at him. “Are you hurt?” he demanded. Does it really show on my face? “Get inside this instant!” he ordered, striding towards me and nodding at Jena to hold the door open. At Jauffre’s unspoken command, I entered the Great Hall and limped past Martin to the chair beside the great fireplace.
Jauffre hooked a stool with his foot and nudged it towards me. Gratefully, I slumped back in the chair and put my right foot on the stool, stifling a groan as I straightened my knee. Quickly I cast three healing spells, while Jauffre poured a mug of klah. He pulled up another chair and handed me the steaming mug.
“Now, Julian,” he said, still in that commanding tone, “what have you learned about those spies?”
Martin joined us as I started telling Jauffre what I had learned in Bruma, what Burd had said about Jearl returning from a trip south, about the attack on me, and what I had found in her house. Handing Jauffre the scroll, I sat back and sipped at the hot klah while he read the damning evidence.
“She was at Chorrol?” he exclaimed when he began reading. “She stole the Amulet?” He continued reading, his face blanching as he proceeded to the end. Thoughtfully, he handed the scroll to Martin and regarded me for several seconds. I began shifting uncomfortably under his steady gaze. He sighed.
“Excellent work, Julian,” his tone was softer, quieter. “I knew we could count on you. The gods did not idly choose you as their agent, however you and Martin,” his eyes flickered at the Septim heir seated next to me, “may think.” His eyes turned hard. “It is clear that Mankar Camoran will soon bring all his power to bear against Bruma. I will need to notify the Countess of the danger.”
“I had to give Captain Burd a report,” I volunteered. “He has read that,” I nodded at the scroll in Martin’s hands. “I don’t doubt he will hesitate to make the Countess aware of it.”
Jauffre nodded approvingly. “Nevertheless, I must pay her a visit,” he persisted.
Martin met my gaze. “I was worried when you didn’t come back last night,” he said. “But Jauffre said you would be fine.”
“Oh, I joined the Mages Guild,” I answered. Jauffre stared at me. “One of the shopkeepers told me if I joined a Guild, I would get a free bed in any city in Cyrodiil.” Puzzled by his reaction, I met his gaze. He laughed suddenly, drawing the attention of everyone to him.
“Except for the Imperial City,” Jauffre advised, smiling. “But that was a good move, joining the Mages Guild. It would give you a good cover and an excuse to travel around. Don’t you have to get a recommendation from each chapter head to gain access to the Arcane University?”
“Yes, I do,” I was surprised by the implication of Jauffre’s statement.
“And it will provide an excuse for your traveling all over Cyrodiil,” Jauffre continued. “It seems Emperor Martin has made some progress with the Mysterium Xarxes.”
“Ah, yes, I have,” Martin handed the scroll to Jauffre. I looked closely at him. His eyes were brighter, not so red, and the dark circles beneath them had disappeared. Good, he’s got some sleep.
“I’ve deciphered part of the ritual needed to open a portal to Camoran’s Paradise. The Xarxes mentions four elements needed for the ritual.” Martin tilted his head at me. “So far, I have only translated one of them, the ‘blood of a Daedra Lord.’” He held my gaze. “In fact, daedric artifacts are known to be formed from the essence of a Daedric Lord, from whence they derive their great power. Not an easy thing to come by, obviously, but we will need a daedric artifact. I’d like you to find one and bring it to me.”
Nearly spilling my half-drunk klah, I started at Martin’s words. “F- find you a daed- daedric artifact?” I stammered. “Now where in Oblivion am I supposed to find one?” Catching my breath, I remembered my place. “Sire.”
Martin smiled dryly at my incredulous tone. “The only way to obtain a daedric artifact is through the cults devoted to each of the Daedric Lords. The book Modern Heretics is the best introduction to them. The library here has a copy of it.” His eyes twinkled sardonically as I groaned silently at the thought of more reading. “Remember,” he continued, “the Mysterium Xarxes ritual will consume the physical form of the artifact in order to release its physical power.” He handed me the book he had mentioned.
“Are you sure that’s what the Xarxes means?” I asked. Martin nodded, more somberly this time.
“I’ve learned that the Mysterium Xarxes is both the gate and the key to Camoran’s Paradise,” he explained. “In fact, the book is Camoran’s Paradise. Mankar Camoran bound himself to the Xarxes when he created his Paradise, using dark rituals which I will not speak of further.” His eyes grew dark at some long-lost memory.
“A gate can be opened from the outside, however. It will be very difficult, as I will have to temporarily bind myself to the book.” Now Martin smiled encouragingly. “But I believe it can be done. I will continue working to decipher the arcane items needed for the binding ritual.” He clasped my right shoulder. “I know I lay a heavy task on you, Julian,” he finished. “But you need to rest, and,” he nodded at the book in my lap, “time to get some reading done.”
I turned to Jauffre for help. He shook his head. “I’ll make sure the klah pot stays full and hot,” he offered. “It’ll help with the reading, I know.” He rose to his feet. “Besides, you need to get that knee better before you can travel again. And don’t forget to practice those healing spells!” He walked away from me.
Looking back at Martin, I considered begging off from this latest task, but I saw the weariness still carved into the lines of his face, the care that weighed his shoulders down. “All right, Martin, Sire,” I said quietly. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you,” Martin rose to his feet and took the now-empty mug from my hand. “You have been truly a friend in need,” he said, moving to the fireplace and refilling my mug. He nodded at Baurus, who brought over a small table and set it at my elbow. “If you need anything, just let Baurus or myself know.”
“I will,” I answered, opening the book Martin had given me. After a few minutes, I took the plunge. I was interrupted when Baurus brought me a plate of bread and cheese for lunch, but soon returned to it after he reminded me to cast a couple of healing spells on myself.
The aching in my knee subsided as I continued puzzling out the words on the crisp parchment. I learned how to identify Daedric shrines, how to learn their locations, and about the Azura shrine high in the Jeralls northeast of Cheydinhal. I’d have to make an offering of glow dust?
Finishing the book, I set it down and mused over what I had learned. I don’t think I want to go will-o-wisp hunting. I have enough problems with goblins and imps. Maybe one of the other shrines will be easier. I wonder which one would accept my offering.
A sudden thought spurred a sharp inhalation. Gwinas! What was it he said? “I’ve visited the Shrine of Sheogorath during the Festival of the Mad! I’ve spoken with Hermaeus Mora beneath the full moons!” Yes, he’d help me, especially after I rescued him from a sticky situation. I had to stifle a chuckle at the thought of the prissy Bosmer shouting “For Lord Dagon!”
I’ll see if I can find him at the Imperial City. Maybe Phintias will know where to find him. Deciding to start my search there, I cast a couple more healing spells, then stood up. My knee no longer stabbed to stand on it, and I took an experimental step. It hurt, but only with a dull twinge. Encouraged, I picked the book up and limped over to Martin’s table, setting the book back on the stack at Martin’s elbow. He looked up at me quizzically.
“I think I have an idea of where to begin,” I said to him.
“You will go to the Shrine of Azura, then?” he asked me. I shook my head.
“I’m not ready to face will-o-wisps,” I answered. Martin smiled and nodded agreement. “I think I know someone in the Imperial City who may be able to help me,” I continued.
“Good, then,” Martin said. “And is your knee better?”
“Better,” I agreed. “I’ll start out in the morning.” I shrugged. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, though.”
“I understand,” Martin responded. “I think you know how urgent things are right now, but like you said, one has to take time to eat, drink, and sleep.” He set the book in his hand firmly on the table. “Speaking of which, I believe it is supper time. Let’s go in the dining hall, and we’ll speak as friends.”
Jauffre joined us in the dining hall, helping himself to the platters in the middle of the table as he sat across from me and Martin. “I see you are walking better, Julian,” he said to me. My mouth too full to answer, I nodded. “Hmph,” he grunted, his own mouth rapidly filling up with food.
“Why is it,” I finally said, watching the others eat with equally ravenous appetites, “that we eat more at higher altitudes?”
Jauffre paused in his eating to consider my question. “I never thought of that,” he said finally. “But it must be the cold. We burn more fuel staying warm in this cold, thin air. That stimulates our appetites in turn.” He pointed his fork at me. “You must observe your own appetite as you go hunting for shrines, and report to me.” He wasted no further time in resuming his eating.
“Yes, Grandmaster,” I replied, smiling. “I will.” I glanced at Martin. “Would I need to do something I wouldn’t otherwise do, Sire?”
Martin considered my question for a few moments. “Yes, you might,” he said finally. “I believe some of the Daedra Lords, like Mehrunes Dagon, are inherently evil, while some of the others just - are.” He looked at me. “Azura is one of the more benign Lords,” he continued. “That’s why I recommended her Shrine. But I understand your reluctance to take on a will-o-wisp at this time.”
Martin leaned back in his chair, twirling the tumbler of wine in his hand. “If you speak with a Daedric Lord, and the task he sets for you is not to your liking, you can always refuse. Sure, you may gain the contempt of that Lord and his coven, but you can’t please everybody.”
After a few more moments, Jauffre rose and stacked his plate and fork on the nearby scratch pile. He turned to us and bowed. “It’s late, Sire, and I’m off to bed,” he said quietly.
“Good night, Grandmaster,” Martin and I murmured together. As Jauffre left, Martin turned to me. “I will study a while longer,” he said. “Perhaps you will, too?”
I thought of the books I had collected so far - The Warp in the West, The Pocket Guide to Cyrodiilic Flora, The Amulet of Kings, Mages Guild Charter, and The Fundaments of Alchemy. “There’s one or two books I’d like to finish,” I answered. “But I should be packing for the trip tomorrow. I’d like to leave at first light.”
“Very well,” Martin rose from the table as well. “If I don’t see you again before you leave, safe travels. May Akatosh guide you and watch over your path.”
“Thank you, Martin,” I stood, facing him. He surprised me by embracing me, then turned away and left the kitchen, Baurus on his heels. With a deep breath, I limped down to the armory, where I had left all my weapons and gear.
It was quite late when I finished my packing. Martin had already gone to bed by the time I returned to the Great Hall. I looked around the vaulted ceiling, seeing again the katanas of fallen Blades hung from the rafters. After a few moments, and three healing spells, I too, went to bed.
Oh Rider, I love it when you feed me while I'm reading. And the chow at the CRT is among the best!
This was great interaction among Julian, Martin and Jauffre.
I was so pleased that Julian decided to pass on seeking Azura's favor and think more along the lines of Sheo. Although she doesn't realize the value of Azura's artifact, her rationale made PERFECT sense from her perspective. Incorporating wills-o-the-wisp and prissy Gwinas into her decision matrix was brilliant. Methinks you are very clever at looking out for our Julian! Very smoothly done.
Lots of travel ahead for the old soldier and her knee. I'm so glad that her friend Paint will be able to help with that.
Edit: Had to pop back in for another cup of hot klah and noticed this:
I love the idea of doing the MG recommendation quests as a cover for Julian doing her Blade work. That is simply brilliant! Having it come from Jauffre makes it even better, as it gives him the opportunity to act like the leader he is supposed to be (something rather lacking in the game).
Julian's reaction to Martin telling her to find a daedric artifact was priceless!
I was thinking Julian might try Azura first as well. You know, you can just buy the glow dust from the Gilded Carafe or Main Ingredient... It is the only way you can do the quest at low levels.
Still, you gave me more than a faint smile to read that Gwinas will be appearing again! Perhaps this time in a larger role than before? I hope so, he was so much fun the first time around. It would be neat to see him doing one of the daedric quests alongside Julian.
I go away for a Birthday and then a run and suddenly there's a mound of new updates, a pleasant surprise indeed. Your description of her knee is very good, almost too good, it seems to be making mine hurt more.
Julian's reaction to being told to find a daedric artefact was brilliant but I think this line:
Still limping along here, lol! I will catch up eventually.
I guess I am the only lucky one here at the forum. Melbourne is bitterly cold (well when I am sitting in front of my laptop and not moving that is!) and I have the fantastic Bruma storyline to read through.
The wind, the cold, yes sir I can relate to that. Makes me want to go find the Minestrone soup...
Reading this story cannot be the same for you bikini wearers!! ![]()
EDIT - Caught up at last. Julian at the Bruma MG was absolutely delicious. The way you described Jeanne was so perfect, the bouncing of the toes, ha, ha. Great. I really thought she might wear out the floorboards there.
When Julian paid out on the boys for using a prank I thought I was listening to my mother there. I even sat bolt upright as Julian took them both on at the same time. Wow!! That Julian is one strong woman if she can make me do that from the other side of the world.
I always have fun searching for J'Skar by myself. Sometimes I find him at the bottom of the stairs invisible, other times he is sleeping in his bed. I love the way he tells me to get lost because I am ruining everything. Lol. Did you consider throwing that into the story? Jeanne would have really gone off then!!
I have just finished Chapter 10.7 and I can’t wait to finish the rest to comment.
As always your writing is excellent. And, after a dressing down like the one received by Volanaro and J’Skar (can you say ‘buzz-kill’, Julian?), I think it’s only fair for me to take the opposite track:
“Come on, Miss Frasoric, it’s called a ‘Dispel Other Spell’! Volanaro sells one for Mara’s sake! If you are so inept that all you can do is summon scamps then Volanaro and J’Skar are right to give you the business, especially given how you act! Like Julius said in Remember the Titans, ‘Attitude reflects leadership, Captain!’”
All due respect to both you and SubRosa haute, but personally I am a bit disappointed in Julian. I have never seen her so judgemental. She is not an ‘officer’ in the Mages Guild. Hell, she is not even qualified to be considered a ‘grunt’ yet. She is a 'fresh off the snow' newcomer who walks into the Bruma Guild and within a few hours time she is dressing down two of her fellow mages. She was in Frasoric’s company for two minutes and her distaste for the woman was almost palpable. Volanaro and J’Skar have to live there. It’s easy enough for Julian, she gets her recommendation and then it’s off to the next chapter house. It seems that someone who is so familiar with complaining about a pilus would have more empathy for the mages under Frasoric.
Edit: Okay, so now I’m all caught up again. I enjoyed Julian’s report to Burd and Senarel and I echo Acadian’s comments. I also like the fact that Julian at least felt a pang of remorse for being so hard on Volanaro and J’Skar (though I still find her condescension towards them slightly out of character).
I have to withdraw my recommendation of Jauffre as Julian’s potential significant other. The man is just wound too tight for his own good! Seriously, I have always imagined that she and Baurus would eventually get together, but only you really know.
I love the part where Martin tells her to just refuse if the task set by the Daedric Prince is one that doesn’t sit well with Julian. That’s right, let’s make an enemy out of a Daedric Prince. Sheogorath makes it rain flaming dogs on the village of a bunch of Khajiit! Molag Bal orders you to stand still while a man beats you to death! And Mephala orders you to kill the patriarchs of two families! Why? Because they are bored . . . imagine what they’d do if they were moved to hate someone!!
I was also going to mention the portion of glow dust in the Bruma Mages Guild, but Winter Wolf beat me to it.
@Acadian: Yes, I’m sure Julian agrees the chow at CRT is among the best as well. Thanks for the nit. Muscle memory is still a problem for me, I see!
@SubRosa: I always felt that Jauffre kind of fades into the background once you get Martin to CRT - I feel he should be more of a commander than they let him be in-game. Could be something to do with the fact that he becomes non-essential after a certain point in the MQ. I’m glad you’re looking forward to seeing Gwinas again.
@Olen: I figured you were off celebrating your birthday in style when you went AWOL over the last few days. I’m glad you had a good one, but sorry to hear about your knee. Jauffre strikes me as more Julian’s kind of fighter - trust your own sword more than magic. Going off on a wild goose chase to find artifacts is a bit hare-brained for this old soldier. As with Rosa, I’m glad you’re looking forward to seeing a certain prissy Bosmer again.
@Wolf:I see from weather.com that you’re currently in the 40’s and 50’s (Farenheit). Tell me, how can that compare to Bruma? I figure Bruma’s average temp is about 30 degrees above zero in the summer, and more like 40 below in the winter (judging from the constant snow cover, and yes, it snows less when it’s colder). Your mom must be a hell of a woman (pardon my French), and has my respect! As for finding J’skar without going through the prank, I’ve only done it with my Dunmer character (she already had the detect life spell). It would never occur to Julian at this stage to look for glow dust in the MG, so that wasn’t included. If she had known to ask you for advice first, the outcome might have been different!
@Destri: You have done it again! You have spotted the flaw in Julian’s character! Yes, she is judgmental - she has not learned to look at people from a viewpoint more forgiving than the Legion’s. After spending much of her life in the military, civilian life (and civilian habits) confounds her from time to time. This is one old habit that will die hard.
Julian heads down to the IC, but first gets sidetracked at a certain village. This is one for all you Paint fans out there (you know who you are!).
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Chapter 11.3 Invisibility Village
Paint’s hooves clattered to a halt when I asked him to enter the village of Aleswell. He braced his legs under himself and threw his head up, ears pointed at the communal garden in the center of the settlement.
Following the direction of his gaze, I spotted a hoe suspended in mid-air, moving in a weeding motion through the pumpkins. How in Oblivion is that possible? A bulky shadow, thrown long by the westering sun, wielded that of the implement.
With a pat for Paint on his tense neck, I dismounted and dropped his rein. “Stay here,” I said to him quietly. I watched the garden a moment longer, recalling Atellus’s words - “Nice inn there, though I haven’t seen anyone there for a while. I’m starting to hear stories from travelers that the place is haunted.”
“Well, don’t stand there staring!” a rough voice greeted me from the garden where the hoe paused in its work and raised to a vertical position. “We’re not a minstrel’s freak show here!” Behind me, Paint shifted uneasily, turning his head back toward the road.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I answered hastily. “It’s just that I’d like a place to stay tonight, but Paint is scared. I’m just trying to figure out why.”
“Ach, talk to Diram!” the voice - sounds Orsimer - grumbled as the hoe returned to its work. “He’s in the inn.”
“Thanks, sir,” I responded. I picked up the rein and coaxed Paint to walk past the garden. He did, head up, prancing at my shoulder to keep me between him and the invisible Orc. When he followed me to the weathered inn perched on the cliff edge at the far side of the garden, I praised him for his courage and trust. Once he was standing quietly in front of the inn, still watching that moving hoe, I fed him an apple from my pack. He snatched at the pieces nervously, but ate it nonetheless.
He nearly took off again when the inn door opened behind me, and only stopped when he stood at the end of the rein. Trembling, he shot wide eyes in my direction.
My hand clutched on the rein, I turned to look behind me. Again, I saw nothing, only a long shadow standing next to mine. “Hello, traveler,” a male voice with a Dunmer accent greeted me from that direction. With a deep breath to quieten my pounding heart, I backed up until Paint’s breath blew hard on my neck, stirring my ponytail. “I’m sorry to startle your horse, ma’am, but we’re in a bit of a sticky situation here.”
“I see, sir,” I responded. See what, exactly? “I think. You’re not all ghosts here, are you?”
“Ghosts?” the voice repeated. “Oblivion no! We’re all very much flesh and blood, like you and your frightened horse. We think it’s that damned Ancotar’s fault!”
“What happened, sir?” I asked, my heartbeats slowing down with the continued conversation.
“We suddenly became invisible several weeks ago,” the Dunmer answered. “It was pretty fun at first, but now the novelty has worn off.” His tone turned aggrieved. “Travelers have stopped coming here, and that’s bad for business. We’ve been hoping the spell will wear off, but now we’re out of patience.”
Paint’s breath slowed on my back, and his ears pricked forward at the voice. I could feel him stretching his neck forward, his nose nudging past my shoulder. A glance at him showed the white surrounding his dark eye, but his nostrils were fluttering.
“Oh, I believe your horse is smelling the carrots in my hand!” the Dunmer exclaimed. “Here,” his voice moved closer to me, and I felt something nudge my hand. Paint dropped his nose, blowing forcefully. Moving my hand away, I shook my head.
“Best you give him the carrot yourself, sir,” I said quietly, running my hand down Paint’s arched neck. “He needs to realize that you mean him no harm. You don’t, do you?” I added at a sudden thought.
“Of course not!” the voice exclaimed indignantly. Paint mouthed at thin air, and a bit of orange appeared briefly between his lips as he took a crunching bite. “He’s a good boy, your paint,” the Dunmer added approvingly. “First horse not to spook and run away since we all became invisible.”
“This is Paint, sir,” I offered. “I’m Julian, from Anvil.”
“And I’m Diram Serethi, innkeeper,” the Dunmer responded. “That’s Shagoth gro-Bumph there in the garden.” As Paint took the last of the carrot from Serethi, I heard the sound of hands brushing on fabric. “That’s all, Paint.”
Paint stood more relaxed, and the white had diminished from around his eye. He remained alert, but no longer appeared anxious to flee. Scratching his neck just above his withers, I smiled at him when he sighed disappointedly.
“You said it was Ancotar’s fault, sir?” I turned back in Serethi’s direction. “How so?”
“Ancotar’s a mage who took up resident in the ruins of Fort Caractacus a few years ago,” Serethi responded. “He’s caused us no end of inconveniences with his magical experiments. But this is beyond inconvenience!” I could hear the anger seeping back into his placid voice. “We tried to find him, but no such luck. He’s hiding from us, I’m sure. No wonder!”
Glancing back at the garden, I regarded the hoe, still working away. With Orsimer muscle behind it, that innocuous tool could become quite the deadly weapon. I had a sudden image of pitchforks and hoes floating into the ruins of a fort, carried by angry shouts, but no visible wielders. No wonder Ancotar hid from them.
“Where is this Fort Cara-” I blanked on the rest of the name.
“Caractacus,” Serethi offered helpfully.
“-Caractacus, sir?” I managed to get the tongue-twister out.
“It’s just to the southeast of here,” Serethi answered. “Down at the end of that path,” he indicated the faint dirt trail at the side of the inn that dived down the cliff face. “There are invisible monsters infesting the ruins!”
“The whole village is invisible?” I turned back to Serethi.
“Aye, even our sheep are invisible!” the Dunmer exclaimed. “Look over there! See?”
Somehow I had the sense that Serethi was imperceptibly pointing somewhere. Looking around, naturally I saw nothing of the invisible sheep. What I did see, were a few tattered cottages, thatched roofs covering wattle-and-daub walls, and a sheepfold off to the east, near the Red Ring Road.
“Fool!” gro-Bumph growled from the garden gate, where the hoe rested on its blade. “The lady can’t see where you’re pointing, let alone the sheep themselves!”
“Oh, of course,” Serethi’s abashed tone reached me.
“That’s all right, sir,” I assured him. Stepping to Paint’s side, I reached up and took down the Kvatch Wolf from the cantle. “I’ll go and talk to this Ancotar. You said he is a mage?”
“Yes, he is,” Serethi responded. “You’ll help us? A stranger off the road?”
“Why not, sir?” I said. “I’d like a place to stay for the night, and I don’t like the idea of being surrounded by people I can’t see. Maybe I can get Ancotar to reverse the spell.”
Ales well that ends well, I always say.
(sorry, could not resist the pun).
This is a nice little diversion from the seriousness of the main quest. I especially liked how you handled Paint's spooked reaction to the invisible people. Quite a brave horse he is though, considering all the others fled! Good for Paint!
I’m Diram Serethi
For a moment I thought it was Sarethi, and that you had worked in some kind of a Rales crossover.
nits:
breath to quieten my pounding heart
looks like a typo on quiet.
This was a very fuunnn story!
The fun of invisible monsters... and without detect life. I like the realism with which you introduced Aleswell, it's a good bit of fun but I'd never thought of what effect invisible people (and sheep) might have on a horse.
QFT
Got to agree with Remko there. Y'see, my cousin brought MW and played the House Redoran quests, while at the same time I was talking to our dear friend Ancotar.
Said cousin suddenly yelled 'God! Athyn Sarethi, honorable Councilor of the honorable House Redoran, just got mutilated by drunk Assassins! I (censored) you not, cousin!'
Of course, I didn't knew who Athyn was at that time, so I just shrugged it off and talked to Diram.
"Hey, Roman. I think this guy's his descendant. Look at the name; Diram Sarethi!"
"Really, Niko? Lemme see.." needless to say, he gloated, laughed teased me relentlessly until he found 'the novelty worn off'.
Such cruel irony placed upon my shoulder by fate! And to think that the word he said to me, was similar to that of Dr. Serethi!!
BUT> I didn't came here to tell a backstory (of sorts) on this quest. This chapter made me laugh several times! Good work, Hauty!!
I eagerly await the next update!
@SubRosa: Aye, ales well that ends well, and it will - eventually! I have to admit, I had the same problem with the Sarethi/Serethi name, when I replayed the quest after having been reading a certain Morrowind memoir! As for quieten, I meant it as a verb, i.e. to quieten a nervous horse.
@Acadian: Thanks, I had a lot of fun writing the conversation. I kept whispering to myself: I see invisible people. I hope you are not disappointed by Ancotar.
@Olen: I hated playing this quest without detect life! But when I played it with Julian, I was even more a newbie about it than she was, and didn’t even know about such a thing! I’m glad you've enjoyed it so far.
@Destri: I think Julian was the only one not laughing during that entire conversation with Diram Serethi. Though he may be invisible (and perhaps better looking that way), he was a fun and enjoyable character in the game, and I wanted to keep that aspect of his personality.
@Wolf: I’m honored that my white-haired Redguard pilus is being compared to your mother. I hope Julian measures up to her!
@Remko: Ain’t it the truth about Dunmer names?
@All Paint’s fans: I’m glad you enjoyed his attitude and perspective on all things invisible. He had a lot of fun in this chapter segment, and appreciates all your apples and carrots!
Now Julian meets the source of Aleswell’s troubles. As a science major myself, I actually enjoyed the in-game conversation, but I’m afraid Julian didn’t understand as much of it as I did!
******************
Chapter 11.4 Ancotar
The path Serethi pointed out to me dived down the cliff face and switchbacked toward Lake Rumare. Halfway down the steep slope, it led me to a ruined fort perched on a narrow shoulder of the bluff. A light breeze cooled the last rays of the westering sun as I limped east, my katana snugged into my palm. Though I saw nothing, I could feel eyes on me, not all of them friendly.
A few paces away from the fort entrance, I heard a snuffling sound coming from the tall grass just below the path. Something struck the metal disc as I spun to present my shield toward the sound. Shoving back against it came automatically, as did the swing of the katana into the space before me. The blade swished through air, not connecting with anything more solid than sunlight.
A rat-shaped shadow moved on the ground to my left, shaking its head and crouching to leap again. I took a step right to place that telltale more to my front. This time I was braced for its leap, and quicker with my blade. The brown form shimmered into visibility as the keen katana sliced through its soft underbelly, trailing blood after it. The force of my strike flipped the body away, over the edge of the path and down the steep slope.
I searched the ground for more shadows, seeing only those cast by trees and the heights to my right, where the village sat. The fort entrance sat near that immense darkness, hiding those cast by possible enemies.
A low growl gave away the presence of another creature, this time emanating from my left when I reached the keep entrance. Moving backwards drew him into the light after me, and I recognized the shadow of a wolf stalking me. Invisible monsters, huh? Just woodland creatures. Maybe worse inside the ruins. Bringing my own Kvatch Wolf in front of me, I crouched down, balancing on the balls of my feet. So you think I can’t see you, wolf? Attack me, and I will kill you. Walk away, and you live.
After a moment, the shadow turned and floated away, back into the shade of the bluffs above. I rose slowly to my full height, considering what had just happened. Did he hear me? I hated killing animals, unless they threatened me or mine. Must not have been hungry enough to go against my katana.
At the fort, I paused within its shadows to study the ruin. Most of the walkways around the walls of the keep were intact. Already much of it lay in shadow, making it hard for me to spot invisible creatures and other living beings.
“Hello?” I called, taking the risk of calling unwanted attention to myself. Above, footsteps sounded on the stones.
“Go away!” came the shout. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying!”
“I’m not selling anything, sir!” I returned, heading for the staircase leading upwards. “My name is Julian, from Anvil. I seek someone!”
“If you’ve come to proselytize, I’m not interested!” Now the voice sounded closer to the stairs I ascended.
“I’m not seeking to convert anyone, either, sir!” I paused on the landing, hearing footfalls approach me swiftly. Quickly, I sheathed my katana, but kept the Kvatch Wolf up before me. The footfalls stopped in front of me. Oh great, is everyone invisible here?
“Oblivion blast you!” the voice sounded in my face. I could feel the breath on my cheeks, smell the tobacco wafting my way. I took a step back. “What do you want from me?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I made my tone meek. “I’m looking for Ancotar. I’m told he is a great wizard.”
“I am he,” the voice said haughtily. “I am in the middle of a very sensitive research experiment. I have very little time for idle chit-chat.”
“I saw the effects of your invisibility spell, sir,” I responded. “Quite impressive.”
“Ah, yes,” satisfaction crept into his voice. “I have been working on a new invisibility spell. You have seen that it works very well.”
“So well, in fact, sir,” I commented, lowering my shield to my side, “it has made everyone in Aleswell invisible.”
“Oh, really?” Ancotar’s voice turned startled, then pleased again. “Everyone in town?” He inhaled slowly, loudly. “That must have been what all the shouting was about a few weeks ago,” he remarked nonchalantly. “I was too engrossed in an experiment that required my full attention.”
Again I had a mental image of threatening farming implements floating into the ruins. “Your research must be very effective, sir,” I said quietly.
“Ah, yes,” now a little excitement crept into Ancotar’s voice. “You see, in order to increase the efficiency of the spell, the radius was likely to approach the - ah, never mind, I must be boring you.” The excitement faded away.
“Oh no, sir, not at all,” I assured him, though I had no idea what he had just said. “Tell me more, please.”
“Ah, a fellow mage!” Ancotar’s voice warmed. “Please excuse my rudeness earlier. Most people are tedious, completely ignorant of the arcane.” He sighed. “I came here to get some privacy for my research. Instead, the local peasantry has been constantly bothering me!”
His voice took on an aggrieved whining. “‘The explosions are scaring the sheep’ or ‘a plague of rats ate all our crops.’ Every day another complaint!” Again a sigh. “No understanding whatsoever of the pitfalls of experimental magic! I finally decided that permanent invisibility was the only way to get some peace and quiet.”
“Permanent, sir?” I repeated, incredulous. Is there any hope for Aleswell?
“I know!” Ancotar’s voice turned chagrined. “You’re about to quote Vanto’s Third Law - don’t worry!” I heard fabric swishing, possibly due to some arm-waving. “I have not actually found a way to violate the Conservation of Perception! The invisibility is not actually permanent. You can tell the peasants not to worry, it’ll wear off - eventually.” That last word came out just slightly uncertain.
“Eventually, sir?” I asked warily.
“Well, in a year or two, maybe a bit more.” Ancotar admitted. “There’s no way to be absolutely sure. That’s the exciting thing about basic research!”
“Are you certain you want to put up with disruptions for another year, sir?” I asked. “Wouldn’t that interfere with your research?”
“Hmm, well,” Ancotar grew thoughtful. “The peasants have been unusually bothersome lately. Sometimes I can hear them coming, but other times -” his voice trailed off.
“Perhaps if you restored their visibility, sir,” I spoke carefully, “and then took precautions with subsequent experiments, especially with their area of effect -”
“Are you saying they might bother me less?” Ancotar inquired. “Hmm, that is reasonable. Problem is, can those peasants be reasonable?”
I’m certain they entertain the same doubts about you. I kept my thought to myself. “If their normal routine is not disrupted, I doubt they’ll bother you any more, sir.”
“Well, if you think so, fine.” Fabric rustled again, then a different crackling rustling followed. “Here,” he placed something into my hand. “Take this,” he said, as a scroll shimmered into visibility in my hand. “Just stand in the center of the village, to make sure you get everyone. Oh, and make sure - oh, never mind. Should be fine,” he muttered the last few words to himself.
My eyes narrowed at him. “What is this, sir?” I asked.
“That’s my reverse invisibility spell,” he answered. “Just read it in the middle of the village. It should work, although -” again his voice trailed off.
“Should work, sir?” I repeated, even more wary than before. Again, Ancotar pressed something into my hand, or rather onto my right ring finger.
“Just in case, it might be best to wear this ring while you cast the spell,” he said as I looked down to see a plain metal band. A script I didn’t recognize encircled it. “I make them myself,” he continued, matter-of-fact. “Very useful for this kind of research. Not that I think anything will go wrong. Serious side effects are highly unlikely.”
“Thank you, sir,” I turned for the archway. “Good night.”
“Good night, Julian,” Ancotar said. My feet stopped on the stairs as I glanced back over my shoulder. “Yes, I have heard the rumors, too. I’m not completely isolated here, you know.” I heard him chuckle softly. “Being invisible does have its advantages, you know.”
“Yes, sir,” I kept myself from shaking my head. As I limped toward the dirt path, I considered my impressions of Ancotar. Is that what all mages are like? My feet found the road back to Aleswell in the gathering dusk and I continued on. Incompetent like Jeanne Frasoric? Foolish jokesters like J’skar and Volanaro? Pompous kiesters like Ancotar? Thoughts of my visit to the Arcane University passed through my mind as I began to question my decision to enter the Mages Guild. But Raminus Polus and Tar-Meena were very nice to me. So was Selena Orania. Well, the Legion is no different, and I survived that for twenty years.
Masser and Secunda greeted me as I reached the top of the bluff, my limp more pronounced after the hike. Finding the community garden empty of gardening implements, I made my way carefully around the plants to the center. My back to the moons, I unrolled the scroll and squinted at the strange script.
Once I made certain the ring Ancotar had given me was still on my ring finger, I muttered the strange words aloud, “Epai-onny Nai-kym-ai-toi-my-ys!” A faint purple light cascaded around me, shimmered into darkness. Looking around me, I saw only Paint watching me patiently.
It’s dinner time, I realized. Better head to the inn and see if Serethi can be seen. Suiting actions to my thoughts, I weaved my way through the crops out of the garden. With a pause to rub Paint’s neck, I entered the inn.
Ahh, the invisible animals. Julian is lucky she is doing this at low level. Invisible mountain lions are murder when you do not have detect life! I also see the wolf thought better of attacking Julian. That is the second time a wolf has done so, and Julian has wondered if it heard her thoughts. Hmm, is this foreshadowing perhaps?
Ancotar was well portrayed. Now that he is invisible, I suppose he does not have to worry about things like shaving, or combing his hair. Julian's very diplomatic way of talking him into lifting the invisibility was well done. She shows the tact that she doubtlessly learned from decades of dealing with officers in the legion.
Another very fun installment.
I'm with SubRosa on the wolves. I wonder if they don't care for staring down the mighty image of the Kvatch wolf that Julian offers them. Regardless, nice touch.
I loved how Julian dealt with Ancotar. Her wisdom, borne of experience really shone here, despite being a touch befuddled by Ancotar's arcane doublespeak. Once again, you have taken a fun quest and 'filled in the gaps' so it makes wonderful sense and progresses in a perfectly logical manner.
I also like the way you routinely present interesting ways of filling in the environmental backdrop. Like this:
I really enjoyed this, one of my favourite quests in the game. Yippee!
@SubRosa: That was exactly how I wanted to portray the interaction between Ancotar and Julian: as an experienced sergeant “handling” a less-than-ideal officer. As for the encounter with the wolf, let’s just say that Julian has learned a thing or two during her years in the Legion.
@Acadian: I’m not sure how much the wolves recognize themselves on the Kvatch shield. In this case, as in the previous encounter, it has more to do with Julian’s body language than anything else. There is actually a level of communication that goes on between predator and prey, where the predator will assess the prey’s response to its presence and act accordingly. Thus, a lion is unlikely to attack an adult elephant or wildebeest that stands its ground and faces it (though in rare cases starvation has driven them to it). Instead, they choose to go after a prey that turns away and runs, or a prey that avoids eye contact. I’m glad you too enjoyed Julian’s interaction with Ancotar.
@Wolf: Appealing to a superior’s ego is the best way to manipulate things your way. Sometimes it makes me wonder who is really the superior there!
Now we get to enjoy the aftermath of Julian’s successful quest. In the morning (the next post), we’ll be back to serious stuff.
****************
Chapter 11.5 Haunted No More
A brown-haired Dunmer greeted me happily. “Julian! You did it! You made us visible again! Thank you!” Serethi, recognizable by his voice, clapped me on the shoulder, rocking me on my feet. “Come in, come in!” Turning toward the patrons gathered around the hearth, he hailed the two Dunmer women. “Adosi, Urnsi! Food and ale for our savior Julian!”
The two scowled at me, but one headed for the bar, and the other bent over the kettle at the fire. “Umm, I should take care of Paint, first, ser,” I remarked, turning to Serethi.
“Of coursse,” an Argonian approached us. “You will want to take care of your horsse, get him ssettled for the night.” He bowed slightly out of respect to me. “I am Ssakeepa, the ssheepherder. He can sstay with my ssheep tonight.”
“Thanks, I’m sure he won’t mind the company, sir,” I responded as the Argonian stepped past me to the door. With a nod at Serethi, I followed Sakeepa out into the night. He waited while I moved to Paint and collected his rein, then led me past the community garden to the sheepfold.
“We do not have grain,” Sakeepa turned his head to speak over his shoulder at me. “But the hay is nutritiouss, and your horsse is welcome to hiss sshare.”
As we approached the sheepfold, a great white dog rose from his position at the gate, his black eyes on Sakeepa, his feathered tail waving happily. “Thiss iss Drift,” the sheepherder said, dropping one hand onto the dog’s broad skull. “He guardss the ssheep againsst wolvess and other creaturess.”
Regarding the dog, I paused as the big animal walked over to me, his tail waving slowly behind him. He came nearly to my waist, and I knew he could easily tower over me if he stood on his hind limbs. Beside me, Paint dropped his nose to Drift and blew softly. The dog nudged Paint’s head with his nose, then returned to the pen.
As Sakeepa opened the gate, Drift floated through and moved among the sheep, gliding around them as they bunched into a far corner away from the entrance. He worked silently, gently shouldering the fluffy creatures in the direction he wanted them to go.
At Sakeepa’s gesture, I led Paint into the pen, and unbridled him. The headstall over one shoulder, I picked up the pack and slung it over my other shoulder. The gelding stood quietly as I unfastened the girth and slid the saddle off his back.
Sakeepa had filled a bucket with water and attached it to a clip set in the low stone wall of the sheepfold. He pointed at the manger, heaped high with hay, its sweet aroma tickling at my nose. By the way Paint’s nostrils fluttered at it, I knew he liked the idea of eating it.
Sakeepa took the saddle and bridle from me, and carried them into a small room set in the side of the fold. He placed the saddle on a round hay bale, hanging the bridle neatly from the pommel. “I’ll take care of it later, after we eat,” he said to me, waving me back toward the gate.
The sheep swarmed around us as we left Paint. Sakeepa glanced back at me. “Do you have any appless or grapess in your pack?” he asked.
“Apples, sir,” I answered. “For Paint.”
“The ssheep ssmell them. They love appless.” Sakeepa nodded at the woolly beasts surrounding us. “Drift,” he spoke to the dog, who started shouldering a path through the flock for us. As we reached the gate, the big canine again drove the sheep back, giving us space to leave the pen unmolested.
“Now, friend,” Sakeepa clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Come back to the inn, have ssome dinner. It’ss on me.”
“Oh, I can pay for -” Sakeepa held up his hand and stopped my protest.
“No, if I don’t pay for it,” his teeth shimmered in a toothy grin, “ssomeone elsse will. Let’ss go, I’m hungry.”
Back inside the inn, he led me to a table where a big Orc was already seated. “Hello, Julian,” he greeted me as I sat down across from him. “Dinner’s on me, ma’am.”
“No -” Sakeepa protested, but gro-Bumph shook his finger threateningly at the Argonian.
“You take care of the horse, Diram’s got the room covered, I take care of the food and drink!” He glanced sidelong at me. “That everything you need, ma’am?”
“Uh, yes, as a matter of fact, it is, sir,” I answered, smiling. “I appreciate your generosity, all of you.”
Serethi grinned at me. “I can’t tell you how great is is to see myself again!” he exclaimed. “Although I wouldn’t mind if my sisters,” he rolled his eyes at the two women I had noticed earlier, “had stayed invisible!” He dissolved into laughter, drowned out by gro-Bumph’s guffaws.
