In Thread Four we continue Julian’s adventures with Chapter 19. Brace yourself!
For those joining the party late, here are links to the previous three threads:
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4423&st=0
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4467
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4500
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Chapter 19.1 Leyawiin Mages Guild
Jenseric would have found out by now that his name is cleared with the Watch. My mind returned to my interview with Hieronymus Lex. After I returned to the Imperial City with Seridur’s armor and claymore, I had reported the situation to Lex. He had agreed to send a messenger to Jenseric’s cabin to let the man know the outcome. Then I had sought healing from Jeelius in case I had contracted porphyric hemophilia.
That had been yesterday. I did not linger long, but instead returned to Paint and the Yellow Road south from the east coast of Lake Rumare. We had spent the night at the Imperial Bridge Inn before resuming our travel along the east side of the Niben Bay.
Paint threw his head up, his hooves clattering to a halt on the cobblestones. I looked down the twisting Yellow Road. The rain reduced visibility to less than a couple hundred meters. I dismounted when Paint remained tense, his ears flicking back and forth, his nostrils fluttering. What is it? Wolf? Troll? Spriggan? His reaction suggested it was something he had never seen before. I stepped forward, my katana ready.
A sizzling sound reached my ears, then a swirl of sparks coalesced in mid-air between me and Paint. The gelding tossed his head and stepped back as the will o’wisp solidified into its visible form. Cacat! Reflexively my katana leaped toward its glow, passing through it without any visible effect.
Paint whinnied and reared as a crackling bolt of orange lightning joined the will o’wisp to him. Flame-colored reflections sparked off the hilt of Daedra Slayer, attached to the cantle. I sheathed the katana and called on Domina Incendia to try and distract the insubstantial creature. As the will o’wisp slowly rotated in response to the flame atronach’s fireballs, I ran past it to Paint, who backed away, trembling violently. I laid a soothing hand on his shoulder and reached for my enchanted katana. Sliding it out of its scabbard, I turned around in time to see Domina Incendia dissolve from the will o’wisp’s counterattack.
Fortunately, Daedra Slayer proved as effective against the flame-shaped monster as it did against the vicious Dremora I had faced in the Deadlands. A few swings of its fiery blade dissipated the last energy of this foe, leaving behind softly glowing embers on the cobblestones.
A groan behind me spun me around. I watched horrified as Paint slowly crumpled to the slick surface of the road, his labored breaths loud in the pouring rain. “No!” As I ran to him, his head lowered to the stones, and his respiration slowed. Falling to my knees, I dropped Daedra Slayer at my side and laid my hands on his arched neck, tangling my fingers in his mane. I felt the overpowering weakness in his body as I called on my remaining magicka. The convalescence spell drained the last of my energy, and all I accomplished was a mild improvement in his stertorous breathing.
Frantically I searched in the saddle bags for the vials of magicka restoration I had purchased in the Imperial City. Finding them, I fumbled one out and hastily drank it down. Feeling the surge of energy in my core, I forced myself to calm, laying my hands on Paint’s still trembling form. I leaned my cheek on his smooth coat. “Paint, stay with me,” I whispered, concentrating on another convalescence spell. His breathing smoothed out, but the tremoring and weakness persisted.
It took all my willpower to fight back the terror I felt when I realized I might lose my traveling companion. Don’t die, Paint. You have to get up. You have to walk with me to Leyawiin. We can’t stay here in the wilderness. I drank another potion and cast another spell to help him recover.
Six vials, my entire supply of restore magicka potions, lay empty on the cobblestones, and I was shaking with the repeated spell-casting before Paint attempted to rise. His first attempt was unsuccessful, and left him blowing hard. The second try was better, and he swayed on his feet, muscles tremoring as if from a hard gallop over a long distance. Paint was too weak to lift his chiseled head, and his round brown eyes were half-closed and sunken into his skull. I rose to my feet, my hands on his shoulder as if trying to hold him up. When I was certain he wouldn’t collapse again, I gathered the empty vials, stowing them into the saddlebags. I strapped my plain katana to my back, and removed the scabbard for Daedra Slayer, attaching it to my belt at my left hip. My plain steel bow was traded for Akatosh’s Fury, which I strung and made ready in case of more of these dangerous creatures.
I led Paint off the road down to the river bank. The mud crabs clattered away from us as I gathered wood. Paint drank from the Niben, then stood motionless, his head low, while I made a rough hearth and built a fire. I watched him anxiously as I added wood to the flames. I have some restore health potions in the pack, but how to get him to drink them? How many potions would be effective for a horse his size? I could feel my magicka slowly replenishing. As Paint did not seem to worsen, I decided to wait until my energy was fully returned and try another convalescence spell again.
The night passed with agonizing slowness as I sat with Paint. Every time my magicka replenished to its full strength, I would cast a convalescence spell on him. I dozed fitfully in between, torn between the need to reach Leyawiin as quickly as possible and my promise to the deceased Prior who had so generously given me such a wonderful traveling companion. The rain soaked me to the skin, but I paid it no mind.
By the time the overcast sky lightened with the dawn, Paint was no longer trembling, and was able to walk, albeit slowly. His head remained low, and his eyes did not sparkle with his usual humor. He showed little interest in the grass at his feet, and did not snatch at the edible forage as we slowly walked back to the road.
Though I cast convalescence on him whenever my magicka replenished, I could not restore Paint’s vigor or strength. To spare him, I walked down the Yellow Road, leading him behind me and stopping often to let him rest.
The shadows of Leyawiin appeared through the rain a few hours later as we trudged along the Yellow Road. The city, built on the west bank of the southern Niben, seemed to disappear within its surroundings of black oaks and bald cypresses draped with tillandsia - better known as hangman’s moss, according to the Guide to Cyrodiilic Flora. The stuff was everywhere, giving the trees a sinister appearance in the rain.
As I approached this newest city in Cyrodiil, I caught my breath in dismay to find - not one, but two - Oblivion Gates crackling ominously on the eastern banks of the Niben, across from Leyawiin. I was reluctant to bring my horse down to the eastern city gate, not with daedra swarming the road nearby.
After we backtracked up the river to a bridge, I brought Paint around to the far side of the city, where I found a stable. The Khajiit Atahba assured me that she would do the best she could for my weakened horse. She purred soothingly to the gelding as she led him within the shed. The knot of worry in my chest remained as I reluctantly put him out of my mind and focused on my mission.
When I entered the city, I decided to head to the Mages Guild first, and get a feel for the situation. I had never been to Leyawiin before, and knew next to nothing about its Count, Marius Caro.
Entering the Guild chapter house, I was glad to find it dry and not too warm. A young Nord, somewhat taller than me, turned around from the library table set in the center of the hall. After he laid the broadsheet down, he greeted me, putting his hands together and giving me a half-bow. “Greetings, ma’am. Kalthar, mage journeyman. How may I help you?”
I eyed him warily. Though his greeting seemed friendly enough, I thought I saw discontentment in his black eyes and beetling brows. “I’m Julian from Anvil,” speaking slowly, I watched him. This anger of his is not directed at me. “I’ve just joined the Guild, and am gathering recommendations to gain admission to the University.” Aha, there it is.
Kalthar’s gaze turned even darker as his brows drew together into a furry caterpillar. “Oh, boy, good luck getting that,” he muttered. “You’d need to talk to Dagail about that. Only thing is, do you even want to?”
Schooling my face to remain bland, I frowned inwardly at his attitude. What’s with this Mages Guild? Open hostility and overt disrespect for one’s superiors? This would never last ten seconds in the Legion! “Where can I find her, sir?”