One of the women came up, dropping a stew-laden plate in front of me with a clatter. “You really enjoy this whole hero thing, don’t you?” she said sarcastically. “Everybody fawning over you like this? Forget it, I’m not like that.”
“You would prefer we fawn over Ancotar, Urnsi?” gro-Bumph growled. The scowling woman scoffed.
“If he’s smart, he’ll stay out of my way!” she snapped back. “High Elf and a mage to boot, the worst kind of arrogance!” she tossed her yellow locks back over her shoulder.
“I have to agree with you, muthsera,” I said quietly. “But not all Altmer are like that.” I remembered some of the battlemages I had worked with in the Legion. Some were like Ancotar, haughty and distant, others were more friendly and down-to-earth. Race didn’t seem to matter, either. One of the most approachable battlemages I knew was himself an Altmer.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” the other woman joined her sister, setting a mug of ale in front of me. “He’s a typical Altmer, thinks the whole world is created just for his convenience.” Her frown deepened when I moved the mug to gro-Bumph’s elbow. “If I had my way,” she continued, “we’d go down there and burn him out! Let him find someplace else for his little ‘experiments!’”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, muthsera,” I advised. “As arrogant as he is, he’s liable to cast another invisibility spell on you and leave you ghosts for the rest of your lives.”
Adosi scoffed wordlessly and huffed back to the bar. Urnsi regarded me sulkily. “What’s the matter, our ale not good enough for you?” she gestured at the mug I had passed along to gro-Bumph.
“I don’t drink ale, or wine, muthsera,” I answered, meeting her gaze squarely. “Not anymore. Klah, or water, if you have it, is fine.”
Urnsi scoffed again, but gro-Bumph shushed her. “Get the Redguard some water, Urnsi,” he growled. “And shut up!” Regarding me thoughtfully, he took a huge swallow of the ale. “Sorry about those two,” he said quietly. Why?
“That’s all right, sir,” I answered. “They’re not your responsibility. Don’t ever apologize for them.” I glanced over at Serethi, his gaze on the floor. “Nor you, Diram. They chose to be the way they are, they’ll just have to accept the consequences of their behavior.” I smiled to relieve the tension the two Dunmeri had left behind. “After all, they’re adults.”
The Orsimer guffawed, clapping me hard on my shoulder and almost knocking the fork out of my hand. Sakeepa and Serethi joined in heartily, then the Dunmer innkeeper left the table momentarily. He returned a few moments later with a tumbler of cold water. “I’m glad you don’t take their words to heart,” he said to me, more seriously. “They don’t like any one but each other.”
“That’s fine, ser,” I answered. “Ancotar doesn’t like any one but himself, either.” I looked around at their faces. “He is focused on his research, which requires concentration, hard thinking, and yes, experimentation. He resents disruptions.”
“Sso do we!” Sakeepa exclaimed, the other two men nodding in affirmation. “Explossionss loud enough to sscare the ssheep soo badly they won’t eat or leave the fold? An invassion of ratss that ate all our cropss? Funny lightss at night that keep all of uss awake? Invissible monssterss?”
“One thing I’ve learned over the years,” I remarked, keeping my voice down, “in order to get what you want, you have to give a little, as well. Both you and Ancotar want peace and quiet. Both of you will have to respect that of each other.” I met Sakeepa’s gaze calmly. “Yes, scaring the sheep and losing the crops are terrible things, but the sheep looked happy today, didn’t they, sir?” Sakeepa nodded grudgingly. “And your garden, sir,” I looked at gro-Bumph, “looks like it is thriving, is it not?”
“Yes, it is,” the Orc admitted, just as grudgingly. “But how did you get what you needed from him?”
“I asked about the research he was doing,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders. “Honestly I have no idea what he was talking about, but I listened anyway. He gave me the reverse invisibility scroll after we chatted a bit.” And the ring. I still don’t know what it does. Maybe Polus will help me.
Pushing my empty plate away, I leaned back in the chair. “As I understand it, research involves trying something and recording what happens. He will find the results interesting, and may continue that line of research. I would hope that he will show more consideration of the effect of the results.”
“Hmmph,” Serethi scoffed. “I find it difficult to believe that he would do so.”
“I actually think he’s a bit lonely,” I commented.
Sakeepa spluttered onto the table, while gro-Bumph stared at me incredulously. “Lonely?” he roared. “Lonely?” he scoffed. “Balderdash!”
I smiled behind my tumbler. “It’s true, he is arrogant towards those who show no interest in magic or his research.”
“Well,” Sakeepa said after a few moments of silence, “I say live and let live. It was an unfortunate accident, and as you say, Julian, he did help make it right.”
“Exactly,” I answered, tipping my half-empty tumbler towards the Argonian in acknowledgement. Finishing the water, I set it down with a soft click. “It feels late, and it’s been a long day for me,” I glanced at Serethi. “Do you have a bed I can rent, ser?”
“No!” Serethi exclaimed. “The first room upstairs, on the left, is yours for free, as long as you want it!”
After a moment’s consideration, I nodded my gratitude at him. Reaching down for the pack, I smiled at the others. “Thanks for your hospitality, and the company,” I said, making certain to include the Serethi sisters. “It was a pleasure to break bread with all of you.”
11.4 (got ninja'd there)
That was a fun part, Ancotar's personality was spot on - I've met pleanty who aren't so different (though in general the effects of magic research are more fun than those in RL).
You have me intreuged with the wolves, the first piqued my interest but I'd more or less discarded as a throw away comment, now this... I can't imagine what it is though.
Your point on there being suspiciously few normal mages made me chuckle ![]()
11.5:
Nicely resolved, you show another side of Julian having her attempt to broker peace between the villagers and the mage and in the limited space they recieved you managed to give them a fairly diverse range of personalities. Great stuff.
I am with Olen here. Julian's efforts to mediate a peaceful coexistence between Ancotar and the Aleswellians was well done. She shows more of those diplomatic skillz that she undoubtedly learned as an nco.
Likewise with the depth and life you gave the villagers, and their animals (who once again shine through - trust a vet to write animals so well). Again you seamlessly worked in the game dialogue with new ones, making the two sisters behaviour make more sense as well.
I was not bothered by the mention of age. In ancient Greece and Rome people took on specific responsibilities and gain rights based upon their age. In Athens at 16 a boy had his hair ritually cut during the Apatouria festival, and was reintroduced to his phratry (a fraternal kinship group based on genetic ties). This was essentially his first step towards citizenship. Then at 18 he attained legal majority and was required to serve in the military for two years. Finally at 20 he reentered society as a full citizen.
Nicely done, Rider.
Julian's people skills were fully on display.
This is a fun little quest and you really brought it to life.
To this day I am still wondering what the hell the guys in Beth were thinking when they called the town Ale-Swell
Lovely chapter. It's details like this that make a story come to live and you ace'd it
@Olen: Your remark about the “free, citizens and twenty-one” is a good one. I’ll have to think about it - after all Tamriel has several intelligent races, all of which have different life spans and different “ages of majority.” I’m glad you enjoyed Julian’s brief visit in Aleswell.
@SubRosa: I’m glad you enjoyed the animals as much as I enjoyed writing them. Sheep are pretty stupid, and lack a sense of self-preservation (hence the essential need for a herding dog like Drift, who is actually modeled after a RL herding Great Pyrenees I know). I hope Julian will see more of Sakeepa and Drift when she’s on the north side of the Red Ring Road. I always liked his invitation to come sit awhile.
@Acadian: Thanks!
@Remko: I think they meant Ales - well! As in Ales well that ends well! Thanks for enjoying this little side quest.
Julian seeks out our Bosmer friend today, and gains new respect for him.
*******************
Chapter 11.6 An Education from Gwinas
The Watchman standing outside the Talos Plaza Gate greeted me as I limped up the hill in the misting rain. “You’re moving better, ma’am,” he said to me. Surprised, I glanced at him. He’s right.
“It’s hurting less, thanks,” I said. Those healing spells every night are working. “Of course, then I go and do something stupid like run from a mace-wielding assassin because I left my weapons at the smith’s.”
His grin flashed beneath his helm at my wry tone. “We’ve all been in that situation, ma’am,” he commented. “Don’t forget your backup weapons next time!”
With a chuckle, I entered the City. Just within the entrance, I watched the changing of the Watch and realized it was now noon. Remembering what Gwinas had said, I decided to head to the Tiber Septim Hotel. Even though I was out of my class there, I had to find out if he was still staying there.
The imposing facade and double bronze doors gave me pause, but I drew up my courage and entered. Within, a grand hall made of two wings at right angles to each other nearly tumbled my confidence. At the far end of each wing, a fire crackled merrily in marble hearths, bringing warmth to the cold stone floor and walls.
A blond Imperial woman standing next to a carved inn counter watched me with an assessing glance. Taking a deep breath to bolster my tattered nerve, I limped to her. “Hello,” I greeted her, self-conscious of my plain clothes, my dust-stained pack. “I’m looking for Gwinas, ma’am.”
She eyed me warily. “Yes, I remember you, you helped Gwinas,” she said finally. “I’m Augusta Calidia. Welcome to the Tiber Septim Hotel. He’s at lunch, upstairs,” she pointed to the stairs at the far end of the right hand wing.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I said. I turned and headed for the stairs. An old man, dressed in a white mages’ robe, descended the stairs as I reached the bottom.
“Good day, ma’am,” he greeted me affably. “Ontus Vanin, retired. Sleep late, read trashy books,” he grinned at me mischievously. “I don’t keep up with Mages Guild affairs anymore.”
I regarded him for a moment. Maybe mages do know something useful. “I’m Julian, from Anvil, sir,” I said. “Do you know of any Daedric shrines around here?”
“I know of three,” his eyes grew distant. “Hircine, is south of the Imperial City, northeast of Bravil, between the upper Niben and the Green Road.” He paused, thinking. “Then there’s the Meridia Shrine, northeast of the junction of the Silver Road and the Red Ring Road.”
“By Roxey Inn, sir?” I asked. He nodded.
“Up in the mountains above Roxey Inn,” he confirmed. “And I’ve heard the Vaermina Shrine is at the headwaters of the Reed River, though I’ve never been there myself.”
“Thanks,” I said. “And you said you’re retired, sir? From the Mages Guild?”
“I spent forty years at the Arcane University,” Vanin answered. “Good years. But I don’t miss it. Now I’m completely useless, and I’m proud of it.”
Forty years? And I thought twenty-five in the Legion was a long time! I smiled at him. “I hate being useless, sir,” I commented, “so I’m looking for some other purpose.”
“Ah,” Vanin returned my smile. “But you’re young yet,” he assured me. “You’ll find your purpose for - oh - another twenty years or so.”
“Maybe by then I’ll be ready to retire and enjoy being useless, sir,” I responded. He chuckled and walked past me. I turned back to the stairs and headed up.
Entering the dining hall, I spotted Gwinas’s yellow topknot at one of the tables. He looked up at my entrance, and nearly dropped his spoon into his soup in surprise. I crossed the room and paused opposite the table from him, gesturing at the chair next to me. “May I join you, Gwinas?” I asked.
He nodded uneasily. I set my gear down on the floor and took the chair, noting his nervousness. Goodness, I really scared him pretty badly back there in the Market District. How to put him at ease now?
“Hello,” I spoke quietly to the Dunmer serving-woman approaching our table. “What do you recommend for lunch? I’ve traveled far.”
“W- well,” ducking his head nervously, Gwinas pointed at his bowl with the spoon, “the slaughterfish soup is qu- quite delicious, especially with today’s nut bread.” It does smell delicious. Perfect with this fall weather.
“Then I’ll have some of that,” I said to the server. “And some water with it, too please.” As she moved to the sideboard, I turned back to the Bosmer. “And I never got to thank you for your help with the Mythic Dawn,” I was anxious to put him at ease.
“M- my help?” he stammered. Rewarded by the slight relaxation in his face, I nodded. “How was I helpful?”
The server returned with the soup, a chunk of bread, and a tumbler of water. As she set the meal before me, I crooked a finger at her. She leaned closer. “I’ll pay for his meal, too,” I murmured, pointing at Gwinas.
“Yes, ma’am,” she bobbed a curtsy at me. “The wine, too?” she indicated the tall green bottle near Gwinas’s elbow. Surilie Brothers.
“Of course,” I said, trying not to wince at the thought of the cost. If he can help me locate a Daedric artifact, it will be worth it, I tried to convince myself. The Dunmer named a price that caused my heart to stutter, but I reached into my purse and counted out the drakes.
As the wiry Dunmer withdrew, I turned back to Gwinas, who hid the surprise in his expression. “Thank you, but there’s no need -” he began. He stopped when I shook my head at him, anxiety rising again in his eyes.
“You helped me before, with the book you gave me,” I kept my voice quiet, “and the note from the Sponsor,” I watched as his eyes gleamed at the recollection. “They gave me the information I needed to complete my mission.”
“Your mission was successful, I h- hope?” Gwinas asked querulously.
“In a way, yes,” I answered, thinking of the Mysterium Xarxes, and of Jeelius. I should look him up in the Temple of the One. I did promise him.
“Well, then, I’m glad to be of assistance,” Gwinas waved his spoon over his bowl. “But to pay for this, and the wine -” his voice trailed off.
“I can use some more assistance from you,” holding his gaze, I took a sip of the soup. Yummy. “This is quite delicious, Gwinas,” I commented when I had swallowed my mouthful. The anxiety in his expression increased in spite of my words. “No, it does not involve danger to you, sir,” I added. “Rather, it is your knowledge I seek.”
His brows shot up. “M- my knowledge?” he repeated, interested in spite of his unease. “Of what?”
“I’m to find a Daedric shrine,” I answered. “I remember you mentioned a couple -” looking at the ornate ceiling above me, I remembered his words, “- ah, Sheogorath, I think, and Hermaeus Mora.”
“Ah, yes,” Gwinas nodded. “Mehrunes Dagon’s shrine was to be my last one.” He failed to suppress a shudder. “Thank you for keeping me out of that one. What I’ve heard of the Mythic Dawn -” his voice trailed off.
“I don’t think you would have been happy to find his shrine,” I assured him. “Believe me, I wasn’t. They were about to sacrifice a priest from the Temple of the One when I found it.”
The Bosmer’s eyes widened in horror. “Blood sacrifice?” he shuddered again. Taking a deep breath, he grew calm again. “But you wanted to learn about other Daedric shrines?”
“Yes,” I answered. “I need to find a Daedric artifact, and I honestly have no idea how to go about it.” Taking a bite of the food, I swallowed before continuing, “I just spoke to Ontus Vanin, and he mentioned Hircine, Meridia, and Vaermina.”
“And there’s Azura,” Gwinas added. I nodded.
“I read Modern Heretics,” I offered. “But I don’t want to tangle with will-o-wisps, thank you very much.”
Gwinas nodded in agreement. “I bought some glow dust, myself, for that one. Those things scare me plenty!” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. I started to see the dedicated scholar come to the fore. “Hermaeus Mora you can find only by invitation,” he said. “I was invited there after I visited all the other shrines, except, of course, Mehrunes Dagon’s. I don’t think you want to bother with that one.” He sat back in his chair, regarding me thoughtfully. “How are you at traveling?”
“All right, I guess,” I shrugged. “I’ve got a sturdy horse, weapons, and supplies. Why?”
“Quite a few of these Shrines are some distance away in the wilderness,” Gwinas said. “Take Peryite, for example . . .”
We spent the next hour hunched over the table, Gwinas marking the locations of the various shrines on my map, and explaining what each one required. He also told me the quirks of each of the Daedric Princes, which I found invaluable - I didn’t want to perform a task that went against my grain as a Legion soldier.
Finally, we sat back in our respective chairs regarding each other. “I think you have earned your lunch,” I remarked, “and that bottle of wine.”
“I hope so,” Gwinas responded. He seemed at ease with me now.
“I’m told you’re from Valenwood,” I said. “I served there several years ago, when I was in the Legion. It was my first posting after recruit training.”
His eyes brightened at me. “Which part of Valenwood?” he asked.
“Arenthia,” I answered. “The city was okay, but I really liked being in the forest.”
“Did you?” Gwinas seemed pleased. “Why?”
“It was beautiful,” I answered simply.
Gwinas nodded. “The forest is mostly unchanged since the Merethic Era,” he said happily. “Imagine when the Ayleids and beastfolk roamed Cyrodiil, before Man came from the North, when the Aldmeri wizards ruled from their towers -” his voice faded away as he became aware of whom he was speaking to.
“That’s all right, Gwinas,” I said quietly, trying to reassure him. “I don’t deny that the Mer were here first.” I smiled at him. “Some of my best friends in the Legion were Mer, and it was an Altmer battlemage that saved my life.” I leaned my chin on my hand, my elbow on the table. “Tell me about the trees - I always wondered about them. Are they really intelligent?”
We passed the next few hours, sharing memories of this province that still seemed so alien to me. Gwinas told me about the walking city of Falinesti, which had recently stopped walking, for reasons that remained unknown, even to the Bosmer which dwelled in its branches.
Finally, we stopped when the Dunmer woman announced dinner. “I think we had better stop,” I said, turning away from her.
“I’ve enjoyed passing this time with you, Julian,” Gwinas replied, smiling. “It was good to talk about Valenwood with someone who has been there, if only in a small part of it.”
“I enjoyed it, too,” I rose to my feet. “But now I need to see another friend.”
“Shall I see you again?” Gwinas asked me wistfully. I glanced at him as I gathered up my gear. I could see the loneliness in his gaze.
“Probably,” I said. “I’ll be traveling a lot in the foreseeable future, but as long as you’re staying here, I’ll look you up when I’m in the City.”
“I would love to hear of your travels!” Gwinas exclaimed. I raised my eyebrows at him.
“You’re pretty well-traveled yourself, Gwinas,” I commented. “I learned a lot from you this afternoon.” I straightened up, the pack and shield over my shoulder. “Thanks again for your time, and your knowledge.”
“It was my pleasure,” Gwinas rose a little unsteadily, from all the wine, I thought to myself. “Farewell Julian, until we meet again.”
Ahh Gwinas again. My favorite Bosmer Daedric cultist. A good segment describing Julian's intelligence-gathering before setting out upon her actual mission. I notice you did not tell us exactly which shrine she decided to go after though. Not a problem, I understand that you want to wait to reveal that until she gets there. We know that she has at least a stop in the Temple of the One next segment, and who knows what might happen on her way to the shrine. So it could be a while before she even gets there.
The Watchman standing outside the Talos Plaza Gate
So was that Nite Owl I or II? Ozymandias? Or one of the other Watchmen?
Within, a grand hall made of two wings at right angles to each other nearly tumbled my confidence.
I liked the turn of phrase at the end, which eloquently shows how ostentatious displays of wealth can be overawing to people not accustomed to it. I personally always feel distinctly uncomfortable in places like that.
“I hate being useless, sir,” I commented, “so I’m looking for some other purpose.”
This really describes Julian to a tee. It is why she joined the Legion, why she fell so hard on skooma and self-loathing, and why she is so dedicated to her new position as a Blade. Just living is not enough for her.
before Man came from the North
So when did Woman come?
I really liked several things about this.
- You devoted much of this to conversation with Gwinas. That allowed you the 'room' to fully develop things and lavish so much delicious detail. Wonderful dialogue and descriptions and Julian's internal thoughts all very skillfully woven together. Oh, and the soup and wine were tasty as well.
- Oh my! How wonderful that Julian found someone who could fill her in so fully on Daedric Shrines, even answering questions about them. I really liked that!
- I see you also have researched the home of the Bosmer. And who better to tell Julian of the beauty and mystery of the forests of Valenwood than a Bosmer. Like you, I am fascinated by what cities like Arenthia must look like, and moving trees that reach up to the very clouds. Buffy so longs to visit the land of her ancesters south of the Strid River.
Yep, just a joy to read!
I like Gwinas, the way you portray him is refreshing and interesting. He's well rounded now and a bit of an enigma given that he seems fundementally ok but equally must have performed favours for the likes of Molag Bal and Mephala and seems not to regret much. His motives for doing it interest me too, I'm sure they're there but you didn't let enough slip for me to be sure.
And a nice bit of intellignce gathering, it really adds to each event having it preceeded and followed (if the content of the next part is as I suspect) but planning and reaction.
As for which daedric shrine... Azura seems possible with bought glow dust but seeing as she hasn't already I think it might be Meridia. Or less likely Peryite depending on what Gwinas thought of him. I await with interest.
How fantastic that you have gone into a research of the most noble of all the lands of Tamriel.
Ahh, Valenwood, you have brought a tear to the eye of this old war dog.... Thanks!
@SubRosa: You will have the answer to your question sooner than you expect!
@Acadian: My trip to the Pacific Northwest (Olympic National Park) a year ago is still fresh in my mind. Though I spent most of my day in the subalpine region, the drive through the rain forest on Highway 101 stands as one of the most scenic drives I had ever undertaken. I used that for my mental vision of Valenwood, as well as the magnificent oak trees around my childhood home. When I’m not in the mountains, I love to be in the woods. I’m not surprised that Valenwood stands as Julian’s favorite legion posting.
@Olen: Ah, the contradiction that is the quintessential scholar! The constant search for knowledge, when untempered by ethics, can lead in very scary directions. You will soon find out if any of your guesses is correct!
@Wolf: I’m glad you enjoyed Julian’s reminiscences of Valenwood.
Julian starts preparing for her expedition, and falls victim to an impulse purchase. Oh, and Acadian, your perennial question gets laid to rest today. Get ready to count on your fingers (and toes, and your wife’s . . .)!
*****************
Chapter 11.7 Preparations
Outside, in the grey rain of late afternoon, I turned and headed for Green Emperor Way. I wanted to see a merchant about a soul gem. I had decided, during our discussion, that I would visit Sheogorath’s Shrine, north of Leyawiin.
Gwinas had mentioned that the Daedric Prince of Madness would accept an offering of lettuce, yarn, and a lesser soul gem. I had only petty gems, and wasn’t sure I would find a lesser soul gem before I reached Sheogorath’s Shrine. The lettuce and yarn should be easier to find. I can probably pick some up in Bravil on my way south.
As I walked toward the tall gates that opened into Green Emperor Way, I heard a familiar shout behind me - “For Lord Dagon!” and that swooshing sound of summoned armor. Not again! I turned around to see a male Dunmer disappear into bound armor, turn and run towards me. My shield was at my back, just out of easy reach, but I could draw my katana, and I did.
I backed up slowly, hearing booted footfalls as the City Watch at the gates - both the outer gates and the ones leading to the interior of the city, ran towards the Dunmer, shouting to each other. They called for bows, and I sidestepped quickly, seeking cover from the building to my right and trying to stay out of the line of fire. I didn’t want to get arrested again, and fighting under the wrong circumstances was certain to land me back in the Prison.
Fortunately, the Watchmen were competent, and the Dunmer fell without getting close to me. I quickly sheathed my katana as the legionaries scanned the area. They returned to their posts, the one who had passed me stopping to look me up and down. “Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked. I nodded wordlessly. “Good, then.” He knuckled his helm at me. “If you run into trouble, come find me.”
“Thank you, sir,” I answered. “Do you have any news?”
“It’s true what they’re saying,” the Watchman’s gaze turned grim. “Kvatch is lost - the daedra swarmed in. The town guard never had a chance.”
I shook my head. “But they cleared the daedra out later, and took the town back. Of course, it’s destroyed, but they plan to rebuild.”
“It will be difficult,” the Watchman responded. “With the Emperor dead, it’s all the Elder Council can do to hold things together during this Crisis.”
“They’ll send support, won’t they?” I asked. The Watchman shrugged.
“It’s hard to say,” he said. “Now with new Gates opening all across Tamriel, things are getting a little stretched on the ground here and in the provinces.”
“I see,” I glanced back at the body of the Dunmer. “Thanks again, for helping me out.”
“It’s our job,” he said, taking up his post. I nodded and walked past, limping up the stairs to the gates. I entered the Green Emperor Way and turned deosil, toward the Market District.
Entering the Market District, I walked through it, searching for a particular store. I found it, tucked in a corner of one of the smaller plazas along the outer wall. Mystic Emporium. I remembered hearing rumors about the place as being a good source of magical equipment.
A tall Altmer with red hair swept back from a widow’s peak in a leonine mane, greeted me. “Welcome to the Mystic Emporium. Calindil is here, with all your needs, under one roof. Look, and buy. Nothing could be easier.”
“Do you have any soul gems?” I asked him. He nodded and led me to a display case. I asked him the differences in prices.
“These are petty soul gems,” he pointed at the set of three small stones in the case. Now he moved his finger to indicate four stones that were slightly larger. “These are lesser soul gems.”
“I’ll take one of those, please,” I said, pointing to the lesser soul gems.
“That’s a septim and forty-four drakes,” he said. One hundred and forty-four drakes! I shook my head.
“One septim and twenty-six drakes,” I countered. He echoed my refusal.
“One and thirty-two. Final offer.” He said, his voice firm. I sighed and counted out the coins. He handed me the soul gem. “Thank you for your business,” he said, smiling at me. I smiled back, slipping the gem into my pack.
“You’re welcome, Calindil.” I responded as I headed for the door. “Good day.”
“Farewell, and come back!” he called after me. I thought to myself, Not until I can haggle better than that.
I turned and spotted a sign at the other end of the plaza: Office of Imperial Commerce. I regarded it curiously. What is an Office of Imperial Commerce? Would they tell me which merchants sell what goods? Only one way to find out.
I wandered across the plaza and entered the small building. Inside the cluttered office, I spotted an thin, careworn woman seated at a desk. She looked up at me, irritated, as I drew near. “Hello,” she said curtly.
“Hello,” I answered. “I’m Julian. I’m wondering what is it you do here?”
“Vinicia Melissaeia, Office of Imperial Commerce,” she replied shortly. “You got complaints? Of course you got complaints. Who doesn’t?” I looked at her, confused. She sighed huffily. “You have complaints against merchants here? You file complaints with me. I fill out lots of forms, which go to a lot of people who ignore them,” she explained. “So what else did you expect? Justice? Go to the Chapel. Talk to Zenithar. He’ll take care of everything.” Her sarcastic tone implied that she didn’t believe it.
“I have no complaints,” I said. “Not against any of the merchants here.”
“Well, then, what did you come here for? To buy a house?”
“I can buy a house?” I asked. “You sell houses here in the City?”
“Well, yes, of course,” Melissaeia exclaimed, exasperated. “What did you think, that you could go to the Chancellor himself and haggle with him like a fishwife?”
I stifled a laugh at the image her words conjured up. “Actually, no,” I answered. “I’ve never bought a house before, so this is new to me.”
“Well, if you want to buy a house, I can take your information and find something that’s available.”
“Really?” I asked, startled. Do I want to buy a house? I recalled the weight of my wallet. It would deplete my savings, but a house where I could keep my gear, store things I could sell, and practice my alchemy, appealed to me. “How do we start?”
“I’ll need your name first.”
“It’s Julian,” I answered. “From Anvil.”
“Age?” she asked, scribbling on the parchment. She looked up at me when I paused. “How many Julians d’you think are out there?”
“Not many from Anvil, I doubt,” I answered. “It’s uncommon enough there. Okay, I was born on 12 Evening Star, in the year 386,” I said reluctantly. Melissaeia scribbled some more.
“Occupation?” she asked me. I blanked. What?
“Um, mage apprentice, does that count?”
Melissaeia did not respond, only scribbled further. “Your parents’ names and races, please.”
“My mother was a Redguard, Zahira,” I answered. “My father, I don’t know - he disappeared before I was born, and my mother never spoke of him.”
“Next of kin?” she asked. I shook my head against the long-forgotten grief.
“None,” I said quietly. Melissaeia looked up at me, her expression a little kinder.
“Were you born in Anvil, Julian?” she murmured.
“Yes, and I served in the Legion for twenty-five years, until four years ago,” I answered.
“Were you honorably discharged?” she asked me.
“Yes, for medical reasons,” I replied.
“Your highest rank in the Legion?”
“Pilus Prior, Nonus, in Legio Six,” I anticipated her next question. She nodded to herself as she scribbled madly. She finally put her quill down and surveyed the document. She turned to the cubbyholes behind her and pulled out a pouch. Opening it, she set it on the table and pulled out a stack of parchment.
“I’m sorry to say the only place available is a hovel on the Waterfront District,” she said, flipping through the sheaf of documents. “Twenty septims.”
Two thousand drakes? Isn’t that a lot? But I’ve managed to save more than that. “It’s a deal,” I said, opening my purse. Melissaeia stared at me in surprise as I counted out two thousand drakes in various denominations.
“Really?” she exclaimed. “Then you’ve just become a homeowner.” She drew out a folded parchment from a drawer in her desk and handed me an iron key. “Here is your house key.”
“Well,” she said, satisfied. “That’s that.” She flickered her fingers over the parchment, and it rustled in the faint green glow that appeared at her fingertips, becoming two pieces. She kept the bottom piece and handed me the top piece. “There you go, your copy of the deed. Please check it and make sure all the information is correct.”
I studied the parchment, and nodded. “Everything is correct,” I answered. Melissaeia handed me the quill.
“Good, then, sign right here,” she indicated a blank line on the parchment on the desk. I signed my name, my left hand cramping as I struggled to hold the quill steady.
“There, all set,” Melissaeia’s voice took on a note of satisfaction. “You’ll find it in the Waterfront District, at the north end of the street. It’s not much to look at. You may want to spruce it up a bit. Talk to Sergius Verus at Three Brothers, here in the Market District.”
I slipped the key into my pocket and the deed into my pack. “How do I get to the Waterfront District?” I asked her.
“Through the Temple District,” she answered. “Across from the Temple of the One, you’ll find the gate to the tunnel that runs down to the Waterfront.”
“Thanks, ma’am,” I said, turning for the door. Leaving the office, I looked around. Across the street, I saw a store marked Edgar’s Discount Spells. Hmm, I thought to myself. Detect Life, maybe?
In the store, I was greeted by the shopkeeper. “Edgar Vautrine,” he introduced himself. “You don’t want the very best. You want cheap. And I got cheap.”
“What do you have?” I listened as Edgar ran through his list of spells, and purchased a few, making my purse even lighter. He taught me how to summon a bound dagger, call up a skeleton, and how to detect life within twenty meters for thirty seconds. Once I practiced them a few times, I felt I had a grasp of them, and thanked Edgar.
“Anytime, ma’am,” he said, pleased with the transaction.
Leaving his store, I considered heading to the Three Brothers, but decided that I should look at my house first and see what I needed to get. And stop by the Temple, see Jeelius.
Wonderful, again.
I was hoping Julian would decide to visit Sheo's shrine - excellent choice for several reasons.
You call forth wonderful images of the game throughout this, even including the dialogue that we know and love.
My goodness, I was very close on Julian's age - within a couple years. I'm sure she would slap me if I told you in which direction.
I think it is neat that the guards took down that Mythic Dawn creep for Julian.
I'm glad to see that Julian got herself a backup weapon with that bound dagger. Nice to see her perhaps getting a little more comfortable with magic. I know, I know, old habits and new tricks and all.
Her own house! Great view of the lake, nice and cozy, lovely warm fireplace. Congrats, Julian!
Another attack by the Mythic Dawn I see! I wonder which makes Julian more uncomfortable, being praised as the Hero of Kvatch, or being attacked for it!
I see a bit of world-building on your part as well. A septim is worth a hundred drakes. I like that, I will probably use that too.
I loved how you described Vinicia as being a world-weary, cynical civil servant. She was lots of fun to read.
“What did you think, that you could go to the Chancellor himself and haggle with him like a fishwife?”
This line of hers was precious!
And now we finally learn Julian's birthdate! She is a little older than I imagined although only slightly. That means her birthsign is the Thief. She was born in the same month as Teresa, albeit a few weeks earlier (and a few decades...
).
So Julian is now a proud homeowner too. I suspect the proud part will disappear once she sees her new hovel. Still, it is a good place to throw your junk, and thankfully with Oblivion being a game none of the thieves that the Waterfront is packed with will ever break in and steal it all. It is too bad you play on a console. There are several decent mods that add houses to the IC. My favorite adds a simple one room apartment to the Market District, which makes it very easy to RP a character from the Imperial City.
No next of kin I see. Poor Julian. We might suppose that her mother reached the standard three score and ten years and died naturally. Her brother Cieran on the other hand...
nits:
Gwinas had mentioned that {the?} Daedric Prince of Madness would accept an offering of lettuce
I think you wanted a the where I inserted it above.
I entered the Green Emperor Way and turned clockwise
I only bring it up because in the past you have mentioned that you did not like using the term clockwise in a setting without clocks. Perhaps you might use sunwise or deosil as you have in the past?
I like you making a Septim a hundred drakes, it works well in setting and builds a bit more world. I too might steal that (with some alterations...)
Sheogorath... Hmm I don't hink she knows what she's let herself in for, though equally after her handling of J'Skar and Volenaro I'm not sure Sheogorath knows whats coming either
. I can't wait to see how you portray his quest, or for the moment where Julian discovers the effect of his item ![]()
And her age, actually a bit younger than I'd guessed... She joined the Legion young then.
I too liked Vincia, she was hilarious to read, spot on for that sort of job.
And now a homeowner, I think she'll stay proud though seeing as she's never owned a home and now does. I've certainly stayed in worse places than that 'hovel'.
twenty meters - not really a nit but IMO imperial measures fit a fantasy setting better, the game uses feet. Meters makes me think of short Frenchmen trying to be different and inadvertantly producing a flawed but almost ok system while they were at it (they're also nominally based on the size of the Earth).
Julian is 47 years old? My guess would have been around 50.
Ha! I'm 53 this year. Hey, Julian, young kid, come here and listen to the master....
@Acadian: I agree with you on the house. Sure, it’s a hovel, but the location is so gorgeous! Sunset on the lake is worth more than 2K! It’s one of my favorite places - small (easy to keep clean), plenty of storage, a fireplace that’s always going, and waterfront footage. What more could a lake-girl ask for?
@SubRosa: It’s these kinds of chapters that really make world-building possible for me. It’s nice to sit back and really think about what day to day life is like. Don’t worry, Julian is used to worse (camp tents and cold barracks), this little shack will seem like a palace to her. As for her kin, you’ll find out later rather than sooner whether you’re right or not. That one clockwise ticked right past me! Thanks for catching it.
@Olen: Thanks, I had fun writing Vincia - she has some of the quirkiest dialog in the game. When I first started writing this story over two years ago, I went back and forth between the English/Imperial and metric system. I finally decided to go with metric because it’s easier for me to visualize distances with it; also as a veterinarian, I use metric weights and volumes all the time.
@Remko: Heh heh. Julian doesn’t take offense at your guess. After all, what’s a couple of years at that point in life?
@D.Foxy: Flatterer!
Julian meets another old friend, then gets a look at her new neighborhood.
**************
Chapter 11.8 Homecoming
Within the Temple, I was taken aback by the beauty of the simple structure. A round colonnade marked the Dragonfires in the center, now dark. Light cascaded from small round apertures set just beneath the dome around the structure. Tall narrow windows between the columns in the outer wall added more light to the interior.
“Julian!” that familiar hissing voice called to me. I looked to see Jeelius, clad now in the grey robe of Akatosh, crossing the floor towards me, his sharp teeth bared in a grin. “How good to ssee you!”
I stepped down to the floor, putting my hands in his outstretched fingers and clasping them. “I promised that I would see you the next time I visited the Imperial City,” I said. “I’m here to keep that promise. How have you been?”
“Good,” Jeelius said. “The nightmaress are getting better now. I’m jusst happy to be back.” He clasped my right shoulder. “It iss good to ssee you again. You rissked your life to ssave me, a sstranger. You are truly among the blesssed of Arkay’ss children.”
“Oh, I’m not sure about that, Jeelius,” I said, embarrassed by his praise. “It was the right thing to do at the time. I still feel that way, and I’m very glad to see you safe back home.”
Jeelius smiled at me. “Do you have a little time?” he asked me. I nodded. “Allow me to show a small token of my gratitude, and let me share some of my ssmall sstore of knowledge of the healing spellss with you.” He promptly demonstrated to me how to cast a stronger healing spell on myself, and helped me cast one at a nearby target.
After about an hour of coaching I felt drained, but I could now cast a stronger self-healing spell. The practice reduced the constant ache in my right knee to a mere twinge, and completely eliminated the ache in my left side. Even better, I could now throw a decent Convalescence spell.
Once I caught my breath, I thanked Jeelius for his coaching. A tall Altmer woman approached us. “You must be Julian,” she greeted me. “I’m Tandilwe. Jeelius has told us of your bravery and courage in saving his life. We are grateful to you for returning our brother to us.”
“Well, I couldn’t leave him there,” I answered. “They were about to sacrifice him, and I didn’t like that idea.” I nodded at the Argonian. “He was very brave, too. He didn’t panic, and he kept me alive in there.” I shook my head. “It was Jeelius who saved me, not the other way around.”
Tandilwe smiled down at me. “That’s not what Jeelius says,” she countered. “Be as it may, you are welcome here anytime, Julian.”
“I may stop in more often,” I said, meeting Jeelius’s gaze. “I just bought a house in the Waterfront, so now I’m a resident of the City.”
“How wonderful!” Jeelius exclaimed. “Yess, you musst sstop in often.”
“It was my pleasure meeting you, Tandilwe,” I said to the Altmer. “And Jeelius, it was good to see you looking so well. I must leave now, so good night to you both.”
At the entrance to the tunnel leading down to the waterfront, I shifted the pack on my shoulder and started limping along the dark passage. Unlike the working-class Elven Gardens, and the upper-class Talos Plaza and Temple districts, the people here were more shabbily dressed, with run-down postures and varying signs of illness.
The air in the tunnel was dank and malodorous with mold, rot, and sweat. Voices rebounded off the dripping stone walls and swirled along the mud-caked pavement. My left foot slipped a little on a particularly damp spot, and a foul odor rose to my nose. This is more than just mud, I thought with distaste. Here and there dark shadows huddled or lay slumped against the walls, giving me a hint of the true nature of the slick material coating the paving stones.
I was once one of them, I mused. Until Emperor Uriel Septim stepped into my cell, and my life. How many unfortunate souls have not been so lucky as I?
Finally I reached the end of the tunnel and stepped out into a cool, clean, evening. The rain had faded back to a misty drizzle, and the temperature had fallen enough that I could just see my breath in the damp air. Ahead of me, a lighthouse rose from a rocky outcrop, an echo of White Gold Tower. The road led down from the tunnel to the small spire, where steep stairs gave pedestrians access to the base of the structure.
Porters, some bearing heavy packs and others dragging laden carts, passed me on their way to the tunnel leading into the City. The air rang with shouts, commands, and curses. Typical end-of-the-day rush. Everyone wants to get their jobs done and go home.
As I mounted the lighthouse base, I spotted several ships moored along the crescent harbor. To the left, at the eastern end, a wide-beamed caravelle floated placidly, barely moving with the mild waves. Its cantilevered top deck attracted my curiosity. How does that thing even avoid capsizing at sea? It’s so top-heavy! Smaller craft lined the harbor between the caravelle and the bridge connecting the lighthouse to the waterfront.
Once on the stone span, I looked to my right and spotted fewer boats docked, mostly near the bridge. By itself at the far end, a sleek galleon rode at anchor. I recognized the beautiful, fast and deadly craft favored by pirates.
On the broad paved avenue running along the harbor-front, I paused to look around. Tall buildings lined the outer curve of the avenue, towering over the workers and residents. High bronze doors led into shadowed interiors, several with the distinctive dragon-shaped signs indicating the Imperial warehouses. More than a few signs above other doors indicated brothels and taverns. The numbers of sailors and off-duty Legion soldiers moving in and out of these entries suggested they did good business.
Several people stared at me, nudging each other as they passed. Their eyes flickered from my white hair to the Kvatch Wolf on my left arm. Beneath the commotion typical of harbor-fronts everywhere, I could hear snatches of whispers - Hero of Kvatch - closed the Oblivion Gate - tall for a Redguard woman -
The whispers faded away at the clanking of armor. I turned to see one of the Watchmen approaching me, his plate catching the glow of torch light. “Hello, ma’am,” he greeted me. “You’re new here.”