He pointed up to a flying passage above the main floor, connecting the two wings at the second level. “She’s up there, pretending to read.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said to him, seeing the scowl ease on his face. Moving to the staircase at the back of the hall, I climbed slowly up the steps. When I reached the landing, I looked around. An aged Bosmer woman sat quietly, book open in her lap, her gaze on some distant horizon visible only to her.
After I set my pack on the floor some distance away, I walked quietly to the bench and sat down next to the old woman. “Dagail, ma’am?”
“Hmm?” she turned her head to me, her ancient gaze still remote. “You seek wisdom from me, child?”
“I’m Julian, from Anvil,” I began, uncomfortable with the way she seemed to stare through me. “I’m looking for the chapter head, Dagail.”
“No, you seek words,” the old mer spoke, her voice as faraway as her gaze. “Words are . . . difficult. I hear so many voices, so loud I can not hear the words they say.” Now her faded eyes seemed to focus on me. “Will you lift your hands to help another? Will you help me find the word?”
Puzzled, I considered my answer. A seer? “Yes, I’ll help,” I said finally.
She smiled at me. “Then speak to Agata, child. She will see the path, and set you upon it.”
“Hello?” a more grounded voice reached me. I looked up at a plain Nord woman, her worn face showing a concern that I felt was not for me. I introduced myself and explained my purpose. She waved for me to follow her into the north wing. After retrieving my pack, I followed her through a heavy paneled door. As she closed the door behind us, she gestured for me to proceed ahead of her into a small room containing two beds. “Put your things there for now,” she said. “I’m Agata,” she continued. “I help Dagail with the administrative tasks. You may have noticed that she’s -” her eyes shifted uneasily, “- not well.”
“She mentioned voices, and trouble finding the word,” I said. “She did tell me to talk to you about it.”
Agata sighed and sat on the other bed, motioning for me to do the same. “She has visions, you see,” she looked down at her roughened hands. “They’ve been helpful in the past, but now they have become problematic. She had an amulet,” her fingers touched her breast, where such a piece of jewelry would lie, “a family heirloom that helped her focus these visions. Without it, all she sees and hears is chaos.”
“And she has lost it?” I asked quietly, fingering the Jewel of the Rumare on my little finger. It had become such a part of me, I never thought to remove it. It allowed me to swim long distances underwater without surfacing, and had served me well in Cheydinhal. It also reminded me of my good friend, who loved Paint as much as I did. Sadness at the thought of his condition choked my throat, and I forced it away with a swallow. Looking up in time to see Agata’s nod, I considered the situation. “Have you spoken to the other mages about it?”
“I’ve tried to keep it from them, for fear they would be less - accepting of her.”
“Of Dagail, or of her authority?” I asked, thinking of Kalthar.
Agata considered my words. “Both,” she said finally. “Dagail had a good reputation within the guild, and was valuable to the Council of Mages. But as she became older, she became less coherent. The Council sent her here.” She rose and paced to the leaded window, looking out at the rainy day outside. “There are some here who resent her presence, and wish she’d disappear.” She shot me a fierce glance. “I do not. I am proud to help her with her daily tasks.”
“Well,” I said after a moment, “I promised Dagail that I would help her.” I rose to my feet and started pulling out my civilian clothing. Fortunately the bag had kept everything dry. “Let me change, and I can get started.” I glanced at Agata, already unbuckling the cuirass. “There are a couple of things I need to do in town,” I paused to shrug the armor off with a soft susurrus of mail. “But I keep my promises.”
“Talk to the other mages, see if they know anything about the Seer’s Stone,” Agata moved away from the window. “That’s what Dagail calls her amulet.”
I wanted to read some other threads before this one....
... BUT OLD HABITS DIE HARD.
First, congratulations on thread 4. Then: GAAAAAH!!!! Poor Paint !!!!!! And ending the story without letting the reader know he was back...it's a cliffhanger !!!!!!
Congratulations on your new thread!
The horror of wills-o-the-wisp. Julian's valiant efforts here on Paint's behalf were exactly what I would have expected from our hero. You certainly have endeared the wonderful gelding to us. I wonder if he will be ok, or whether age and injury mark his days of traveling with Julian as limited. Very touching.
Julian carries quite the small specialized collection of weaponry - as she should. Each has a purpose and she well knows how to use them. Yes, a hero on her way to champion.
Somehow the idea of Hieronymous Lex interviewing Julian about Seridur as we are reading about Julian interviewing Athlain in another F just struck me as brilliant synergy. Talk about the hand being on the other foot there!
Poor Paint! Oh noes! You do an amazing job of tugging at our (well at least my) heartstrings with the plight of Julian's trusty steed. Thankfully he made it back to Leyawiin. Now if Julian can only find a way to restore his vitality.
“She’s up there, pretending to read.”
Ouch! I bet that set Julian's teeth on edge! I am half-surprised that she did not knock Unibrow on his british boat right there!
I like your portrayal of Agata. I have always admired her loyalty to Dagail, even though at times you can tell that even she is vexed by the elderly Bosmer's condition. Yet even still she does her best to protect Dagail and keep everything running. I have always thought that Agata would make an excellent chapter head in her own right, and probably will some day. Perhaps she will be moving to Bruma after there is an opening the guild up there?
First, congratulations of Thread 4! It is a testament to the vitality and strength of this story to have reached that milestone so quickly.
Oh, how I hate wisps! And now, with Paint victimized by one of the glowing little [censoreds], I have even more reason to do so.
Thread four?! Already? By the Nine, hautee, you’re making the rest of us look bad!
What a way to begin it! Paint survives the various imps, wolves, trolls, and spriggans that infests Cyrodiil’s roads only to fall to the least substantial, and therefore most dangerous, foe of all. I am rooting for the old gelding, but I am not too concerned. Paint is too hardy a soul to be kept down for long.
Wow! Lot’s of Kalthar hate out there! He can’t help his unibrow (okay, maybe he can). Julian’s instincts in judging him ring true to her assessment of just about every other male she has encountered in a Mages Guild chapter house. Isn’t it a little strange that all the females are so downright virtuous? Check it, after one (almost) conversation with Dagail, Julian describes herself as ‘puzzled’, and I agree with ‘Rosa that you can just tell that Dagail vexes Agata at times. It is easy to see how close proximity over time would move Kalthar toward anger. I am not condoning his actions, mind you. I am merely pointing out that we (meaning Julian) don’t yet know what those actions are. I’m sure that when she finds out, his British boat will be royally kicked!
@Foxy: Thanks for the compliment! Yes, old habits do die hard.
@mALX: It will be a while before we know of Paint’s fate. It’s very heartbreaking to write this, but I have experienced similar episodes twice with my old mare (though not with a will o’wisp!), and I know the feelings Julian experiences all too well.
@Acadian: Julian’s like me - travel as light as you can and still survive. When Dagail gets her focus back, some of the things she tells Julian will send chills up her spine. But Julian still sees the good in both women. As for Kalthar, not to fear!
@SubRosa: I consider Agata to be the kind of person one loves to have running the day to day in a vet clinic - the go-to person for personnel issues, inventory control, and handling the ubiquitous sales reps. I’ve been lucky to work in a couple of clinics that have such people on staff, and they are a godsend! If it wasn’t for Agata, the Leyawiin chapter would be utter chaos!
@trey: I understand girls and horses all too well, having been a girl once myself (a loong time ago!).
@Destri: It sure seems that way, doesn’t it?