Chagrined, I nodded. “Yes, sir, I just bought a house, but I have no idea where it is.”
His brows lifted beneath his helm. “You bought a house?” he remarked in mild surprise. “Here in the Waterfront?”
“It was all Melissaeia had, sir,” I responded. “I just want to have a place to stay when I’m in the Imperial City.”
“Do you have the deed?” the Watchman asked. Digging it out of my belt pouch, I showed it to him. He peered at it, tilting it to the torches without taking it out of my hand. “On Well Street. That’s old Tormund’s house.” He turned from me and pointed out a flight of stairs piercing the wall of buildings directly opposite the bridge. “Go through there, and down to Dareloth Way. Turn right, and follow it to the end. The house is on Well Street, right where Dareloth ends.” He eyed me thoughtfully, his gaze taking in the Kvatch Wolf and the katana riding my left hip. “Just be careful, it’s not a genteel neighborhood.”
His words brought a crooked smile to my mouth. “I doubt I’d fit in a genteel neighborhood, sir,” I responded. “I don’t suppose you can recommend a good, cheap place to eat?”
“Certainly,” the Watchman nodded. He pointed out the modified caravelle I had spotted earlier. “That’s the Bloated Float. It’s an inn, believe it or not.”
“It’s -” I regarded it thoughtfully, “- bloated, all right.”
The Watchman chuckled. “Aye, it is. But it’s warm, the food is simple but hearty, and the company quite entertaining.” He nodded at me before passing on, continuing his rounds.
I thanked Jeelius again for his recent coaching as I limped up the stairs and paused at the summit. More stairs led down to a cobblestone street, lined by rough-looking wooden houses and brothels. Fewer people walked along the street here, most of them quite shabbily dressed. Every now and then, I caught a whiff of skooma, a scent of drink. Fortunately, the familiar smells did not trigger the old cravings I used to have, and I was able to hobble past them.
A cobblestoned avenue crossed the street I moved down. A faded sign identifying the wider road as Dareloth Way. With a right turn, I found myself walking down what passed for the main road in the slums. Crooked buildings made of weathered boards, roofed with warped and cracked shingles, lined both sides of the avenue. In the damp weather, the uneven cobblestones harbored puddles scattered across the way. Moss filled in the spaces between the individual stones.
Here and there, people lounged on tilted stoops, some slumped in their own drugged fog, others watching the traffic. Some of the latter met my gaze with thinly veiled distrust, though most were careful to avoid outright hostility. Children in muddy, ragged clothes, some of them barefoot, ran past me. However, when I glanced back over my shoulder, I discovered that some of them had circled back and were following me. They kept their distance, their eyes wide on my Kvatch Wolf. Even they have heard the rumors of the old woman who went into that damned Oblivion Gate.
As the Watchman had said, Dareloth ended at another narrow street, and a small shack stood at the opposite side of the cross road. It looked as rundown as the other buildings. What have I gotten myself into? What if the roof leaks? What if it’s drafty? I found the door locked, and tried the key.
The lock turned stiffly, and the door creaked open to reveal a dark, dusty interior. Leaving the door open to let in the feeble torchlight from outside, I stepped inside. Home.
A nice, relaxing chapter where Julian reaps the rewards of her actions at Lake Arrius (the two times I have done the MQ, I have never thought to stop by the temple afterward to talk to Jeelius). Some good world-building of her new home, making the Waterfront come alive in all its dingy glory. Julian's Anvillian knowledge of ships shows through it with her observations about the ships.
Do I see a diversion at the Bloated Float soon? Hopefully Methredhel will not pick Julian's pocket and rob her blind while she is in there.
This is more than just mud, I thought with distaste.
Ewwww! You tell us volumes about the Waterfront with just that one passage!
Wonderful rich description of the approach to and the Waterfront itself. It seemed natural that circumstances in the Waterfront would remind Julian of the lower points in her own life. I expect she will not spend too much time in the Waterfront, but based on your comments, it seems she is one to appreciate the beauty (lake, sunrises, cozy fireplace) that the area offers - of course, once you look beyond the. . . mud.
Julian's wonderful observations of the shipping leads me to wonder if she has ship experience from Anvil or indeed, is part of it that famous Redguard seafaring blood?
I'm so pleased to see her restoration abilities continuing to improve.
I very much like how Julian perceives and deals with being called the hero of Kvatch. Much to her chagrin I'm sure, the title certainly suits her, and her awkward modesty about it endears it to her even more.
Chapter 11.4 Ancotar
If Vanto’s Third Law is about the rigid inviolable nature of the Conservation of Perception, what are the first two? I’m sure one of them must be about tampering with scrolls of Icarian Flight (ah, Tarhiel)!
I always wait until after I join the Mages Guild before I do this quest simply because I like how obsequious Ancotar gets when he finds out you are a ‘fellow mage’. You deviated from the in-game dialogue at just the right time and in just the right way to give the impression that Julian persuaded him to help the people of Aleswell. Now at least Paint will see the hand that feeds him.
And, like ‘Rosa, I am intrigued by the question of why wolves are choosing not to attack Julian. Maybe it’s foreshadowing or maybe you’ve just chosen not to portray your wolves as the foaming psychopaths that the game presents us.
Chapter 11.5 Haunted No More
So let me get this straight, Volanaro and J’Skar get threats and a firm dressing down while the two ungrateful, obnoxious sisters get an ‘oh that’s all right, they’re free, citizens and twenty-one!’ I know technically the two sisters were not engaged in a prank against their superior, but still. If Julian is going to be condescending and preachy to the boys than fairness dictates that she be equally so to the girls!
You did an excellent job of bringing the people of Aleswell to life in this chapter. I pity Diram; maybe he can get Ancotar to create a wide area silence (not the kind that prevents spellcasting) spell. Come to think of it, I could use one of those myself!
Chapter 11.6 An Education from Gwinas
At first I thought the conversation with Ontus Vanin was a little forced:
A nice bit of world-building and reaction with seeing Jeelius again. Good stuff and a good feel of relaxation and change of pace for this chapter. Thinking of it the pace changes in the piece are very good and flow so well with the action that it's seemless.
And the waterfront... that brought it alive. The tunnel in particular was brilliant, it had never crossed my mind how foul that would be. Underground sections are always vile so on going to a bad area would be quite special, and you shows it just that way. I'm interested to read more of her exploits in the waterfront. But for all you showed it to be a dirty, poor and somewhat cliquey area that last word, "Home", fits perfectly. No matter how bad a place is if it's home it's ok, very pragmatic/stoic of her.
@SubRosa: I’m glad you enjoyed Julian’s first impression of the Waterfront. I admit to a certain fondness for the place - yes, it’s seedy and disreputable, but what you see is what you get, and I like that sort of honesty. As for a diversion at the Bloated Float, while Julian will enjoy her meals there, I’m not sure that she’ll get involved with the Blackwater Bandits, though it would be right up her alley, wouldn’t it? When I was visualizing the tunnel to the Waterfront, memories of manure pit barns I visited during vet school (in February, in Minnesota - cold, frozen, and just miserable!) were prominent! Eww! That was exactly the response I was going for!
@Acadian: Julian picked a lot up visiting the waterfront of her childhood - Anvil. She has also traveled considerably via ship from posting to posting (i.e. to Valenwood, then from VW to High Rock, then HR to Skyrim . . .). Mud is mud, and washes off with a good swim in the lake, as Julian well knows!
@Destri: My, what a wealth of comments! As for the wolves, we’ll see - I have a glimmer of an idea there, but I haven’t yet decided whether to use it or not. As for Chapter 11.5, the reason Julian didn’t dress down the obnoxious sisters in the inn is because they’re not part of the same cadre she is. She’s like me - very strict about the behavior of my staff in the clinic, but far more lenient about the behavior of citizens behaving badly outside work (though I don’t tolerate so much from clients in the clinic, either). Don’t worry, any female slackers in the Mages Guild will find themselves on the pointed end of her tongue as well. A certain Altmer lady comes to mind. Anyway, I have changed the dialogue a little bit there. Also I added a bit of Julian’s thinking to the conversation with Vanin in 11.6. I’m glad you still enjoyed the visit with Gwinas. That scene is not in the MQ - it is completely original. Thanks for the sentence help in Chapter 11.7. As for the recklessness typical of the Thief sign, that got trained out of Julian in the Legion. And yes, in the last segment of chapter 11, she is becoming more comfortable with magic. We will see her using it more and more during combat, as she discovers what an invaluable resource it can be for the solitary adventurer.
@Olen: I see you have had your share of experiences about “more than just mud!” I don’t think you’re far off yourself!
Julian makes herself at home, and discovers, to her surprise, that her sensuality hasn’t permanently gone AWOL.
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Chapter 12.1 On the Waterfront
Groping my way to the barely-visible fireplace at the rear of the small hut, I set my pack down. While I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dimness, I looked around. My house consisted of a single room, with the fireplace against the back wall. A rickety looking table with two chairs at the left side of the room, and a lumpy bed set against the right wall were the only furnishings.
Torchlight appeared in the doorway. My hand dropped to my hilt, but I did not draw my katana.
“Hello?” a male voice reached me. “I see I have a new neighbor.” He remained outside, on the stoop. “Welcome to the Waterfront.”
“Thanks, I think,” I responded, limping toward the door. I needed to get a fire started in the fireplace to start drying out the place. It would be good to have some light. And food.
“I’m Armand Christophe,” he said, stepping back to let me out. A Redguard like myself, he stood a little taller than me. Short-trimmed black hair was slicked back from a high forehead, above black eyes and a short, upturned nose. His gaze was not quite friendly, but not quite hostile, either. He wore a weathered leather cuirass, much like mine, and carried a steel mace at his left hip.
“I’m Julian, from Anvil,” I responded, unslinging the Kvatch Wolf from my left arm and setting it just inside the doorway. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“You’ll need to start a fire,” he said quietly. “The woodcutter’s closed until tomorrow morning, so you can borrow some from my woodpile,” he pointed at the neatly stacked timber tucked beneath the wide eaves of his home, just north of my shack. “Just replace what you take in the morning.”
“Where is the woodcutter’s?” I asked him. In answer, he pointed toward the tall buildings fronting the harbor. I could see another set of stairs piercing that wall of stained marble at this end of the barrier.
“Through that archway,” he said, “first door on the left.” He turned and gestured for me to follow him. As I limped after him, he shot me a glance over his shoulder. “One word of advice,” he added, “People who ask a lot of questions around here tend not to be very popular.”
His words gave me pause. Do I trust him? From what I’ve seen here, there’s a lot of criminal activity here, same as in any slum. Is he part of it? “That’s fine,” I answered finally, stopping before the woodpile. He started handing me the cordwood with one hand, holding the torch high with the other. At least people won’t be asking me too many questions. I hope. “Thanks for the tip.”
When my arms were filled, he accompanied me back to my house, but again remained in the doorway when I entered. At least he’s polite to my face. He was considerate enough to let the torchlight fall into the house so I could see to stack the wood in my hearth. With my flint and dagger I was able to get a fire going. At least I haven’t forgotten that from my Legion days. “Thanks for your help,” I turned back to the empty doorway. Hmm. Apparently he only stayed to give me some light until I could get my own. Rising to my feet, I limped to the door in time to see his broad back disappear into the fog on Dareloth Way.
With the door closed against the damp night, I returned to the fire and adjusted the burning logs so it would burn low and slow. Once the chimney damper was open to allow the smoke out, I felt comfortable with leaving it. I placed my pack on the table, the Kvatch shield against the wall, my bow and quiver in the adjacent corner, and Daedra Slayer on the mantle above the fireplace.
Quickly I changed from my leathers into the green shirt and tan skirt. After I slipped my feet into the cowhide shoes, I replaced the katana at my hip. Time to head to the Bloated Float and see about that supper.
Back out in the mist, I turned left and headed for the stairs Christophe had shown me earlier, limping up the stone steps. At the top, I found myself looking down on that beautiful galleon. The harbor looked quiet now, all the stevedores and porters gone home, but there were a few dangerous-looking men gathered near the ship’s gangplank, all carrying cutlasses. They called to each other in joking voices. I doubted they lacked the skill, or the inclination, to use those deadly blades.
A handsome young Redguard, his muscular chest bare in the cool night air, darted from the group to stop in front of me. Thin black braids tipped with brass beads cascaded over one wide shoulder as he bowed to me. “Ho, hey, sweet lady of Wayrest!” he sang, his black eyes mocking in the torchlight as I limped to my right to avoid him. “Ho, hey, sweet lady of mine!” I felt my cheeks burn as his teeth flashed white in a sardonic grin. Damn! “Oh I’ll see you again, yes I’ll see you again, sweet lady of Wayrest so fine!”
Well aware of the gazes from his companions, I took a deep breath and eyed him up and down, taking my time. “Actually, young sir,” I said quietly, keeping my voice steady against the hammering of my heart - fear, or rather, desire? “I’m from Anvil, but thank you very much.”
One eyebrow quirked up over his black gaze, and he bowed again, this time with a flourish of his right hand, his left resting on the hilt of his cutlass, the beaded braids jingling softly. “My mistake, sweet lady of Anvil,” he responded, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Forgive me for my assumption.” His tone was anything but apologetic.
I couldn’t help smiling at his sardonic flirting. “Good night, Redguard,” I started past him, then paused and turned back to him. “Or should I call you - Blackguard?”
He laughed heartily. “Suits me fine, sweet lady of Anvil,” he answered. I lifted my chin and spun on my left heel, the skirt flaring around my legs. Limping away from the galleon, I heard his voice call after me, “Oh, I’ll see you again, yes I’ll see you again, sweet lady of Anvil so fine!”
Ahead, a Watchman, not the same one I had met before, glanced at me as he approached. “That man giving you trouble, ma’am?” he asked. I shrugged.
“Nothing I can’t handle, I don’t think,” I answered, still smiling. Damn, but he’s fine himself! It has been a long time since anyone flirted with me like that. Long time since Jared - My smile faded at the memory. With a forced inhalation against the old grief rising in my throat, I met the Watchman’s gaze. “Thanks for asking, sir.” The soldier nodded at me before continuing his patrol.
I limped around the long curve of the harbor-front until I reached the gangway leading to the Bloated Float at the far end. The ungainly silhouette rose above me as I paused before the gangway leading from the dock onto the deck. There is no way that ship can be seaworthy. Tempting scents wafted from beyond the carved wooden door that led into the covered top deck.
Stepping into the interior, I found myself looking up at a burly green form. The Orc towered over me, his black eyes scowling. “Hello, sir,” I limped one step away from him, my neck already cricking from meeting his gaze. “I’m Julian of Anvil, and I’m told good food is cheap here.”
“Graman gro-Marad,” the big Orsimer rumbled. “I’m the bouncer here.”
“I promise to behave, sir,” I held up my hands.
He grinned toothily at me. “We rarely get real trouble here,” his drawl reverberated like thunder in the distant hills. “The Watch puts an end to rough stuff damn quick. I’m mostly ornamental here. Makes folks happy.” He nodded at the Altmer standing near the counter. “If it’s food you want, ma’am, Ormil’s your man.”
With a nod of thanks to the Orsimer, I looked around at the common room. A few people sat scattered around the room. A couple of men sat hunched over ale at a table that wrapped around the base of a - is that a mast? - wooden pillar at the center.
Spotting an empty table at the far side of the room, I limped past the two men and chose a chair that backed to the wall. Once seated, I could see the whole room. The Altmer - Ormil, - walked up to me. “Hello, Julian of Anvil,” he greeted me. “I overheard your conversation with Graman. I’m Ormil. Welcome to the Bloated Float.” He smiled down at me, pride in his eyes and friendliness in his voice. “She’s the finest inn on the water in all Cyrodiil. Tell me what you’d like!”
“Whatever’s good, sir,” I answered, adjusting the katana at my side to clear the chair. “And I would like water with that, please.” Ormil nodded at me and stepped away. He returned a few moments later with a platter of grilled slaughterfish, tomatoes stuffed with cheese and breadcrumbs, and a stein of cool, clear liquid. He waited until I took a bite, and smiled again when I rolled my eyes in appreciation.
More patrons entered the inn, some calling for ale, others seating themselves around the room. Ormil moved away to take care of their requests, leaving me alone with a delicious repast.
So it looks like Stella Julian might be getting her groove back with a studly young pirate? rawr!
Who was this Jared I wonder? I suspect not the dweeb from the Subway commercials. Ahh, http://www.mtv.com/news/moviehouse/photos/alexander_stills/alex9.jpg must be a pic of him.
I limped to the door in time to see his broad back disappear into the fog on Dareloth Way.
This struck me as an especially vivid image.
This was a fun weaving of things in the game into Julian's story. Armand, the singing pirate, the Bloated Float characters. Very well done. I've always liked the characters of the WF (except the pirates).
So, Julian has some hormones after all, I'm pleased to see. Now, if we can just get her shopping for some wardrobe updates. Those cowhide shoes are just so second era!
Oooh, and a mystery about a lost love named Jared?
I love reading Julian's story, because you usually feed my a yummy meal - this time was no exception.
Now tell me that Paint is in Weye under the care of Julian's retired fisherfriend, and not under the watchfully hungry eye of the orc that runs the IC stables? Or perhaps Julian will bring him out to the WF island? Just jokin' with ya.
“Oh, I’ll see you again, yes I’ll see you again, sweet lady of Anvil so fine!”
My sentiments exactly.
I see Julian still knows how to flirt...and enjoy flirting. Yay!!!
Poor Julian . . . the lifted chin was perfect, the twirl on the left heel billowed the skirt nicely, but the limp just killed the impression that she was trying to make (damn war injuries). At least the young pirate kept singing!
Another good bit of development. You show the waterfront well, it's seedy enough but not particularly bad (for those who live there and don't ask the wrong questions at least). I hadn't thought of Armand being her neighbour, I wonder how long it will take for her to work out his profession - at least she should be safe from theft down there...
The singing Pirate was clever, I'd never thought he might be singing at the PC...
@SubRosa: Ah, well, that young pirate’s a bit, you know, young. And no, Jared is http://www.imdb.com/media/rm3622738176/tt0091369. Okay, I’m just kidding. For us Mac users, http://www.freeverse.com/mac/product/?id=7016 is Jared.
@Acadian: Wardrobe updates are far in the future (like, about Chapter 19), though she’ll upgrade those shoes for what she considers “civvies” a bit sooner. I’m glad you liked the meal in the Bloated Float. Not all inns provide such good fare, as we will learn eventually. Not to worry, Paint is safely in Weye with his fisherman friend.
@Foxy: Flirting is a forgotten art for Julian - it’s been so long. The Legion isn’t exactly conducive to flirtation, ya know (though I admit it is possible). Still, it’s flattering to have that handsome bare-chested Redguard sing that song to her!
@Destri: Yes, that failed impression was exactly what I wanted to convey. I continue to be surprised by what you pick up, this time Julian’s methodical approach to keeping her life as organized as possible.
@Olen: That singing pirate will sing at the PC if the PC is a woman! Think about it, the Dunmer first mate will sing to the PC if the PC is a man, too! At least, that’s the way I like to see it. I never found the Waterfront particularly dangerous - I think Cheydinhal is a bit riskier with the Orum gang there making casual threats if you try to talk to them.
Julian meets a couple of the locals and learns more about the Waterfront.
******************
Chapter 12.2 Dinner Company
A female Bosmer paused across the table from me, glancing askance at me as she gestured towards the opposite chair. My mouth full, I hastily waved for her to take it, if she wanted.
She sat down, her sad eyes avoiding mine, as Ormil placed a stein full of foaming ale in front of her. Swallowing my food, I looked at her. “Hello, I’m Julian, from Anvil,” I introduced myself. “I just bought a house here in the Waterfront.”
“I’m Adanrel,” she responded, regarding me for a moment. “Old Tormund’s house?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “You knew him?”
“Tormund passed away a year or so ago,” Adanrel sighed, taking a sip of her ale, then wiping away the foam from her upper lip. “He was kind to us, though he’d been down, just like the rest of us.”
“Down?” I asked her. “How do you mean?”
“Oh, we can’t do the dungeons like you adventurers. We got no money, and no skills. Nobody wants us.” Now I understood her sadness.
“Hello,” a blond Imperial woman came to our table. “Mind if I join you?”
“Sure, Praxedes,” Adanrel replied, with a glance at me. “This is Julian from Anvil, she just bought old Tormund’s house.”
“You did, did you?” the Imperial woman said. “Welcome to the Imperial City! I’m Praxedes Afranius.” She barely looked at Ormil as a glass of wine appeared in front of her. “Did you hear?” she addressed both of us. “Good news from Kvatch for a change! The last of the daedra have been driven out!’
“Good to hear,” Adanrel responded, the sadness still evident in her voice.
Praxedes looked at me. “What do you think, Julian?”
She had caught me with a mouth full of food. I swallowed, washing it down with a sip of water. “I think it’s good that daedra can be defeated,” I said finally. “Though I hear they are nasty, vicious creatures.” So far no one’s called me Hero of Kvatch. I don’t want to hear that here, not in the slums.
“They say,” Praxedes volunteered, taking a sip of her wine, “that King Helseth has made an alliance with House Dres. Together they pick apart the carcass of ruined Indoril.”
“Really?” I said, catching Adanrel’s sidelong glance at me. “It’s not surprising, considering Morrowind’s violent past. We can only hope the troubles subside quickly.” The Bosmer’s expression turned thoughtful as she regarded me.
I let the Imperial chatter on while I finished the rest of my meal. Ormil stopped by long enough to clear away the empty dishes, and to refill my glass and Adanrel’s stein. After about thirty minutes, Praxedes said good night to us, and left. Adanrel eyed me thoughtfully over the rim of her mug.
“I’m sorry, Praxedes does go on and on,” Adanrel said quietly. I shrugged.
“Less work for me,” I answered. The Bosmer stared at me, then chuckled softly.
“I never thought of it that way,” she said. “I hope you like it here in the Waterfront.”
“I hope so, too,” I met her gaze. “I’ve never owned a house before.” Shrugging, I finished the last of the water. “Haven’t stayed in one place long enough to even think about it.”
“Do you plan to stay here long?” Adanrel asked. Again, I shrugged.
“Let’s see how things play out,” I replied. “I’ve got to travel south, but it’s nice to have a place to rest, to work on my alchemy, to get some reading done.”
“Alchemy?” Adanrel’s ears pricked at my comment. “You mean, like healing potions and the like?”
“My mother was an alchemist,” I said. “I’m hoping to follow in her footsteps, though she’s been gone these many years, and I’m regretting never having learned the art from her.” I shook my head. “I’ve got a lot of learning to do.” I met her gaze. “Hence the reading,” I added, somewhat dryly. Adanrel chuckled again.
“When you get good at making healing potions, let me know,” she said. “I’ll buy some from you!”
I considered her for a few moments. For how much? We’ll have to see. “I will,” I answered, rising to my feet. “It was nice to have your company, Adanrel,” I looked down at her. “I hope to see you again. Until then, take care.”
“You too,” she said, her eyes growing sad again. I wondered at the real source of her sadness.
“It was kind of you to keep Adanrel company,” Ormil said quietly as I passed him. “She’s been disconsolate since her brother died in a pirate attack three years ago.”
“Pirates?” I repeated, thinking of the Blackguard who had flirted so shamelessly with me. “Not those -”
Ormil shrugged. “Maybe. It happened down near Bravil. We don’t know which pirate ship it was.” He shook his head. “The Marie Elena, that’s the galleon that’s anchored here now, is new to us, but she isn’t new, if you catch my drift.”
If this pirate crew is guilty of more than just capturing ships and cargo, why is the Imperial Watch letting them anchor so brazenly here? My mind whirled through several options, none of which appealed to me. I will have to tread carefully here.
I glanced back at the small Bosmer, slumped over her ale. “This is for her,” I said, slipping a couple of drakes into his palm. “Ale’s a poor medicine, but it’s better than nothing.” I looked at her again, then added a couple more. “See if you can get some food on those bones of hers.”
“If she asks, shall I tell her who’s paying?” Ormil whispered to me.
“Wait until I’m gone,” I answered. He nodded as I headed for the door.
Back out in the dark night, I inhaled deeply. Is this where my place is to be? Among the poor and downtrodden, making potions to help them heal? Something about the thought pulled at my heart. It is what my mother did, all those years ago. I never understood it, not until I became pilus prior. And now, it’s an idea that I find appealing. A place to settle down, a place to belong, a place where I could truly help people.
Limping along the harbor, I soon reached the avenue leading from the tunnel, just as a Watch Captain ascended the stone steps. His handsome face looked up at me as I glanced at him.
“Hail, Hero of Kvatch!” he called. Stopping, I waved my hands at him to shush him.
“Please, none of that here, sir,” I whispered to him as he paused beside me, his burnished mithril armor gleaming in the light of the double moons. I recognized him as Hieronymus Lex, the Watch Captain for the Temple and Waterfront Districts, from the descriptions I had heard of him in the Bloated Float. “I just want to be known as Julian from Anvil.”
“Why?” Lex asked, but he lowered his voice to match mine. “After all, you are a hero.”
“No, just a soldier, like you,” I answered. “You would have done the same thing, if you had been there.”
Apparently I hit the right note with the Captain, for he nodded thoughtfully to himself. “And I wouldn’t be so modest about it, either,” he admitted. He met my gaze. “Ah, to each his and her own. As you wish, Julian of Anvil.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said. “And good night.” His perfect teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he turned east, towards the Bloated Float. I continued westward, following the arc of the harbor wall back towards the northern end of the isle.
As I drew near the pirate ship, I spotted a lean Dunmer woman, in an embroidered green shirt, leather pants and high boots, standing guard. I moved to avoid her, but she approached me.
“I saw you talking to one of my men earlier,” her voice was neutral. I paused, looking at her. She carried herself with the air of an experienced swordswoman, her left hand resting on the hilt of a cutlass.
“Oh, the Blackguard,” I recalled the bare-chested scoundrel who had flirted with me earlier. “What about him, muthsera?”
The Dunmer’s red eyes narrowed at me. “Don’t think you stand a chance with him,” she warned me. I felt my brows rising up my forehead.
“Never, in a thousand years,” I responded, lowering my voice. “That one’s quite the handsome devil, and he knows it too. I’m quite familiar with the type.” I glanced past her shoulder at the galleon. “And are you and your crew with that ship?”
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” the Dunmer’s voice purred with pride. “The Marie Elena. Damn fine ship, with a damn fine crew. I should know, I’m her first mate. Malvulis is my name.” Now she scowled at me. “So believe me when I tell you we don’t like it when people snoop around in our affairs. You get near that ship, and my men will run you through.”
“Muthsera,” I held up my hands, palms outwards, “the last thing I want is to tangle with a tough looking crew like yours. I’m not interested in your ship, other than to admire her looks. She’s a beautiful galleon, true,” I took a step back, “but I’m interested only in finding some peace and quiet.”
I turned partly away from her, keeping my gaze steady on hers, to point at the tall port buildings behind me, and the staircase that punctured its immensity. “I just bought a house there, and we will probably see a lot of each other. I’d prefer it if we left each other alone.” As her posture relaxed, I smiled at her. “Though I wouldn’t mind if your Blackguard sings that charming song to me again.”
Her own white teeth flashed in her dark blue face as Malvulis laughed. Just as quickly, her humor disappeared. “Just remember, he means nothing by it.”
“He’s much too young for my taste,” I responded. “Good night, muthsera.” The muscles in my back tightening, I turned from her and limped to the stairs. Malvulis did not follow me, nor did she speak to me, though I heard her scoff. I relaxed only when I had crossed through to the other side of the harbor-front buildings, out of sight of the Marie Elena.
I had expected her to attack me, but apparently the Dunmer woman was much, much smarter than that, for to do so would certainly bring the Watch down on her and her crew. They didn’t stand much chance against the plate armor of the Watch guards, themselves having no armor at all.
The Waterfront and its people - nicely captured. You did a great job weaving in so much 'in game' dialogue here. Very fun to read, given the images it conjures.
Lex, with his perfect teeth. Priceless!
In what could have easily developed into a cat fight, Julian once again shows her maturity and wisdom as she deals with the first mate of the Marie Elena.
Wonderful job fleshing out some history on Julian's house and the sad Adanrel.
More worldbuilding and nicely done. You make the waterfront a living breathing place and give it's inhabitants real personalities. I suspect we'll be seeing more of all of them unless I'm mistaken.
@SubRosa: I’ve always thought of Malvulis as being very possessive of all her pirates (and the ship as well). Sometimes I wonder how she gets along with the captain! Now you’ve got me thinking about Adanrel’s brother. What is the real tragedy here? I’m going to go back and make a small adjustment to that tidbit that will tie it better into future events on the Waterfront.
@Acadian: I’m glad you enjoyed Julian’s experiences in the Waterfront and meeting up with some of its denizens.
@Olen: I always thought Malvulis strange. I’m glad you agree that Lex’s perfect teeth are a reflection of the man. As for expanding on the in-game dialogue, it would lead to the chapter being twice as long, and Julian will never get that Daedric artifact!
A little more world-building before Julian hits the road again.
****************
Chapter 12.3 Settling In
I woke before dawn, to a dying fire. Stepping outside, I headed to the harbor-front, where Christophe had told me the woodcutter’s shop was located. As he had said, I found it located in the north end of the harbor-front, across from the Marie Elena. Inside, I found a Breton woman, worn features showing years of hard work, working on a ledger.
“Hello, ma’am,” I greeted her when she squinted up at me. She brushed a stray lock of grey hair behind one ear.
“What can I do for you, ma’am?” she answered.
“I’m Julian of Anvil, I need wood for my fire,” I said. “I just bought old Tormund’s house.”
“Ah, yes, that shack at the end of Dareloth Way,” the woman responded. “I’m Muriel Perielle. I can get a load to you today, for forty drakes.”
“How about in the next hour or so?” I asked. “I’ll pay fifty.”
“Done,” Perielle responded quickly. “And we’ll keep it stocked, as long as you pay in advance.”
“Understood,” I responded. “Do I need to be home to receive the delivery?”
“No, we’ll stack it against your house,” Perielle shook her head.
“All right, I’ll go for breakfast, then,” I said. “Thanks.”
After breakfast at the Bloated Float, I found the woodpile at the side of the house. First, I brought wood to Christophe’s house to replace the the logs he had given me last night. Back in my house, I got the fire going again. My pack dumped out on the bed, I gathered the alchemy equipment I had assembled in my travels - the mortar and pestle, the retort, the calcinator, and the alembic. I laid them out on the table, along with The Fundaments of Alchemy. Then I sorted out my ingredients, surprised at how much I had already collected.
I saw again the strange root I had found on the north shore of City Isle. It no longer glowed or chimed, but I still found its soft texture fascinating. I put it aside.
A review of the first chapter of the Fundaments taught me the effects of the different alchemical equipment. I realized that any potions or poisons I made would be more potent with the additional equipment.
I took some of the lady’s smock leaves and cairn bolete, grinding them first, then rendering them over the fire in the retort, calcinator and alembic. The resulting mixture barely covered the bottom of the glass vial. Swirling it thoughtfully, I poured it into the palm of my hand, then licked it off. Promptly I felt a warmth suffuse through my body from my belly, and the normal aches and pains of every morning disappeared. Restore health, I thought to myself, remembering a page from Sigrid’s little book.
I spent the next couple of hours seated on the floor by the fireplace, my equipment and ingredients spread around me, referring to the Pocket Guide for effects. I made different combinations, tried them on myself to test their effectiveness. Some made me sick, but most improved my health, magicka, or strength. I made notes in the margins of Sigrid’s volume.
Finally weary, I stopped and looked at my collection of potions. Cure Poison, Damage Health, Restore Health, I mused to myself. Paralysis. Hmm, that could be useful, if only it would last longer. Still, it could give me an edge against a stronger enemy.
I put the paralyzing poisons and the poison cures aside, for my own use. The other substances I had created I placed in my belt pouch.
Sell these potions, try to raise some money for furnishings for my house. I knew I wanted some storage in the house, at least. A place to keep my alchemical equipment would be nice.
******************
I headed to the Green Emperor Way, and limped around the White Gold Tower, avoiding the Imperial Palace Guards. It was late afternoon by the time I reached the Market District. Outside Phintias’s First Edition, I looked across the street at the shop directly opposite. The Copious Coinpurse. I decided to try that one and see what the merchant within knew about bartering.
Inside, I found a wide assortment of items, from a striking patterned rug on the floor to a staggering display of clothing of all kinds and colors. Behind the counter, a Bosmer looked up at me, his expression brightening as I walked across the store.
“Hi! I’m Thoronir! What kind of deal can I make for you today?” he asked eagerly. “I have the best prices in town! Why? Because I’m smart, and you’re smart. We know the right people, we get the best deals.”
I found him an easier haggle than Calindil, and soon sold off my potions for a good amount of septims. My purse now heavier, I left the smiling Bosmer and headed across the District towards The Three Brothers Trade and Goods.
Inside, I found more household items and fewer clothes. An Imperial man greeted me from the rear of the store. “Tertullian, Sergius, and Cicero, the three Verus Brothers. I’m Sergius.”
“And I’m Julian, from Anvil,” I answered. “I just bought a house, and Vinicia Melissaeia recommended you for the furnishings.”
“She did, then?” Sergius smiled, his face warming at me. “How is the old girl?”
I considered his question for a moment. “Stressed,” I answered. The shopkeeper’s smile widened into a grin.
“I swear she complains more than the folks who see her!” he exclaimed. “But she recommended me for your house, so let’s see what I can do for you!” He stepped to a nearby lectern, opening it and taking out a sheaf of parchment. “Which house did you buy?”
“A small house in the Waterfront District,” I said. Verus’s face fell slightly.
“Oh, the hovel,” his tone cooled a bit. “Well,” he looked down at the parchment in his hands, and sorted through them. He set aside a small stack, and placed the rest back into the lectern. “This is what I have for you,” he continued, picking up the small stack and riffling through them, reading off each one, “a dining set, a kitchen set, a sitting group, a storage set, and wall hangings to decorate the house. They’re seven septims and thirty-two drakes each.”
Seven and thirty-two! I only have a thousand drakes or so! I swallowed against my dry mouth. “I’ll give you six septims and sixty-eight for the storage set,” I replied. Verus frowned at me, but pulled one of the parchments from his hand and gave it to me. I counted out the agreed amount onto the table between us and thanked him.
“For an additional fifty drakes, I’ll have it sent down to your place right away,” he said, sweeping the coins off the table. “You can have the set by sundown.”
Seven and eighteen. Still less than the original price. “Should I be there, then?” I asked him. He looked up at me, his brown eyes assessing my frame.
“If you want the boys to place it for you,” he answered. “Otherwise, they’ll leave the chests outside your door, and you’ll have to move them in yourself.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said. “I’ll head down right away.”
“I appreciate your business, Julian,” Verus’s tone indicated otherwise, but I decided to not let that bother me.
“I look forward to doing more business with you,” I said to him. “After all, I’ve got a house to furnish!”
*****************
True to Verus’s word, a knock came at my door just a couple of hours later. Three hulking Argonians waited outside, each carrying a blanket-wrapped item on his back.
“Julian of Anvil?” the leader hissed at me. At my nod, he shifted the heavy package on his shoulders. “Your order iss here,” he explained.
“Of course,” I stepped back to let them in. “What are you carrying?”
“I’ve got a chesst of drawerss,” the Argonian replied. “Sso doess Red Clawss,” he nodded at another Argonian, only slightly smaller than himself. “And Blue-Tongue hass a chesst,” he indicated the smallest Argonian.
They shifted their feet, waiting for me to direct them. “I’d like the two drawers here in the corner,” I indicated the open space just past the foot of the bed, “facing each other.” As the two big porters moved to the corner, I looked at the third Argonian. “And Blue-Tongue, if you can put that chest over here,” I indicated the wall on the other side of the fireplace, “that would be fine.”
A few moments later, my new furniture stood in place, unwrapped and ready for use. I looked at the leader. “Your name is, please, sir?”
“I am Word-Sslayer,” he answered. He grinned toothily at me. “On account of my ssinging sskillss.”
Staring at him blankly, I tried to imagine that hissing voice raised in song. Suddenly I understood the irony. “Oh, of course,” I said. “Thank you very much, Word-Slayer,” I slipped three drakes into his hand, “Red-Claws, and Blue-Tongue,” I did the same for each. All three of them blinked at the shining coins in their palms, then nodded happily at me.
“It wass our pleassure, ma’am,” Word-Slayer said warmly, as the other two murmured similar sentiments. They turned and left, Blue-Tongue closing the door softly behind them.
It took me about thirty minutes to put all my gear away. The books, keys and the deed went into one dresser, my clothes into the other dresser, and my alchemy equipment and other assorted items into the chest. I set my weapons in the corner.
Seated on the bed with my armor, I spent the next hour oiling cuirass and greaves, restoring the suppleness that gra-Sharob had worked so hard to instill into the leather. After that, I sharpened and conditioned my katana, as well as Daedra Slayer. I checked my arrows, examining the fletching to make sure none were worn or broken, and eyeing each shaft. I discovered a couple which had become warped, and set them aside. Then it was the bow’s turn to get oiled. I also checked my bowstrings, finding them still good, and packed them away in my pack.
Next I stripped out of my skirt and the stitched green shirt Belisarius had given me. I hung the shirt beside the fireplace to air out, and draped my tan skirt over the foot of the bed. Crawling under the covers, I was soon asleep.
Pirates killed Adanrel's brother. Now that is more interesting, and it makes me suspect that Julian might be seeing more of the Marie Elena's crew than I had first imagined.
Some made me sick
Shades of Rales here!
So Julian is moving in and getting comfortable. Plus she is finally experimenting with alchemy a bit. This is a nice diversion from the grind of the main quest, as it gives us Julian some time to develop a personal life. It is interesting to see what that will come out to be when things are over and done with. Alchemist to the poor? Pirate-hunter?
nits:
and limped around the White Gold Palace
Not really a nit, just something that caught my eye. Usually it is either The Imperial Palace, or White Gold Tower. I am not sure if you wanted one of those, or combined them on purpose.
I thoroughly enjoyed spending this ordinary day with Julian as she settles into her new home, dealing with all the things that are necessary. I know she has a task ahead and will return to the road, but you can regale us with these wonderful 'daily life' chapters as often as you like. I, for one, am glad you did.
Wonderful touches as she explores the world of alchemy. Likewise, it was great to see Thoronir and Sergius. I also thoroughly enjoyed the depth you so efficiently infused into the three Argoniansss that delivered her furniture.
Not a nit; rather just a tiny considertion:
I too feel that this mundane section has added a great deal to Julian's character it may otherwise have been hard to show and has also been refreshingly different from the hacking and slashing inherant in the MQ. You caught the sort of fun feel of moving into a new place anyway. Just wait until those alchemy skills get better and she buys a place in Anvil... Then she'll get the less fun of moving out.
The alchemy practise was fun too, I agree with SubRosa about the similarity to Rales.
Chapter 12.2 Dinner Company
Interesting take on Malvulis, I guess her overprotective nature extends to the crew as well as to the ship. I have always had the sneaking suspicion that she and Captain Tussaud are more than just colleagues, but I couldn’t tell you where that comes from. Maybe it’s just the fact that Tussaud made a Dunmer woman his first mate. It says something about his character that he is willing to go against convention like that and give the job to the one most qualified for it. Though it does have some real world correlation, many of the ‘officers’ (and even some of the captains) of the ships that terrorized the Caribbean during the age of piracy were escaped African slaves. Historically speaking a pirate ship was one of the best examples of meritocracy at work.
I have always wondered what prompted someone to petition the Dark Brotherhood to have Tussaud murdered on his ship, in front of his crew. I actually have a rough draft of a short story written about that very thing.
Chapter 12.3 Settling in
Julian’s inherited fascination with alchemy is contagious. It made me want to fire up the PS3 and brew a few potions of my own.
I could just see Verus’ face when he said ‘oh, the hovel.” And ‘Word-Sslayer’ was hilarious! I loved this chapter!
A most relaxing chapter.
I couldn't help smiling at this:
I love your writing when you choose to branch off the beaten path. It allows so much room for character exploration. The alchemy lesson was great fun (not for Julian though!) and the house buying and haggling skills of Julian were sublime!
@SubRosa: Thanks for the nit - it’s been fixed. Alchemist to the poor, pirate hunter, who knows what Julian will end up doing when all is said and done? I’m sure yet another career will be suggested in upcoming chapters.
@Acadian: Thanks for your nit - it has been fixed as well. I had fun exploring the practical aspects of life on the Waterfront - such as where do you get the wood for your fireplace? What to eat when you don’t yet have a kitchen (though Julian will use her kitchen set for the IC shack for her alchemy equipment - with the Bloated Float so near, why cook)? Who takes care of your gear if you don’t? I’m glad you enjoyed her couple of days on the Waterfront.
@Olen: Who said anything about buying a place in Anvil? Or anywhere else, for that matter? As for the alchemy mixture, yes, that was Analytical Chemistry speaking! It’s amazing what you end up with when you distill something from raw into pure form. Kind of like reducing a wine sauce down to a thick substance that coats your steak so lusciously! Yum!
@Destri: Aye, you have it correct - pirate ships were the first real meritocracy. Only flaw in that plan, when the plunder gets light, instead of riding it out, the crew often makes the erstwhile cap’n walk the plank and pick a new one. There have been several historical books on the subject: Under the Black Flag: The Romance and Reality of Life Among the Pirates (David Cordingly) is one of the better books I’ve read on the subject. Yes, the name ‘Word-Sslayer’ was an all-too uncommon stroke of genius.
@Remko: Thanks, I’m glad you enjoyed Julian’s experiments with alchemy. I had already written this scene (first draft) when I read of Rales’s own explorations. Great minds think alike all too often.
@Wolf: I’m glad you enjoyed this brief foray off the beaten path. I had fun writing this interlude between segments of the MQ. Can’t believe Julian only took thirty minutes to put her gear away? Let’s see, she has one outfit (skirt and shirt), one pair of shoes, a few books, a bunch of alchemical ingredients, two swords (one enchanted), one bow, one quiver of arrows, a dagger, a leather cuirass, leather greaves, and leather boots. Honestly, how long does it take to put that away? She took longer than I would have!
On the road again, Julian unconsciously forms a new habit. Sorry, Acadian, no filling meal this time.
****************
Chapter 12.4 A New Habit
The sun was halfway toward the zenith when we passed Pell’s Gate. From my hours of studying the map, I knew that the Red Ring Road followed the shore of Lake Rumare, more or less, while the other roads radiated off of it. The road I wanted, the Green Road, left the Red Ring Road southwards, just east of the settlement we had passed. Paint stopped at the fork, letting me scan the countryside. The Green Road ran up a hill into heavy woods to the south. Turning Paint onto the right fork, I let him pick his pace up the hill. While he didn’t exactly amble, he walked at a brisk but still cautious pace, his head up and ears tipped forward towards the road ahead. His attitude told me that no danger was near.
As we crested the hill, I spotted the distinctive red-and-black clouds that signaled the presence of an Oblivion Gate ahead. Paint slowed down as we started down the other side of the hill. Halfway down the slope, I could see the fiery lens of the Gate, set back from the road where it curved first west, then back south in a lazy S-curve. At the bottom of the hill, bare meters away from the Gate, a doe paced restlessly on the paving stones with an air of confusion.
The roaring of the Gate increased in volume as we reached the bottom of the slope. It stood about six meters away from the road, turning the entire world around it a hot, burning red. The doe alerted at us and fled west, away from the Gate. We continued along the road as I kept my shield toward the Gate against any flares. Paint marched along, his head up and looking to both sides of the road and ahead. I could feel his strong back rounding up beneath me, gathering his muscles in case he needed to bolt.
Nothing stirred around the Gate as we continued on, and I rubbed Paint’s mane slowly with my right hand. He eased down a little, but still continued to watch our surroundings, his ears flicking back and forth, alternating between pinning back flat against his neck, and pointing up to the sides and forward.
Passing the Gate without incident, we continued down the road until we reached a ramshackle inn on the other side of the Gate. I looked at the sign - Inn of Ill Omen. I stopped Paint before it and dismounted, dropping the reins to the ground in a signal for him to stand quietly.
Within the inn, I heard the shuffling of feet before my eyes adjusted to the dimness and saw the two figures within.
“Hello stranger,” a woman’s voice reached me first. “We don’t see many visitors around here.” I turned to see an older Redguard woman, grey hair pulled back into a bun, a large stein in her hand. She swayed slightly, then sat down in a chair behind her. The stein clumped a little heavily on the table, sloshing some of its ale. “Makes things pretty lonely for me, if you know what I mean,” she finished, her speech slurred.
“Not much company here?” I asked her.
“The only people that stay here are stragglers on the Green Road.” The woman took a swig of her ale, then wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Me, I’ve got no place else to be. Besides,” she paused, took another swallow from her stein, “I think Mannheim is sweet on me.”
“Mannheim?” I repeated. In answer, the Redguard pointed towards a tall Nord man at the innkeeper’s counter. As I followed her gesture, I heard a thump behind me. I looked back to see she had slumped face down on the table.
I walked to the counter. The Nord -Mannheim- greeted me. “Well, I’ll be a spotted snow bear! A customer!”
I smiled at his turn of phrase. “I’ve actually seen one of those,” I commented, as I set the Kvatch Wolf down, leaning it against the counter. I sat on a stool. “I’d like some lunch, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure!” The Nord turned to the fire behind him, spooning a thin soup into a bowl and placing it in front of me. “What to drink?” he asked.
“Water?” I asked, sampling the soup. I barely managed to rid my face of the grimace before he turned back to me with a tumbler of water. Too salty, and something else is off. I took a swallow of the lukewarm water, washing the last of the rancid taste out of my mouth.
“Ill Omen?” I asked, pointing behind me out the door.
“It’s a horrible name for an inn, I know. But I just can’t bring myself to change it. Besides, I like the sign.” He smiled at me. “Mannheim Maulhand, at your service ma’am. I like Minerva fine,” he waved at the unconscious woman, “but it’s good to have a new face here!”
I managed to choke down a couple more swallows of the soup. “How’s business these days?” I asked him, thinking of the Oblivion Gate just up the hill behind the inn. Maulhand frowned at me.
“Not so good,” he answered. “Only Minerva and Kaeso Marsias, the forester. Even less now that that damn Gate has opened up behind us. Marsias has already tangled with some of the daedra that came out of that place.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what will happen to us if he gets killed!”
I met the Nord’s open gaze. “Are there any other Legion soldiers around here?”
Maulhand shook his head vigorously. “No, Kaeso’s the only one we’ve got. He did send a request for reinforcements, but so far nothing!” I considered his words, not liking the idea of one man against swarming daedra.
I managed to down the last of the fetid soup without gagging. After a long draught of the water, I looked at Maulhand. The soup sat heavily in my stomach, but stayed down, thanks to the water.
“I have a horse, sir,” I said to him. “I’ll be gone for a short bit, would you mind keeping an eye on him, and making sure he has some water?” I put a drake on the counter.
“Oh, certainly!” Maulhand nodded vigorously. “What’s his name?”
“Paint,” I answered. Maulhand grinned good-humoredly, already reaching for a bucket next to the fire.
I went out, and Paint pricked his ears at me. “No, you stay here,” I said to him, whispering into his trim ear. “I’ve got to go take care of that Gate. I’ll be back.”
With a glance at the Wolf in my left hand, I whispered a prayer to Talos and Akatosh. Behind the inn, I started up the slope, angling just to the south of the Gate, trying to reconnoiter the area. I circled the Gate and made my approach from uphill, spotting several scamps and avoiding their flares. It became clear to me that after throwing a few flares, they seemed to run out of Magicka, for they would attack with their claws. I just had to keep from being swarmed by them. Finally, I cleared the area, and turned toward the Gate.
Walking up to that fire tested my resolve. I hated doing it, but I liked the idea of the lone forester facing wave after wave of daedra invaders even less. Matius had managed to do so, but he had more men. I couldn’t continue down the road, knowing my Legion brother had to fend for himself alone.
I reached out to that inferno, and was sucked into it . . .
I agree that the soup was less than great. I figure Manheim's recipe was probably some water, an onion, a fistfull of salt and a stone. Yep, we usually have what Minerva was having there. 'Course, Julian wisely avoided that. It felt comfy and right at home being in the Inn - that is because your prose nailed it so nicely.
Paint is so cool, and such fun to read! You well captured that ominous feeling when the sky begins to darken with distant rolls of thunder.
The Oblivion gate brings up a dilemma. Julian has other things to do, but some of those infernal gates really do threaten innocents. I know what she is feeling - it is hard to walk away under those circumstances. Sometimes you find a dead soldier and his bay along the road where there is a nearby gate - how can you just let that go? Or the corpses of a poor little Black Horse Courier and her steed. Good on you Julian - you truly are a hero in our book. You capture what many of feel as we deal with those gates.
I figure Marooned Dragon just pops a slew of those things randomly, realizing that some of them will land where they will really do some harm. Others don't really produce hordes; perhaps they are just for terror / harrassment, and powered by different sigil stones. Perhaps his intent is to wear down the Empire before his major effort. Who can fathom the purposes of a Daedra Lord?
I bet Julian is not the only intrepid one or ones closing those darn things. In fact, I would imagine the Empire is probably enticing many adventurers with a large bounty on sigil stones.
Hmm a random Oblivion Gate, I always just ignore them but I can see why Julian might not. I can see why you want to include one though even if they were of little consequence in game the story allows them to be a greater threat and I can imagine it showing how nasty things get when trade routes are closed.
Good description of the Inn, and it's inhabitants. I look forward to Manheim's reaction when Julian comes back with the gate closed...
Shame Rachel (and some others too) never made their way over here too. Reading the fics on that other forum is neigh impossible because of the loading times. (could be becuause of hugely outdated internetexplorer we are using at work)
I agree with SubRosa on the randomness of the gates. They don't make sense, however, creating confusion might well be Marooned Dragon's motivation behind them. Who knows the mind of a Daeda?
Maroooooooooned Dwagon@HilariousHelena.com! Now that brings back Memories - and I ain't referring to Ole Andy....
As for figuring out the mind of a Daedra, I give up. I can't even figure out the mind of Deidre. I can, however, figure out her figure, mind.
@SubRosa: In the game, I tend to leave those Gates alone, but it just doesn’t sit well with Julian to leave those next to the roads open. They serve as ideal ambush points (in her military mindset) should a Legion troop or trading caravan pass by. As there are comments in-game that the Legion is spread so thin, I figure these random gates are part of it. Speaking of which, the one gate not associated with any city but makes no sense to me as a quest is Fort Sutch. Why are the Legion soldiers so intent on closing that one Gate in the middle of nowhere, when there are so many sitting virtually on top of roads elsewhere in Cyrodiil? Thanks for the input - I will leave the random gates in there, but Julian will not purposely go looking for them, and as she sticks mostly to the roads for the duration of the MQ, the gates she does close do pose a danger from her perspective. I figure Marooned Dragon just decided to open a bunch of smaller gates wherever he could because he could. As for whether or not they actually serve as a point of attack, I’ll address that in upcoming chapters.
@Acadian: Actually, I figure the soup was made with swamp water, a fistful of salt, a rotten piece of pork rind, and a moldy onion. Be sure Julian won’t eat there again!
Your thoughts on the random gates are spot on - that is pretty much how Julian sees them, and her responsibility as a Legion soldier/Blade agent.
@Olen: I’m with you - I usually ignore the random ones anyway when I play the game. Apparently Julian’s a better woman than I am.
@Ureniashtram: I think you’re right - Marooned Dragon is not known for strategic planning. That’s why he has Mankar Camoran. The big red guy just likes to bash things up, kind of like the guys on Mythbusters.
@Remko: I don’t try to understand the mind of a Daedra Lord. After all, look at Sheogorath!
@Foxy: Yes, I miss the Marooned Dragon and Neveragaine Helena, too. But we have Boxee’s Ra’jirra, and he is comic relief galore all on his own furry self!
Here Julian discovers an alternative to Ill Omen for her next trip through the area, and meets the forester that motivated her to close this particular random gate.
***************
Chapter 12.5 Legion Brother
. . . And twelve hours later, I was back, standing on that rocky, forested hillside, sucking in lungfuls of cool night air. While the Gate had opened to a much smaller island than the one at Kvatch, with a half-sized sigil keep, it had been tougher to get through, thanks to a winding path littered with deadly mines. I looked down ruefully at the scorch marks in my leather cuirass, left behind by the first two mines before I had figured out their deadly attacks.
My flare spell had proved to be very valuable, for I had used it to set off each mine as I saw it, getting some practice in spellcasting and improving my aim at the same time. I had to remember to duck the fireballs thrown by each mine as it exploded, so that short but winding path up to the keep kept me occupied for quite some time. By the time I had reached the keep, I was soaked in sweat and panting with exertion.
Now that I stood in Cyrodiil again, warm sigil stone clutched in my shield hand, I looked around me. Glad of the absence of the red-and-black clouds, I studied the clear night sky above me. A snuffling warned me of a surviving scamp. Ducking his flare, I searched for its point of origin. Another flare gave away his position, and I drew my sword and ran for him. He quickly ran out of Magicka, leaving himself vulnerable to my katana.
With no more enemies in sight, I looked around again. I saw a Wayshrine below the Green Road, almost directly opposite the Inn of Ill Omen. As I walked towards it, cutting across the road, I spotted another inn, this one a little better kept-up in appearance, near the Wayshrine. Faregyl Inn, this one said. I decided to visit it the next time I passed this way. Maybe the food here is better than Maulhand’s. I could understand why travelers avoided the Nord’s inn, between the ominous sign and the horrendous food.
Zenithar. The writing on the altar was barely visible in the dim light of the stars. The moons had already set, making it early in the morning, likely about an hour before dawn. I reached down and touched the altar, feeling its healing power surge through me, my cuts, scrapes, burns and aches dissipating in the white glow of confidence.
Turning away from the shrine, I hiked my way uphill back to the Inn of Ill Omen. Paint turned his head as I approached, his ears up in the dim light. I smooched at him, and he shook his head, the trembling working down his body to his tail. He then tossed his head and turned to face me, again giving me the once-over with his nose. I smiled at him, wondering if he was checking to see if I was still whole. I rubbed his mane fondly, noticing the bucket half-full of water nearby.
Rhythmic twanging and thumping drew my attention to the far side of the inn. The sigil stone went into the pack, and my quiver and bow onto the cantle. I gave Paint another pat on his neck before walking around the inn.
A black-haired Imperial stood a few meters in front of an archery target, drawing arrows from his quiver and shooting them from his bow in quick, smooth motions. He hesitated as I walked up and turned to face me, his high-cheekboned face young in the dim predawn light.
“Well met, citizen,” he greeted me. “I see few new faces these days, it seems. With the Emperor’s murder, a shadow has fallen across all of Cyrodiil.”
I eyed him. “Kaeso Marsias?” I asked. He nodded, his level gaze narrowing at me. “I’m Julian of Anvil,” I hastened to add. “Yes, I think you’re right about the shadow.” I nodded at the hillside behind the inn, now dark. “At least you don’t have to worry about that Oblivion Gate any more, sir.”
“What a relief that is,” Marsias nodded. “Those daedra are quite nasty. I’d rather stick with wolves, bears, and minotaurs, thank you.” He smiled at me. “And thank you, Hero of Kvatch.”
I shushed him automatically, but Marsias only shrugged. “As long as you’re carrying that Wolf,” he pointed at my shield, “everyone in the Legion will recognize you on sight. The story of how you went into that Great Gate at Kvatch alone and closed it by yourself -” he shook his head. “That’s the stuff of legends, ma’am.”
“No,” I shook my head. “That’s the stuff of ‘things that must be done,’ nothing unusual or magical about it.”
“I went into the Gate here, you know,” Marsias admitted to me. “Looked around, got scared, and hopped back out.” He shook his head again. “I just couldn’t go through with it.” His gaze fixed on me. “But you,” his black eyes flickered at my white hair, “you just went in there and closed it, just like you did at Kvatch,” he jerked his head behind him, up the hill.
I regarded him thoughtfully. “How long have you been a forester?” I asked him quietly. He looked away, shifting his feet.
“Ten years, since I joined the Legion.” Ah, I thought. Never fought in combat, only served as a forester. “Why?”
“You’ve been in the Legion long enough,” I answered quietly, “to know that you’re only mortal, and can be killed easily enough. You’re not ashamed to admit that something scares you, and that only comes with experience.” Now it was my turn to tip my head in the direction of the now-closed Gate. “I will be the first to tell you that I was terrified the whole time I was in there.”
“Terrified?” Marsias repeated, incredulous. “You?” He regarded me for a moment longer, while the light grew around us. “Yes, I guess you were terrified, too,” he said finally. “So how did you manage to get through it?”
I held his gaze for several long seconds. “You,” I said finally. “I did it for you.” I watched his thick black brows climb his forehead.
“M- me?” he stammered. “But I never met you until just this moment!”
“You’re my Legion brother,” I said quietly. “After twenty-five years in the Legion, I just can’t abandon another Legion soldier to face this alone.” I tapped the battered Wolf in emphasis. “We stick together, for we are Legion, no? I look out for you, you look out for me, that’s how we survive anything war throws at us. And believe me, this so-called Oblivion Crisis is war, too.”
Marsias stared at me, stunned. Finally, he dragged a breath in through his mouth and closed it. With a slow exhalation, he smiled. “I’ve never been so proud to be Legion until now,” he said quietly. “Thanks, Julian of Anvil.”
I gripped his wide shoulder in return, then turned for the inn door. Behind me, I heard the thwap-thunk as Marsias returned to his archery practice.
Inside, Minerva still slept face-down on the table. At first, I didn’t see anyone behind the counter, but heard a scuffling. A tousled-haired head appeared, rose to Maulhand’s full height.
“I’m sorry to wake you, sir,” I hastened to speak. “I just need to sit down by your fire and mend some armor, if that’s okay with you.”
“You found trouble, then?” Maulhand stepped from behind the counter and set a pot on the fire, stoking it until it roared. He pulled a chair from the nearby table and set it next to the fireplace, waving me to sit there.
“You could say that, sir,” I said, sitting down and bringing out my hammer. I set to work on the battered Wolf, knocking out the dents left by Dremora maces. Eyeing the katana, I decided to leave the fine steel for a better smith. Still, I felt more confident with my hammer, and managed to restore the Wolf to a close resemblance of his former self. I could do nothing about the scratched paint, though.
The sun was just breaking through the branches overhead when I stepped out of the inn and returned to Paint. Time to continue on to Bravil.
This was extremely well done!
Your sense of how much of her gate ordeal to include and how much to gloss over was just right. You very efficiently gave us the full feel in a few paragraphs.
I loved how she set off those mines in the gate with her flare spell!
The highlight of this episode, of course, was the wonderful converstation with the young Legion Forrester. You portray Julian at her best here. The old Redguard certainly understands that courage is not the absence of fear; rather, action in its presence.
I see Julian also wrestles with a too slowly improving ability to repair her equipment.
Everything was nicely woven together with your rich detail and continuity when it came to Paint, both inns, Manheim and Minerva.
I know she must continue on to the fair bayside City of Mara, but I do hope she will indeed return to the Faregyl Inn for some of that wonderful potato bread.
Using a Flare spell to set off the Daedric torpedoes (I have been reading a lot of Civil War history lately, so I think torpedoes instead of mines these days) was brilliant! I usually use arrows. I had no idea that magic attacks would work too!
“No,” I shook my head. “That’s the stuff of ‘things that must be done,’ nothing unusual or magical about it.” This gave me a chuckle. Now that is our no-nonsense Julian!
Good pacing throughout the piece. You did not spend too much time on the gate itself. Just enough to let us know it was a trial, but not so much to let it bog down the piece. Julian's conversation with the forester is the real gem here, as it shows the old pilus in her, and makes her motivations plain. An excellent example of how to show rather than tell when you write.
On her way to Bravil? Might she bump into a certain blond Bosmer bowgirl by chance?
Glossing over the actual truding though the gate was definatly a wise move. However fun they are to close the running battles are very hard to get right when written and would have slowed the more important developments. The details you did give were effective for the forwarding of the story and also show that Julian is a LOT harder than she was. I couldn't see her hacking through a crowd of dremora surrounded by landmines then coming back in time for tea at Kvatch, but the change is subtle and that she had her old skills back - as well as new ones - needed highlighting.
I agree with the above that the conversation with the forester as great. I wonder what she'll make of Bravil - and if a mage will tell her what the stone does.
And SubRosa - how do you hit those things from a safe range with arrows I can't hit a barn door in game... from inside the barn - spells fly straight and are expendable (fire damage 1pt on target anyone?).
Spells fly straight, arrows fly in a parabolic curve. I always aim a little higher than my intended impact point. At early levels (i.e. in the tutorial dungeon), I hold the arrow 'at full tension' a little long to get a greater distance. It doesn't take long though, before you can fire off arrows at reasonable distances fairly quickly. Keep in mind the further your target is, the higher you have to aim the arrow.
Practice helps you develop a feel for your aim point.
I have to admit that marksmanship is one of the easier skills in the game for me. But then, my dad always called me Dead-eye . . .
I have often wondered about that forrester guy who seems to be working his butt off and getting nowhere. And with an Oblivion Gate right next door!! Now I know.
The dialogue between the two soldiers was spot on. Bravo!
Bravil! Yippee!!!
If only Julian had been Dunmer and Atronach
The last few characters I've trudged through the gates were all Dunmer and Atronach so I didn't sipose of the mines but used them to charge magicka ![]()
Loved the last chapter. I wholeheartedly embrace the idea courage is not the abscence of fear. That's called stupidity.
@Acadian: Julian was very happy to find out her flare spell set those bouncing bettinas off from a relatively safe distance! Don’t worry, she will stop in at Faregyl Inn sometime!
@SubRosa: I’m not sure if Julian will encounter our favorite mystic archer in Bravil. We’ll have to see.
@Olen: Yes, Julian’s skills are returning along with her strength. She still isn’t back to full fighting trim, but that will develop over the next few chapters.
@Wolf: I am glad that you, as well as many others, enjoyed Julian’s encounter with Marsias. These foresters are so undervalued IMHO. These are the guys that keep the roads safe for merchants and other travelers.
@Remko: Courage is exactly that, the ability to act in the face of fear; absence of fear is stupidity, as you so aptly put it. So true!
Julian returns to what seems to be a favorite place for many forumers. We start to see what kind of memories she has of the place.
**************
Chapter 12.6 - Return to Bravil
The road to Bravil was mostly uneventful, with mostly deer sharing the path with Paint and I. A wolf, his ribs and spine showing through his thick fur, jumped us near a Wayshrine. Paint and my katana made quick work of the starving predator, however. I discovered the nearby altar was dedicated to Talos. With prayer a thanksgiving for his continued protection, I received healing and additional courage.
As the Green Road dropped down out of the hills towards the Niben River, the shabby walls of Bravil appeared through the trees in the distance. Where an old fort once stood just north of its gate, the sight of another Oblivion Gate obliterating its ruined keep stirred dismay in my throat.
The sun was just east of the zenith when I dismounted from Paint within the corral of the Bay Roan Stables. Antoine Branck, with a distrustful glance at me, moved to help remove Paint’s tack. “You’re back, ma’am,” he said flatly. I recalled that the last time he had seen me, I had been in sorry condition, indeed.
“Branck,” I said, dropping a couple of drakes into his hand, “I’d appreciate if you took good care of Paint. I’ve got work to do.”
“All right, ma’am,” he said, tone still flat, but his eyes were less tight. “I’ll do that, for certain.”
My quiver and bow at my shoulder, Daedra Slayer at my back, I walked out to the lone Bravil guard at the near end of the Quaking Bridge leading to Bravil’s city gates. “Hullo, Frederick,” I said to him. His eyes widened as he looked me up and down.
“Julian, is it you?” Tonius Frederick exclaimed. His gaze fell on the Wolf, resting on my left arm. “You! You’re the -”
“Hush, Frederick,” I interrupted him. Pointing at the Oblivion Gate standing about a hundred meters away from his post, “How long has that been open?”
“About eight days, I think,” Frederick answered. His eyes narrowed at me, taking in the Wolf a second time before moving to the katana at my left hip, the steel dagger at my right, the hilt of Daedra Slayer at my back, alongside my bow and quiver. “Are you going in there?”
“Are you remaining at your post, Frederick?” I asked in response. He straightened up under my steady regard.
“The Count put the Guard on high alert, ma’am,” he reported crisply. “We’ll be ready if the daedra decide to attack, don’t worry!”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” I smiled at him. “I’m more worried about what’s inside that Gate.” I looked around. Branck had disappeared within the stables, leaving Frederick and I alone. “Tell no one about me, not until I come back, understood?”
“Understood!”
*******************
It was late the next morning when I returned to Nirn, yet another sigil stone clutched in my shield hand. This time, my limp had worsened, and I felt scorched - on the soles of my feet, on my face, on my bare hands. Even the tough leather of my cuirass still smoked from the fierce heat of the lava sea. Frederick was gone from his post, but another City guard stood there, staring slack-jawed as I hobbled toward him, silently cursing the Dremora mace that had slammed into my knee at the end.
The Deadlands on the other side of this Gate had been immense, bigger than the one at Kvatch. I had had to detour the island before I found entry into a smaller keep, which opened the war gates, giving me access to the sigil keep. The detour had involved quite a bit of lava jumping, climbing boulders, ducking fire towers and setting off mines before they took me by surprise.
Now I didn’t recognize the Guard standing before me. He looked young, and raw to his duties. “Good to see you, ma’am,” he managed to gather his wits about him. His dark gaze moved past me towards the old fort, where a faint red glow was all that was left of the Gate. I could see the incredulity in his eyes, and smiled to myself.
“Good to see you, too, sir,” I answered, my voice hoarse. “Will Frederick be back on duty here soon?”
“Oh, no, he’s posted inside today,” the Guard answered. “He won’t be back here until day after tomorrow.”
“All right,” I swallowed, trying to moisten my dry throat. “If you see him before I do, tell him Julian of Anvil is back, safe and sound.”
He cast a glance up and down my thin frame, his eyes clearly suggesting he thought otherwise. “Marz, in the Chapel, is an excellent healer,” he volunteered.
“Hmm,” I nodded, appreciative of the information. “I’ll make sure to see her, then.” Turning to look at the Bay Roan Stables, I saw Paint standing in the corral, his head over the rough board fence, watching me. “I’m going to check on my horse, then I’ll go see Marz,” I said to the Guard.
Paint walked over to the gate as I approached, waiting patiently for me to open the barrier. He gave me the once over, his nostrils fluttering at my injuries. Then he lifted his head and blew softly on my scorched cheek. With a fond pat on his neck, I looked around for his tack. Branck approached me, his eyes less hostile.
“If you’re looking for your gear, ma’am,” he said, “I brought it inside. Go see Isabeau.”
“Has Paint been good for you?” I asked Branck. His careworn face creased into a smile.
“Aye, he’s been a good one, all right,” he answered, patting the gelding on his shoulder. “Talk to Isabeau.”
“All right, I will, thanks.” I gave Paint a parting rub on his long nose, then turned for the gate. Branck held it open for me, then closed it and returned to his chores. I limped around to the door leading inside the weathered building.
Inside, a slim Breton woman rose from her meal as I entered. “Hello, Julian,” she greeted me, her voice cool in the dim interior. “Branck tells me you stabled that Wild Eye Paint with us yesterday.”
“Yes, ma’am, do I owe you anything?” I asked Isabeau Bienne. Her voice warmed a little bit at my question.
“Depends, how much longer are you staying?”
“Well,” I looked down ruefully at myself, the scorched leather cuirass, the dented and battered Kvatch Wolf, feeling new aches in my weary bones. “I’d like to rest and recover, and get these repaired,” Swallowing again, I pointed at my chest, including all of my armor and weapons. “Heal up this bum knee,” now I pointed at my face, “and these burns. I thought I’d go in and get things taken care of, leave tomorrow or the day after at the latest.”
“Well, your gold is good through tomorrow,” Bienne mused. “But if you stay another day, then it’ll be another drake.”
“Sounds good,” I responded. “I’ll come tomorrow then, and let you know.” I looked around, saw Paint’s tack and my pack neatly placed on a rack. “Branck said my tack and gear are in here?”
“Yes,” Bienne caught the direction of my gaze. “It’s all cleaned up and ready whenever you are.” She waved me towards the saddle rack. “I’m sure you’re looking for your pack, if you’re staying a while here in Bravil.” She held my gaze a few seconds longer. “You’ve changed, Julian,” she said quietly. I looked away, suddenly embarrassed at the reminder of my condition the last time I had been in Bravil.
“Thanks for taking care of the tack,” I changed the subject, moving to the saddle, dropping the quiver and unhooking my pack. Slipping the sigil stone carefully within, I slung the pack over my shoulder without thinking. The weight of the bag pressed the leather cuirass into my burned back, making me gasp and stagger from the pain. I put my hand on the wall, struggling for breath. Red light blanked my vision as fiery agony flared from beneath the pack. I made myself breathe deeply against the pain, waiting until my vision cleared.
Slowly I lowered the pack to the floor, still holding its strap, I looked up to see Bienne regarding me with concern in her gaze. She had stepped toward me, one hand out to catch me. I leaned away from her hand, shaking my head. “I’m burnt all over, it seems,” I muttered to her. “I’ll be fine, once I see Marz.”
“See Marz, then,” Bienne said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. I only nodded, limping for the door, carrying my pack in my hand.
Looks like our Redguard is a little redder than usual this segment. Both from embarrassment and from burns! So people in Bravil know Julian? Looks like from her time as a skooma addict. Perhaps she haunted the infamous Bravil skooma den?
The Quaking Bridge! That is an excellent name. ![]()
nits:
The road to Bravil was mostly uneventful, with mostly deer sharing the path with Paint and I.
You have mostly twice in the same sentence here.
The detour had involved quite a bit of lava jumping, climbing boulders, ducking fire towers and setting off mines before they took me by surprise.
It feels like there is something missing after this sentence. Before who took Julian by surprise? What happened?
Wonderful again, Rider!
You have painted Bravil nicely, before even entering the city proper. I love all the detail you lavished upon the stables and gate area - description, dialogue, Julian's thoughts, horse talk - all of it.
That was a very good part, probably my favourite of the most recent ones. The interactions were spot on and a joy to read, none seemed forced at all and the characters shone through them. I may be wrong but this reads as if Julian has started to 'write herself' so to speak allowing you to concentrate on other things.
Chapter 12.4 - A New Habit
My comments here are less about the chapter itself and more about the comments that came after the chapter. I can understand why the others view the random Oblivion Gates as such a nuisance, but they do make sense in a round about kind of way. Remember, Dagon is not the only Daedric Prince to dwell in Oblivion; he is just the one who wants to destroy Nirn the most. With the Dragonfires out all of Oblivion has access to the mortal plane. Dagon’s Deadlands is just one of the many realms that spawn daedra. That could be why the random daedra that emerge from the gates are not only scamps, clannfear or Dremora. I have always imagined that the daedroth that emerge are coming from Molag Bal’s Coldharbour, and the spider daedra are coming from Mephala’s realm (whatever it’s called), or are they associated with Namira? I can never get the spider daedra straight. I also imagine that it ties into why Umaril has returned and why Aurorans are able to enter Nirn freely from Meridia’s Coloured Rooms.
I realize that when you enter any of the random gates you are immediately transported to the Deadlands, and that seizing the sigil stone from the Deadlands closes the gate. I admit that this is a glaring flaw in logic if the gate you entered was spawning spiders, flame/storm atronachs and Daedroth. I think that with some imagination and adequate description of more than just the Deadlands Julian can enter random gates that take her to Coldharbour, or to Quagmire. This would make the Oblivion Crisis a true Crisis and it would serve to explain the frequency in which these random gates keep forming.
Just my two cents.
Chapter 12.5 - Legion Brother
The whole conversation with Marsias was great. Julian continues to use the Kvatch Wolf to deflect any praise directed at her (which is kind of ironic when you think of it). I loved how Marsias pointed out the fact that the shield gives her away. Given her actions I can only imagine what she must have been like as a pilus back in the day. I would have been proud to serve under her (no pun intended
).
Epic writing at the end Haute, I loved it!
The pain and burden of closing those gates, it really seems to be wearing her down. I felt every moment of her lingering burns at the conclusion.
If I open the front gate at Bravil tomorrow morning and find a Redguard face down on the bridge, I will not be surprised!
Those uncaring souls at Bay Roan could have at least got Julian a cart. How insensitive are they?
yep, it were the Mines, as in the exploding kind.
@SubRosa: You are right on several counts - there are folks in Bravil who remember Julian, only not as the Hero of Kvatch. Settle in and enjoy the reminiscing, because Julian won’t!
@Acadian: Julian has less than stellar memories of Bravil, and that is due in large part to that less than stellar reputation of the city that you refer to. You will learn what does tempt Julian to fall off her wagon.
@Olen: Julian has always had a strong voice in my head, from the very beginning of the very first time I played Oblivion. Even when I played other characters, she was always there, looking over my shoulder. However, I now know her well enough to feel comfortable speaking for her. Or maybe she trusts me enough now. Don’t worry, there is a certain annoying person in Julian’s future (oh, about Chapter 18). Huzzah! As for the knee, Marz will play a significant role in returning Julian to soundness, but she is not the one to actually fix it.
@Destri: I’m not familiar enough with daedra in the Lore, and since Julian does not encounter Daedroth and spider daedra until the big battle at Bruma, I guess she is stuck being a frequent visitor to the Deadlands. Clannfear don’t even make an appearance until Chapter 15! Still, you have given me food for serious thought. As for Legion Brother, I’m glad you enjoyed the conversation with Marsias, and proud that you think Julian would have been quite the pilus back in the day. As for SubRosa’s comment about setting off mines, your interpretation is correct. That one sentence was a little difficult to write, and maybe I need to revisit it again.
@Wolf: Eh, those two Gates are nothing compared to what’s ahead! Bravil will be a bigger challenge!
@Fox: Yup, you’re right!
Julian meets a wonderful Healer who seems to know more about addiction than even Julian does herself. Marz is one of my favorite Healers in all of Cyrodiil (right up there with Cirroc and Oleta), and I visit her every time I’m in Bravil. Just can’t get enough of her. Makes her death in KotN even more devastating.
********************
Chapter 12.7 Healing
The lone guard at the end of the bridge kept his gaze on me as I stepped onto the quivering boards of the rope-suspended structure. The aptly named Quaking Bridge worsened the pain in my knee as the boards beneath my feet swayed at my steps. By the time I reached the tall wooden gates standing open at the far end, my right leg trembled with each step, that old pain shooting up my thigh again.
Ignoring the steady stares from the guards standing just within the archway, I paused to survey Gate Way dropping down from the gates towards the canal that divided the town into two. I recognized Frederick by his stride as he walked up the street towards me. He grinned when his eyes fell on me.
“Well met, ma’am!” he called as he approached. “I see you made it back, Julian!” He frowned at my face and stopped before me. “But you’re hurt!”
“Well, the Deadlands isn’t exactly a cakewalk, Frederick,” I answered hoarsely, too weary to match his energy. “What I need right now is healing, food and rest, sir.”
Frederick’s gaze slid past me to one of the guards at the gate. I caught the other man’s slight nod, then Frederick was reaching for my pack. “Let me take that for you, Julian,” he said quietly, “at least as far as the Chapel. I assume you’re going to see Marz?”
Grateful for his assistance, I shrugged the pack from my shoulder, trying to suppress the flinch as it scraped across my burned back and failing. “Your comrade on the Bridge said Marz is excellent, sir, so I’m off to give her a try.”
“I think you’ll find her better skilled than the last one, ma’am,” Frederick said, then winced at his inadvertent reminder of my previous stay in Bravil. With a smile to reassure him, I set off along Wall Street towards the Chapel, tucked in the northwest corner of the fortified town. Frederick fell into step easily beside me. “I’m sorry, Julian,” he continued after a moment, dodging a Khajiit female who gave him a dour look. “I just can’t get used to the change in you.”
“Change?” I glanced at him. “I guess the last time I was here,” I turned my face back to the Chapel, “I wasn’t at my best, sir.”
“Yes,” Frederick responded. “And people who aren’t at their best like that don’t just change for the better, they -”
“End up dead,” I finished. “I know, sir, I came pretty close to it myself.” Frederick glanced sidelong at me.
“So what happened,” he asked quietly, “to pull you back from the brink?”
I stopped, more to rest my damaged knee than in response to his question, though it had caught me off guard. With a deep breath, I looked up at the chinks of blue in the sky above, squinting at the noon sun peeking through clouds. “I found a new reason to live, I guess,” I answered. “A reason that put a stop to the pain I was in.”
“And now that you are in pain again?” Frederick’s question drew my sun-dazzled gaze back to him.
“I’m going to see Marz,” I answered firmly. “Then I intend to head over to the Mages Guild and lie up for a while.”
Frederick’s brows rose beneath his helm. “Mages Guild?” he repeated. “You've joined the Mages Guild?”
“It’s time for me to pursue a different path,” I started limping again towards the Chapel. “My mother was an alchemist, and taught me a little restoration spell when I was little. It’s come in handy recently, so I’d like to learn more.” I smiled at him. “Besides, someone told me my name means knowledge and wisdom, so I’d better start living up to it.”
Frederick snorted. “As long as you don’t turn into a Blind Moth Priest on me,” he joshed. I shook my head.
“Serving Akatosh is too ingrained in me,” I responded. “I don’t think I could spend my days studying the Elder Scrolls.”
It was Frederick’s turn to stop. “You’re Legion?” he exclaimed softly, staring at me. With a backwards glance, I slowed down without stopping, and nodded. “I knew it!” he half-ran a few steps to catch up to me. “I knew you had to be Legion, the way you came up to me yesterday.” He shook his head. “I almost didn’t recognize you, you know.”
“And I almost wish you hadn’t,” I answered dryly. “But I haven’t been in the Legion for four years now.”
“Ah, but you know what the old-timers say, you can take the legionary out of the Legion, but you can’t take the Legion out of the legionary.”
“I certainly tried,” I did not look at Frederick. “But it didn’t work. And something happened to remind me that I can’t just turn my back on half a lifetime.”
Frederick did not respond as we started up the stone steps leading to the Chapel doors. He opened one of the big wooden panels for me and waved me inside. “What ever happened to you,” he whispered in the echoing interior, closing the door behind us, “I’m glad to get to know you like this, Julian of Anvil. I’d like us to be friends.”
I paused, shooting a startled glance at the Bravil guard, but his face was turned away from me, scanning the interior. “Thanks, Frederick,” I murmured finally. “That means a lot to me.”
His grin gleamed at me in the dimness, then he jerked his chin forward. “I see Marz,” he said. “Follow me.”
The exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours heavy in my bones, I slowly trailed Frederick as he led me towards the pews nearest the altar. He stopped at the front bench on the right, setting my pack on the wooden seat next to a scaled figure. I paused beside him as the Argonian looked at the pack, then at Frederick. She hissed as her gaze fell on my burned visage.
“Marz,” Frederick was saying, “this is my friend Julian of Anvil. She’s injured and in need of your skills.”
“It would sseem sso,” Marz slid along the pew and waving me to sit next to my pack. Gratefully, I set my weapons atop the pack and lowered myself carefully to the bench. “Where are you hurt, Julian?”
“Marz will take good care of you, Julian,” Frederick said quietly. “I’ve got to go relieve Metternach.”
“Thanks, Frederick,” I held out my right hand to him. He clasped it gently, out of consideration of the burned calluses in my palm. As his booted footfalls receded towards the door, I turned back to Marz.
“How did you get burned sso badly?” Marz asked, her orange eyes steady on mine. Her graceful fingers moved lightly over my face.
“I have spent the last day in the Deadlands,” I answered quietly. “Surrounded by fire, breathing fire, seeing nothing but fire and,” I swallowed again, “blood.” Marz’s hands drew away.