It’s only fair to send up a warning to our male fans. Julian is long over-due for a dose of chickness. Here it comes!
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Chapter 19.2 - A Woman of Intrigue
It was late in the evening when I returned to Leyawiin. Weary, drenched, and grumpy, I stopped off at The Dividing Line to leave my armor and weapons for repairing. Back outside, my lightweight feminine clothes were quickly soaked in the rain. Lightning lit the streets before me in flickers as bright as day.
In the Mages Guild, I encountered Alves Uvenim, the local alchemist. She took one look at me puddling on the stone floor and ushered me upstairs to the room Agata had assigned me. “My dear, how can you walk around in the rain like this!” she exclaimed. “You’ll catch your death of bloodlung doing that!”
“I’m a Redguard,” I commented in response, “I don’t get sick easily if at all.”
“Even so,” the slender Dunmer countered, “you don’t want to take chances! You need a rain cloak in this climate.” She moved to one of the dressers in the room, and drew out a towel. “Here, get out of those wet clothes and dry yourself off. I’ll find you a clean and dry dress for dinner.”
Her back to me, she kept nattering on about the ill effect of rain on people’s health, especially those new to the southern climate. Her treatment of me brought a smile to my lips as I stripped out of the sodden clothes, my grumpy mood dissipating with her solicitation. I couldn’t help liking this golden-haired Dunmer.
She drew out a fine blue velvet dress and turned around, shaking the heavy folds out and holding it up to me. My eyes widened at the lush silver-trimmed fabric. “This should fit you just fine,” Uvenim mused, tilting her head at me. She shook the dress at me. “Go on, try it on.”
The blue velvet settled around my frame as if custom-tailored to me. The neckline was more daring than any I had ever thought to wear, revealing my shoulders and dipping a little lower in the back than in the front. The long sleeves hugged my arms to the wrists. The bodice clasped my ribs in a gentle embrace once the golden laces on the sides were snugged up. Below my hips, the fabric flared softly like the petals of tulips to just barely brush my toes.
Uvenim stepped back, twitching the skirts so they fell smoothly to the floor. “Oh, and there’s something that would go perfectly with this!” she exclaimed at a thought. Kneeling before a chest between the two beds, she drew out a pair of flat-heeled blue suede shoes. “Here, put these on,” she urged me. As I slipped my feet into them, I found them just a little too tight.
Which is worse? I wondered. Boots too big for my feet, or shoes too small?
“Oh, don’t worry about the fit,” Uvenim assured me, looking up at me. “The material will stretch given time.”
“Well, I do have big feet,” I muttered, self-conscious in the fancy clothing.
“You’re tall,” Uvenim countered. “Your feet match your height.” She rose gracefully to her feet. “Now, about your hair -”
“What?” Now I felt a sense of alarm. “No, my hair’s fine,” I put my hand up to my head, touching my ponytail.
“Nonsense!” Uvenim exclaimed. She drew me before the pier glass at the far end of the room. Turning me to face the mirror, she stood on tiptoe behind me to look over my shoulder. “Look at yourself,” she commanded. Her fingers worked the thong away from my hair as I regarded my smoky reflection.
That’s not me. That’s some noblewoman. My image was unrecognizable as the woman I knew myself to be. This stranger looking back at me, with my white hair, my dark skin, and my grey-green eyes had the regal bearing of some privileged lady, not a scruffy old soldier.
“I thought this dress would complement your figure beautifully,” Uvenim turned from me to bring up a chair. With light fingertips on my shoulder, she indicated for me to seat myself before the looking glass. “Why, you would fit in at one of the Countess’s dinners!”
“Um, I don’t think so,” I muttered. “After all, I wouldn’t know how to handle all the extra forks and knives.”
“Oh, that’s easy!” Uvenim chuckled as she started brushing the snarls from my hair. “Just do what the Countess does!” She picked up my locks in her free hand. “My goodness, your hair is so silky! Not like typical Redguard hair. Who’s your father?”
“What?” I met Uvenim’s gaze in the mirror, startled by the question. “I never knew my father,” I admitted, suddenly ashamed. “My mother never spoke of him.”
“Well, there’s quite a bit about you that isn’t typical Redguard,” Uvenim continued matter-of-factly. “Your height - you’re as tall as most Ra’Gada men. Your eye color - a most unusual shade of green. Though now,” she leaned down to place her face next to mine, meeting my gaze in the mirror, “they’re more blue, because they’re reflecting the color of the dress.” Straightening back up, she resumed brushing my hair. “And this is very thick and heavy, but so smooth like silk. Hmm,” she set the brush down, and began twisting the white locks into a long, thick cord. As I watched, bemused, she continued twisting my hair until it coiled around itself, forming a thick serpent’s knot at the back of my head.
“There!” she looked at me again in the mirror. “See how that shows off your neck and shoulders? Wait!” she dropped the knot. As my hair cascaded down my back, Uvenim returned to the dresser, where she opened a jewelry box sitting on the top. My eyes grew even wider as she drew out two long, thin objects, both black with silver banding, both with small silver beads dangling from the slightly thicker ends.
“No woman of intrigue should be without some means of protection,” she smiled at me as she handed me the sticks. “These are used to secure hair coils,” she continued, returning to my coiffure and restoring the serpent’s coil. “Go on, pull them apart,” she encouraged me, holding my hair up with one hand.
Obeying her, I tugged on the opposite ends of one of the sticks. As it came apart to reveal a needle thin stiletto, I nearly dropped the pieces. Woman of intrigue, all right. Who brought these things to the Mages Guild? Hurriedly, I sheathed the stiletto. Uvenim reached over my shoulder and plucked one of the hairpins from my fingers and worked it into my hair from top to bottom, one side to the other.
Silently, I handed her the other stick and watched as she placed it in the opposite direction. My reflection stared back at me, breathlessly beautiful as I had never considered myself to be. Uvenim beamed over my head at me, her red eyes glowing in the smoky glass.
“Now, if you were to go to the Countess’s dinner,” Uvenim’s voice sparkled, “even the Count himself couldn’t refuse anything you ask of him!”
How does she know of my mission to the Count? I had not yet sought an audience with Count Caro. Those Oblivion Gates outside the city rested heavily on my mind. Sooner or later, I would have to deal with them, if only for the sake of travelers on the road and river.
“How did you know of those sticks?” I found myself asking instead. Uvenim flushed deeply.
“Family heirloom,” she responded curtly. “Mother made me take them when I left for the Mages Guild. As if I would come to any harm from overly amorous mer here in Leyawiin.” Her tone took on a slight tinge of bitterness. Turning in the chair to face her, I raised an eyebrow at the slender Dunmer.
“If these are family heirlooms,” I reached up a hand to touch the ebon hairpins, “then I have no claim to wearing them. You should be the one wearing them, not I.”
“You would know how to use the stilettos better than I,” Uvenim responded. “I’m no fighter, nor do I feel the need to learn. My mother’s grandmother was rumored to have been an assassin, many years ago.” Firmly she drew my hand away from my coif. “My mother always said Great Grandmother was a courtesan and a woman well-skilled in conspiracy. It’s true that during that time, the royal court was experiencing a time of intrigue.”
“I don’t intrigue,” I responded firmly. “I’m a soldier, I fight honestly.”
“Then these shall be nothing more than mere hairsticks,” Uvenim countered, equally firm. “Besides,” she tossed her golden bob back from her face, “my hair is too short and fine to use these. They would look ridiculous on me!” She clapped her hands in a signal that the subject was done. “Come, let us go to dinner.”