“You went into that Oblivion Gate!” Marz hissed, her voice incredulous. “And you ssurvived?”
“Barely, as you can see,” I replied. “Please tell me you can take the pain away.”
“Give me your handss,” Marz commanded, lowering her hands to her lap, palms up. I obeyed, placing my own burned hands on top of hers. Mercifully, she did not close her fingers, instead letting my hands rest on hers. “Ahh,” she sighed, closing her eyes, and I felt some of the weariness and pain shift from me into her hands.
“You are in great pain, indeed, and weary,” she murmured. “And your right knee, it hurtss terribly! Like it did when you were -” her voice trailed off and her eyes opened to look into mine, “- drinking cheap wine and taking sskooma to kill the pain and to forget.” I could see the sadness in her gaze as she regarded me. “You sstopped, but the pain perssistss.”
“No, it went away for a while,” I protested. “Until yesterday -” I stopped when she shook her head.
“Not the pain in your knee, your left sside, your face,” Marz corrected me. “The pain in your heart. And now there is more pain there, newer pain.”
I swallowed and looked down. “I doubt even you can take that pain away,” I murmured. Now I felt a healing surge in my hands, as Marz circled her thumbs over my palms, wiping away the burns and leaving healed skin.
“Hussh,” she whispered, her orange eyes closing again. “Let me ssee -” again her voice faded away. I sat quietly, letting her energy course over my scorched skin, leaving behind cool healing. It swirled through my burned throat like cool mint, slipping into my parched lungs like ice water. Finally I could take a deep breath without breathing fire. It made me cough, and I gasped as a faint swirl of black smoke escaped from my mouth.
Marz’s healing energy swirled over my body, seeking pain and demolishing it, until it gathered in my right knee. There, the pain diminished only a little before Marz gasped, her magic fading away. Her eyes opened, and I realized that she had drained her own Magicka on me. The knee still throbbed horribly, but now the pain did not shoot up my thigh as much. “I am ssorry,” Marz said, her hands shaking under mine. I gripped her hands in gratitude.
“No, don’t be,” I answered, my voice much smoother with the healed throat. “You’ve made me feel much, much better.”
“But your knee sstill hurtss!” Marz exclaimed softly. I sat back in the pew and looked toward the altar.
“Well, it’s a very old injury,” I commented quietly. “And I’ve lived with it for a very long time. It’s only recently that it’s started to hurt less.”
“How?” Marz asked, curious.
“I started practicing my healing spell,” I answered, shrugging, the movement no longer causing me pain. “It’s a little one, and I can only cast it three times before I run out of Magicka, but I’ve been using it morning and night, when I get up, and before I go to sleep.”
Rising and slowly limping to the altar, I placed my hand on its rim. Akatosh, Talos, Julianos, help me. A flash of white healing swirled around me, and the pain in my knee diminished further. I returned to Marz. “Also the wayshrines have helped, too,” I finished, smiling at Marz. “I never thought I’d start praying as much as I have these past few weeks!”
“I will need to resst,” Marz smiled toothily at me, her eyes warm in the dim interior. “But come back tomorrow, and we will try again.”
“Thank you, Marz,” I said. “I don’t remember you when I was last here two years ago.”
“Ah, I’ve only been here a year and a half,” Marz responded. “I came to Bravil becausse Mara called me. My home iss not here. I miss Black Marsh, but I shall sserve here, sso long as Bravil needss me.”
With an intent regard of the Argonian woman, I took a breath. “So how did you know that I was addicted to drink and skooma?”
“Ah, it leavess tracess in your body and your ssoul,” Marz responded. “Faint tracess, but traces nonethelesss.” She reached out and traced my right eyebrow lightly. “Be careful,” she warned. “Do not give in to temptation, for you will fall back into missery should you take sskooma again.” Her fingertips patted my cheek lightly. “Remember, you are sstill an addict, though you have not taken any for ssome time.”
With a sigh I leaned back, turning my gaze away from Marz’s intent scrutiny. “How can I stop being an addict?”
“You never will,” Marz’s tone matched mine. “Oh, it getss eassier with time, but if ssomething bad were to happen, if you were to be in much pain again, or your heart broken once more, the urge to usse will come back. You musst ressisst it, or be losst anew.”
Picking up my pack, I looked at Marz again. “Thanks for the advice, ma’am,” I said quietly. “I’m not proud of it, and I wish never to go through it again. I won’t forget your words.”
Marz nodded, but there was sadness in her gaze. “We’ll ssee,” she hissed softly.
Hmm, did I detect Frederick flirting with our Julian? Wishful thinking or imagination perhaps.
Oooh! I loved the healing session with Marz. The Argonian told us more about Julian than Julian herself has. Very, very well done! I see that like TF and BF, you treat healing as a wonderfully different school of magic.
It must be wonderful to be a healer in real life, and then blend that with the magical possibilities of TES!
I'm so glad to see Julian lingering in Bravil.
The healing was well handled, it adds a lot that it's more than just casting a spell, I agree with Acadian that using insight from healing to reveal more about Julian was a good method and shows us more which Julian wouldn't reveal without reverting to flashbacks or other flow breakers.
And I definitly detected Frederick flirting, along with Marz's prophetic warning it makes me wonder.
I too am glad to see she will be in Bravil, it should lead to interesting interactions and I can't wait to see how you describe the place.
Frederick? He is not from Hollywood by chance?
At least he showed a bit of decency, helping a wounded person to the chapel. He is the first person we have seen in Bravil so far who could be bothered. I cannot say I noticed him flirting. But then being a lesbian, it is not something I really look for from a guy either.
Like the others, I very much enjoyed your depiction of Marz. Your description of how she healed Julian was very vivid and powerful, and adds a depth to the entire setting. Likewise, Marz's being able to see the traces of Julian's alcohol and skooma abuse.
Your regard for Marz is readily apparent in this chapter. I admire the combination of strength and fragility that you have infused within her. On the one hand she has the strength to take on Julian’s pain without flinching. Yet the act leaves her so drained that she needs a full day to recover enough to try again, which she is perfectly willing to do. I also like the fact that she doesn’t succeed in curing all of Julian’s injuries. There should be a limit to what even a talented healer can do.
I hope in the next chapter when Julian leaves Mara’s Temple Frederick will have had the time to spread the news about Julian’s foray into the Deadlands. It seems a shame that no one in Bravil seems to care that the Oblivion Gate that spawned not a hundred yards from the Quaking Bridge has been closed.
The use of thoughts and dialogue to interfuse the healing scene was a delight to read. Wow!
Very neat idea to have the healer more injured and tired after the healing process than the recipient, that was very tasty indeed!
Julian did stare at Frederick with a startled glance, so the Redguard herself certainly suspected that the warrior was up to something. No pun intended.
Slighty OT, I detect a new playfulness in our Rosa...could she be in love by any chance...
Bact OT: this revelation by Marz is so true. I have seen many friends and some relatives succumb to various kinds of addiction, and it is true that there is no such thing as a completely recovered addict. You are always going to hear that whisper deep in the darkest corners of your heart.
@Acadian: Frederick? Hmm, we’ll have to see how that plays out, huh? I’m glad you liked the healing with Marz. Yes, the fact that I do sort of the same thing IRL helps!
@Olen: Yes, I figured Marz was just the person to tell us more about Julian. I hope you enjoy Julian’s stay in this darling disreputable town.
@Sage Rosa: It’s about time someone acknowledged Julian’s risk, huh? IRL; doctors can detect traces of past abuse in their patients as well, so Marz being able to do that with Julian isn’t all that unrealistic.
@Destri: In an upcoming chapter, we will hear what people think about Julian’s actions in closing the Gate.
@Wolf: Well, the startled glance Julian sent Frederick has more to do with the incongruity of his comment in the face of their shared history than anything else. Besides, did Frederick mean anything more than just ‘friends?’
@Fox: You are absolutely right - once an addict, always an addict. My scientific reading even indicates that many factors figure into addiction, including neurology and neuroendocrinology. We’ll see that dark whisper in Julian’s ear some time in the near future.
Julian is asked to play the hero again, and once more finds herself unable to refuse. She also encounters more embarrassing reminders of her previous stay.
*******************
Chapter 12.8 Memories of Shame
I limped away from Marz towards the doors. An aged Breton woman, frail in a worn, shabby dress, rose from a rear pew as I passed, her hand plucking at my leathered arm. “Excuse me, my lady,” she murmured timidly.
Pausing to look at her, I saw the sadness and worry in her gaze. “I’m no lady, ma’am, only Julian of Anvil,” I said softly. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”
“I’m Ursanne Loche,” the Breton responded, still timid. “I’m so sorry to impose upon you like this, but I’m in need of assistance, and I don’t know what to do! My husband, Aleron is missing.”
“Missing?” I repeated. Missing because he wanted to disappear? Or missing because he was made to disappear? The emotions in her gaze pulled at my heart, and I set my pack and weapons on the pew in front of her, motioning her to sit back in her place. As she did so, I leaned my right hip against the pew back in front of her, easing some of the strain on my throbbing knee, and leaned slightly towards her, shifting my weight to my good left leg. “And you are worried about him?”
As Ursanne sat down, she nodded. “It all started when Aleron became foolish and began gambling. He’d visit the Arena every week, and spend our hard-earned money on bets.” Her arched brows drew down in wifely anger. “I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. He was certain he could win us a fortune and move us somewhere nicer, like the Imperial City.” She took a shaky breath, looking down at her hands twisting around each other in her lap. “It didn’t take long for Aleron to start losing. He resorted to borrowing money from an usurer to cover his losses and place new bets.” Now she met my gaze again. “As you can imagine, it didn’t pay off. He ended up owing around five hundred gold. We could never have that kind of money to pay back the usurer -” Her voice ended on a sob barely stifled.
I touched her stooped shoulder gently. “What happened to Aleron?” I asked, keeping my voice quiet.
“Yesterday, the usurer, Kurdan gro-Dragol, sent for my husband to meet him at the Lonely Suitor Lodge. He hasn’t returned since!” Ursanne wiped at the tear that trickled from her right eye, and clutched at my hand on her shoulder. “I fear for his life. Kurdan isn’t known for his patience. Please,” she begged, her voice achingly plaintive, “I’m not wealthy, oh no,” she shook her head, keeping her eyes on me, “but I’d give anything to see my Aleron again!”
Kurdan gro-Dragol? I seem to remember that name. My eyes sought the shadows in the vaulted ceiling above. More than just an usurer, that much is certain. “All right,” I said, determinedly putting my quest for a Daedric artifact out of my mind, “I’ll help you.”
“You,” Ursanne gasped, “you will? Oh, thank you!” She took my hand in both of hers, clasping it to her thin chest. “Oh, do be careful, please. I don’t want any harm to befall you, either.”
“I’ll be careful,” I answered, squeezing her frail hands gently in mine. “I’ll find out what happened to Aleron.”
Finally Ursanne released me, sitting back. “I do miss him so,” she murmured. Now she frowned again. “And when he gets back, I’m going to kill him for making me worry so!”
I stifled a smile at the classic wifely threat. “I will see you again, Ursanne,” I promised, rising and gathering my gear. “Stay safe, ma’am.”
“Farewell, and do be careful,” Ursanne pleaded as I stepped away from the pew. “Kurdan is not to be trusted.”
I gave Ursanne a final reassuring smile and left the Chapel. The skies had opened while I was inside and a heavy rain transformed the dusty streets into mud. At the bottom of the steps I looked around, trying to remember the location of the Mages Guild. I spotted the ramshackle wooden building, one of the tallest in town at three stories, just south of the Chapel past an overgrown garden. Get my armor and weapons repaired, rest at the Guild, then find Kurdan and see what’s going on with Aleron Loche.
I found the Archer’s Paradox across the river from the Mages Guild. Seeking shelter from the rain that had developed while I was inside the Chapel, I saw a Bosmer shopkeeper inside, the feathers of steel arrows in a quiver at his back giving him height. He grinned at me. “Welcome to the Archer’s Paradox. Because a perfect arrow flies forever!”
“But that’s impossible,” I countered, shaking off the rain and setting my weapons on the counter before him. He laughed.
“And there lies the paradox!” he responded. He eyed the weapons. “I’m Daenlin. What can I do for you?”
“I’m Julian of Anvil,” I answered. “And I’d like my weapons and armor repaired.”
“Of course!” he waved me toward an alcove, screened off by a curtain. “Change in there, while I look at your weapons. I’ll give you a total after I’ve seen the armor, too.”
“Thanks,” I limped to the changing alcove. From my pack, I pulled out the tan skirt and the green shirt. I managed to strip out of the battered leathers without falling down from exhaustion and my painful knee. Returning to Daenlin, I handed him the leathers.
“You’ve got a fine katana,” Daenlin nodded at the slim blade. “But it’s been used quite heavily lately. The bow,” he caressed the stave lovingly, “and Daedra Slayer are in better condition. Now, let’s see the armor . . . “ He muttered to himself, examining the rents and dents in the leathers.
“The shield,” he pointed at the Kvatch Wolf, “is as badly beat up as the katana, but both of them are repairable.” He ran his hand over the scratched paint. “I can’t do anything about the design, though, I’m no artist.” He held up the cuirass and the greaves, setting the boots on the counter. “These are nice work, custom class,” he approved. “Mostly scorch marks, that’ll buff out quite nicely.”
“How much for the lot?” I asked him. He cast another eye at the gear, muttering under his breath.
“Thirty drakes,” he glanced sidelong at me. I counted out the gold from my belt purse. “Excellent! I’ll have it all ready for you by tomorrow morning!”
I nodded, aware of how much work was ahead of Daenlin. “Think you can get it all done by then?” I asked, raising one eyebrow.
As I expected, the Bosmer rose to my challenge. “Be here at the start of business tomorrow!”
I smiled at him. “Very well, sir, tomorrow morning.” Good, that gives me time to rest up. My stomach growled at the thought of the Mages Guild.
As I returned across the bridge over the canal, I spotted a familiar figure ahead in the pouring rain. Lean, trim in her Bravil surcoat, brown hair trimmed as short as I remembered, Viera Lerus had her back to me, but turned at the limping sound of my leather shoes on the Quivering Bridge. “Hello, I hear you’re back in town,” she remarked to me, her voice cold.
“Get up,” a cold voice snapped at me, where I lay in the middle of the muddy street. I opened bleary eyes to see a lean woman, in a threadbare but clean Watch surcoat, looking down at me, disgust in her green eyes. I tried to obey her, but my body defied my instructions, and her orders. Instead, I rolled over onto my right shoulder and vomited, foul fluid splashing into the mud and splattering on her boots. I heard her sharp intake, the whisper of a sword being drawn, and managed to roll the other way, away from her.
“S- s- sorry, ma’-” I gasped, my voice slurring. “Don’ mean no dishrepek -” Expectant of the bite from her blade, I held my hands out and looked up at her. Clearing the bile in my throat, I managed to struggle to my knees, but my left side screamed at the movement, pulling me back down into the mud, panting from the pain.
“Frederick,” the Watch Captain’s voice remained colder than the pouring rain, “get this filth out of the street.”
“Aye, Captain,” the guard with her said, reaching down for me. I recoiled from his grasp, but was too slow and weak to resist as he pulled me up, and half dragged, half frog-walked me to the nearby alley. He dropped me there and walked back to the captain. Together, they turned and walked away from me without a backward glance.
I felt like cringing at the unwanted memory, one of many fragments about this town that I possessed. It was here that I had discovered skooma, had become addicted, and where my downward spiral had become an out of control free fall. I had already become disreputable before my arrival here, thanks to my incessant drinking, but the skooma had sunk me even lower. Though I had been wallowing in self-pity then, some part of me had been shamed by Viera Lerus calling me filth, for I knew she had spoken true.
My spine straightened under her level stare, and I stepped off the bridge, stopping before Lerus and meeting her gaze. “Yes, Captain, I’m back in town,” I answered, hoping that she would see me as I stood now, rather than groveling in the mud two years ago.
“I’ve just been informed that you’ve closed that Oblivion Gate outside of town,” she continued, still cold towards me. “That doesn’t fit with the Julian of Anvil I remember.” Now her gaze traveled up and down my form, taking in my feminine garb. “Nor does the woman standing in front of me now.”
“I left my gear with Daenlin to get repaired, ma’am,” I replied, avoiding the subject of Oblivion Gates. “I’m going over to the Mages Guild now. I’m tired and hungry, ma’am.”
“And quite sober, I see,” Lerus added, nodding to herself. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with you later, after you’ve eaten and rested.” It was not a request, but more an order.
“Of course, ma’am,” I restrained myself from saluting her. “Where and when?”
“I’ll be about the rest of the day,” Lerus responded. “But after dinner time, I’ll be in the Castle barracks.”
“After dinner, then, ma’am,” I agreed, ducking my head respectfully instead of the salute my right arm itched to give. Though her eyes remained glacial, I saw the left corner of Lerus’s mouth twitch as she turned away towards the harbor. When her lean form disappeared into the rain, I let my breath out in a sigh. Whew. Still as cold as I remember her. Yet I preferred how this encounter ended better than the last time.
It seems Julian cannot avoid rescuing every cat caught in a tree!
It really is good to see this part of her nature shining through in these last few chapters though. Once again, here is ample evidence of her need to be a part of something larger, and make a contribution to the communities in which she is a part of. An ordinary life would never be enough for her.
It is too bad that Bravil does not have a city guard to deal with things like monsters that attack the city from other dimensions, or criminals who prey upon its citizens. But then there would be nothing for the player to do in the game after all. Seriously though, this is one of the problems we writers face in doing fan fics. Why is the Bravil Guard just sitting around with their thumbs up their English ships while their city falls apart around them? I guess they are too busy rousting drunks and addicts. In the TF I am tackling it by making the Guard underpaid and understaffed because the Count spends all his money on his wine and his son's skooma rather than on soldiers. The guards they do have are mostly corrupt, and on the payroll of people like Kurdan. So there literally is no justice for people like the Loche's.
Julian's flashback to her past experience with Viera Lerus and Frederick was wonderful! Well, maybe that is not quite the word, but you know what I mean. It really brings home Julian's past plight perfectly there (wonder if I can work another alliteration in there?).
“I do miss him so,” she murmured. Now she frowned again. “And when he gets back, I’m going to kill him for making me worry so!”
I love this! It is so realistic.
I liked how you did Daenlin's introduction, and your variation on his classic "perfect arrow" soliloquy!
Lots to like here! Just the feeling of being in the City of Mara is wonderful and I thank you for not rushing Julian. I love this description from your comments: 'this darling disreputable town.'
A new quest! And a great one at that. What struck me here was how you handled dialogue:
Hmm another town another side quest. I like the background you've put in though, she knew the place from a different angle but is somewhat unfamiliar with the above ground part. It makes a good read.
Make Julian take down that beech a notch!
I am so glad that you decided to include this sidequest. There is no one in the whole of Cyrodiil that draws more of my sympathy than Ursanne Loche.
This chapter finally drove home the perfectly logical fact that of course Julian, as a skooma addict, would have a history with the town of Bravil. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me before. The way you present that history through her dialogue with Frederick in the last chapter and the flashback in this chapter is simply excellent writing.
Unfortunately there was a paragraph that got under my skin:
I loved the healing scene with Marz. It's true, there's no such thing as an ex-addict.
@SubRosa: Julian does have a certain fondness for cats! I found the archer’s paradox online (just google it!), and loved it so much I included it here.
@Acadian: Don’t worry, you’ll get fed in this segment! I hate writing monologues - it’s easy to just run on at the mouth so to speak. Using body language at critical junctures helps break it up. Daenlin is actually another of my favorite Bosmers - friendly, cheerful, and not irritating at all.
@Olen: Yes, Julian is not familiar with the good citizens of Bravil, only with the addicts (including young Terentius).
@Foxy: Ah, Julian only has to be Julian with Verus!
@Destri: Thanks for pointing out the awkward paragraph. I’ve taken your suggestion and replaced it. I figured Bravil would be the place where Julian finds skooma, as we’ll learn later.
@Remko: Thanks!
Finally Julian meets a (relatively) sensible mage, and gets some rest.
***************
Chapter 13.1 The Bravil Recommendation
Shifting the pack on my shoulder, I turned around and eyed the Guild chapter house behind me. It looked even more rundown in the rain, but then, so did the rest of Bravil, even the stone Castle. The cool damp air brought out the unique aroma of the canal, a combination of marsh and sewer, of frogs and effluvium, of swamp reeds and mold.
As I limped up the wooden steps, a tall Altmer stepped through the front door and paused under the overhang at the sight of me. “Greetings!” he said courteously. “Carandial. Mage-trained. Scholar by inclination. Student of our Aldmeri ancestors, the Ayleids.”
I looked up at him. “Julian of Anvil, Guild Associate,” I answered. “I’m looking for the chapter head?”
“Oh, Kud-Ei?” Carandial nodded. “She’s inside, drinking her tea.” He reached for the door handle, pulling the panel open for me.
“Thank you, sir,” with a smile, I met his gaze. “And sometime you’ll have to tell me about Ayleid ruins. They scare me.”
“Ah, not so scary once you know them,” Carandial smiled back. “Just let me know when you want to hear about them.” As I stepped inside, I looked back at the friendly Altmer and nodded, before he closed the door after me.
Shaking the rain off of myself, I looked around. A short corridor led me to the common area beyond, and on my right a half wall opened into a dining room. Within sat an Argonian, dressed in a rich green velvet outfit, sipping at a fine porcelain mug. She met my gaze. “How may I help you, ma’am?” she asked softly.
“I’m looking for Kud-Ei?” I asked her. She waved for me to come around the corner into the dining room.
“I am sshe,” she said as I took the chair opposite her. “You look hungry, and tired.”
“That I am,” I responded. “I’m Julian, of Anvil,” I continued. “I just joined the Mages Guild.”
“Julian of Anvil?” Kud-Ei repeated. “Hmm, I sseem to recall that name -”
I squirmed in my seat. “I was here two years ago,” I decided to get it over with. “Under very different circumstances.”
“Ah, yess, I remember you now,” she nodded. “You were in sso much pain, yet you never went to the Chapel healer . . .” She shook her head abruptly. “Not that it would have done you much good, then,” she added dryly. “Etienne had lost hiss Magicka, and was of little usse to mosst of uss.”
“Marz was very helpful, actually,” I responded. “I visited her earlier this afternoon.”
“Yess, after you clossed the Oblivion Gate,” Kud-Ei nodded again. She took a sip of the tea as I stared at her. She returned my gaze calmly, her own eyes twinkling in good humor. “Newss travelss fasst, Associate.”
I found my voice. “Yes, I have forgotten,” I heard the rue in my tone.
Kud-Ei poured tea into her cup from a nearby flagon. Without asking me, she filled a second cup and pushed it across the table to me. “Help yoursself, you musst be hungry,” she urged me. I didn’t need telling twice. As I filled a plate with the delicious food on the table between us, she leaned back, sipping at her refilled cup. “Welcome to the Bravil Magess Guild,” she said as I started eating. She held up her hand when I tried to empty my mouth to respond. “No, keep eating. I talk, you lissten, undersstood?” I nodded, obeying her by taking a bite of roast mutton.
“I take my dutiess as chapter head very sserioussly,” Kud-Ei continued quietly. “Unlike ssome guild magess. It infuriatess me how cassual ssome guild headss are about common civility.” I paused in my chewing to glance askance at her, but Kud-Ei apparently had no intention of elaborating further. She regarded me over the brim of her cup as she sipped again at her tea. “Each local guild hall hass itss own way of doing thingss. That meanss each hall hass itss own sset of problemss."
I swallowed the last bite of food, mildly surprised at how quickly I had finished the plate. I’ll have to tell Jauffre I’m filling up on less food, though. “I’m beginning to notice that,” I commented, taking a sip of the hot tea.
“When did you join the Magess Guild?” Kud-Ei asked me.
“Umm,” I did a quick mental calculation. “About a week ago, ma’am.” I anticipated her next question. “In Bruma, ma’am.” Her scaled face registered a mild distaste.
“I had heard that Jeanne fell for yet another practical joke,” she commented, her gaze steady on mine. “Sshe jusst never learnss.”
I swallowed the tea, wondering just how much Kud-Ei knew of my role in the latest practical joke. “She won’t fall for any more, I don’t think, ma’am,” I said after a moment.
“Hmm, it sseemss the perpetratorss got a dresssing down from a new Associate with a limp.” Kud-Ei’s eyes narrowed as I coughed on tea. “I hope you won’t find that necessary here, Associate with a limp.”
I met the Argonian’s gaze steadily. “After having met you, ma’am,” I responded quietly, “I don’t think it will be necessary.” The teacup empty, I set it down carefully on the table. “And I would like to know how I can obtain your recommendation for the Arcane University.”
“You do, hmm?” Kud-Ei’s brows lifted above her eyes. “Well, I’m afraid I haven’t had time to prepare anything conventional. I’ve been very preoccupied with this ssituation concerning Ardaline.” She regarded me thoughtfully. “Perhapss you can help me with that, however. I can’t be directly involved, for fear of embarrassing the poor girl.” She set her teacup down softly. “I’ll need you to sspeak to Varon Vamori, and perhapss you can learn ssomething about the power of Illussion in the processs.”
“Who is Ardaline, ma’am?” Looking up as a couple of other Mages entered the dining room, I wondered if one of them was the lady in question.
“Sshe is our Alchemisst,” Kud-Ei responded. “Pleasse don’t ssay anything to her.” I looked around again, seeing a tall Altmer woman with blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, wide-set eyes under scowling brows, and a tiny Breton woman with her red hair neatly tucked up into a complexly plaited hairdo. “They are Aryarie,” Kud-Ei indicated the Altmer, “and Delphine Jend. Ladiess, thiss iss our newesst Associate Julian of Anvil.” As the two women greeted me, politely in Aryarie’s case, and warmly in Jend’s case, Kud-Ei nodded at them. “Julian hass come to me for a recommendation.” It was clearly a dismissal.
“Of course,” Jend exclaimed, reaching for a plate and loading it with breads and cheeses. Aryarie echoed her motion, selecting fruits for her own plate. “We’ll just get something to eat and go sit with Ardaline!” The two women nodded courteously at me again and departed. When we were alone again, Kud-Ei turned her orange gaze back on me again.
“Ardaline iss painfully shy,” the Argonian woman continued, her voice a soft hiss. “Sshe findss it difficult to sspeak to people, and tendss to keep to hersself. I am working with her on that, by having her ssell Alchemy ssuppliess to thosse who need them.” She shook her head, the rings in her temporal spines jingling softly. “I don’t want to embarrass her further. Once thiss matter iss ressolved, I’ll sspeak to her privately.” Now she met my gaze squarely. “Disscretion is vital.”
With a nod to show my understanding, I matched Kud-Ei’s soft tone. “Of course, ma’am. What is the situation with Ardaline and Varon Vamori?”
“I don’t undersstand it. Ssome ridiculouss male thing, I ssuppose,” she answered, her tone weary. I understood all too well, for I had dealt with similar situations between young men and women in my own cohort. “He’s been bothering Ardaline every day for ssome time now. He even sstole her Mage’ss Sstaff! Perhapss he thinkss it’ss amussing, I don’t know. But it needss to sstop. It’ss making her misserable!”
I felt my eyebrows lifting at the tale Kud-Ei told. “Varon Vamori stole Ardaline’s Mage’s Staff?” Even I knew that touching a Mage’s Staff was sacrilege. “Ma’am?”
“It’ss more ssymbolic than practical, true,” Kud-Ei admitted. “But each sstaff iss important to itss owner. You are to get Ardaline’ss Sstaff back.” She handed me three scrolls. “Varon Vamori hass a ssilver tongue. Here are a few Charm sspellss to help you sspeak to him.”
“Silver tongue, huh?” I repeated. Kud-Ei grinned toothily.
“He thinkss he hass a magical way with wordss,” she replied dryly. “Now, you look exhaussted, Julian. How bad iss that knee?”
“It hurts to walk on it, but I can manage, ma’am,” I answered.
“Our roomss are upsstairs. Let me take you there, sshow you where you can ssleep and resst.”
“I would be grateful, ma’am,” I rose as Kud-Ei stood.
Like Acadian you seem to have a thing for Argonians. I have yet to meet one in Old Habits that isn’t forthright, competent, personable, and honorable. Kud-Ei is no exception, she leaps off the screen. The fact that she places Ardaline in charge of selling alchemy paraphernalia is a brilliant detail that says a lot about her character. It is easy to see why she is a chapter head. What is more difficult to see is why she doesn’t sit on the Council of Mages.
I wonder what Julian will think of Varon Vamori. He always gives me the impression of being a little . . . short for a Dunmer, but he is handy to have around for those speechcraft lessons.
Yay for Kud-Ei! About time Julian met a guild leader who was worthy of the position. You portrayed our favorite scaly Bravilian mage wonderfully!
“Hmm, it sseemss the perpetuatorss got a dresssing down from a new Associate with a limp.” Kud-Ei’s eyes narrowed as I coughed on tea. “I hope you won’t find that necessary here, Associate with a limp.”
I love this! It says so much, on so many levels!
I loved the sentence SubRosa quoted too.
So much said with so little.
So, the Male with the Silver tongue stole a Female's Staff...
Hmmm.... why on earth am I thinking there's something WRONG with that...the natural order of things has been reversed - it should have been the other way around -
-er ![]()
Arrrgh, forgive me, I was asleep and that wandering Daedra Spiriti, Dhertee-Inuu Endo, entered my mind and seized control!!!
Besides, it couldn't have worked the other way around. Why, it's sacriliege to touch a Mage's Staff -
(No wonder these Mages are sour, they get no fun at all - )
GET OUT!!!
GET OUT DHERTEE-INNU ENDO!!! GET OUT AT ONCE!!!
It is raining in Bravil!!! I never get to see that.
The only place that ever rains for me is the road from Chorrol to Bruma and everywhere in Leyawiin. Lol.
Wow, Kud-Ei really rocks the show in your chapter, is that woman ahead of the game or what??
I so love it that you have incorporated the drinking of her tea, that is soooo Kud-Ei!!
@Acadian: You and Buffy were very much on my mind the entire time I was writing this! I’m glad you ended up looking for a sweet roll along with a certain Bosmeri female.
@Destri: I love Argonians! I’ve never played one, but I always seemed to like ‘em when I meet ‘em in game, with a few exceptions. They are most enjoyable to write, too. Have patience, you will see what Julian makes of a certain - ahem - short - Dunmer soon.
@Olen: It will take Julian some time to complete the recommendation, but I think you might find it interesting.
@Sage Rose: Why oh why is it so few chapter heads are actually responsible? Falcar is a hole in the rear, Frasoric is incompetent, Dagail, bless her sweet heart, is crazy as a bat in the belfry, and Teekeeus is full of petty imp chips! The only other one that can hold a candle to Kud-Ei is Carahil!
@Remko: The fact that you and Sage Rose picked one of my favorite lines in that segment goes to show that great minds think alike.
@Fox: Don’t let Dhertee-innu Endo wander over to Lex and the Thief! “So, can I hold your sword?”
@Wolf: It rains half the time I’m in Bravil! Must be my sunny personality. And why, oh why does it rain at Frostcrag Spire (when I have the DLC installed - sometimes I don’t)?? You’d think with all the snow around, and at that altitude, that I’d see snow. Uh, nope.
Thanks to Buffy and Acadian for their charming characterization of a certain Bravil resident. Their description really crystallized my perception of His Arrogance.
***************
Chapter 13.2 Dinner with Mages
I woke five hours later to the sound of rain pounding on the windows. The smell of fresh cooked food wafting through closed doors drew me out of bed casting a couple of healing spells. I found that I could now cast four in a row before becoming too shaky to focus.
Kud-Ei had advised me that if I found any clothes to fit me, I was welcome to anything in the wardrobes. Some of the other clothing felt too fine for me to wear, so I stuck with my plain clothing. I did replace the rough leather shoes with a pair of doeskin shoes, which, while still practical, were more comfortable and quieter.
Leaving my pack behind in the room, I limped downstairs to find the Mages already gathered around the common table. Carandial leaped to his feet and pulled out a chair for me with a smile. Surprised by his courtesy, so uncharacteristic for Altmeri, I thanked him and sat down.
“Welcome, Julian of Anvil,” he said as he returned to his seat at my left elbow. He started loading my plate with mutton and roasted vegetables. “I’m glad you’re part of the Mages Guild, Hero of Kvatch!”
The piece of roast potato dropped from my fork when I jumped at the greeting. Before I could object, Delphine Jend piped up from his other side.
“Hero of Kvatch!” she scoffed. “More like Hero of Bravil!” She leaned forward to smile at me past the tall Altmer between us. “Welcome, Julian!”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t call me Hero of Anything, sir, ma’am,” I muttered, fishing up the potato out of the mutton gravy.
“Oh, it’s too late for that,” the haughty voice drew my attention to the well-dressed Dunmer seated across the table from me. “Everyone in town is already calling you their Hero.” His red eyes gleamed at me, making me shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “I’m Fathis Aren, Count Bravil’s Staff Wizard,” he introduced himself. I heard the arrogance in his tone and bit down on my instant dislike of the mer. “I can teach you Conjuration, Associate,” he continued, lending my Guild rank a hint of contempt, “anything to relieve the tedium of Castle patronage.”
Inwardly, I could feel myself bristling at his condescension. “Why thank you, Fathis Aren,” I responded, surprised by how smooth and neutral my own voice sounded to my ears. “I will remember that when I want to master that area of Magicka, sir.” Around me, the bustle of dinner conversation, the movement of eating utensils, slowed to a halt. I was aware of Kud-Ei watching me from her place at the head of the table.
Aren scowled at me. “If you’ve closed two Oblivion Gates,” he sneered, “they must not be so difficult a challenge to face.”
I bit my tongue. Three. “Maybe not, but so far I haven’t heard of anyone from Bravil entering the one by the Quaking Bridge,” I answered, my voice still neutral and calm. “And now no one needs to worry about it.”
Aren’s red eyes narrowed at me as he inhaled slowly. Kud-Ei cleared her throat sharply from the head of the table. “No one quesstionss your courage in entering thosse Oblivion Gatess, Julian,” her quiet voice somehow held the authority of a respected praefect of the Legion. Catching her glance at Aren, I carefully avoided his gaze, turning my eyes back down to my plate. “There’ss been a lot of disscussion about why Count Bravil did not order the Guard to enter the Gate.”
I glanced at Kud-Ei. Speculation, you mean? “There’s the reckless course, ma’am, then there’s the prudent course,” I said after a moment. I recalled that the Count was not popular with many of the residents. “The reckless course would be to send every Guard into that Gate in hopes that a few of them would manage to close it. That would strip the town of its defenses in case of daedra attack. The prudent course is to keep the Guard on alert for daedra attack while trying to learn about the layout and defenses of the realm on the other side of that Gate.”
Aren snorted. “Prudent?” he scoffed. “Scared is more like it!” Again I met his gaze, catching the scorn in his eyes. “Oh, far be it from me to criticize my patron and sovereign,” he continued, his tone belying his words. “Bravil obviously flourishes under his wise and beneficial rule. He has done nothing,” he stabbed his finger at the table, “nothing about that Gate! Captain Lerus wanted to send a scouting party inside when it first opened, but he wouldn’t let her!”
I sat back in my seat, caught off-guard by the intensity in Aren’s tone. Wasn’t Regulus Terentius an Arena Champion years ago? He’s quite old now. Old men, especially old fighters, are very cautious about wasting the young ones. And Lerus wanted to do just what Savlian did?
“That’s what Savlian Matius tried at Kvatch,” I said finally, my voice very quiet as I thought sadly about the men who had died, of Menien Goneld tortured there. “He sent six men in there. Four were killed right away, one was taken captive and tortured, and the last one never made it past the first set of War Gates.”
I looked away from the others’ shocked gazes. “I only reached the Sigil Tower because I was scared out of my mind, and spent much of my time creeping around trying to hide from the daedra.” Now I met Aren’s gaze steadily, my own vision filled with the red fire and heat of the Deadlands. “I used the same tactic here, and it seems it is the best way to succeed.” I shook my head. “Sometimes, it’s not sheer strength and numbers, nor is it knowledge, but facing one’s fears and coping with those fears, that is the successful path.”
“Well sspoken, Associate,” Kud-Ei spoke into the silence. “Often proceeding with caution getss one further than rassh action.”
I looked down at my plate, surprised at its blankness. Somehow the conversation had not affected my appetite. I set my fork down quietly. “Thanks very much for dinner, ma’am,” I said to Kud-Ei. “May I be excused? I have some errands to run in town tonight.”
I could see the dubious regard Kud-Ei sent me. She thinks I want to go to the skooma den. I remembered it was just down Canal Street from the Mages Guild, in the center of town.
“My knee is much better, ma’am,” I volunteered quietly. “I’m getting better with my healing spell.”
“All right,” Kud-Ei said after a moment’s consideration. “Take your key with you, though. The doors get locked at eleven bells.”
I rose, ungracefully because of my knee, to my feet and bowed to the company at the table. “Thank you, ma’ams, sirs.” I gave a final glance at Aren before turning away. Limping out of the dining room, I heard the clink of utensils against plates, but did not hear voices again until I opened the front door. I didn’t linger to hear what was being said, though, for I had several tasks I needed to accomplish tonight before heading back to my bed on the second floor of the Guild chapter-house.
Now this is a very interesting chapter...full of both subtle characterization, and at the same time bold character sketches, and the philosophy of combat as well.
Hail to Hautee, may her prose please Foxee, who shall remain nautee!!!
(I suspect for that she'll make me sautee
)
So Julian is casting four healing spells in a row now? It is good to see that her daily spellcasting is paying off not only physically, but also in her skillz.
The piece of roast potato dropped from my fork when I jumped at the greeting.
This gave me a good laugh!
Poor Julian, found out again!
As Foxy said, while a short segment, it certainly packs a great deal into the conversation with Fathis. I wonder why he didn't go into the gate and close it, seeing what a great conjurer he is?
Aww, thank you so much for the kind words to Buffy and I in your comments. I'm delighted to see that you and Julian see Bravil similarly to the way we do.
Well, doeskin shoes are certainly a step (is that a pun?) in the right direction towards getting our Redguard stylin'. Something tells me that Fashionista Delphine will be frustrated by Julian, who has more important things to worry about. Delphine is amazing however, if Julian ever finds herself needing to get dolled up.
You captured the steely snide aloofness of Fathis so well, and the calm commanding presence of Kud-Ei. Wow! I am proud of Julian's restraint; again, her maturity and wisdom shine through. Buffy is so jealous of Julian's abiltiy to (usually) control her temper and make the smart choices.
I loved the little details like Julian dropping a piece of potato when surprised, then later fishing it out of her gravy. Things like that made the meal come alive. And. . . you know what I'm going to say next. . . Thanks for feeding me - yum!
Julian nailed those gate tactics. Sneaking, sniping and patience seems to win the day. And yes, it does somehow seem best suited to a solitary task.
nit:
Poor Julian, I see that she is once again charged with heroism. Now you can add ‘Hero of Bravil’ to her growing list of titles. She must hate that!
My favorite part of this chapter is when Julian excuses herself from the table like a fourteen year old wanting to (*insert estrogen-induced teenage girl obsession here*). I could see the look that Kud-Ei gives her. I think it says a lot about Julian’s previous time in Bravil that even closing the Oblivion Gate doesn’t keep some from being wary in her presence. I wonder if R’Vanni, J’Zin-Dar, Reistr the Rotted, or Roxanne Brigette (all of whom I’m sure Julian knows . . . vaguely) get the same treatment. I hope that you include at least one of them in this story. It would be nice to see how they regard Julian now that she is all clean and hero-fied.
And tell her that she shouldn’t let Fathis get to her. Ever since he saw the golden armor that he gave Maxical for sale at the Best Defense he has been a complete s’wit to everyone. Rumor around town is that he is still carrying a torch for the kitty, but who knows?
@Fox: I borrowed a great deal from Art of War for Julian’s new combat philosophy. It’s a far cry from Legion fighting, in my humble opinion. And we wouldn’t want Foxee to be anything other than nautee!