Alves! She has been my favorite person in Leyawiin ever since Saya woke up in bed with her. Julian's long-overdue makeover was a pure joy, and filled with all sorts of implications about Alves. Is she another Blade perhaps? Or just the guild alchemist she claims to be? We also see yet another hint about Julian's father, he with the heavy, silky hair (an elf perhaps?, or maybe a Breton?)
I thought Julian was beautiful even before I learned she TIES HER HAIR INTO A PONY TAIL USING HER THONG!!!!!
So...Alves Uvenim...I sense intrigue...is Julian finally going to have ROMANCE? (or do I just need another cold shower?) ROFL !!!!! I wait the next chapter with impatience, MORE!!! MORE!!!
Er....what type of thong are we talking about???![]()
Grrrr Now I can't get the "THONG SONG" out of my head!!! Or my eyes!!! (Nelson - Thong Song).
Dang. I meant Sisqo, of course....and with that white hair and redguard skin....he IS (shock! horror!) Julian's sexy, absentee father....
AAAAAARGH!!!!!!
Given the silky white hair, I think the only logical conclusion is that http://ui15.gamespot.com/1614/ffvii1_2.jpg was Julian's father (I guess that means Jenova was her mother...).
I loved this! You go Alves! Girl up, Julian! WooHoo!
Ok, ok. What a nice interlude of fashion as well as neat insight into Alves. We've always found her to be a kind and helpful NPC.
Dinner with the Countess and Count? Oh, I hope so! Regardless, I can't wait to see how Julian goes about trying to get some help from Count Leyawiin. Leyawiin is such a fun town, with plenty of its own intrigue, seediness and dark secrets. I am really looking forward to Julian's time here!
Yes, there is definitely much more to Alves hidden beneath that blonde hair. It is wonderful to watch Julian finally begin to see that she is beautiful. Of course, her faithful readers have never seen her as “a scruffy old soldier,” anyway. But… it is self-perception that matters the most.
This episode is another lesson to aspiring writers- take time with your characters. Give them room to grow in between the fighting. This is the mark of a character-driven story- and of a brilliant writer.
And to pile on to the paternity speculation- unusually tall, green-grey-blue eyes, silky hair, spent time in Skyrim…. I think there might be a Nord somewhere in there.
@SubRosa: Alves will have to remain a mystery for now.
@mALX and D. Foxy: ROFL!! And mALX, it seems another cold shower is in order . . .
@Acadian: I don’t think Julian will ever be sitting down to dinner with the Count and Countess of Leyawiin anytime soon, as you will find out in upcoming segments. But Alves has given her a valuable lesson that will come in handy in the future.
@Destri: Hair is very important to many women, not just black women. It’s just that some of us don’t know how to deal with what Mara gave us, and others of us make poor choices in hair. Julian herself kept her own hair close-cropped while in the Legion, and it was allowed to grow so long only through neglect.
@trey: Julian knows too well that not everyone “fights honestly.” She won’t be setting foot inside a court except as a soldier any time soon.
Dagail’s faculties are restored, and Julian gets more than she bargained for from the chapter head.
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Chapter 19.3 - The Seer’s Stone
Around the small dinner table, Kalthar’s absence was noted with desultory comments. Glancing at Agata, I kept silent. His blood was being cleaned off my katana and armor at The Dividing Line. The careworn Nord caught my look, and returned it blandly.
The Leyawiin Mages Guild was much smaller than those at Bravil and Cheydinhal, indicative of the city’s relative newness. Leyawiin’s location at the end of the Niben, near Topal Bay, made it ideal to control trade up and down the river. While some of the smaller seagoing vessels, such as galleons and caravels, could pass up the river with little difficulty, the larger carracks and galleasses had deeper drafts that prevented them from passing the Niben Shallows near Fort Redman.
This simple fact made Leyawiin the natural port for such ocean-going vessels to stop and offload their cargo into smaller ships for transport up the Niben to the Imperial City. As Leyawiin was expected to grow, I expected the Leyawiin Chapter to grow as well, unlike Bruma’s, where the cold climate kept many people away.
These thoughts did not make Kalthar’s absence any less glaring tonight at dinner. Dagail remained silent throughout the meal, often pausing in her eating to gaze off into the maelstrom of voices only she heard. Agata said nothing of Kalthar’s absence other than the comment, “He’s free to go out on research.” Uvenim and S’drassa speculated on his absence perfunctorily with each other, but soon ran out of words.
The simple meal of grilled fish, wilted watercress and wild rice quickly became a memory, and the two junior mages left the table, heading for the alchemy laboratory. Only Dagail, Agata, and I remained.
Reaching into the pocket of my blue velvet dress, I drew out the Seer’s Stone. Agata inhaled sharply as I gently picked up Dagail’s right hand and set the large amethyst firmly in her palm. Her faded eyes drifted from nowhere to focus on me, her fingers closing over the amulet.
“Found it, have you,” she murmured, her gaze steady on mine, intelligence and awareness dawning in her expression. “Silenced the hands that betrayed, and took what was mine.” Her arthritic fingers fumbled at the chain as she raised the amulet to her neck. Agata moved to take the clasp and fasten the necklace around the old Bosmer’s neck. “Ah,” Dagail sighed as the amethyst came to rest on her breast, just above the bateau neckline of her black gown. “Thank you, that is much better.” Her hands moved from the amulet to take my left hand. “I see the words you seek. You have my -” her eyes unfocused momentarily, “- recommendation. But I have also seen your future. Things that may be, and things that will be. Life and death are such strange things, yet the fate of many will be in your hands.” She smiled sadly at me. “Your choices will influence so many lives, Julian.”
A horde of ants crawled up my spine at her words. Did she just tell me my fortune? “Thank you for the recommendation, ma’am,” I said finally.
Dagail released my hand, sitting back in her chair, her eyes still on mine. “Tell me what happened, Julian.” Her voice held quiet authority, something it had lacked before.
“I went to Fort Blueblood, after I learned that your father had died in service there ma’am,” I paused, averting my face to briefly consider the death of another soldier, however long ago it occurred. “It is a marauder’s nest now,” I continued after a moment. “The upper levels were full of them. I had to fight my way through to the lower level.”
“How did you manage by yourself, with just a katana?” Agata asked.
“I learned the Sunbird Dance when I was a recruit in the Legion,” I answered. “It was developed for light swords such as the katana, and makes the most of the weapon’s strengths. Footwork is essential, footwork and balance.” Now I smiled at them. “And it proves useful for spellcasters, ironically enough.”
“Ironic?” Agata repeated.
“Yes, it was developed by the Ra’Gada, who have little use for magicka such as the mer and Bretons use. It precludes the need for a shield. And yet -” I shook my head. “I found myself using life detection spells to locate enemies around corners, shield spells to protect myself from the heavier weapons of the marauders, and my Domina Incendia for distraction.” Looking down at my hands, I wondered how I had reached this point in my magicka use. Necessity. “Not having to carry a shield meant my left hand was free to cast spells. I also used my sneak skills to the utmost.” Though there had been times when the slithering of Matius’s mail cuirass gave me away.
“When I reached the crypt, I was surprised to find dead marauders. There was a troll, and a will-o-wisp roaming around.” I took a breath, relieving the moment of panic when I realized I had left Daedra Slayer behind, the only effective weapon I had against that ethereal being. Before the two creatures had detected me, I had recovered enough to summon Domina Incendia one more time. “My flame atronach took care of them before she dissipated.”
“Those summons are very useful against trolls and will-o-wisps,” Dagail agreed.
“I looked through the crypt,” I continued after a moment. “I recalled Agata saying that your father was buried there.” Again I looked down at my hands. “I hated to do it, but I had to open Manduin’s tomb. I found his amulet on his body.”
Dagail reached over and laid her hand on my wrist. “My dear, you did what you had to do, and you did it to help me. My father would not have wanted it any other way.”
“That’s what I was hoping, ma’am,” I looked up into her kind gaze. “That’s when Kalthar showed up.”
“Kalthar?” Agata exclaimed sharply. “What was he doing there?”
“He apparently had figured out I had been sent to recover Manduin’s amulet,” I responded. “He must have followed me there and waited until I had the stone. Then he confronted me.”
The black-haired Nord scowled at me. “Look, I - I - I just can’t let you take the amulet. You can’t leave with it. Give it to me right now.”
“The amulet rightfully belongs to Dagail,” I answered firmly. “It is her inheritance from her father. Since you took the other one -”
“Yes, I took it!” Kalthar interrupted me, stress evident in his voice. “I just wanted to get out of that place. All I wanted was for Dagail to get me transferred out of Leyawiin, or to step down. I would have given it back to her then!”
“But in taking the amulet,” I responded smoothly, “you incapacitated her. She could not have you transferred. She may have been replaced, but you would still be stuck there.”
“But it would be with someone who really knows how to run a Guild chapterhouse!” Kalthar shot back. “Anyone would have been better than that senile old bat!” He stamped his foot, and in that moment gave me the impression of a spoiled brat deprived of his way. “But you had to go and spoil everything! Why?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” I answered levelly. Kalthar shouted a string of curses at me, taking a step back and raising his left hand. Magicka shimmered around his fist as he started incanting under his breath.
My magicka not as well developed as his, I knew I couldn’t let him cast any spells. Thanking Cirroc for the hundredth time that day, I leaped after Kalthar and swung my blade at his left arm. The katana bit into the muscles of his upper arm, and I twisted it to incur as much damage in that one stroke as I could. He shouted in pain and anger, his left arm falling uselessly to his side, yellow light fizzling away.
He tried to back up another step to cast right handed, but my blade sought the other arm, striking deep into the tendons of his right elbow. “Stop it,” I said to him, keeping my voice quiet out of respect for the dead soldiers buried here. “No more fighting. It’s over. Come back with me, Kalthar.”
He stared aghast at his useless limbs, then lifted his face to me, mouth opening wide and throat swelling. Inhaling deeply, he seemed to suck the air of the crypt into himself.
The thu’um! Vaguely remembering something about the Nordic magic, I knew he could kill me with the power of the Voice. Again I leaped toward him, the tip of my weapon slicing through his throat, its point skimming along the bones of his spine and nearly decapitating him.
My eyes closed, I saw again how his body crumpled to the stones of the crypt, blood fountaining over my weapon, my face and hair, my cuirass. “I had to kill him,” I said quietly. “I tried to disable him, keep him from casting any magic. But he apparently knew the thu’um, and I couldn’t take the chance to find out the hard way.”
Dagail’s hand, still on my wrist, squeezed harder until I opened my eyes to look at her. “My dear Julian, Kalthar was driven insane, as I have been. However, no amulet or enchanted jewelry was going to restore his sanity. I see what it cost you to kill a fellow mage. He placed himself outside the Mages Guild protection when he threatened you.” Taking a deep breath, she picked up my left hand and cupped it in her own wizened fingers, tracing the calluses and lines in my palm.
“I see the City in the Hand, and the Hand in the Stars. The Tower guards the Gate, but the Gate holds the Key. The King is the Key, and the Hand guards the King.” She looked up at me as the words hung heavy and cold in the air between us. “You have much work yet to do, and we can not keep you any more from it. The King needs you.”
Feeling the blood rush from my face, I was reminded again of Uriel Septim’s words to me - Sun’s Companion. Son’s Companion. “Yes, he does,” I admitted softly. “Thank you again, Dagail.”
“No, no,” the old woman shook her head. “It is I who must thank you.”
I was surprised that after you return the amulet to Dagail, if you keep coming back to her and talking she will continue giving you insight into your future (probably based on what is in your journal of active quests) - it is one of those really cool details Bethesda threw in the game.
Awesome Write!!! Going back over the story in dialogue kept it from the repetative descriptions of actually going through the Fort, great call on that !!!
Your depiction of Dagail as you hand her the amulet and she becomes more lucid - HUGE - subtle descriptions that paint the visual so believably !!!
Sunbird Dance - I don't know if that is something really in the game - (hadn't heard of it) - but I absolutely loved that paragraph where Julian describes how it works - AWESOME !!!!
Well done, Rider! I think you made excellent choices in what to present here and how to do it. You summarized the events in Fort Blueblood nicely. Very creative in disabling Kalthar's spellcasting in typical Julain fashion (blade!). What a delight to see tribute/mention to the Nordic Thu'um, and how revealing it is that Julian's wealth of travel and experience rendered her familiar with it.
Once again, you display how much Julian has grown and how well she integrates blade with magic (and being nimble of foot).
His blood was being cleaned off my katana and armor at The Dividing Line.
I love this line!
I like how you started the episode back in Leyawiin, with the quest finished, and then recounted events for us. With so many dungeon-crawls in this story, a blow-by-blow account as it happens for every one would be very tedious. Very thoughtful way of Julian 'disarming' Kalthar. Likewise with him having the thu'um. I forget he is a Nord because of the black hair.
Likewise, a nice demonstration of Julian's own skillz once more. Even more appreciated is the background you provided in her explanation of the Sunbird, and the Redguard way of fighting, not to mention her adoption of magic use.
SubRosa said everything I would have! I love the little details like Julian revealing the origin of the Sunbird Dance as a Redguard tradition, and the fact that they have little use for magic. And her time in Skyrim would naturally make her familiar with the thu’um (though how Kalthar learned it is beyond me). The bits of descriptive atmosphere (Dagail listening to a maelstrom of voices, and the horde of ants crawling up Julian’s spine) worked beautifully.
Next time, though, tell her to keep Daedra Slayer with her!
Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.
Others have already mentioned much of what struck me about this one, but I will go on about some things anyway. ![]()
@mALX: I think I have briefly mentioned the Sunbird Dance. It’s something original to OHDH - it is not found in the game nor is it found in the Lore. I felt that the world of Julian’s Nirn needed something along the lines of the martial arts disciplines found throughout Asian history, especially China, Korea and Japan.
@Acadian: I felt that Julian’s sojourn in Leyawiin was a perfect time to pause and take stock of how much she has learned to use magic in her combat. After years of fighting as part of a cohort, she has had to learn how to fight on her own, and it’s a whole different ball game.
@SubRosa: Thanks, Sage! I tried to bring up a little more of Julian’s training, both conventional and unconventional, here in this segment. It’s a challenge picking and choosing what to show and what to tell, especially with so many Oblivion Gates and dungeons. It all gets boring after the first couple or so . . .
@Destri: I wasn’t about to let Kalthar go down without a good fight, so I gave him the knowledge of the thu’um. As for Daedra Slayer, well, that’s further proof of what I call the umbrella theory!
@trey: Thanks! I’m glad you enjoyed the little extra power I gave Kalthar. It scared the crap out of Julian when she realized what he was trying to do. Imagine the power of that Voice in such cramped quarters!