@Sage Rosa: I suppose Fathis will keep his reasons for staying out of that Gate to himself, at least for now . . .
@Acadian: Julian will get stylin’ advice, but not from Ms. Delphine, unfortunately. And it won’t happen until Chapter 19. And I’m always glad to feed someone who is so appreciative of my cooking!
@Destri: Well, getting Julian to run into the skooma denizens may be a challenge - after all, they don’t go out, and she’s going to try her damnedest to stay away from the den. But Young Terentius, hmm . . . Oh, and we both miss Maxical . . .
@Olen: I’m glad you share my feeling about His Arrogance! Whether or not Julian bothers to tell him to take a long walk into a Gate is up to her, though.
Julian meets Lerus again, and the two women come to a new understanding.
****************
13.3 A Conversation with Lerus
First, Viera Lerus. I didn’t want to keep the Captain waiting long. I wasn’t sure when she ate dinner, but the Mages Guild kept late hours, and I knew the sun had gone down a long time ago. My slow limp carried me down Canal Street past the Warlock’s Luck and the skooma den, toward the Fighters Guild chapter-house standing at the east end. With careful steps I avoided slipping on the slick cobblestones, for it was still raining.
At the Fighters Guild, I turned right, where a narrow street ran across the canal on another rope suspension bridge towards the Castle, the only stone structure in Bravil other than the Chapel. This bridge did not hurt my knee as much as the others had earlier, and I knew that the healing spells were taking effect. Still, I intended to see Marz again in the morning.
In the courtyard leading to the Great Hall, my limping stride faltered as the fragrances of the gardens hit my nose in spite of the rain, which had eased up a little during my walk across town. I paused and looked around, but the rain and the darkness kept me from seeing much of the plantings.
Ahead, I saw two Bravil Watchmen standing beside the doors leading into the Great Hall. Their eyes followed me as I entered through the left hand panel. Inside, two more guards turned their heads to look me over. I met the gaze of the nearer one.
“I’m here to see Captain Lerus, at her request,” I said to him. “Do you know where she is, sir?”
“She’d be in the barracks, ma’am,” the guard responded. His gaze sharpened at me. “Hey, I know you, you’re -” he stopped when I shook my head at him. Grinning, he took a breath and finished “- Frederick’s friend.”
I returned his smile with some relief. “Maybe I am,” I answered. I looked forward into the Great Hall, seeing the empty throne at the opposite end. “Where are the barracks, sir?”
“Oh, upstairs,” the guard pointed out the left hand stairs leading to the balcony across the rear of the Great Hall. “Door on the left.”
“Thanks, sir,” I said to him, then limped to the indicated flight. Taking my time up the stone steps, I managed to make it to the top without making my knee much worse. At the top, I cast a single healing spell, just to be sure. Then I opened the door.
Long strides brought me into the barracks, and I struck the frame of each cot sharply with my steel-wrapped oaken cane. “Get up, meat!” My command voice was powerful in the close quarters. “Rise and shine! The day’s half gone and you’re still abed! Call yourselves tironii? You’ll never make munifex at this rate! Get your sorry behinds off the mattresses or you’ll find yourselves parked on the floor! MOVE!”
Grumbling, moaning, and groaning greeted me, but the bodies still rolled out from under their thin covers. Sleep still in their eyes, the tironii stumbled to their feet and shuffled to stand at attention at the foot of each cot. It was the third day of recruit training and they were beginning to get a clue.
I blinked at the sudden memory, swallowing the sudden knot in my throat. What in Oblivion, I’m getting misty-eyed over those years I spent in the Ninth Cohort? Why now? I knew why. The sight of the young men and women gathered around the common table, laying on their cots reading, writing letters, or sleeping, had woken those long-buried memories.
One of the men turned from his meal at the common table at my entrance. I recognized Frederick at the same time he recognized me. “Julian!” he exclaimed. “How are you feeling?” He rose from the table and extended his sword hand to me in greeting. I took his hand in mine, hiding the wince at the strength in his grip. He frowned at the limp in my step. “Marz couldn’t fix that?”
“She fixed everything else,” I answered. “I’m grateful for that, because just wearing the leathers was getting unbearable with the constant rubbing.”
He tapped his quilted linen tunic. “Then you need to wear one of these underneath,” he said. I shook my head.
“The leathers are lined,” I informed him. “They are very comfortable, when my skin isn’t burned.” I shrugged. “Besides, Marz ran out of Magicka before she could heal my knee. She wants to try again in the morning.”
“Ran out of Magicka?” Frederick exclaimed. “Those are some serious injuries, Julian, you never told me.”
“What was there to tell?” I responded. “I’d love to chat more with you,” I continued, growing aware of the increasing interest emanating from the other guards. “But I’m actually here to see Captain Lerus.”
“This way,” Frederick said, leading me to a door in the back wall. “I take it you met her already?” When I nodded, he slid a sidelong glance at me. “Sorry, I had to report your arrival to the Captain. But I waited until you came back from that Gate, like I promised.”
“I understand,” I assured him. I would have expected no less, as pilus prior of a cohort, from one of my subordinates. “Captain Lerus is your superior, not I.”
Frederick rapped his knuckles on the wooden panel. “Captain, it’s Julian of Anvil to see you.”
I heard Lerus’s voice call “Enter.” Frederick turned the latch and opened the door for me, his face now serious, but his dark eyes glinted at me in good humor.
I stepped through into a small room. Lerus, seated at her desk, turned her chair around to look at me. She waved me to a nearby chair, placed against the wall beside the desk. “I’m glad you kept your word,” she said quietly, her voice and eyes just as cold as always. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I just sat quietly in the indicated seat, my healed hands in my lap, my back straight.
Lerus turned back to the parchment on her desk. She riffled them, then wrote some notes on a piece and set it aside. Putting her quill down, she leaned back and looked at me. “Frederick says you’ve changed,” she said finally. “For the better, he insists.”
“It’s hard to believe, ma’am,” I spoke to her skepticism, which was palpable in her tone. As I waited for her response, I looked around the small room. It was as lean and spare as the woman, with a narrow cot against the opposite corner, a battered chest at its foot, a cupboard beside the door, and the desk overflowing with parchment sheets. My gaze moved back to Lerus, who was still watching me with cold green eyes.
“I checked out the gear you left with Daenlin,” she said after a moment. “You took quite a beating, judging by that shield, but you gave as good as you got, according to Daenlin. He claims your katana was just as beat up. He’s pretty impressed that you’re still walking after all of that.”
“Barely,” with a shake my head, I held Lerus’s gaze, speaking as soldier to soldier. “The Deadlands is a hostile place, ma’am, the enemies very dangerous.”
“So, tell me about it,” Lerus ordered, a Legion officer expecting a report from one of her legionaries. With a deep breath, I complied. I watched her green eyes as I described the heat and fire of the Deadlands, the lava sea surrounding the rocky island, the detour I had to take to find a way to open the great war gates before the sigil keep. Her eyes tightened when I told her about the mines, the fire turrets, the claw traps within the keep. Her lips thinned while I talked about the different varieties of daedra, their different modes of attack, their strengths and weaknesses as I knew them.
She rose and started pacing as I described the sigil keep, with the sigil stone at the top, related how taking the stone out of its pillar of fire brought me back to where I started, in the ruins of the old Fort.
I fell silent, my throat dry with all the talking, my vision full again of fire and blood. I blinked, swallowed, and looked at Lerus, to see her standing, watching me with an intent gaze in her green eyes. After a moment, she went to the door and called for two tumblers and a pitcher of water. She glanced back at me.
“Have you eaten yet, Julian?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am, before I came here,” I answered. She took the pewter tumblers in one hand and the pitcher in the other from the off-duty guard that brought them, thanking the younger woman with a swift glance, and nudged the door closed with her foot. She returned to the desk, setting the tumblers down between us and filling them from the pitcher. Back in her seat, she handed one of the glasses to me, and sipped from the other.
Gratefully, I took a couple of swallows of the cool, fresh water. “Thank you, ma’am,” I said.
Lerus picked up one of the parchment sheets, slipping it out from under the top sheets. She looked it over, then met my gaze.
“The last time you were here,” she said, her tone ruthless, “you were in a very bad way, and took an even worse turn. You may not remember it, but we’ve met before.”
“I do remember, ma’am,” I set the pewter tumbler down carefully near the edge of the desk, sour bile rising in my throat. “I’m not proud of it.”
“You’re not supposed to be,” Lerus agreed. “You were pilus prior once. What happened?”
I inhaled sharply against the old memories. Suddenly I knew what Lerus held in her hand. Unclenching my jaw, I shook my head. “If you have my Legion record there, ma’am,” I nodded at the parchment in her hand, “you know the circumstances of my discharge.”
“Just the bare bones of it,” she answered. “I want to hear it from you.”
“My cohort was involved in clearing Goblins from an area in Skyrim,” I said after a moment to settle my nerves. “I was badly injured in the skirmish, and my optio pulled me out. I don’t remember much of it, ma’am -” only blood, pain, and betrayal, “- but the surgeons were drained dry. One of their discens tried to heal my wounds, but botched it badly. My knee never healed right, and the one in my left side festered.” I shook my head. “I was deemed unfit for further service and discharged out of the Sixth four years ago.”
“Then what?” Lerus prompted me when I stopped. “How did you get from there to here?”
“Sailed back to Anvil, ma’am,” I answered, looking down at my hands. “But the pain was so bad, I was drinking by then to numb it. I didn’t stay in Anvil, but started walking on the Gold Road. Stopped at a couple of inns along the road, found nothing but pain there, came to Skingrad, found more pain there, then came here -”
“And you found skooma,” Lerus stated flatly. “Am I right?” I only nodded. Lerus sighed and placed the parchment on the desk, the paper rustling slightly. “I’ve seen enough people become addicted to the stuff to know what happens afterwards. People in that situation usually die - eventually.” I raised my gaze to see her own watching me, her eyes much less cold than before. “So what happened?”
I looked away, afraid to see pity in the Captain’s expression. Somehow her distaste and contempt had been easier to bear. “I did come pretty close to dying, ma’am,” I admitted. “If not for Legion riders who came to my aid numerous times, I would have.” My right hand started massaging my throbbing knee, trying to rub the pain away. I didn’t want to share my final moments with the Emperor with this woman, or with anyone else. It still hurts so much to think of him.
“And what are you doing here now, Julian?” Lerus asked after a few moments. I met her gaze, glad to return to the present.
“I’ve joined the Mages Guild, ma’am,” I answered, “and I’m in the process of obtaining recommendations from the different Guild chapters. I’d like to enter the Arcane University and study Restoration and Alchemy.” I watched the finely arched brows climb up Lerus’s forehead.
“The Mages Guild?” she repeated, incredulous. “That’s a far cry from the Legion.”
“We had battlemages in the Legion, ma’am,” I responded quietly. “I got to see what they are capable of. One of them saved my life, in Skyrim.” I shrugged. “And my mother was an alchemist, though she wasn’t part of the Guild.” I tapped my knee for emphasis. “Now that I’ve remembered the healing spell she taught me, and visited a couple of competent healers, I’m starting to wonder if I could hope to be free of pain again.”
“It was the pain that drove you to drink and skooma, wasn’t it?” Lerus asked me. I nodded.
“And I’m afraid I may go back to it if the pain becomes unbearable again, ma’am.” I shook my head. “I really don’t want to relapse, and I’m told that once an addict, always an addict.”
“Then you don’t want to stay here in Bravil,” Lerus returned, her voice becoming cold again. I understood her warning.
“I have a couple of things to do here first, ma’am,” I replied. “Ursanne Loche has asked me to help find her husband Aleron, and I have to find Varon Vamori for Kud-Ei.” I met her gaze steadily. “Any help you can give me in those two tasks would be greatly appreciated, ma’am.”
Lerus had scowled at the mention of the Loches. “Yes, Ursanne came to me this morning when Aleron hadn’t returned all night. I spoke to Kurdan gro-Dragol, but he denies knowing anything about Aleron.”
“If he is the sort I suspect he is, ma’am,” I spoke carefully, “he may not want to assist the City Watch in uncovering any illicit activity he may be engaged in.”
Lerus regarded me steadily for several moments, her eyes turning from ice to fire. “Exactly what I thought at the time,” she said. “If you get any useful information from him, I hope you’ll share it with me.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will,” I answered. Lerus rose to her feet and moved to the door, opening it and looking back at me. Her dismissal was clear.
“Varon Vamori is usually at Silverhome on the Water, this hour of the night.” Lerus said quietly as I passed her, out into the common room. I looked back at her.
“Thanks, ma’am,” I responded. “Good night.”
“Good night, Julian,” she answered, closing the door behind me.
This was great! Julian confirmed and richened her past for us. The meeting with Viera Lerus was superbly done and did credit to both women.
Wonderful flashback of Julian's time as a drill instructor! I love every one of these little windows into Julian's past that you grace us with.
I am not sure what to make of Viera Lerus. She seems like a real hardcase. I was hoping for Julian to tell her to get stuffed when she got pushy about her service record! Of course Julian is much too good a soldier to mouth off to an authority figure. Still it would have been nice to see Julian just stand up and walk out. Obviously Julian has a bad past in Bravil. But actions talk, and b.s. walks, and Julian doing the Bravil Guard's job by closing the gate speaks volumes about both.
I am not sure if it is a nit, but the Lerus you presented does not square with the leader of a city guard that does nothing but sit on its rear end while a stranger in town has to do all the work of actually protecting the citizens. I think you are trying to present the Bravil Guard as better than that, but I am a bottom line kind of girl. The bottom line is that it was Julian who actually did something and shut the gate, not them. Likewise, I suspect it will be Julian who does something about Aleron Loche, not them. If I were the Count, I would fire the lot of them and hire Julian. But of course we know that the Count is where all Bravil's problems start from.
At least you did show us that Lerus went through the motions of talking to Kurdan. But if she really does suspect him (and who would not?) why didn't she haul him to the dungeons and get serious about getting some answers? Obviously we have not seen all there is to this yet. Perhaps she has someone doing undercover work to get to the bottom of it? Or maybe she is going gentle because Kurdan is paying off the Count? Or maybe Kurdan has some dirt on her? Or maybe when it comes down it she really just does not give a damn? (which appears to be the case in the game)
I know I sound critical, and I am not trying to lambaste you. But it is accurate, and one of the biggest faults of the game. You are just following along with what the game presents you with, so I am not faulting your writing. It is more that I am faulting Bethesda for not really thinking through on its setting. I do not think you want to present Lerus and the Bravil Guard as being either incompetent or corrupt, but to portray them otherwise and have it all be believable is a Herculean task. How can you explain why they ignore the skooma den? If they really were dedicated to upholding justice, they would shut it down and throw the lot of its denizens in jail, starting with the Count's son. Of course the next day the den would be open again and all of them free, while the city guard would be looking for new jobs, or perhaps floating face-down in the Niben...
I live in one of the suburbs of Detroit, and the Detroit PD are exactly like what you see in Bravil. I have an ex who lives there, and I worked there for years, so I know the city. The only way to get the police to your house is to say there were gunshots fired. Otherwise the police will never come. That is not an exaggeration, people have to lie to get the police to come in an emergency. The sad truth is that the honest people of Detroit are at best scornful of the police, and see them not as a protector, but as an enemy. Everyone loves to see them with egg on their face. The reasons they are so bad are several. First due to budget problems they are incredibly understaffed and underpaid. The leadership is a disaster, not only from incompetence, but especially corruption. All of that filters down to a force that cannot keep up with the amount of crimes in the neighborhoods it has to patrol, is never thanked or appreciated by the public, and has no motivation to do their jobs. It is no surprise they spend their time playing baseball or at the casinos when they are supposed to be on their shifts (no exaggeration, the DPD has been caught doing both).
Authority is the only thing of permanence in Bravil. The idea that the castle and the chapel are the only stone buildings is something that never really occurred to me until reading this chapter. I think it speaks volumes about the town, and the priorities of the citizenry.
@Acadian: I always like Lerus, especially how she greets me on the roadside after the Battle for Bruma (‘Hail, daedra-slayer!’). Thanks for your catch on the Gold Road. Sometimes I have a hard time remembering which is which!
@SubRosa: Your assessment of Lerus as a real hardcase is pretty much spot on. Your peeve about the city guard that does nothing is an accurate criticism. We’ll see why Lerus and the guard did nothing about the gate later on in the MQ. Your description of the Detroit PD isn’t all that different from Chicago! Some things never change, do they? I always felt the character of Lerus as presented by the devs just didn’t jive with the seedy climate of Bravil and the dissolute personality that is Count Terentius.
@Destri: I see you are looking forward to Julian meeting Kurdan and rescuing Aleron! But first, Varon Vamori . . .
Julian is tortured by bad poetry - bad in her estimation, that is. Others may disagree.
*********
Chapter 13.4 Poetry Night
Within Silverhome on the Water, I was met by a Khajiit. “Drro’shanji grreets you. His worrk is the Castle grrounds, grrand garrdens grreen.”
“They smelled beautiful,” I answered. “I’ll have to go back and see them sometime.”
“If you do,” Dro’shanji purred, his fangs baring in a toothy grin, “ask forr Drro’shanji, and he will show you arround.”
“I’d love it, sir,” I smiled at him. “I’ll remember that.”
In the common room, set back from the entrance, a dour Altmer stood behind the bar, and a soused Orsimer waved a clay tankard in his hand. The big green mer greeted me first.
“I am Brrokil grro-Shakurr,” he growled, his words heavily slurred. “Lorrd High Warrden of th’ Tapsh. Gilgondorrin’sh most prized customer. I taste ev’rything. Overr and overr. And overr agin . . .” His voice faded off.
“I didn’t know Bravil had such a position open,” I commented, trying not to flinch at the odor of his heavy breathing.
“It ish a terrible rreshponsibility, bein’ Brravil’s Firrst Citizen of th’ Ale Tub,” gro-Shakur slurred. “But I sufferr under th’ burden like a Surre-Grreen Orrc.” He belched loudly.
“What would Bravil do without you?” I smiled against the fumes. “But I’m looking for a Varon Vamori, do you know him?”
“Shertainly!” gro-Shakur exclaimed, pointing at a slender Dunmer seated in the corner, a modest dinner spread before him. “There iss yer frien’ Vamor’.”
“Thanks, sir,” I said to the drunken Orsimer. Limping over to the table, I caught Vamori’s gaze.
“Hail, friend!” he looked up at me. “What can I do for you?”
I pointed at the chair opposite him with a question in my eyes. He nodded vigorously, waving for me to sit. “I just arrived in Bravil today,” I began.
Vamori stopped me, hand held up, palm outwards. Assuming a dramatic expression, he took a deep breath. “Old, worn, and wicked,” he intoned. “Wet, wounded and wild. Empty as the eastern horizon, dusk on the Niben. Solemn and bitter as the grave.”
I sat back, trying to make sense of his words. Kud-Ei did say he had a way with words, but this - Oh! It’s supposed to be poetry! I found poetry overflowing at best, incomprehensible more often than not. “Very interesting interpretation of the town, sir,” I said finally.
Vamori smiled boyishly at me. “Thanks!” he exclaimed. “I love poetry, and I can see you do, too!”
Inwardly, I groaned to myself. I hated poetry. Still, I needed to talk to this - this foolish young Dunmer. I needed to get Ardaline’s Staff back. “I get to listen to it little enough,” I said finally. “Do you have any interesting news?”
“Oh, I’ve sighted the Forlorn Watchman again,” Vamori said, his voice returning to its normal timbre. I stifled a sigh of relief. “Every time I see that ghost, it gives me the creeps.”
“Ghost?” I repeated. “The Forlorn Watchman is a ghost?”
“Yes,” Vamori nodded emphatically. “No one knows who he is, but we see him all the time.” He jerked his chin at the dour Altmer. “Ask Gilgondorin about him.”
“All right.” Looking over my shoulder at Gilgondorin, I decided to do so - later. I remembered hearing snatches of conversation about him during my last visit, when I was too inebriated to care. Turning back to Vamori, I decided to try and get to the point of my conversation. “I came to Bravil today because I just joined the Mages Guild, and I’m working on getting my recommendations from all the chapter heads.”
Vamori looked me up and down, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. “Kind of old to start learning, no?” he commented, his expression guileless. I decided he meant no offense.
I shrugged. “After half a lifetime in the Legion,” I answered, “I figured it was time for something new.” I sat back in my chair. “I’m still getting acquainted with all the Mages here. I liked the Alchemist, what was her name, Ardaline?” I saw Vamori’s face change subtly at the mention of her name. Yes, he has a crush on her. A bad one, judging from his reaction.
“She’s nice,” he admitted grudgingly, his gaze turning down to his dinner. “Pretty.”
“Yes,” I agreed, though I hadn’t yet met her. Or was she one of the younger mages at the dinner table tonight? “But she seems so shy,” I continued. “I could barely get a word from her.” I was rewarded with a flash from his ruby eyes. “I’m told you have a way with words, maybe you could help me?” His mouth stopped its chewing motions as he stared at me.
“I - I think you’re talking to the wrong person,” he stammered finally. I leaned forward.
“Do you like her?” I asked him point-blank. “Seems to this old soldier that you have some feelings for her.” His face went ashen, as only Dunmer skin could.
“I - I- “ he began, his expression turning miserable. “I - I don’t know what to say!” he blurted finally. “All I want is for her to care about me the way that I care about her!” He took a deep draught from the wine glass at his elbow. Reaching for the wine flagon, I topped off the glass without a word. “I try, and try,” he continued, misery clear in his face, “but I can’t succeed. It makes me furious that I can’t get anywhere with her!”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You haven’t hurt her, have you?” I could hear the frost in my tone. Vamori grew alarmed at my question, shook his head violently.
“No! No, I’ve never laid a hand on her!” he held up his own, palms open towards me in a placating gesture. “Either in anger or . . .” He swallowed. “I’ve never hurt her, understood?”
I decided to go for the point. “But you stole her Mages’ Staff from her, didn’t you?”
His face grew positively pale. “All right, all right, I admit it!” he leaned back defensively. “I took it from her. I just wanted her to talk to me! I was so angry when she wouldn’t!” He stopped, but I cocked my head at him, as I used to do with my recruits when they were trying to explain their unacceptable behavior. “I was a little ashamed afterwards,” Vamori’s voice dropped to a whisper, as he hung his head, wilting under my steady gaze. “But I didn’t know how to give it back, or apologize.”
“You didn’t know how to apologize?” I repeated, putting more than a little skepticism in my low tone. “You, the man of the silver tongue?” He shook his head, and I could see he was feeling thoroughly miserable. “All right, where is the Staff?”
“I - I - sold it to a friend of mine, Soris Arenim.” Vamori continued to avoid my eyes as I sat back in my chair.
“You sold Ardaline’s Staff?” My voice had dropped even further, and I could feel the familiar coldness in it, the coldness I used when chastising recalcitrant tironii, so long ago. Vamori looked like he wanted to drop through the floor. Careful, he’s no recruit. You’re scaring him. Badly. With a sigh, I forced my voice to warm a little. “All right, Vamori, where is this Soris Arenim?”
“He lives in the Talos Plaza District in the Imperial City,” Vamori’s voice was very, very small now. He looked up at me. “Believe me, if I still had it, I’d gladly give it back! You’ve got to believe me!”
“What did you do with the money Arenim paid you?” Again, I heard the chill creep back into my voice.
“Spent it,” he answered. With a tilt of my head at Vamori, I lifted my right eyebrow. “Some of it,” he added hastily. His hands fumbled at his belt, and he drew his purse out and placed it on the table between us.
“How much is left?” my gaze on the small leather pouch, I asked Vamori.
He shrugged. “About half -?”
Taking the purse, I opened it and counted out the septims. Two hundred and fifty. If I’m to believe this s’wit, he sold Ardaline’s Staff for five hundred septims! I left fifty on the table and took the rest.
“I’ll go get that Staff back,” I said, rising to my feet. “In the meantime, you need to apologize to Ardaline. I’m not returning it until you do so.” Vamori looked down again. I hardened my voice again. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do!” he returned smartly, his face flushing a dusky purple.
I did a quick mental calculation. “You’ve got a week to apologize,” I finished. “That should give you enough time to think up some silver words or maybe a poem.” Though if Ardaline is really that shy, she would be painfully embarrassed! Ah well, like Kud-Ei said, she needs to get over it.
This was very fun. I enjoyed your interpretation of Khajiit and drunken Orsimer.
Brrokil was lots of fun. I always did like him. Baron Vamori on the other hand is proof that not only male Bosmer are annoying. I always feel like punching his lights out. The awful poetry only makes it worse. Frost, Whitman, Dickinson, they would all roll over in their graves at his dribble (which is to say, I like poetry. Good poetry at least.)
Edit, since Destri started it, I think Julian would perhaps appreciate this one by Robert Frost:
Nope I'm with Julian, I've read a fair bit of poetry and I find it varies from pointless to nausiating. Though Vamori's takes it towards the pathetic end of the spectrum.
Good couple of parts (I didn't comment last time because I hadn't really got anything constructive to say and don't get much time to read and write just now). Vamori is exactly as in game though Julian shuld have done something terrible to him. The conversation was well scripted and flowed well though, Julian has more of a gift for speachcraft than she knows.
I have to line up with Sage ‘Rosa. Most poetry can quickly make the eyeballs bleed, but good poetry makes slogging through the bad worth it. I will stop what I’m doing to read The Eve of St. Agnes:
I've just started reading your story, and by that, I mean that I just finished Chapter 1.1b Escape. Here I thought that Melarg's story would take a bit to catch up with, but this one's going to take even longer. Of course, I won't mind since your story is so engaging.
One part that I particularly like is the flashback to Julian's accident. I love how you describe the use of a healing spell through both the mother's words and Julian's recollection. I've read books where the description of magic felt bland and incredibly impersonal. Sometimes writers make it sound almost too academic, like it's merely A+B=C and some concentration. Needless to say, I find your approach much more interesting and preferable. It was also a nice touch to let the reader see into Julian's past. The tender memory clashed so beautifully with the rough surroundings.
Alright. It's onto the next chapter now.
@All: my personal taste in poetry runs more to song lyrics and dirty limericks, but here’s one of my favorites:
The Tyger
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire in thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art?
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand, and what dread feet?
What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb, make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
--William Blake
@Acadian: Thanks! I was focused on bringing up more of Julian’s past as a DI during the Bravil chapters. Dealing with self-absorbed youngsters is something she has a great deal of experience in. The Watchman has waited a long time, he can wait a little while more, methinks.
@SubRosa: I remember that Frost poem - it is probably the most famous one of his (or was it ‘through the woods to Grandma’s we go’?). I love this one because of the time of day (night), the season (winter), and the little horse. Snowfall at night is something special. Even more so when you're on horseback.
@Olen: you know, when I talk to Vamori, no matter what character I’m playing, I’ve never needed the charm scrolls that Kud-Ei gives me. I think the devs make this quest a little easier than it needs to be. Or maybe it’s because I play with the slider a little bit over to the left . . .
@Destri: I don’t recall the poem you quoted. Depressing, but well done! Don’t worry, Julian does go ‘hard-case’ on the girls when they need it. And yes, an orc in russet felt just looks - odd.
@Nonsense: Welcome! I’m glad you decided to dive into this story! I hope you find this as enjoyable to read as I am finding yours!
Julian discovers an unexpected side to a certain Altmer mage. This is another instance where an NPC just took over my keyboard and caught me completely off guard.
****************
13.5 Spiced Cider
The double moons floated overhead in the clearing sky. It’s getting late. I’ll go to bed, see Marz after breakfast in the morning. Pick up my gear from Daenlin. Go see this gro-Dragol about Aleron. The slog through the cold, slick mud back to the Mages Guild left me feeling tired again.
Back in the Guild, I encountered Carandial heading to the front door, ready to lock it for the night. “Hello, Julian,” he greeted me as I stomped the mud off of my shoes. “Leave them here to dry,” he suggested, closing the door behind me. “The mud will just break off in the morning.”
As I leaned against the half-wall, I struggled to get my right foot high enough to remove my shoe, but my knee protested the deep bend in the joint. With a stifled groan, I lowered my foot to the floor. Carandial startled me when he knelt before me and, steadying me with his left hand on my thigh, slipped the muddy shoe off with his right hand. I caught my breath at the tall Altmer on one knee in front of me, like a knight before his lady. I could feel the blush coming up in my cheeks at the errant thought.
Carandial caught my expression and smiled, the crookedness of his mouth charming in its coy gallantry. “Forgive me for startling you, ma’am,” he said quietly, easing my right foot back to the floor. He gestured for me to raise my left foot so he could repeat his action with the opposite shoe. Carefully I eased my weight onto my right foot, still speechless at this courtesy so unaccustomed for me.
“I - I -” I stammered as he removed my left shoe and placed it gently on the floor next to its mate. Carandial rose to his full height, a white glow appearing in his cupped, mud-streaked palms. As the glow dissipated, so did the sludge. I looked at his spotless hands, then at the shoes.
“Sorry, I haven’t yet figured how to cast the refresh spell onto dirty targets,” he read my mind, amusement in his voice. “If I did, you’d be wearing clean shoes before you even stepped in the door!”
“Well,” I caught my breath again. “Forgive me, I’m not used to this kind of treatment from an Altmer.” Or from any man, really.
Carandial’s crooked smile widened as he stepped back from me, giving me a little space to breathe. “Kud-Ei expects all of us male mages to treat every woman with courtesy,” he explained. As I considered his words, my mind went to Aren. Carandial bowed gracefully to me, waving his arm in an elegant gesture. “Would milady care to join me for a cup of spiced cider before bed?” His twinkling dark eyes became serious. “Kud-Ei has filled me on your past visit, ma’am,” he added, “the spiced cider I speak of is non-alcoholic.”
With a push of my shoulder off the wall, I looked up at Carandial. “I’d be pleased to join you for a cup,” I found myself saying. “But I must be off to bed soon.”
“Of course,” Carandial led me to the comfortable sitting area off the dining room. A steaming flagon, a pewter cup next to it, sat waiting on the small table between two comfortable chairs. The Altmer held up a finger at me and disappeared into the dining room. I took the moment’s reprieve to sit down and sniff at the flagon. Wonderful aromas assailed my nose - apples, cinnamon, cloves. Lots of cloves.
Carandial soon returned with a second pewter cup. Setting it next to me, he poured the spiced cider into both cups before sitting in the other chair. He picked up both cups, and handed one to me. My chilled fingers cradled the pewter, heated by the cider, and I inhaled deeply of the spices.
“I love cloves,” Carandial commented as I took my first sip. “Such a versatile spice,” he continued after doing the same with the cup in his long fingers. “It brings a wonderful body to sweet delicacies, decreases the unpleasant acidity of tart fruits without taking away their tang, and adds an amazing depth to savory dishes, especially smoked meats.” His eyes twinkled at me again. “It is a very strong spice, to be partaken sparingly.”
“Hmm, it is wonderful,” I murmured into the steam wafting up from my cup. “Reminds me of the Gold Coast - warm, dry, sunny -” my voice trailed off into a sudden wave of homesickness. My eyes closed, I put the painful memories away. Home isn’t there anymore, I reminded myself. After another sip at the cider, I opened my eyes to see Carandial regarding me over the rim of his own mug.
“I hope you weren’t offended by Fathis Aren’s behavior at dinner,” he commented, his dark eyes somber. “He is not officially part of this chapter, so he does not come under Kud-Ei’s authority, but rather answers directly to Raminus Polus at the Arcane University.”
That explains why he was allowed to get away with his behavior, where Carandial is careful to obey Kud-Ei. Or is that just Carandial’s nature, to be kind and courteous? Somehow I found myself hoping the latter was the truth. “He did catch me a little off guard,” I admitted. “Is it because I’m new to the Guild? Because I’m a Redguard? Or -” I clenched my jaw at the unwelcome thought, “- because of my age?”
“All of these things, a little bit, yes,” Carandial admitted. He looked down at the pewter cup in his hands. “But mostly because you’re a woman. Fathis Aren is not - kind - to women, even Kud-Ei.” I glanced sharply at Carandial. Some of Aren’s words started to make sense to me. “If you’ve closed two Oblivion Gates, they must not be so difficult a challenge to face.” I remembered the contempt in his voice and eyes clearly. I set my cup carefully down on the table and leaned back in the comfortable chair, my left elbow on its arm and my chin in my palm.
“How do you mean, not kind to women?” I asked Carandial. He looked away, clearly uncomfortable with my direct question.
“He considers women weak,” he said finally. “Not just physically, but in magical power, heart and soul, and morally.”
“So I’m a second-class citizen to him?” Not about to let Carandial off the hook, I pressed him to elaborate further.
“Worse,” the Altmer met my gaze unhappily. “Women are a bare step on the social ladder above Orcs and the beast-races, who are meant to be slaves.”
“I see.” As I considered the prevalence of Khajiit and Argonians here in Bravil, I reflected a moment on the irony of Aren’s posting here. “Ironic, then, isn’t it,” I remarked, keeping my tone neutral. “Aren’s stuck with a town full of beings that should be slaves, not free citizens.”
Carandial’s black eyes flashed at me, then he laughed. “To be honest, I thought you handled him rather well at dinner tonight,” he commented. “For a moment, I thought you were going to whip out your sword and slice his throat.”
“You did?” I was honestly surprised. “Even though I wore no weapons?”
“I watched you go into that Gate with your katana drawn,” he admitted. “The way you looked then, you were afraid of nothing!” Again that charming crooked smile. “But then, I’m young, I know nothing of combat!”
I felt my eyes narrowing at the Altmer again. Just how young is he? I wondered. Altmer lived long lives, longer than men. His face was hard to age, though. “Just how young are you?” I asked him.
That crooked smile widened further. “Ninety-eight years,” he answered. “Sixty-three of them here in the Bravil chapter.”
Mentally grappling with the idea that this ‘young’ mage was fifty years older than me, I regarded him thoughtfully. “Will you teach me that spell that cleans your hands, then?” I wonder if it will work on blood as well as mud.
“Well, if you don’t have much Magicka,” Carandial mused thoughtfully, “you might find yourself depleted using this spell. I wouldn’t recommend doing so in the middle of combat, ma’am.”
“Well, if it gives you any idea, I can cast a small healing spell on myself four times in a row before I run out,” I said. With a shrug, I looked down at my hands. “Maybe if I keep practicing. Someone told me that if I do so, my Magicka will grow.”
“Yes, it will, up to a point,” Carandial agreed. “And there are enchanted items that can amplify your Magicka and reduce the cost of casting spells.” He drained his cup, and I realized that mine was empty. The Altmer rose to his feet. “Do you want more spiced cider, ma’am?”
I met his gaze and shook my head. “It’s getting late, and I’d best be off to bed now,” I told him. “But thanks for the company, it was nice sharing a cup with you, sir.”
Carandial smiled crookedly. “It was my pleasure,” he responded. “I am glad you came back when you did. Will you lock the door after me, please? I live across from the Warlock’s Luck.”
Below the skooma den. I nodded. Carandial held his hand out to me. Again startled by his unexpected courtesy, I took his hand and let him help me up out of the chair. He must be doing this because I’m so old and creaky. I followed him to the front door, waiting as he unlocked the weathered panel.
“Good night, Julian of Anvil,” Carandial nodded at me as he stepped outside.
“Good night, Carandial of Bravil,” I answered, smiling in response to his crooked grin. He turned and stepped off into the night, and I closed the door quietly behind him, making sure to throw the deadbolt.
I'm glad you shared with us a character that struck your fancy. It is such fun to develop an NPC that 'sings' to you or your character.
A wonderful interlude and some insight into Fathis.
As Carandial magically cleaned his hands, I wondered why he didn't just clean Julian's shoes. A millisecond later you answered my question. Brilliant!
I suspect we will be seeing Carandial again if only because he clearly leapt out of the screen and wrote himself in and such characters are fun and let you concentrate on other things, like gently revealing a bit more about Julian and showing her own fustration at being female (or more correctly at being treated differently because of it) which has appeared before but never so clearly.
I also suspect that he will not be whatever love interest appears in spite of his flirtations. His waxing lyrical on the joys of cloves was unexpected but most amusing, personally however I prefer my cider fermented. Otherwise it's just apple juice.
I must say that Carandial was a treat. A true gentleman in spirit and behaviour. If Varon Vamori had been taking lessons from him, he might have gotten somewhere with Ardaline. Well, maybe not, but he certainly would not have come off like such an english ship.
Home isn’t there anymore,
Another tantalizing hint at Julian's past. More!
“Ninety-eight years,” he answered. “Sixty-three of them here in the Bravil chapter.”
A mere stripling!
Seriously, I love how you put emphasis the very real differences between the life-spans of the various races.
Your ability to describe events, people, and locales is exceeded only by your skill at making them compelling and real. Julian is so fully-drawn that my knee aches in sympathy, and I cheer her every small triumph.
I am reading everything from the beginning (with great pleasure) and will comment on more specific moments as I get caught up on the new material. For now, it is like enjoying a long talk with an old friend.
Still reading the earlier material, and I again find myself amazed by your skill in describing the refugee camp and its inhabitants. The bonding with Paint is also a treat, adding a new central character to the story and also giving us insight into Julian’s personality.
Your introduction of Savlian is outstanding, painting a deeply textured word picture of a man strained beyond the limit- and refusing to give in. That strength and sense of duty resonates with Julian, of course. And we see her respond to the implicit challenge in the only way she can.
The hard choice of leaving Menien Goneld is a wrenching moment, one of the worst in the game. I want so badly to save him….
The scene with the dremora does so many things at once- it shows us a bit of Julian’s history, giving a context for her knowledge of alchemy; it shows us her willingness to get the job done; and it showcases your brilliant descriptive writing.
I still love the scene with Batul, and the fact that clever Haute allows the heroes of Kvatch a chance to rest before clearing the ruins. While I appreciate the fact that the game does not force the player to rest (which would be annoying), your take on things is much more realistic.
As before, the camp scene just sings- in a quiet, restful way.
The battle for Kvatch is as exciting as ever. As many times as I have played it, I still feel overwhelmed by the devastation and the threats that come from everywhere. And you depict that perfectly.
Your description of how Julian obtains her “Kvatch wolf” provides a lot more emotional depth than the in-game version, where Savlian just happens to have a spare lying around.
And I have commented before on you much more realistic treatment of Martin. He is a priest, not a warrior monk- so why should he insist on joining the fighting, rather than care for his parishioners? And if he did, I imagine Julian would smack him down in a hurry! (Although the fact that he is “unkillable” at this point in the game makes him handy to have around….)
Echoing others, the scene around the camp-fire, especially Julian’s inspiring discussion of the difference between soldiers and heroes, is one of my favorites.
The scene with Julian telling Martin who he really is was one of your best- filled with vivid description and emotion and silences in the right places.
@Destri: Have patience! Julian meets Kurdan for the first time in the segment after this one! I will give you a heads-up, though. This upcoming quest is probably the most grueling one I’ve written so far.
@Acadian: I think you have just right - Julian is so unused to being seen (and treated) as an attractive female that when Carandial is flirting so openly with her, she just can’t accept it at face value. And you’re welcome for the spiced cider!
@Olen: You’re right, Carandial is not Julian’s love interest, but he is still such a charmer, isn’t he? The spiced cider is out of respect for Julian’s present teetotaling status (which makes me regret never having the chance to vicariously enjoy Tamika’s).
@SubRosa: I’m very glad you enjoyed Carandial. I’m strongly partial to him because of his interest in Ayleid ruins. As you know, Julian will be making the Grand Circuit of Cyrodiil in upcoming chapters. When she reaches Anvil, brace yourself! Her past will really come out then.
@Treydoggie!: So good of you to drop in and visit! I’m glad you’re enjoying revisiting this story from the beginning. Julian has changed so much since those early chapters, I’m just awed by her progress. Do drop back in when you feel like commenting on something.
Julian takes care of a few odds and ends before heading off to be a hero again.
********************
Chapter 13.6 Another Bravil Morning
In the morning, my knee felt better after my usual healing spells, but it still hurt to walk on it. Slowly I made my way downstairs. Kud-Ei sat at the common table, with a couple of Mages I had not yet met.