Julian meets the wiliest Count evah. A shout out to our Paladin for crystallizing a certain female character for me. Forgive me, I borrowed heavily from your version because it fit my impression so well. And we also meet my favorite Orc.
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Chapter 19.4 The Master Negotiator
The next morning, I walked into the County Hall, dressed in my newly repaired armor. Tun-Zeeus had restored the luster to Matius’s mailed cuirass and the keen edge to my katana. No longer grumpy, I strode between the young guards in the antechamber, down to the main floor. The sight of more stairs rising to lead back into the County Hall proper did not strike dismay into my heart, as once they would have.
A tall female Orc turned from her study of the white horse emblem on the tapestries at the side of the hall to regard me. Clad in Orcish armor, she struck an imposing figure with her dark bronze round shield and her intimidating gaze. She watched me, her expression unreadable, as I followed the long green strip leading from the exterior to the steps at the rear of the entry hall.
The guards were easy to read, however, as they eyed my progress toward the throne room at the rear of the main Castle. Mostly young Imperial men, they regarded me with a mixture of scorn and contempt. Here my white hair and the Kvatch Wolf on my breast means nothing to them. I didn’t know whether to be relieved at their apparent ignorance of my status as the Hero of Kvatch, or be insulted by their overt disrespect. Oh well, we’ll see.
In the County Hall proper, I paused just within the entrance. Before me, clusters of dignitaries and officiates moved around the large chamber. Conversations murmured in hushed whispers. Something’s not right here - I studied the occupants intently. Mostly Imperials and Altmer. My gaze drifted upward to the balcony, where I spotted a female Argonian clad in plain linens watching the activity below. She caught my gaze and started for the stairs leading down to the main floor.
As I watched her glide down the steps, it struck me what had felt so wrong about the County Hall. No Khajiits or Argonians here. But Leyawiin is mostly Khajiits and Argonians! And no Dunmer, Bosmer, or Redguard here, either. And that Orsimer out in the entry hall -
“Welcome to County Leyawiin,” the Argonian greeted me when she reached my place near the door. “I am On-Sstaya Ssundew, Ssteward of Casstle Leyawiin.” She bowed low to me. “And Chief Advissor to Count Caro - in theory.” Her tone took on a slight edge of bitterness.
“In theory?” I repeated, meeting her orange gaze and lowering my tone to keep below the soft susurrus of conversation among the occupants.
On-Staya shrugged her slender shoulders. “Leyawiin hass alwayss been a melting pot of racess and culturess,” she answered softly. She moved to the side, leading me to a quiet corner away from everyone else, including the guards. “Of course, racial and cultural differencess produce inefficienciess and confussion.”
“Of course,” I responded. It’s the same in the Legion, until we learn to put the Legion first. “I need to speak with Count Caro,” I continued. “It’s a matter of urgency.”
“I fear Countess Leyawiin and Hlidara Mothril plan to push the minoritiess asside and establish a bland, Imperial-dominated culture here in Leyawiin,” On-Staya spoke solemnly. “For that reason, I warn you, be cautiouss when sspeaking to the Count.” Her eyes drifted toward the two thrones, where two Imperials sat, a tall brunette Altmer standing before them. “Milady has banned the beast folk from the County Hall. I am an exception only becausse I have sserved the Count’ss father before him.” She met my gaze again. “And she needss little excuse to ban otherss that don’t meet her white-bread sstandardss as well.”
I felt my jaw clench at the Argonian’s words. “Who is Hlidara Mothril?” I asked. The Argonian indicated the Altmer woman I had noticed standing near the Countess.
“Sshe is Milady’s advisor,” On-Staya answered, her tone becoming hard again.
Turning to face the Argonian, I held her orange gaze. “Will you announce me, please?”
“Of coursse,” On-Staya inclined her head gracefully. “How shall I announce you, ma’am?”
“I am Julian of Anvil,” I responded. “On a mission of some urgency.”
She regarded me a moment longer, then bowed. “Very well,” she said finally. “Follow me, and I shall do the besst I can.” Turning from me, she weaved her way through the Imperials and Altmer crowding the hall, leading me to the dais. They looked at her with gazes ranging from neutral curiosity to hostility. My spine straightened further under their assessing looks as I followed the graceful Argonian.
“My lord Count,” she paused at the foot of the dais. “Here iss Julian of Anvil, with an urgent message.” The murmuring voices fell into silence at her clear words. The Countess, a young Imperial with a haughty demeanor, looked at her with thinly veiled irritation, her nostrils flaring.
At her side, the balding Count laid a beringed hand on her arm, not taking his eyes from Sundew. His brown gaze moved from the Argonian to me. Marius Caro regarded me silently for several moments, taking in my appearance with calculation in his expression.
Will he listen to me? The atmosphere in the County Hall was chilly, with a cold that did not come from the damp stones. “My lord Count,” I began, searching for the words that would convince him of the urgency of my mission. “Oblivion Gates have been opening up across Cyrodiil. A Great Gate has led to the destruction of Kvatch, and there is evidence that the next Great Gate will be opened at Bruma.” A murmuring of voices drifted around the Hall, and the Count’s eyes dropped to the Wolf on my breast. Again silence fell when Caro raised his hand.
“A Great Gate?” he murmured, his voice falling like silken spider threads into the hush. “And the Gates that stand open outside our walls are not such?”
“You may want to thank Zenithar that they are not, sir,” I answered. “They are frightening, and dangerous enough on their own, but they are too small to let their siege engines through. They would need to open three such Gates in order to bring up a Great Gate.”
“There are two!” someone exclaimed behind me. “One more and we will be next, not Bruma!”
“No,” I shook my head, not looking for the speaker. Keeping my eyes on Caro, I continued, “No, sir, Leyawiin will not be next. However, Leyawiin will fall eventually, if we do not stop the Oblivion assault at Bruma.”
“Then we will pray to the Nine that Bruma will stand against the daedra,” Caro’s gaze shifted beyond me, and I knew he was meeting eye contact with the other. “And we will hold fast here.”
“The Bruma Watch has learned how to close the Gates, and will do so as each gate opens.” I resumed speaking when the hall fell quiet again. “Yet there will be casualties, and eventually Bruma will fall. And when Bruma falls, so will the other cities, sir.” I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “Bruma asks the other cities for help reinforcing their garrison, sir. The longer they can hold out, the better the chances for beating the daedra in the end.”
The plain-faced Countess leaned sharply to Caro’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. Though I could not catch what she said, I could hear the venom in her tone. Mothril turned to me, looking down at me from her greater height.
“Pardon me, Julian of Anvil,” she said quietly, her voice and expression neutral. “Tell me, what experience do you have of closing Oblivion Gates?” My mind blanked. How many have I closed now? Eight? Nine?
“I taught the Bruma Watch how to close them,” I answered finally. The Altmer’s gaze dropped to the Wolf emblazoned on my surcoat.
“And you closed the Great Gate at Kvatch,” she added simply. With a nod to herself, she turned back to the thrones, where the Countess still whispered in Caro’s ear. His eyes were downcast, but his expression bore weary patience. “My lord Count,” Mothril’s soft voice ended the Countess’s whispered tirade. “I believe that Julian of Anvil knows too well what she speaks of.”
“And that is precisely what I am afraid of,” Caro responded, his eyes sharpening on me. “We have two Gates standing outside our east walls. If a third one opens, Leyawiin is lost.” He shook his head. “I simply can not spare the men at the moment.” Now those deceptively mild brown eyes hardened on me. “If we did not have those Gates, I would not hesitate to send aid to Bruma.”
My heart sank. In that moment, I knew what I had to do. Close two more Gates. The sigh stifled in my throat, I raised my right fist to my breast in the traditional Legion salute. “I understand, my lord Count,” I spoke quietly into the hush. “Farewell, sir, milady,” I nodded at the young Imperial. Turning sharply on my heel, I walked out of the Hall, the crowd parting before me.
As I entered the short passage connecting the County Hall with the entry hall, I heard the Count’s voice behind me. “I hope to see you again, Julian of Anvil!” My step faltered as I glanced back. He met my gaze across the Hall, still seated on his throne, the Countess staring at him. His bald pate shimmered as he inclined his head at me.
When I turned back to the entry hall, I saw the armored bulk of the Orsimer standing in the doorway, barred from further progress by the crossed halberds of the guards posted there. Her black eyes were on me, and I realized she had heard everything from the County Hall. She stepped back as I drew near, and the guards uncrossed their weapons to let me by.
“You’re the Hero of Kvatch, aren’t you?” the Orsimer said as I passed her. A sharp glance revealed that I didn’t need to answer. She fell into step beside me, her Orcish armor clattering as she matched my long stride. “You’re going to close those two Gates?”
“Looks that way,” I murmured. Her next words caught me off guard.
“If I help you close those Gates, will you help me?”
At the bottom of the steps leading out of the entry hall, I faced the green mer, tipping my head back to meet her gaze. “What is your name, ma’am?” I asked.
“Sir Mazoga,” she responded, becoming defensive. My brows rose at her as I considered the lack of a patronymic. “Yes, I’m Mazoga. I was born under a rock and have no parents, so I don’t need a last name,” she added, scowling. “I’m a knight, so that means you have to address me as such.”
“A knight, Sir Mazoga?” I repeated. “A knight of Leyawiin?”
“No!” Mazoga’s scowl blackened further. “I’m a free knight. I don’t have a lord. You got a problem with that?”
“What do you need my help with, Sir Mazoga?” I decided to humor her, at least for the time being. I needed all my strength for two Oblivion Gates.
“You got in to see the Count,” she said, her scowl lightening a little. “I’ve been standing here waiting for three days, and they won’t let me in!”
With manners like that, I’m not surprised. What may work in the Wrothgarians likely won’t get her far here. “And you need to speak to the Count?” I asked.
“Yes!” she exclaimed. “So if I help you close those Gates, will you help me see the Count?”
This time, I did not stifle the sigh in my throat. “Can you sneak quietly?” I asked her.
“I can fight!” she drew herself up to her fullest, most formidable height. I had to admit that she looked very menacing just then. “I don’t need to sneak around!” She slapped the tall hilt of the Dwarven longsword at her hip.
“I don’t doubt you can fight well,” I countered, turning and heading up the steps. As I expected, she fell into step beside me. “But running into the Deadlands swinging and slashing that big blade of yours will only end badly.” As I pushed the right hand door open, I waved for Mazoga to exit ahead of me.
“I can fight with the best of them!” Mazoga was nothing if not stubborn.
“I’m sure you can,” I replied, glancing up at the drizzle falling around us. “But the best have tried that, and have paid the ultimate price for that.” I lowered my eyes to meet Mazoga’s gaze levelly. “I closed that Great Gate at Kvatch by sneaking around,” I continued quietly, stepping down the stairs. “I’ve only gotten better in my stealth skills since then. It’s the only way to get through the daedra.”
“But I want to help!” the big Orsimer would not give up. “I need your help!”
“Well, it’ll take me about a day for each Gate,” I mused, heading for the East Gate. “I can’t be certain daedra aren’t coming out of the Gates while I’m in the Deadlands. You can help me clear the area around each Gate, then watch for any daedra coming through while I’m in there.”
“I can do that!” Mazoga slammed her right fist into her left palm for emphasis, her gauntlets clashing loudly. Eyeing her gear, I met her gaze.
“Your equipment in good repair, Sir Mazoga?” I already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it.
“Yes!”
“Then let’s go.”
I really loved this! Yes, I am humbled and delighted that you and I tend to see Count and Countess Leyawiin in similar fashion. I see him as in love with his Countess or henpecked, or perhaps both, but not inherantly a bad fellow. She is the problem, and I honestly don't know if she can be 'fixed' - evidence doesn't seem to suggest so, does it? *Sigh*
You portrayed On-Staya wonderfully - poor thing. I'm so pleased Hildara seemed to have a grasp of the bigger threat and that her influence carried some weight.
The brooding mysterious intrigue you wove into the castle was magnificent, and very immersive as tension almost dripped from the high ceilings.
Sir Mazoga! Gosh, my respect for Julian grows with every chapter. What a combination of consideration for Mazoga's feelings and a reality check that Julian so gracefully sidelined Mazoga, yet made the big green knight feel good while so doing! 'Zoga is a loose cannon, and Julian's choice here to have her 'guard' the outside of the gate was brilliant. Hmmm. . . yet it is that very same 'loose cannon-ness' that makes me anxious to see if Mazoga can/will follow the simple instructions she has agreed to.
Wonderful, Rider!
I was sooo hoping that Julian would agree to take Mazoga with her! But I can certainly understand why she didn’t. Nothing says ‘intruder’ louder than the sight of a six-and-a-half-foot female orc stomping through the Deadlands with a sword in her hand!
Your depiction of the audience chamber made me want to strangle Countess Alessia and all of her lickspittles! Talk about immersive! Marius Caro may well be a wise and wily ruler, but he is incredibly weak where his wife is concerned. I imagine that the day she packed up her dowry and her bodyguard and ventured down to Leyawiin is still remembered as a day of thanks-giving in Chorrol! I especially liked the idea that the only voices of reason in the entire castle came from an Altmer, an Argonian, and strangely enough, an Orc.
Once (twice) more into the breach, Julian!
It always surprises me to read Julian has been in the Legion so long, but doesn't repair her own weapons and armor. Is there a story behind that?
Mazoga is at her best in this chapter, Awesome job you did on her!!!!
The sight of more stairs rising to lead back into the County Hall proper did not strike dismay into my heart,
This was a good touch. It was the first thing I thought too, when I saw the part about more stairs.
I like the way you described the County Hall. All of them seem so empty and lifeless in the game. The way you threw in a pack of courtiers and conversations made it feel like a real, lively place.
Yay for Sir Mazoga! I see she gets to fill in for Pappy and guard the gate behind Julian.
I wonder if she will stay on the Nirn side of the gates however...
@Acadian: I don’t quite see the Count as weak, but more as a manipulative fellow. He goes along with the Countess for now because it’s less work at the moment . . . Not to mention that her mother the Countess Valga is not one you want to anger. I’m glad you got the subtleties I was trying to convey in the Leyawiin court - all is not happy and sunshine there.
@Destri: Your perception about the voice of reason in the Leyawiin Court is spot on! I was trying to bring on the irony of the situation that Julian found herself in.
@mALX: Well, we found out fairly early in the story that Julian’s brother apprenticed to Morvayn the Anvil smith. Then we find out he was killed in a very gruesome manner. I’ll let you put the pieces together. As for Mazoga, I think you’ll like her better in later chapters. I truly love her character in the vanilla Oblivion, and merely buffed her personality for this retelling.
@SubRosa: I thought you would notice the lack of dismay over all the stairs in Leyawiin County Hall!
@Trey: You happened to have picked out those lines I’m most proud of! Loved the little anecdote!
Mazoga kept her end of the deal, now it’s time for Julian to hold up hers.