“Good morning, Julian,” Kud-Ei greeted me. “I’d like you to meet Ardaline,” she pointed at the Altmer sitting across from her, “and Ita Rienuss,” she indicated the older Imperial seated next to the Argonian. “Come, join uss.”
“Thank you, I will,” I answered, sitting down next to Ardaline. Trying not to be obvious, I greeted the shy Altmer first. “Good morning, Ardaline. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“As am I, ma’am,” Ardaline ducked her head in reply. I could see her wide eyes, kind, innocent and shy. Thick blond hair cascaded down either side of her high-cheekboned face. Pretty enough.
“I’m interested in furthering my alchemy knowledge,” I recalled the strange plant in my pack. “Perhaps you could help me?”
“I’d like to,” she murmured, so quietly I had to lean towards her to hear her whisper.
Ita Rienus, the Imperial woman, smiled fondly at Ardaline. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Carandial,” she said to me. I raised my brows at her. The square-jawed woman only smiled wider at me, and again, I felt a heat rising in my cheeks. “He seems to think you’re the bravest person he ever saw.”
Spluttering on the tea, I shook my head. “That seems to be common among those who have never seen combat,” I muttered. Rienus laughed heartily. “Honestly, I was pretty scared the whole time I was in there,” I added.
“You can protest that as much as you like,” Rienus assured me, “but that won’t change Carandial’s opinion of you. You see, his aunt was a Battlemage in the Legion, and he wanted to become one like her.” She shook her head sadly. “Unfortunately he is better at alteration than he is at destruction.”
To my relief, Kud-Ei changed the conversation to more mundane topics, discussing the garden behind the Guild chapterhouse, where Ardaline apparently grew several ingredients for her alchemy. It didn’t take me long to finish my breakfast, but Ardaline and Rienus left the table before I did.
For a moment, it was only Kud-Ei and I left. She looked at me meaningfully.
“I spoke to Varon Vamori last night, ma’am,” I said quietly, looking into my tea. “He has sold the Staff to a person in the Imperial City, a man named Soris Arenim.”
Kud-Ei inhaled slowly, her breath hissing softly through clenched teeth. “That iss mosst unfortunate, indeed,” she growled softly. “You undersstand, we musst get that Sstaff back!”
I nodded. “I have an outstanding task that will take me south from here,” I explained. “But once it is completed, I will see this Soris Arenim and get the Staff back from him.”
Slowly Kud-Ei rose from the table. She left the dining room without a word. Aware of her anger, I remained in my chair, drinking the last of my tea slowly. I heard her moving around in another room, then she returned to me. A small sack clinked as it hit the table in front of me, and she met my gaze. “It iss all I have,” she said, her tone neutral again. “I trusst you will make it enough.”
“It will be,” I agreed, not bothering to count.
****************
Marz was happy to see me when I limped into the Chapel. “Good morning, Julian,” she greeted me. “I ssee you are not limping sso badly.”
“No, I’m not,” I agreed, taking the indicated pew. “But I can still use your skills, ma’am.” Again, I placed my hands into Marz’s long-fingered ones. This time, she clasped my hands gently as she closed her eyes. I could feel the healing warmth gathering in my right knee, as Marz concentrated on her spell. This time, she stopped just as her fingers started shaking. The pain in my knee decreased to a dull ache, not enough to slow me down, but just enough to remind me of the injury. As Marz released my hands, I smiled at her. “Oh, that was wonderful, Marz,” I said. “I wish I could do that.”
“Ah, but that iss why you joined the Magess Guild, iss it not?” Marz returned my smile. I nodded and rose to my feet, testing the strength in my knee. It felt sturdy enough, strong enough for me to walk into another Oblivion Gate. Honestly, though, I hoped I wouldn’t have to do that again for a while. “Now, Julian,” Marz continued, “be careful when fighting. Don’t brace yoursself on that leg. Fight off the other one, if you musst.”
“Yes, I will be careful,” I agreed with her assessment. While Marz had decreased the pain considerably, the old injury still remained, leaving my knee permanently weakened. Still, I could walk more than limp, which was a considerable improvement.
**********************
Daenlin greeted me with a cheerful “I’m so happy to see you I could burst!” His turn of phrase caused my step to falter.
“Don’t burst, please,” I smiled in response to his infectious mood. “I’d hate the thought of having to clean up the shop after you.”
Daenlin laughed heartily, and brought up my armor from beneath the counter. “Here you go, ma’am,” he said, still cheerful. “All ready for your use.” I held up the cuirass and inspected it. As he had said the scorch marks had buffed out well, and he had tightened up gra-Sharob’s handiwork. “Whoever did the custom work on this did an excellent job,” Daenlin commented.
“As did you,” I responded. Daenlin’s face brightened even more. “I’m happy with what you did with this,” looking at the greaves and boots, I noted that they were in the same condition - not quite brand spanking new, but still very solid. “And with these, too.”
Daenlin handed me my bow and a couple of new strings. “The old one you had on it was badly stretched,” he remarked. “I’ve thrown in a couple of extra ones, free of charge.”
“It must have been the heat,” I commented, taking the strings gratefully and tucking them into my belt purse. I tested the bow and found its spring restored. “This feels good,” I assured him.
Now Daenlin handed over the Kvatch Wolf. The shield was restored to its original shape, but the Wolf bore several scratches in the paint that nearly obscured its eyes. “Be careful with that,” he warned me. “It is starting to show signs of metal fatigue.” I glanced at him, alarmed. He nodded. “You may want to find a replacement for it soon.” My heart twinged at the thought of losing the Kvatch Wolf - it had saved my life on numerous occasions. “I’d recommend Stonewall Shields, in the Imperial City,” Daenlin said somberly. “They have an excellent selection of shields there.”
“All right, I’ll look into it the next time I’m there,” I agreed. “And my swords?”
“Well, Daedra Slayer just needed a buff and a quick wiping, but you may want to see Ita to have it recharged,” he commented. “You don’t want it running out of Magicka in the middle of a fight, now, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” I admitted. “And the katana?” After his comment about the Kvatch Wolf, I was concerned about the katana, which had taken as much a beating as the light iron shield.
“Ah, still good,” he handed me the sheathed blade. “No damage to the blade, just a few nicks that were easily smoothed out. You’ll find it just as well-balanced and keen as ever.”
He was right about the balance, I noted, weaving the blade through the Sunbird Dance I had learned from Jelin all those years ago. The katana felt light and musical in my hand, as it did the day I drew it out of the armory chest at Cloud Ruler Temple. I finished the movements with a sword-salute to Daenlin for his smithing work. “I’m impressed,” I told the delighted Bosmer. “That was a lot of work, and I appreciate it.”
“That was mighty fine blade-dancing,” he complimented me. “I’ve never seen anyone swing one quite like that.”
“It’s an old art,” I responded. “I was lucky that my pilus prior, back when I was a munifex, was a master in the Sunbird Bladework.” Sheathing the katana, I gave Daenlin a little bow of appreciation. “And your work is just as good. Thanks.”
“Will you be in Bravil much longer?” Daenlin asked me, nearly wistful. I shrugged.
“Ursanne Loche has asked me to speak to gro-Dragol about her husband.” Dismayed to see Daenlin’s smile disappear, I cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Be careful, Julian,” he said to me, his voice dark. “That man’s a bad one to cross.”
“I’ve already heard that about him,” I agreed. “I’ll be careful. ‘Til the next time, Daenlin.” I gathered my things and headed to the curtained alcove. I wanted to have my battle gear on before I went to see this gro-Dragol.
What a delightful morning in Bravil! You are bringing so many of the wonderful residents there to life.
It's wonderful to see the old warhorse's knee gradually continuing to improve.
Julian can't escape her 'hero' title it seems. And my goodness, she does have quite the list of tasks now. Seems like Kurdan is next. He is one scary orc - I'm with Daenlin, Julian; be careful!
Ah, a bit of foreshadowing on the 'Wolf of Kvatch' you told me about after my installment where Rales loses Wretched. Very nice having the smith warning her of metal fatigue
I hope it doesn't break up on her on the worst timing possible.
Poor Julian, people are calling her bad names - like hero - again!
Ahh, Ardaline. She is one of my favorite Altmer. I thought you did an excellent job of portraying her shyness. Her voice being so quiet that Julian could barely hear her was the perfect touch.
“Don’t burst, please,” I smiled in response to his infectious mood. “I’d hate the thought of having to clean up the shop after you.”
Julian made a joke?!? Well it is about time she stopped being such a stick in the mud and had some fun!
This chapter feels like the end of the calm before the next storm. I am glad to see that Julian’s knee isn’t going to be a greater hindrance than usual in the battles to come. I am glad that Daenlin was able to repair her katana, but I agree with Remko in that it feels like our time with the Kvatch Wolf is coming to an end. Given her returning strength and expertise, it may be time to upgrade to a heavier shield. Spellbreaker immediately comes to mind, but if Julian’s purse can bear it the Tower of the Nine may also suit her. Now, about some new armor . . .
Ah, the practicalities of fighting goblins and zombies. Yes, I'm still only at the beginning of your story, and I'm finding Julian's journey through the tunnels quite engaging. I prefer combat scenes that involve personal as well as practical inner dialogues, and yours delivered. I'd never thought about how nasty fighting a zombie would actually be, but...
Well I suspect we'll be meeting a certain orc in the very near future and then continue onto a very good quest...
Than... well you've certainly got the hooks in deep.
The note on the Kvatch Wolf and the dreaded metal fatigue is a good touch as per realism goes, I've always wondered how in game you can repair endlessly without annealing and not have problems. But what new shield to get, I imagine you have one in mind but I can't think what is down that end of Cyrodiil.
I am trying to catch up, Buffy, Destri, Hauti, and Remko - you all have posted so many chapters since I was last on here that it will take a while to catch up - just letting you know "I'm on it!" Lol.
@Acadian: Yes, Kurdan is scary, but Julian will meet worse. And yes, that knee will continue improving, until it completely gives way. Make sense? Wait until Chapter 15!
@Remko: Yes, Daelin’s comment about the Kvatch Wolf is foreshadowing! As for breaking up on her at the worst possible time, I’ll let you be the judge.
@SubRosa: I had a classmate who was horribly shy - I felt so bad for her when she had to stand up and speak in front of the class. Though we weren’t friends at that time, I wanted to jump up and take her place. And I hated public speaking too! As for jokes, funny that you should say that now.
@Destri: You’ll see what Julian decides to do when the Wolf finally dies on her . . .
@Nonsense: Ah, but on zombies, the flesh does turn moldy along with the standard bacterial putrefaction. Anatomy and necropsy (post-mortem on animals) are part of my education and profession, and I’ve worked on plenty of long-dead bodies to know! And certain molds are slimy and goopy, ranking right up there with pus for the gross factor.
@Olen: Your suspicions are correct!
@mALX: Welcome back, kitty! No need to comment until you feel like it!
Once again, Julian calls on her Legion experience to deal with a potential opponent.
**************
Chapter 13.7 Kurdan gro-Dragol
As I entered the Lonely Suitor Lodge, I approached the Orc behind the bar. Before I could address him, I heard a Summurset-accented voice shout, “For Lord Dagon!” Turning in time to deflect the falling mace with my shield, I stifled a groan and dashed for the door. I needed room to draw my katana, and inside, there were too many people.
The armored figure followed me out, but I had already drawn my sword and braced for her assault. Behind me, I heard one of the guards shouting something to me, but my attention was focused on the tall opponent in front of me. Again, the assassin swung at me with her mace, but I spun to my left, the mace flashing past my shoulder, and raised my shield to bring its edge down on the assassin’s right arm near the elbow. I felt bones cracking beneath the shield, and the woman, for the voice was female, screamed in pain.
She tried to raise the mace again, but her broken elbow was too painful. As she hunched to her right, I raised my katana and used the hilt to pound the back of her neck, just below the demonic helm. She fell to her knees with a sharp grunt, and I stepped back. Now I became aware of one of three guards shouting at me to step back, to let them finish the job.
The injured assassin collapsed as the guards swarmed her, and the armor dissolved into a red haze. After a few moments, they stepped back to reveal the Altmer securely bound and unconscious.
“Julian!” Frederick ran up to me. I realized he had been the one shouting at me. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
“Yes, I am,” I replied, looking down at the unconscious Altmer. “She was working for the Mythic Dawn,” I told Frederick. With a shake of my head, I sighed. “She wasn’t the first one to try and kill me.”
“The Mythic Dawn’s after you?” Frederick asked, frowning. “I know they assassinated the Emperor, but why are they after you?”
“Because I closed the Kvatch Gate, that’s why,” I answered. Actually, it’s because I destroyed their Shrine, killed several of their members. But the Kvatch Gate is as good as any other reason. “She was likely involved in that Gate outside the walls,” I told Frederick. His face changed from concern to horror. “Be careful, there may be more.” A glance at the Kvatch Wolf revealed minimal damage. “There was one in the Imperial City, two in Bruma.”
“Three other assassins!” Frederick exclaimed, pulling my attention back to him. I became aware of the other two guardsmen standing behind Frederick, their expressions equally horrified beneath their helms.
I nodded confirmation, meeting their gazes. “Their guards are very good, as are you all,” I encompassed the three with a quick look. “I’m in better shape today than I was then, and I’m tired of running from these -” I couldn’t think of a word to describe them.
“Traitors?” Frederick supplied. I nodded. “Well, I’ll be sure to tell Captain Lerus about it,” he finished. “Do be careful, Julian.”
I smiled at him. “Sure, I will. Thanks for being here for me.”
Frederick sketched a sloppy salute at me, then turned to the other two men. “All right, mates, let’s get this fetcher out of here!”
Back in the Lonely Suitor Lodge, I looked around warily, but no one made any hostile moves towards me. The innkeeper greeted me gruffly.
“Bogrum gro-Galash,” he introduced himself. “What in Oblivion happened there?”
Aware of the others’ rapt attention, I met the Orc’s dark gaze as levelly as I could. “That was a Mythic Dawn agent,” I answered. “She broke her cover when she recognized me.”
“Ranaline?” A slender woman came up behind the Orc, dark hair framing a pretty face. “But she’s harmless!” I looked at her as she glanced around the common room. “She’s always been a quiet one, kept to herself mostly. How could she fall in with such evil - characters?”
“Agh,” gro-Galash growled at her, “You know it’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch out for, Luciana.” He turned back to me. “So you’ve got the Mythic Dawn after you, eh?”
I shrugged. “I’m here looking for Kurdan gro-Dragol, actually,” I said.
“Oh, you want to borrow from him?” the woman gro-Galash had called Luciana chirped. I shook my head.
“No, I’m looking for someone,” I responded. “Aleron Loche.”
Watching the change come over the faces of those within my vision, I felt a growing worry. They know something I don’t.
“Yeah, he came to see gro-Dragol a couple of days ago,” gro-Galash said in his grizzled voice. “You’ll find the big man upstairs,” he added, jerking his head towards the stairs. “Second floor.”
“All right, thanks.” With a nod of thanks at the Orsimer innkeeper, I turned and headed for the stairs. Light footsteps behind me jarred my already tense nerves, and I turned around, reaching for my katana. It was only the slender Breton woman, reaching to tug at my leather sleeve. Her dark eyes looked up at me in an assessing manner that belied her chirpy voice.
“Be careful, Julian of Anvil,” she whispered quietly, her voice not so bird-like now. I could hear the steel in her tone, and the concern in her dark eyes.
“I’ve heard enough of gro-Dragol to be on my guard, ma’am,” I assured the Breton. Acutely aware of her eyes on my back, I went up the stairs. At the second floor landing, I almost bumped into a massive, steel-clad mountain of a green mer.
He looked down at me contemptuously, the haft of a great war-axe rising past his left shoulder. “Kurdan gro-Dragol?” I asked him.
“Yeah, who wants to know?” he growled at me. Unlike gro-Galash’s gruff manner, which felt neutral, gro-Dragol’s tone held hostility. I wondered how Captain Lerus stood up to him. Probably very carefully. How best to approach this? The Captain likely tried the direct approach, and got rebuffed for it. I’ll likely as not get the same response.
“What’s the one thing you never say to a vampire?” I asked him. Gro-Dragol frowned at me, puzzlement in his beady eyes.
“Huh?” he cocked his head, considering the question. “Beats me.”
“Bite me,” I answered, years of practice as a pilus prior allowing me to keep a straight face.
The frown remained on gro-Dragol’s face, then dissolved into mirth. Laughter rumbled in his chest, causing the haft of the war axe at his back to shimmer in the dim light. “Heh, heh, you got me with that one,” he chuckled. “Where did you get that?”
“Same place I got all the others,” I responded. “A skeleton walks into an inn and says, ‘Give me a shot, and a mop.’”
This time gro-Dragol guffawed so loudly dust and cobwebs drifted down from the rafters. “A shot and a - a mop!” he spluttered. “Oh, that is great!”
“Did you hear about a pirate walking into an inn with a peg leg, a parrot on his shoulder, and a ship's wheel on his pants? The innkeeper says, ‘Hey, you’ve got a ship's wheel in your pants.’ The pirate says, ‘Argh, I know. It’s driving me nuts.’”
The big Orsimer collapsed into a nearby chair, tears running down his cheeks. I heard footsteps behind me, and glanced back to see the Breton woman, gro-Galash, and a couple of other folks peering into the room at us. I winked at the Breton woman, who winked back at me.
“A pitcher of ale for gro-Dragol, please,” I said to gro-Galash. He ducked his head and disappeared, the the others shuffling to fill the space he had vacated. The laughter stopped and I turned to look back at gro-Dragol. He was regarding me intently.
“Why are you telling me these jokes, when we’ve never met before?” he rumbled at me, suspicious.
“Oh, where ever I go, I like to try and make the biggest, toughest, meanest person in town laugh,” I responded with a shrug. “Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”
“And you came to me?” he rose to his fullest height. “How do you know about me?”
“Well, you’re the biggest Orsimer I’ve ever seen,” I responded, though that’s not quite true, but still . . . “And I heard you’re so mean you make people disappear without a trace.” Cocking my head at him, I nodded respectfully. “And with a Watch Captain like Viera Lerus, that’s a mighty tough thing to do.”
If someone had told me it was possible for gro-Dragol to get bigger, I wouldn’t believe him, but gro-Dragol did seem to swell in his plate armor. “Aye, that’s me, all right,” his fist clanged his chest for emphasis. He waved me to a chair as gro-Galash reappeared with a couple of steins and an overflowing pitcher of ale. The innkeeper set them on the table, gro-Dragol taking the other chair opposite me. The usurer glowered at the crowd of regulars gathered at the top of the stairs.
The onlookers retreated down the stairs, but something told me they remained within earshot. gro-Galash shot me a look as he followed them out of sight. I turned back in time to see gro-Dragol fill the two steins with the foaming ale. Oh, crap. I can’t be drinking that stuff, not with the skooma den just across the canal. I picked up the stein nearest me and proffered a toast. “To the biggest, toughest, meanest guy in town.” His black eyes glinted at me as he raised his ale, then quaffed it in a single gulp. I lowered my stein to the table quietly.
I dug deep into my memory and fired off one joke after another, pausing only to refill gro-Dragol’s stein whenever he emptied it. I knew it wouldn’t be enough to get him drunk - it would take an entire barrel to do that - but I wanted to get on his good side so he would tell me what I needed to know.
After about thirty minutes or so, my joke well ran dry. I leaned back and sighed. I had managed not to take a sip of my ale.
“Who would’ve thought the Hero of Kvatch would be so funny?” gro-Dragol asked. He focused on my stein. “Hey, how come you haven’t drunk any of that?”
“Actually,” I answered, “I’m allergic to the stuff.” I pushed the stein to him. “I was only pretending to partake of it because I didn’t want you thinking I’m rude.”
“Allergic, huh?” gro-Dragol took my stein and drank heartily from it. “Then I’ll have gro-Galash bring up some wine for you.”
“Wine puts me to sleep,” I countered, keeping my voice calm. “And if I’m sleeping, I can’t tell jokes, can I?”
“Not so tough now, are you?” There was a hint of a challenge in gro-Dragol’s voice. I shook my head.
“I never said I was tougher, or meaner, than you.” I eyed him up and down. “And forget about claiming I’m bigger than you.” With a shrug, I watched him take another swallow from what used to be my stein of ale. “I’d rather take on bandits my own size, thanks very much.”
The mountainous Orc leaned back in his chair so far it creaked alarmingly under his spine. His eyes narrowed at me. “Hmm, you came here looking for Aleron Loche, didn’t you?”
Keeping my expression as neutral as I could, I shrugged. “Well, it’s all over the town that his wife is weeping her eyes out in the Chapel since he disappeared. I wondered if he vanished because he wanted to?”
His calculating gaze on me, gro-Dragol rubbed at his lower lip thoughtfully. “Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t,” he grunted. “But since yer so interested, I know somethin’ that could jog my memory.”
Getting close. I tilted my head at him. “And what’s that?”
“I just learned that a family heirloom, the Axe of Dragol, which one of my stupid relatives lost, is located on Fort Grief Island in Niben Bay.” He watched me intently, and I hoped I was keeping a neutral expression on my face. “My informant tells me it’s hidden in the main keep at the center. Dunno what’s guardin’ it, but I’m sure you can handle it, seeing how you’ve closed two Oblivion Gates.”
I didn’t respond to his goading, but continued watching him, forcing my breathing to remain slow and calm. If he wants me to play fetch, he’d better keep his promise then.
“If you go there and bring it back to me,” gro-Dragol continued after a few moments, “I’ll tell you exactly where Aleron is.”
“And if I refuse?” I asked.
The big Orc scowled. “Then Aleron may not be coming home from his - ahh, journey, for a long, long time. Like, permanently.”
“Oh, well, when you put it that way,” I knew I had gro-Dragol. “How do I get to Fort Grief Island?”
“Let me know when yer ready, and I’ll have a boat take you over there. It’d better be soon.”
“How do I recognize this Axe of Dragol?” I asked him.
“It’s a battleaxe with the word ‘Dragol’ carved into the haft. Huge. You can’t miss it. I ain’t gonna draw you a picture.”
“Okay, let’s do it, then.” I rose to my feet. Gro-Dragol grinned at me, and this time his grin was menacing.
“Fine. I’ll have it waiting for you at the dock next to the magic shop. Now get outta my sight.” He downed the last of the ale and belched.
I turned and headed for the stairs. Scurrying sounded on the steps as I started down, but I found the regulars in their seats, looking suspiciously innocent. I gave them a nod and left.
Now THAT was CLEVER....
...and FUNNY too!!!!
My admiration of Hautee grows by leaps and bounders - er, er, bounds. Zounds!!
Now that is a rousing way to start a post! Julian shows excellent presence of mind to retreat from the inn and get outside. There is nothing more embarrassing than getting your sword stuck in one of the rafters during a fight (or in one of the patrons!). She also does a marvelous job of disabling the assassin rather than killing her. I wish you could do that in the game.
a massive, steel-clad mountain of a green mer.
An excellent description of Bravil's mafia kingpin!
I may have to borrow some of those jokes for Vincent in the TF! I liked Julian's change of tactics with Dragol. There is nothing like appealing to a man's ego to get what you want from him!
I loved it!
Julian was brilliant with Kurdan. What a delightfully unexpected tact she took. I guess that's why she's the old warhorse she is. You have, over time, developed her as knowledgeable, clever and wise enough to pull this off in the most natural way. Well done!
I was delighted to see her get a touch of support from Luciana.
Finally, I liked the way you skillfully wove some of Kurdan's in-game dialogue right into this is such a natural way. It fit perfectly, yet still gave that nice familiar 'ah, I remember that!'.
What a fun episode!
Julian might be clever but that doesn't mean the local kingpin can't pull one over her... This quest works well that way in this stage of the story, it shuld make her look a bit less perfect. Still she dealt with him well enough and in a way which makes sense (going in sword flashing wouldn't end well I imagine).
I can't wait to see the next part though.
*Foxy explodes*
The whole episode in the Chapel of Julianos is so good. If I was to try and highlight everything I liked, I would simply copy and paste the whole thing. The description of the Chapel, Julian’s memories and doubts, the “getting to know you” conversation with Martin…. It all just flows so naturally that I was completely absorbed. I could smell the beeswax and candle smoke, hear the quiet pacing of the guards outside and the low murmur of conversation.
The magic lesson and your description of how Restoration magic works add so much to the sparse concepts that the game provides- and it makes a great deal of sense, to boot. Better still is the insight we are given into Julian’s essential nature, as perceived by Tumindil.
The discussion of the relationship between destruction magic and anger and fear also “feels right.” And the earthy humor and this small moment is a true gem.
As with Tumindil, Aelwin allows us to see Julian through eyes that are less doubtful. And the interaction with Martin, as she tells of everyone’s role at Kvatch- except for her own- is perfect.
Following that quiet moment is the battle at Weynon Priory, a fight that you describe with great skill. And you provide a reasonable explanation for how the Amulet of Kings is stolen, something which the game rather ignores. The death of Maborel is a hard one to take, especially for Julian. And it is a harsh reminder that she cannot save everyone. The following passage says a great deal in a few words:
“Thank you for your help, Julian,” Piner turned to me. “I’ll take care of this.” It was a dismissal. I understood. Brothers take care of their own.
The conflict between Julian’s desire to keep Martin alive and his own tendency to protect his friends is a great moment of character development- an area in which you are excellent. The bit of lore regarding Martin’s foster father being a retired Legionary added a touch of history (cf. the Roman Empire practice of granting retired soldiers land in frontier provinces).
The brief stop in the Jeralls to admire the view was a wonderful moment. I always take the time to turn my graphic settings all the way up while in the mountains, just so I can enjoy the glorious scenery.
“Very well,” I answered, glad of the chance to get down and walk a bit. My behind is almost frozen to the saddle.
And Julian learns a little discretion- managing to avoid saying out loud the thought that is in her mind.
Another part of your story which you manage to infuse with your own experience is the discussion of the horses’ personalities. And the writing is much richer because of it.
The arrival at Cloud Ruler and Martin’s uncertainty are powerfully expressed, especially as he turns to Julian for guidance. And, good NCO that she is, she provides the best advice available- “eat and get some sleep; you’ll make better decisions when you are rested and fed”.
And the powerful follow-up as Julian is asked to join the Blades… Here is another place where you illustrate the concept of “show- don’t tell.” It would have been easy to gild the lily with a lot of “I’m not worthy” interior monologue; but you didn’t. You leave it to your readers to recognize her welter of emotions.
The tour of Cloud Ruler is a wonderful display of description; even if I had never played Oblivion, I could find my way around the Temple.
The memories that come back to Julian during her “down time” are powerful and evocative- and sneak up on her exactly as such thoughts seem to do. The conversation and camaraderie at the meal is beautifully done- again, I felt as if I was there.
Breakfast- yum! And less palatable, but equally necessary decisions. Your conversations are the pillars that hold up this brilliant story, you know. Martin’s feelings of being alone and losing his companion and closest remaining friend are poignant without being soppy- nicely done.
Another wonderfully economical moment is when Julian responds to her orders by asking Martin for his permission…. In a few short words, you give a foreshadowing to us (and to Martin) of what his new role means. He is no longer a comrade, a companion, or a priest. And he will never be any of those again.
“You can travel all of Cyrodiil, nay, all of Tamriel, and never find anything better built than Cloud Ruler Temple.”
Except maybe Sigrid of Kvatch…
And I really enjoyed your depiction of Roliand- I think he might rather like our Redguard, even if she is completely oblivious.
The joyous ride out of the mountains is a perfect jewel- no words of mine are needed.
“Count to three, sir,” I said.
“One, OW!” he bellowed as I yanked the arrowhead out. With a groan he leaned against the stone arch behind him. “Oh, frick, what happened to two?”
Yup, Julian spent her time in the Legion…
The whole conversation with Atellus is a pleasure to read- Julian’s self-deprecation, and the Legion rider’s sharp-eyed awareness that there is much more to the story.
I really like the decisions you made with regard to the difference between the games “telepathic” guards and Julian’s legitimate concern that there could be a handbill out in the Imperial City with her description.
The details you weave into the description of th City really bring it to life- the directions, the lamp-lighting, I could go on (and probably will).
“He stood out like a minotaur in a crockery shop”
I think I mentioned something about your use of detail, just a moment ago- and there it is again.
Wirich’s suicide is a nice touch that fits the Mythic Dawn’s methods- and is better than the game’s “never retreat or surrender AI.”
Yep, they seem to add more steps once you have a knee injury- I learned that during my university days.
And Julian becomes an investigator, proving that the years have given her wisdom as well as white hair.
I really enjoy the life you bring to the Imperial City in this chapter.
Add me to the list of people who want to smack the smug Phintias on general principles. And we do indeed see the strength of Julian’s resolve in a more direct way with Gwinas.
Baurus attitude in re the deaths of three more cultists is a good bit of characterization. He is the last of the Blades who failed to save Uriel, so he is certainly going to have a rather- ah, stringent- approach to members of the Mythic Dawn.
And we close with Julian’s discovery of the secret in Green Emperor Way. (Sounds like a Bobbsey Twins mystery- though I do not think she will solve it and be home in time for tea….)
And I promise to faithfully catch up with thread 2, so that my remarks will be more to the point.
That’s got to be a little disconcerting. There you are, minding your own business, when some normal, quiet, closet wack-job yells out “For Lord Dagon!” and, suddenly, you have to fight for your life! Julian acquitted herself much better in this battle. Looks like Marz’s sessions are indeed paying dividends.
I thought it was very subtle of you to have gro-Galash lament that ‘it’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch out for’ to Luciana Galena, a Thieves Guild fence.
As the others have already said, Julian’s approach to handling Kurdan was inspired. The jokes were all very funny, but I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that the steering wheel joke might be an anachronism in the world of the Elder Scrolls, not that it matters very much. I don’t even know if I would advise you to change it since it worked so well.
I can't wait for that orc to get what's coming to him (but don't worry I will, albeit impatiently)!
Julian was as sharp as a razor here. First she slips outside before the battle begins (that bloody Suitor Lodge is so small you cannot swing a cat!!) and then she has tremendous presence of mind to disarm the burly Kurdan with a series of delightful jokes.
My admiration of Julian (and Haute
) grows with each chapter. Wow!!
@Foxy: I rather thought you would get a kick out of those groaners, especially the last one (one of my favorites).
@SubRosa: I’m glad you saw what Julian was trying to do with gro-Dragol. I agree that it’s pretty embarrassing when your sword hits everything but the guy you’re trying to hit!
@Acadian: I liked your portrayal of Luciana so much in the BF that I had to borrow her for Julian! At this point Julian does not yet know that Luciana is an expert in light armor use. And thanks for your PM regarding Ranaline. I’ve always thought of her as a Nord, but it seems the game devs consider her an Altmer. I’ve changed the details accordingly.
@Olen: Yes, the local kingpin is pulling one over on her, and I think she is suspicious, but has taken a ‘go along with it and see what happens’ attitude at the moment. The line you quoted for gro-Dragol is my personal favorite of the lines he gets. Cracks me up every time! I have fixed your nit with the pirate joke - ‘steering wheel’ didn’t sit right with me, but I couldn’t figure out what else to use. Thanks!
@Treydoggie: You’ve covered a lot of ground! Thanks for giving me a recap of the high points of the story thus far. It reminds me of how far Julian has come. Judging from the reactions of others, doubtlessly it just gets better. Great praise from one who is bringing a strange land (Solstheim) alive for one who’s never visited.
@Destri: That’s exactly what I wanted to convey with those surprise attacks by the MD agents! And I’m glad you caught gro-Galash’s comment about the quiet ones - here where we have John Wayne Gacy and Jeffrey Dahmer within shouting distance of each other, that line especially resonates with someone like me.
@Wolf: Thanks for the wonderful words! I just hope my head still fits through the door.
Julian finds a surprise waiting at Fort Grief.
*****************
Chapter 13.8 Hunter’s Run
After a stop at the Mages Guild to drop off my pack, bow and Daedra Slayer, I headed down to the harbor. As gro-Dragol had promised, a rowboat with a taciturn Argonian waited near the dock. The thin Argonian only nodded when I asked him if he had been hired by gro-Dragol.
First I stowed my shield and katana, then clambered into the boat and sat down. The Argonian took his place behind me, and began rowing us down the canal and out of Bravil.
Two hours later, the reticent Argonian tied up at a weathered dock jutting out from a small island. Nearly the entire surface of the island above the waterline was occupied by a ruined fort, one nearly as large as the one near the Quaking Bridge. Fort Grief was in better shape, though, its walls intact past the second level. The archway was blocked by bronze gates, which resisted my pull on them. Looking around, I spotted a crank handle nearby. The gates creaked open behind me when I forced the handle to turn. I drew my sword and stepped to the archway, scanning the interior. Unlike most ruined forts, the keep here was full of recent debris. On the stone wall just in front of me, I saw a splash of dried blood.
My warning sense tingling, I crouched down and moved carefully within, placing my booted feet on sandy soil, which absorbed the sound of my steps. Behind me, the gates swung shut, and I turned to see the Argonian walk away from the crank without a backward glance. Cacat. This smells like a trap.
“Who’s there?” a querulous voice called. I turned toward the sound, which came from the center of the keep, beyond the bloodied stone wall. My katana ready, I moved slowly through the debris, avoiding the skeletons on the ground and the shackles hanging from the walkway above. First I cleared the stairway, then rounded the pile of debris and spotted an old Breton man. He seemed scared and jumped when he saw me. He looked around himself, as if seeking somewhere to flee.
“It’s all right,” I sheathed my katana and held my hand out to him reassuringly. “I’m Julian of Anvil. I’m looking for the Axe of Dragol.”
“Oh, no,” he groaned, turning to look at me up and down. “It appears as though Kurdan has tricked another poor soul with his ‘axe’ story.”
“‘Axe’ story?” I repeated. Something suddenly clicked into place. “You’re Aleron Loche?”
“Aye,” he nodded. “There never was any ‘Axe of Dragol,” he added. “It was just a ruse to lure you out here.” He frowned. “I fell for the same trick. In my case, he told me if I brought it back, he would clear all my debts. I was such an idiot to believe him!” Loche’s voice turned angry. I inhaled slowly.
I’m an idiot, too. He got me, instead of the other way around. “I’ve got a boat . . .” My voice trailed off. I turned to look at the closed gate.
“Oh, no, that won’t work.” Loche shook his head. “The gate is locked, and we can’t get out. We’re now caught up in Kurdan’s insane hunt. Here, we’ll most likely die.”
“What hunt are you talking about?” I didn’t like the sound of things at all.
“Kurdan doesn’t make most of his money being a simple usurer,” Loche explained. “He also created something he calls the Hunters Run. It’s simple, really. He gets fools like me to come here, and people pay him good money to hunt us.” He now pointed out the door into the keep beneath the stairs, behind me. “He uses the dungeons below Fort Grief as the hunting grounds. He brought me here because he knew someone would come looking for me. I’m really sorry you got mixed up in all of this. I hope you can fight, because it’s the only chance both of us have of getting out of here.”
“So how do we get out of here if the gate is locked?” I asked.
“You have to go inside and kill all the hunters. One of them will have the key to the door. That’s Kurdan’s rules. It’s the only way we can win.” Loche locked gazes with me, his brown eyes turning pleading. “I’m not a rich man, but if we get out of here alive, I’ll do what I can to reward you.”
A thoughtful regard of him determined that Loche was unarmed. I looked around at the keep, taking in the mostly intact walkways above, the clutter of debris on the ground floor, the closed door into the interior of the Fort.
“Wait here,” I said to him. Loche was only too glad to comply, moving to a rough lean-to of boards propped against the wall. I looked around again, then moved for the stairs. Instead of opening the door tucked beneath them, I took the steps upwards. I wanted to make sure no one else lurked here, if I was going to leave Loche alone.
It only took a few moments to clear the second walkway, but the third level was a little challenging. I found half of it fallen away, with a small fragment remaining on the far side. On that small bit of stone decking, I spotted a chest. What if there is a key stashed in there? I judged the gap to be just a little too wide, but the supporting arch below the collapsed floor had a much smaller gap in it. I carefully edged out onto the damaged arch, acutely aware of the long drop below, and easily jumped the meter long gap. Back onto the decking, I knelt before the chest.
It was locked, but I was able to pick it, breaking three lockpicks in the process. Inside, I found, not the key I was looking for, but two bottles of wine. I picked one of the bottles up and blew the dust off the label. The red dragon of the Legion looked back at me, a sign clutched in its talons. Shadowbanish Wine. I recalled stories about the rare vintage, fermented for the Legion in the days when they held these forts for the Empire. Someone somewhere may pay well for these.
My fingers easily held the two bottles by their necks, and I jumped back across the gap to make my way down the stairs. I moved to Aleron where he huddled beneath the lean-to. “Here, stow these somewhere safe,” I said to him. “I’ll want them when I come back.”
He looked at the bottles, then tucked them under a faded red silk robe without a word. Loche’s brown eyes looked back at me miserably, tugging at my heart.
“Your wife is missing you,” I said to him quietly, gripping his shoulder with my right hand. “I’ll see you back with her, safe.” He smiled bravely at me, the courage not quite reaching his eyes, and nodded. I turned away from him and headed for the door.
The Hunter’s Run turned out to be simple in layout, but difficult due to the number of traps I encountered within. On the first level, I managed to defeat first a Nord, then an Imperial, both bigger and stronger than me, only by distracting each with my summoned skeleton. The bony companion proved valuable in dealing them some damage before being overwhelmed, improving my odds a little bit. I found keys on both bodies.
The traps, however, were another story. I managed to avoid tripping the lethal gas traps, but in trying to jump across a gap in the floor, I missed and fell down onto a bed of spikes set into the tunnel below.
Luckily, the spikes only gashed my legs, and failed to pierce anything major, but I had to break them with my katana before I could step out of them. The new healing spell I had learned from Jeelius took care of the slashes in my skin, though it couldn’t do anything for the damage to my boots and greaves. Fortunately, the tunnel led me back to the passageway on the other side of the hole. Better yet, I found another sample of that mysterious glowing plant. With a pause to tuck it into my belt purse, I kept going.
The dart traps I found in the passageway were deadly, but because I was moving slowly, they went off before I entered the zone of damage. Keeping close to the wall, I was able to pass them without further injury.
Ahhh.....my heart beats faster...already...
...even though I know the whole layout and story...
For that is how good Hautee is -
(though not TOO good on the sci-fi, otherwise she wouldn't have mixed up a quotation from 'Star Trek' with Heilein's 'Starship Troopers' ) hee hee
Pay attention Julian, you're supposed to be walking into a trap!
Sorry, could not resist...
Ahh, the trips and traps of Hunter's Run. This quest always makes me look for Jean-Claude VanDamme and Lance Henrikson (from the movie Hard Target). I see the skeleton summoning she learned from Edgar is now paying off. Those things are so handy, even if they only last for a hit or two before being pulverized.
And Shadowbanish Wine as well! Julian should have drank some to see in the dark. Still this way she can take them back to hook up with Nerussa (hubba hubba...)
I am sure that the people over at Bethesda meant for Caught in the Hunt to be a parody of the 1932 RKO film, The Most Dangerous Game. The film stars Joel McCrea, Faye Wray, and Leslie Banks. It was produced by Merian C. Cooper, the man who brought us King Kong. In the film Joel McCrea plays a big game hunter and author who, as the sole survivor of a shipwreck, swims to a small lush island. There he becomes the guest of a reclusive Russian Count who shares his enthusiasm for hunting, but only for ‘the most dangerous game.’ You can pretty much guess what happens next.
I always thought that this was one of the more well-conceived quests in the game (even though the reward you get for completing it is crap). There is something positively satisfying about beating Kurdan’s trap. I just wish there were a way to, well, you know.
I do like this quest, it is certainly one of the better ones an well written. The fights seemed somewhat glossed over though I can see why, too many get boring. I still expect a bit of action with the boss later though. ![]()
I also want to read the second half.
And my spammage of your thread continues (although I hope to be current by the end of the week).
The descriptive passages during the trip to Cheydinhal were up to your usual high standard. I really liked the continuity imbued by giving the “generic Legion patrol riders” names and set sections of road to cover.
Hmmm, I somehow missed the Orum Gang. I loved learning new things about the game.
My characters always had trouble leaving their stuff- especially weapons- behind before going to join with Marooned Dragon. That is when they usually went on a killing spree.
And speaking of killing sprees- you do a remarkable job of handling the fight at the shrine. It is all so good,
I don’t feel the need to single out any particular bits.
“I won’t deny it,” I said finally, finishing my food. “But I’ won't talk about it, either.”
Nice, economical way of expressing Julian’s philosophy- even with the stray apostrophe.
Woo-Hoo! “I have a rule when things scare me- I kill them. Then I don’t have to be scared anymore.” A paraphrase, but a motto that ought to be sigged.
Expanding Jeelius’ role was a stroke of genius- we learn still more about Julian and about the world she inhabits through their interactions.
And a cameo appearance by Guilbert Jemane.
Chapter 9 is short- but it does all the needed scene-setting with the economy that is your trademark. And I have to agree with Destri- “Excuse me? I didn’t lose the Amulet of Kings- or the Emperor and his legitimate sons for that matter.”
Clothes! So Julian still has a bit of “girlie stuff” in her, after all. And somewhat to Jauffre’s discomfiture.
A nit, a palpable nit, missed by our raven-eyed SubRosa and accurate Acadian!
From 10.1- “Also, Captain Burd of the City Guard in Bruma may also be able to help.” I guess Captain Burd is going to be extra helpful, also.
Your Jauffre seems to have been slightly infected by Rachel’s version:
Jauffre- “We’re running out of heads, Julian. Go fetch some more from those strangers near Bruma.”
Julian- “But Grandmaster, how will I know if they are strangers?”
Jauffre- “Simple. You won’t recognize ‘em. Now bring me those heads!”
I liked the history you give Julian- and the game world- with the discussion of Nord-Redguard conflict. Nicely worked into the current storyline.
10.2- A painter working the North Gate? Well, my wife artist frequently talks about “northern light.” But he is a long way from Leyawiin, or perhaps Bravil...
I really enjoyed the little bit of “tradecraft” revealed by the comment- “Only Blades use the North Gate…”
And Julian discovers that the Oblivion gate at Kvatch was not a one-off. /Rant- which is fine, except that I think Bethesda overdid the number of them, especially as there isn’t much variety, and it quickly becomes a grind and a nuisance. Rant off/
Loved the conversation at Olav’s. Your depictions of Ongar and Alga are wonderfully revealing and make the characters come to life.
10.4 “I’m not used to running, sir, especially from danger.”
Now there’s a Leroy Jethro Gibbs line if ever I heard one!
And it was good to see that Julian uses her head for more than just holding her hat up- if you are unarmed and in mortal danger in a city- run for the guards! What a great chase scene, perfectly framed to the location and particular environmental hazards of Bruma.
10.5 Suurootan’s parting words and Julian’s reaction were priceless. Better still was the scene in the chapel, esp. Julian’s flashback.
10.6 Julian’s fish-out-of-water doubts as she joins the Mages Guild, especially as juxtaposed with Jeanne Frasoric’s bubbly social-climbing was a hoot.
And the whole, “Let’s see if you have what it takes to join. Are you breathing? Congratulations, Associate!” bit.
Now that was a most satisfactory chewing-out. And it fits perfectly with Julian’s background.
11.1 “At least, no enemies followed me through the Gate, but then, few were left alive.”
Not bragging here, just being accurate.
11.2 For a day off, Julian had rather full plate (pun intended)- Daedric Artifacts, and Wisps, and Shrines- oh my!
Your plotting is brilliant- bringing Gwinas back, the MG as cover, etc.
11.3 Aleswell. I rather enjoyed this quest, even though it seems rather trivial. But it is a nice bit of window-dressing even so.
Excellent, and lots to like here!
I wondered why you included the free reptilian rower along with Kurdan's boat. As he walked away from the gate's crank handle though, your brilliance became clear. More clever than being magically sealed inside indeed.
Bravo to Julian for fully assessing her surroundings in a tactically sound manner. By that, I mean clearing the upper decks of the fort before venturing inside.
Just one more chapter to go... One thing reading your amazing story in this way has shown me is how good it truly is. Certainly there are moments that stand out- and I have called out many of them; but the real take-away is how smoothly it all flows and how professional it is. Way back in my English teacher days, I used the concept of the "well-crafted story," comparing it to cabinet-making or carpentry, where what you see is the completed whole, without being able to spot how the craftsperson did it. OHDH absolutely fits that definition. And now for my specific spamming:
11.4 Julian’s situational awareness, gained on many a field, saves the day. I also appreciate how your wolves act more like real wolves and bluff people, but then retreat if they can. I really wish the AI would give creatures (and NPCs) that option. Although I hear there is a certain amulet available, crafted by a woodcrafty witch, that might help.
Salespeople and Julianos’ Witnesses bothering you? Just use Ancotar’s Patented Go-Away Spell. If they can’t see you, they can’t annoy you.
“Better head to the inn and see if Serethi can be seen.”
Now that’s alliteration I can live with!
11.5- Ah, is Drift a Great Valus or a Great Jerall, perhaps? His presence really made the scene in the sheepfold come to life. And the bickering about who gets to do what for their savior was great fun.
The conversation with the Aleswellian’s is a shining example of Julian’s skills as a peace-maker. Seems to be another aspect of her role as Protector.
11.6 Ontus Vanin is another gem of a character who inhabits Julian’s world- “Now I’m completely useless, and I’m proud of it.” Sounds like what I aspire to!
The conversation with Gwinas shows your “ear” for interactions, as well as providing Julian with the information she needs to make a decision.
11.7 The way you work Julian’s history so perfectly into the story is brilliant. I am rewriting my original ES fiction and noticed that I did an “info dump,” which I highlighted as needing work. Your approach gives me ideas to steal- um, consider. And she buys a house- that is a big deal to someone who has lived in accommodations for the last nearly 30 years.
11.8 Jeelius! First Gwinas and now (one of) our favorite Argonians. Having Julian reconnect with people she has encountered really adds a sense of realism to your story. So does the description of the passageway to the Waterfront.
12.1 The meeting with Armand was interesting; he is willing to be neighborly- but only to a point. And the teasing by the pirate was a fun scene, especially Julian’s response. And a little history and more food! (Quiets rumbling doggie belly with a promise of an apple later).
12.2 Your “European-style” dining arrangements were a pleasing touch of cultural background. I rather wish we in the States were less “territorial” about restaurant space- we would have an opportunity to meet more people that way. And this from a Southerner, where folks are reputed to be “more friendly.”
And Julian’s nature as Protector reappears in response to Adanrel. The whole conversation and Julian’s kindness are delicious- as was the meal.
She also discovers that not everyone on the Waterfront is helpless- and some of them will look for trouble…
12.3 “I’m Julian of Anvil, I need of wood for my fire,” I said. “I just bought old Tormund’s house.”
And already the thieves on the Waterfront have struck, absconding with Julian’s “am in” from before “need.” Those two-letter words are so small and easy to lift…
“I’d like the two drawers here in the corner,”
Did you perhaps mean “two dressers?”
Have to add that having the furnishings delivered and the bit of by-play with the Argonian names was a lovely touch.
12.4 The Inn of Ill Omen appears to have been transformed into the Inn of Ill “Women”- one drunk on ale; the other made queasy by Mannheim’s “cooking.”
Agree with everyone else’s points about the random gates- Bethesda really dropped the ball on making the crisis seem “critical.” Better to have built side quests with random Daedra (of varying difficulty) terrorizing villages or preying on livestock. The sameness (and sheer number) of the Gates was one of my biggest disappointments. That is true even if you ignore the randoms and just deal with the MQ. I mean, come on, each County (and Count/Countess) has different needs. How hard would it have been to write quests that were more “location specific” instead of, “Sure, I’ll be glad to send some of my guards- as soon as someone deals with that darned Gate.” There could even be a moral dilemma invoked by having the Count/Countess ask the player character to do something questionable in return for assistance. Like no politician has ever done anything like THAT before. Apologies, your thread and your story are not really the place for this- but, you do such a brilliant job of world-building that I want you (and Julian) to have an equally brilliant game-world in which to write and live.
Anyhow- I completely accept Julian’s decision-path- “Near habitations or major roads? It goes. Out in the sticks? Let the cougars (but not Nerussa!) and bears (Mannheim?) deal with it.
@ureniashtram- “Macintosh?!” I suppose Julian should have an apple tattooed on her arm instead of a dragon. I love that one- I hope Rachel starts writing again, as I will happily “plant” that idea in her mind.
12.5 I also applaud your decision to give only a brief description of closing the random Gate- “It was like a scamp- ‘short, brutish, and nasty.’”
The conversation with Kaeso was great- “I did it for you.” Woo hoo, Julian!
12.6 “Are you going in there?” “Are you remaining at your post, Frederick?” I asked in response.
Is water wet? Does a Daedra poop in the Deadlands?
Excellent choice to cover the latest sojourn inside a Gate via Julian’s injuries.
12.7 I continue to appreciate your giving the city streets names that make sense and provide context.
And another master-stroke is letting us see the changes in Julian through Frederick’s eyes.
The whole scene with Marz was a shining example of how to tell a story, how to write conversation, how to let characters reveal themselves…
12.8 Ursanne Loche and Daenlin. Followed by a less pleasant meeting, but one which provides more needed background.
@Foxy: You might want to take some lidocaine (to slow down your ventricular tachycardia, aka rapid heartbeat) before reading on. . .
@SubRosa: I always felt the Nord and Imperial hunters were a joke, and those traps were harder! As for drinking the wine, well, you’ll see why she didn’t in 13.11.
@Destri: Not only movies have been written about the most dangerous game, but novels also. Yes, I agree, this is one of the more satisfying quests, though it ends . . . Well, not quite the way we want it to.
@Olen: The fights with the first two were glossed over because in the game those two guys were pretty much a joke. Now the one in the basement . . .
@Doggie!: I spent a few minutes chuckling over your humorous synopsis of Julian’s story thus far. More than twice! It's funny that you should compare my story to a cabinet - my grandfather was a cabinet-maker in his spare time - he learned it from his father.
@Acadian: I figured Fort Grief was a good place for Julian to practice her summoning skills with Bones. I doubt she’ll ever get as handy with spells as Buffy, but she’s finding certain ones useful!
Julian encounters an opponent that is as well-trained a fighter as she is.
****************
Chapter 13.9 Hunter’s Prey
Eventually, I found a door leading me deeper, into a second level. This level was much smaller, a short passageway leading me past more lethal gas traps into an open room with a flooded center. My life detection spell showed me the bulk of an Orsimer pacing around the water. Crouching down, my gaze never left the orc as I slowly crept behind him and attacked.
It did cross my mind that this was gro-Dragol, but the weapon he swung at me wasn’t an axe, it was a hammer. I managed to duck the first blow and moved to slash him as the hammer went down, but the big Orc handled it like it was a cane, recovering much faster than I expected. His rising back knocked my katana away like it was a twig, spinning my arm to my right until the muscles in the front of my chest complained. I managed to dance back in time to avoid his counterstrike, and caught his left biceps, beneath the edge of his pauldron, with the tip of my blade, drawing first blood.
We drew back from each other, circling to gain advantage. The Orc held the hammer athwart his face, ready to block anything I sent his way. I kept my shield side towards him, prepared to deflect his weapon. It is starting to show signs of metal fatigue, Daenlin’s voice sounded softly in my mind. I wondered if that hammer would be the finish of my Kvatch Wolf. In the weeks since Savlian Matius had given it to me, I had carried it with an unspoken pride. While the shield made me recognizable as the Hero of Kvatch, it served as a constant reminder of the bravery of the men who had faced the daedra alone, protecting unarmed civilians who knew nothing of combat. I could not look at the Wolf without thinking of Matius, of Vonius, of gra-Sharob and the other brave souls living with loss and tragedy.
All of this flashed through my mind in an instant. Beyond the Orc’s shoulder, I spotted the stairs that led back to the corridor through which I had entered. I kept circling, until the stairs were behind me, then spun to my left and ran up the first couple of steps. It gave me some height, above the big Orsimer, and got me out from under that hammer.
He recognized the tactic and snarled at me, sweeping the hammer sideways at my knees. At a disadvantage because of the limited space to maneuver on the steps, I skipped backwards out of his reach, then hopped down to slice through his left arm again, turning the blade on contact to carve out a chunk of muscle. He roared and backhanded me into the wall.
The wind knocked out of me, I dropped the Wolf with a clatter. The round shield slid down the stairs to lie against the Orc’s booted feet. We both glanced down at it, then he looked back at me, a snarling grin on his face. He kicked the buckler away and leapt onto the stairs, raising his hammer.
I jumped forward, slamming my left shoulder into his chest. He barely staggered, but the hammer hit the stone behind me. With a turn beneath his arm, I sank the edge of the blade near the hilt, where it was strongest, into his left elbow. I felt the steel bite into bone, then his fist smashed into the top of my back, driving me into the stairs. I felt my right knee give way, and I tumbled backwards off the side of the stairs, somehow holding on to the katana.
Landing near the Wolf, I rolled over it, managing to slip my left arm into its straps and rise onto my left knee with the shield before me. I couldn’t stand, not with my bum knee throbbing so badly. Warm fluid trickled down the back of my neck from when I had hit my skull on unyielding stone somewhere. My head spun, and my back hurt when I breathed. I looked up to see, not one, but two Orcs coming at me, those accursed hammers lifted one-handed.
I ducked to the side, falling onto my right hip, and managed to deflect the hammer with the Wolf. There was just barely enough room for me to point the katana at his side and ram it home, through the chink in the side of his cuirass. His momentum trapped my blade against the edge of his backplate, and the katana tore out of my hand as he crashed to the ground. The hammer -hammers?- skittered out of his hand and splashed into the water.
As I forced my body up on my left knee, I reached for the hilt of the katana, still protruding out of the Orc’s side and quivering with his gasping breaths. I twisted the blade while I pulled it out, blood cascading black in the unsteady torchlight. I stabbed his side again, angling the tip of the blade upwards within the rib cage, again twisting it as I pulled it back out. This time, I heard hissing, and knew I had punctured a lung. More blood followed my blade, frothy this time. The Orc’s breath rattled one more time, then the iron clad mountain fell silent.
Crouched near him, gasping for breath, I held my katana ready for another stab, the blade flickering wildly with my shaking. The Orc did not move, did not breathe. Finally convinced he was dead, I looked up, scanning the area for more enemies. Instead, I saw double torches, and realized I’d been concussed. Damn. The smith’s hammer pounded again in my head, amplifying the pain in my knee and my back where the Orsimer had hit me between the shoulder blades.
My katana in my left hand, I cast a life detection spell, but no pink flared up anywhere. Truly alone, I collapsed to my left side, shield held in front of me. With violent tremors, I laid my katana down on the floor, ready to my hand. From my belt pouch I fumbled out a couple of healing potions, recognizable by the distinctive shape of their vials. I managed to uncork one without spilling the precious fluid, and drank it greedily. My eyes closed, and I waited as its warmth spread from my gut through my body. My shaking calmed down, my breathing slowed, but the damned smith’s hammer still battered my skull. As I downed the other potion, I prayed for the banging to stop. It slowed down, but persisted.
I searched the Orc’s body, and found a key, much like the ones I had found on the other two hunters. I rolled to my hands and knees and straightened my right leg out to the side, avoiding the deep flexing that always aggravated the old injury. The throbbing in my knee subsided to the point that I felt I could stand on it. With a pause to sheathe my katana, I struggled to my feet, groaning as the torches spun faster around me. I staggered to the wall, leaned carefully against it, and wiped the cold sweat off my face with trembling hands. I couldn’t take a deep breath without pain stabbing into my back, and wondered if the Orc’s blow had broken a rib.
Focused on the pain, I cast the healing spell Jeelius had taught me. The piercing agony in my back subsided to a dull ache, and my right knee stopped throbbing, though it still hurt to walk on it. Unfortunately, it did nothing for the pounding in my head, or the double vision. I waited for my Magicka to replenish itself, and when I felt less shaky, I tried again. This time, the double vision disappeared, though things still remained blurry, and the damned smith kept working. But I was out of Magicka, and needed to get back to Aleron. I had three keys now, at least one of them should work . . .
The rest of the Hunter’s Run was a blurred mosaic of torchlight, shadows, and rough, unyielding stone. I encountered no more enemies, fortunately, and found a shortcut that led me back to a point in the upper level that bypassed all the traps. It involved jumping down onto a bridge, though. By this time, my magicka had replenished enough to let me use my childhood healing spell before I jumped, and again after I landed.
I am glad that my poor jokes did not fall on deaf ears... Of course, if I had been keeping up, I likely would not have thought of them. Anyway, the last of the spamming- for I am officially caught up! Yup, we definitely need a :twirl emoticon.
13.1 Got to love your version of Kud-Ei.
“perpetuators?” Is that how you want Kud-Ei to say it, or do you mean “perpetrators”?
Beyond that- add me to the list of those who absolutely admire that sentence.
13.2 Doeskin shoes- wonder if the material was supplied by a certain blonde Bosmeri archer?
Fathis Aren- somehow, I always render that as “His Fathead Arrogance.”
And again, much is revealed in a conversation over a meal.
13.3 The barracks scene was detailed and moving, especially as it brought back those Legion memories.
“…I looked around the small room. It was as lean and spare as the woman…” Example number 1,958 of how to write beautifully, presented by haute ecole rider.
The conversation or “interview” or perhaps “interrogation” with Captain Lerus provides a great deal of insight into both women.
13.4 You give a good view of the contradiction that is Vamori- he is a supposed master of words, yet he cannot find a way to apologize….
Poetry… must defend myself as a member of the Professional Order of English Majors. I think most of you would like Robert Service:
http://wordinfo.info//words/index/info/view_unit/2640/?letter=C&spage=26
And I imagine at least Acadian and Foxy are familiar with certain gems by a fellow named Kipling:
http://www.kipling.org.uk/poems_pagan.htm
And a bit of The Ballad of East and West just for haute:
The Colonel's son has taken horse, and a raw rough dun was he,
With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell and the head of a gallows-tree.
The Colonel's son to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to eat
Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat.
He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly,
Till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of the Tongue of Jagai,
Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal upon her back,
And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the Pistol crack.
He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide.
“Ye shoot like a soldier," Kamal said. " Show now if ye can ride!
It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust-devils go
The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren doe.
The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head above,
But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars, as a maiden plays with a glove.
There was rock to the left and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between,
And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho' never a man was seen.
They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the dawn,
The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn.
The dun he fell at a water-course - in a woeful heap fell he,
And Kamal. has turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider free.
He has knocked the pistol out of his hand - small room was there to strive,
“ 'Twas only by favour of mine," quoth he, " ye rode so long alive:
"There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree,
"But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee.
"If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low,
"The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all in a row.
"If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high,
"The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly."
Lightly answered the Colonel's son: "Do good to bird and beast,
"But count who come for the broken meats before thou makest a feast.
"If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away.
"Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a thief could pay.
"They will feed their horse on the standing crop, their men on the garnered grain.
"The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the cattle are slain.
"But if thou thinkest the price be fair - thy brethren wait to sup,
"The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn - howl, dog, and call them up!
"And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and stack,
"Give me my father's mare again, and I'll fight my own way back! "
By all means, read the whole thing- anyone who likes TES should enjoy it. And it almost makes us want TES V to take place in Hammerfell and the Alik'r Desert.
13.5 The whole scene with Carandial- as delicious as the spiced cider. Rather makes me long for the wet, cold days of January so I can build a fire and bake a loaf of apple-raisin bread…
13.6 And you seamlessly slip a bit of Carandial’s history into the conversation…
The meetings with Marz and Daenlin were up to your high standards, to no one’s surprise. And I like the realism that the Kvatch Wolf cannot last forever.
13.7 Brilliant writing throughout the scene with Dragol. Loved Julian’s approach and her savvy tactics, even if she is about to fall victim to the gangster’s trick. And I believe our good veteran knows a trick is in play, even if she cannot see all of its angles. So she will walk into the trap, eyes open and sword ready, showing that sometimes the game has teeth, as well.
13.8 And now we are inside the aptly-named Fort Grief (Charlie Brown). Clever Julian scouts the ground before committing herself. Her method of reaching the isolated sections shows ingenuity and skill.
Again, I concur with your decision to keep the discussion of the actual fights minimal. First, we have seen Julian fight, so we know she can; second, what is new here is the traps, which get more attention in the narrative. Surprised she has not considered sending “Uncle Boney” in to trip the dart traps…
Nit:
“He looked around himself, as if looking for a place to flee to.” Two “looks” and two “to’s” in close proximity- how about: “He looked around himself, as if seeking somewhere to flee.”
13.9 The fight with the Orc should satisfy anyone- I hurt from just reading it. The pounding in Julian’s head is a more frightening enemy than the Orc, though; I fear what measures she might be tempted to take to get it to go away.
As the dog said, a very intense scene fighting the orc. Glossing over the previous fights paid off here, as it would have felt redundant if this were the third battle scene. Especially seeing that we know there is at least one more to go...
It seems to be that the fight with the orc would have been a good time for Julian to have used her summon? A skeleton might only absorb one blow from that orc, but that still would have bought Julian time.
nits:
He kicked the buckler away
You might want to rethink describing the Kvatch Wolf as a buckler. A buckler is small, usually about the size of a dinner plate, although some were a little bigger. I was under the impression that the Kvatch Wolf was much larger, something like the size of a Viking shield, as you describe it having straps. A small shield like a buckler just had a handgrip in the center.
You might find http://www.hurstwic.org/history/articles/manufacturing/text/viking_shields.htm to be a useful resource regarding shields. Not all-encompassing by far, but chock full of good info and pictures.
This was superb, and my heart is still pounding! Such a powerful fight and so skillfully described.
It is a challenge to pause for rumination during an intense fight, but Julian's flashing recollections about Kvatch and her shield were magnificently done. Woohoo!
Those unstoppable green mountains of flesh are very scary indeed. Oooh! I hope Julian is healed up enough for what I fear comes next.
It didn't occur to me until trey mentioned it, but I too hope Julian will not resort to desperate measures to control that pounding in her head. Marz can help once you get back to Bravil, gurl!
Nit?
Oooh fighting, and well described. Exciting stuff there and well written. The continued mention of the knee tied it well to the story and makes such details important so I enjoyed it getting a part even if Julian didn't. Certainly my hopes for action have been well sated (indeed I suspected there might be, as SubRosa said three fights in a row would get repetitive).
SubRosa got the only nit I saw. As for not using the skeliton that worked for me, I'd assumed that it just hadn't really occurred to her in the heat of the moment (not being a mage and all).
Still I see the end coming... unless...
That moment after Julian drops her shield, when both she and the Orc look down at it, is one of those cinematic moments in which a thousand words is encompassed in a single glance and I thought that you just nailed it! When I read it my breath literally caught in my throat and the first thought that came unbidden into my consciousness was “Oh No!” But then Julian’s wonderfully described recovery filled me with admiration for her yet again. Then she looks up and sees not one, but TWO Orcs coming at her! I admit to feeling like Buffy when confronted with her first zombie! Julian’s eventual victory elicited from me a sigh of relief even as I sympathized with the toll that the battle had taken on her.
Did I say that I liked this chapter?
HAUTEE AND TREY...
First, Trey. DANG but you HAD to quote Service and Kipling...Don't you know that I am under an uncontrollable compulsion to quote nearly ANY Kipling, especially "The BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST" at the top of my lungs while stamping my feet and waving my fists???
NOT a very dignified thing for a secretary to see....GRRRR
*and if she even THINKS about repeating what she saw - watch out, Miss, there's this thing called a recession going around, huh?*
HAUTEE - again, DANG. WHAT a battle scene! (I locked the door and switched off the phone this time. Frigging messages be damned.)
Heart was pounding all right.
Now let's give that other Orc what he's got coming! Hey Hautee, do me a favour - do us all a favour - get Julian to make a witty wisecrack as she finishes him off, hey?
@Augie Doggie!: All caught up now? Whew! Thanks for the poetry, though the title “Cremation of Sam McGee” made me think of the Lord of the Rings! I especially liked the The Ballad of East and West. Thanks for pointing out your nits.
@SubRosa: I thought about having Julian use the summons, but I wanted to demonstrate the rapidity of events. Julian is still new at spellcasting that she has to think her way through. It’s like learning a new language - first you have to think what you want to say in your native language, then translate it to the new language before you can finally say it. It’s only after practice that it becomes second nature. When I played the game, I found the first two guys easy to sneak up on, which meant I could think to cast the spells; but the orc was harder, so I didn’t fight with magic, just straight up melee fighting. As for buckler, I’m aware that it usually means a small fist-sized shield, but I have seen it refer to larger shields on occasion. I wanted to avoid using ‘shield’ too often. It’s a hard one to find synonyms for.
@Acadian: I’m glad you felt the fight here. It was gritty in the game, and I kept that gritty feel in the story. Besides, Julian has to encounter scary situations from time to time, otherwise the story would get boring!
@Olen: You’re right about why Julian didn’t use the summons during her fight with the Orc. And yes, treydog’s comment is priceless!
@Destri: That is exactly how I write my fights (and almost everything else) - I visualize it as a movie first. It’s all pictured in my head beforehand, right down to the cinematic glances. I’m glad you felt this combat as well. It is one of the hardest chapters I’ve written thus far, and subsequently one of the chapters I’m most proud of.
@Foxy: I agree, that Ballad of East and West has a great rhythm to it when read out loud, which I did! Thanks for the rousing approval on my fight scene. I take it your secretary didn’t have to call the medic for some lidocaine, heh? Sorry, no wisecrack this time, but would an insult suffice?
Julian is unable to save Aleron, but she manages to finish things with gro-Dragol.
******************
13.10 Hunter’s Revenge
Finally I reached the door leading out of the Fort. I opened it and stepped out into fresh air, pulling it deep into my lungs. A scream pulled my attention out into the far side of the keep, where two blurry figures stood. I saw a green, iron clad mountain swing a heavy weapon against the smaller figure, and heard the sickening sound of a skull being splattered.
Didn’t I just kill that fetcher? Then it hit me. Kurdan gro-Dragol! I drew my katana and moved out. A sudden sound above distracted me, and I saw a lithe form moving on the second walkway above. I sidled into the cover the walkway provided, and looked back at gro-Dragol, where he stood with his face turned down at the still form at his feet. Standing up, I limped to where he would see me.
The big Orsimer did not act surprised when he spotted me. Though my vision remained blurred, I could recognize him by the way he walked up to me. “So, Julian,” he greeted me heartily. “You’ve managed to kill all my clients.” He shrugged. “No worry. More will come with their heavy purses and their insatiable thirst for blood.” He laughed shortly. “Too bad about Aleron, at least his debt is paid!” As he turned away from me, he started walking around the pile of debris in the middle and headed for the door. “Yer stuck here, friend.”
I thought of the three keys in my belt purse, and limped back deeper in the cover of the walkway, acutely aware of the other above me. “I have the key,” I called after gro-Dragol, his form less blurred in my vision. He paused, turning to look back at me, his black eyes sparkling in the shadows thrown by the late afternoon sun.
“The key you have is fake!” he called back. “Too bad. It’s my game, and I’m changing the rules!” He turned away again.
He has the real key! I can’t let him leave the Fort! The thought flashed through my mind, and heat built up in my right fingers. The Wolf slid up my forearm, and I placed the katana in my left hand, clenching my right fist and holding in my anger. “So you’re not the biggest, meanest, toughest butterfly whacker I’ve ever met, gro-Dragol,” I growled, pitching my voice to carry across the keep. The big Orsimer came to an abrupt halt. My fist raised, I waited for him to turn around. “That Orc in the Hunter’s Run at least could beat a rabbit.” Got him. I flung the flare full into his face as he spun around.
“Gah!” he spat as the fire streamed around his face. Unslinging his axe, gro-Dragol ran at me. Though he was bigger than the Orsimer down in the lowest level of the Hunter’s Run, I could tell by the way he moved that Kurdan gro-Dragol was no trained fighter, but rather a street bully.
The hilt of the katana dropped into my right hand, the straps on the back of the Wolf slid into my left, and I waited, watching that crescent blade as it started its descent towards me. Unlike the Orsimer hunter, gro-Dragol let the inertia of the heavy weapon pull him off balance when I dodged the axe. The katana whipped down in a chop, slicing into his right elbow until the blade bit bone. Then I skipped away, ignoring the pain in my right knee.
My actions drew me out from the cover of the walkway, and an arrow whizzed past my left ear. Before I could react, a second one embedded into my left shoulder, staggering me sideways. A startled cry escaped my lips, and I moved back again, under the walkway. My left arm couldn’t hold the shield up to protect my side, though I still clutched the straps.
I could hear booted footsteps as the archer ran around the walkway, trying to find a clear shot at me. I forced my attention back to gro-Dragol, who had switched his axe to his left hand. A place under the walkway where the ground rose nearly to the underside of the walkway, its arched support providing additional cover, appeared in the corner of my eye. I retreated into the corner created by the exterior wall of the keep and the support pillar.
The space restricted my movements, but it also restricted gro-Dragol’s one-handed swings. Additionally, he stood between me and that archer. Gro-Dragol could not get his bulk behind his axe as he liked to do, while I could keep him at arm’s distance by darting my sword at the weak points in his armor. While each bite of the katana was not disabling, the effects of each added up, wearing his stamina and his not-considerable patience down.
With a roar of pain and rage, gro-Dragol started hammering the stone pillar with his axe, as if trying to bring the walkway down on my head. The axe rebounded unpredictably off the stone, throwing sparks everywhere. I just kept jabbing at him with my sword, pushing at gro-Dragol’s rage until he became blind to the damage he was causing his axe.
Finally the axe blade shattered, leaving him with half a shaft in his two fists. The katana fell into my shield hand, and I called up the flare and flung it into his face. At this close range, the flare sizzled on his skin, and gro-Dragol reeled back, screaming. The light color of the padded linen shirt he wore appeared beneath the dark iron cuirass, exposed by the Orc’s arching back, and I had my opening.
The katana back in my right hand, I darted forward, careful to keep as much weight off the right knee as possible, and aimed the blade at that light sliver beneath the cuirass. Again, I twisted the blade as I pulled it back out, all the while my senses straining for sight or sound of that irritating archer. As gro-Dragol crumpled forward, my blade became momentarily trapped between the edges of his cuirass and greaves.
In that moment, a twang from the bow warned me of another shot from the pesky bowman. This one thudded into my left arm, just above the rim of the Kvatch Wolf. I was knocked down, my right wrist wrenching as I hung on grimly to the sword. My teeth gritted in pain, I managed to get the katana out of gro-Dragol’s side, and scrambled further back beneath the walkway, groaning as the arrowheads in my left shoulder and arm grated into the muscles.
Panting hard against the pain, I switched the katana back to my left hand, focused for a moment and reached out with my senses as Edgar had taught me, then cast my life detection spell.
The pink blob that gave the bowman away shimmered above the walkway to my left, inching towards the stairs at the far side of the keep. My eyes closed, I visualized the clanking skeleton, armed with sword and shield, and summoned it. The spells, cast in rapid succession, left me shaking even harder than before.
As the archer crept down the stairs, sidling for a clear shot at me, my summoned skeleton started, then ran flat-footed at him, bones and shield clanking. The pink glow disappeared in time for me to recognize the lithe form of a male Khajiit as he shot arrow after arrow into Bones.
Hurriedly, for Bones didn’t have much time before the spell ran out, I fumbled for the single vial of magicka replenishment I had found in the Hunter’s Run. I managed to choke it down as the skeleton disappeared. The archer, still standing, though he bled from several wounds, inched closer to me, his bow ready.
My shaking steadied, and I let the rage build up again in my fingers. The Khajiit was within two meters when I cast the flare directly into his eyes. I followed with two more flares into his body before my magicka fizzled.
While he staggered with the flames licking at his face and chest, I struggled forward, my katana right-handed again, and sliced the tip of the blade across his exposed throat. A bubbling hiss escaped through the new breathing orifice as the Khajiit dropped to his knees, his large eyes wide in shock in the midst of scorched fur.
Depleted of everything - my strength, my Magicka, my will, I echoed the bowman’s slump and fell onto my back, panting hard. With a groan I pulled my right foot out from underneath me to ease the throbbing in my knee. Pain and weakness overwhelmed me, and I closed my eyes, silently cursing the untiring smith in my skull.
This was fabulous. As always, so much to like!
Glad you and the Fox enjoyed the poetry- my father was a sergeant during WWII and introduced me to Service and Kipling early. That is one of the many wonderful things he did for me that I will never be able to repay. The best tribute I can manage is to pass it on.
Yup, I have a tendency to allow my characters to lug around summoning scrolls and rings and amulets- which they never remember to use... I just don't play magic-based characters enough.
After the fight with the final hunter, I thought you would have a hard time doing better when Dragol showed up. And that's what I get for thinking! What a brilliant, crunching, cinematic battle that was. Julian dodging that great axe which, even inexpertly handled, is still deadly. And having to remain aware of the pesky archer all the time, as well.
This was a Hall of Fame fight scene- training and determination overcoming muscle and avarice.
Sorry Aleron could not be kept alive, but it saves Ursanne from having to kill him herself. And it adds a realism that is often lacking- a reminder that no matter how heroic your character, s/he can't save everyone.
Brilliant work.
I will say only this.
I couldn't have plotted, and written, that fight scene better myself.
nuff said.
I like how Dragol was just going to leave Julian locked up in the Fort. Even better yet, how she taunted him into turning to fight.
Now that was an exciting fight! Especially so that Dragol was not a trained fighter, and made rookie mistakes. It is nice to see a villain who is not an uber-fighter, but rather a leader. Julian, otoh, shows her experience in the way she picks her ground and takes her time, wearing him down until she can find an opening to exploit.
Finally, we see a good use of her skeleton. Bones! That was the same name my character Saya used for her skeleton (whom I eventually made into a companion with the CM Partners mod).
nits:
A place under the walkway where the ground rose nearly to the underside of the walkway, its arched support providing additional cover, appeared in the corner of my eye.
You have walkway twice here, and sentence that rather runs on as well. How about:
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a place where the ground rose nearly to the underside of the walkway. Its arched support provided additional cover, so I retreated there. Placing my back to the wall in the corner created by the exterior wall of the keep and the support pillar, I let the orc come to me.
A grand ending, very well choreographed and written, it felt like I was there watching. I agree having Dragol unskilled (but still a massive orc with an axe) was a good move, it adds realism that the main boss was a better mobster than fighter.
The archer was a nice addition to even things up, I would say that her injuries seemed a bit severe to be doing much swinging of swords, though perhaps being shot isn't as bad if you're halfway though a fight (and she is the hero of kvatch ;P).
And I suspect we'll be seeing more skelitons in the future, the inclusion of magic into her style is great, and the development is slow enough to be convincing.
@Acadian: Yes, Julian helps me write. That’s the fun of writing - getting inside someone else’s head and experiencing what they experience. I had to laugh at your description of an archer nightmare!
@treydog:
That touch...of the sudden, unexpected craving for a drug - I have seen that happen to addicts in real life. Kudos for realism, Hautee!
At .11, this is one of your larger chapters. Looks like a lot of people came to grief in that fort...
I had forgotten about Julian having the drinking problem as well as the skooma one. The skooma tends to be overwhelming in the mind. I liked how it was the Emperor who "cured" her of her addictions, albeit only temporarily. It helps reinforce that he was a larger-than-life person, someone who changes everyone he meets.
Hopefully Julian will get some of that well-needed rest and healing, she certainly needs it!
I'm so glad Julian figured out how to get that gate open.
You really put me in Julian's head as she wrestled with the tempting relief of the wine. I was holding my breath, unsure what to expect - even from our strong Redguard - until she managed to choose as she did. I'm so proud of you, Julian. I so hope Marz can help.
To make matters worse, Julian must deliver the tragic news to Ursanne.
I was worried about how you were going to handle the Argonian 'driver'. I should not have worried, for the answer is 'brilliantly'. Your explanation not only made perfect sense, but it was also very satisfying. I'm glad he did not have to join the body count at Fort Grief. Of course I'm also a little selfish in wanting to spare poor Julian's arrow-pierced left shoulder the challenge of trying to row to Bravil by herself.
Greetings.
There are so many chapters to praise you on so I will stick with: OMG! this is awesome. The realism of your character is brilliant. Most of the time I forget that you are following a quest because your writing is so natural. Another congratulations is in order for your descriptions of food. I hopw Julian can resist that wine, I hear S'drassa at the Leyawiin mages guild is developing a cure for skooma addiction
Keep up the good work.
And we leave Fort Grief... I suspect Marz will have some tutting to do after healing her (and we may discover more about those headaches). And it looks like another Argonian likes her now, perhaps she could get him to drop her off on a little sunny island in the Nibben for a break after she's done beating up Dagon...
I can see there being some rest anyway, if she goes where I expect at least.
Great stuff, and pleanty drawing it on though I am looking forward to the next (?) quest. A lot.
What stands out to me about this installment? Well, let's start with the first sentence and read through to the last one. Yes, that covers it.
You very effectively describe the toll taken not just by the last fight, but all the ones before. And, with exhaustion comes craving. Athlain can identify.
The fact that the Argonian is another debt-slave was a nice touch, especially so as Julian sought to persuade rather than kill indiscriminately. If Marz is unable to solve the skooma problem, there is a certain red-haired elven princess who has had some success...
13.10 Hunter’s Revenge
You had me by opening with the worst part of the quest, stepping out of Fort Grief (what a great name!) just in time to see Aleron get the axe (literally). From there the battle that followed did not disappoint. In the hands of a lesser writer Julian taking down both Kurdan and his Khajiit friend so soon after her epic battle inside the Fort could have buried the needle on the uber-scale. Your handling of it not only showed Julian’s abilities, but her limitations as well.
IMHO you could simplify the sentence that SubRosa pointed out by saying something to the effect of:
A place where the ground rose nearly to the underside of the walkway caught my eye. Its arched support would provide additional cover.
@Foxy: Alcoholism runs in my family, so I’ve seen the same things you have. Thanks for your validation of my little touches. I felt the addiction needs to be addressed from time to time. The Fort Grief quest was great for so many reasons, and the resurgence of the addictive cravings is just the icing on the cake.
@SubRosa: This is the largest chapter I’ve written thus far. I wanted to remind everyone that Julian found skooma after drinking failed to subdue the pain she was experiencing. Alcoholism is addiction, just legal, at least in this country at this time.
@Acadian: It made sense to me when I first wrote this quest to have a chauffeur row Julian out to Fort Grief, since there are quite a few islands in Niben Bay. It’s kind of hard to swim with sword and shield, and rather far!
@hazmick: Welcome to Old Habits Die Hard! Thanks for taking the time to read through the whole thing! I know it’s a lot of ground to cover, and I’m glad you did. The food sounds so appealing (for the most part) simply because I do my own cooking and love to experiment with flavors. So far, I haven’t made anything that tasted as bad as Maulhand’s stew!
@Olen: A nice sunny island? Sounds good! Though I think Julian would prefer one of the many islands off of the Gold Coast rather than one out in Niben Bay.
@Auggie Doggie: Does that certain red-headed princess make house (field) calls?
@Destri: I’m surprised that it was you, not Foxy, who found Dhertee Inuu-Endo! Thanks for the help on rephrasing that troublesome sentence in 13.10. At all of you who commented on Julian’s resistance to the craving, it ain’t over yet!
@mALX: LOL!
Instead of posting the next chapter, I figure it's time to close this thread and start a new one. At way over 200 posts it's getting quite long.
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4500
This starts with Chapter 14. Thanks for staying with me and Julian this long! I’ve enjoyed writing this thus far, and have enjoyed all your wonderful comments and encouragement even more.
I don't know how many times I tried to save Aleron on my first play through hahaha. Your writing had me sitting on the tip of my seat although I damn well knew how it was going to end...
Hautie!
Your story is brilliant, I've read it through so far, but I've decided to read the whole thing once again....at one time, just because...You know how it is...some books you can read over and over..and never get bored, instead you find new things...
Hence....the author wishes this thread to be locked.....so be it.
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