*******************
Chapter 19.5 Sir Mazoga
After the brief moment of vertigo that always followed the translocation, I spotted Mazoga battling a clannfear. Her Dwarven longsword smashed heavily through the creature’s neck, effectively paralyzing it. Behind her, a flame atronach set her feet to start casting fireballs at the big Orsimer.
“Sir Mazoga!” I shouted, already using the last of my depleted magicka to cast Domina Incendia. “Behind you!”
She spun to her left, raising her huge shield to cover her left side in time to deflect the flare from the daedra. The movement indicated years of training, hard training from real experts. Shaking the blood off her blade, she ran for the daedra as Domina Incendia cast flares at her counterpart.
Domina Incendia danced to one side to keep a clear line of fire as I approached the atronach from the opposite side as Mazoga. My summons kept firing her spells when we drew near. The voluptuous atronach hissed at us as our blades flashed in the afternoon sun. Domina Incendia fizzled into thin air when we demolished our common enemy. Mazoga stared at me, panting hard, then spun toward the smoking Gate.
“Where’s that other fire-lady?” she shouted angrily.
“That one’s mine,” I scanned the area for more enemies and finding none. “I summoned her.” Mazoga’s head whipped around at me, her black eyes stunned.
“You’re a conjurer?” she exclaimed.
“Hardly,” I wiped the blood off my blade with my fingers before sheathing it. “I can cast a flame atronach, or a skeleton, but that’s about it.” My breaths came shakily as I gulped humid air into my lungs. The breeze from the Niben River dried the sweat from my face. Damn, that feels good! I knelt on the bank to wash the blood off my fingers.
“Well, that’s two Gates closed,” Mazoga finally sheathed her own Dwarven longsword after cleaning it on the dead clannfear. “I held up my end of the deal, Julian.”
“So you did, Sir Mazoga,” I responded. My eyes were drawn again to the water. My skin, scorched and dried by the heat of the Deadlands, itched beneath my cuirass. Gods, a bath would be nice. A swim even better. But I knew that I had to see the Count as I stood, in bloodied surcoat and sooty face. The impact would be greater. Turning back to Mazoga, I noted the blood trickling down the left side of her face from a wound on her scalp, the way she wavered on her feet.
As my magicka replenished and my trembling subsided, I stepped forward and touched Mazoga on her cheek. Her eyes widened and she nearly flinched away as white energy surged from my fingertips to heal the scalp wound. Her soreness and fatigue added to mine. “You’ve fought hard, Mazoga,” I said quietly as the bleeding stopped, the red fluid drying on her green skin. “Let’s go.”
She fell into step beside me. “I thought Redguards didn’t practice magic,” she remarked casually. Without breaking my stride, I shot her a glance.
“I didn’t, not until recently.” I answered. “Being old, sick and worn out, I’ve had to learn how to use magic to survive.” With a shrug, I rubbed at the back of my neck, where the sweat still trickled down from my scalp. “I’ve become somewhat better with practice.”
“Sick and worn out?” Mazoga scoffed. “You look fit!”
This time my strides did falter. Yes, she’s right. I’m almost back to my old fighting trim. This mail cuirass no longer feels as heavy as it did. Wonder if I can wear that Blades armor without staggering now? “Well, I’ve been healing myself every night, and old injuries have finally healed,” I resumed our slow trek back to Leyawiin.
“Well, magic is fine and dandy,” Mazoga remarked, her eyes on the river to our right. “But I prefer solid weapons and armor.” She slapped the tall hilt of her Dwarven sword for emphasis.
I chuckled silently, too tired to give voice to my amusement. “Used to be a time I felt the same way,” I murmured quietly. “You fight well, Mazoga,” I raised my voice a little as we passed the Coast Guard station. “You’ve been trained by someone good.”
“Thanks,” she responded. “Yeah, I learned from one of the best.”
“Anybody I know?” I asked her as we stepped onto the dusty road that led to the East Gate.
“Naspia Cosma,” Mazoga glanced at me. “Steward at Castle Cheydinhal. She’d be better off competing in the Arena.”
With a nod, I recalled the Imperial woman’s square face and quiet demeanor. “I’ve met her.” I glanced at the tall Orsimer next to me. “I can’t speak to her blade skills, but if she trained you, then she’s good.” Mazoga grinned and puffed her chest at my words. “Thanks for holding the line at the Gates while I was in the Deadlands.”
We entered the city, the young guards eyeing us with a mixture of suspicion and respect. As we trudged down Castle Road toward the County Hall, I made eye contact with a bare-headed Imperial woman. Brown hair pulled back into a bun, brown eyes with a level gaze, she paused and turned to face us as we drew near. Recognizing the Leyawiin green on her surcoat, I nodded to her in greeting.
“Hello, Julian of Anvil!” she returned, her smile not touching her hard eyes. “The Count always said Leyawiin stands alone, but you proved him wrong. Well done!”
I paused and turned toward her. “I didn’t do it alone, ma’am,” I glanced pointedly at Mazoga. “Sir Mazoga here helped keep daedra from attacking travelers on the road and the river until the Gates were closed.”
“Yes,” the woman’s gaze flickered over the big Orsimer. “I saw.” She turned her gaze back to me. “Are you going to report to the Count?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am,” I nodded in affirmation.
“Good, he will be glad to hear your news.” She turned and walked away from us. Mazoga glowered after the woman, then met my gaze.
“That’s Caelia Draconis,” she grumbled. “Captain of the Guard here. Wouldn’t let me into the County Hall to speak to the Count.”
I regarded the Orsimer for several moments. “Well,” I said finally, “I have no authority here, but I can ask Count Caro if he’ll grant you an audience.”
“To tell you the truth, Julian,” Mazoga met my gaze. “I doubt you’ll be successful. But I’d appreciate it if you would try.”
The sky above us darkened imperceptibly with the setting sun as I gazed at the taller mer. She offered to help me, though she does not expect my efforts on her behalf to succeed? She is more a knight than she realizes. She is more a true paladin.
“Tell me, what is it you wish to speak to the Count about?” I said finally. “It would help me argue your case if I knew what is it you seek from him.”
She scowled, and I wondered momentarily if I had crossed some unseen line. Still, I kept my eyes steady on hers, and forced myself to keep breathing slowly and deeply. “That is a personal matter,” she growled at me.
It’s not worth it to push the matter further. “Very well, then,” I answered, starting for the County Hall. “I’ll do the best I can, Mazoga.”
You have so captured Mazoga in this, Awesome Write !!!
I agree. This was wonderfully done. I see that you also find Mazoga best comes to life through her actions. I am so very fond of the big green mer and delighted at how you are presenting her. I quite like the alterations you seem to be making to questing with Mazoga. I wonder if Julian will become a Knight of the White Stallion, but understand if her duties to the Empire must take priority.
Like trey, I loved Julian's calculation to appear before the Count obviously fresh from the fight. Appearances matter. If we could just get Julian some more pretty dresses - with matching shoes, of course. . . alas, no doubt wishfull thinking on my part. Our hero has more important things to worry about.
It was so good to see Mazoga in action again. As Acadian already said, she really shows who she is through her actions, rather than in her brusque speech. Just like Vols in fact. I think you portrayed her wonderfully. I especially like how you filled in some of Sir Mazoga's background with Naspia Cosma being her teacher. That is one of those things they ignore in the game.
But I knew that I had to see the Count as I stood, in bloodied surcoat and sooty face. The impact would be greater.
And Julian says she does not know how to deal with Counts and other nobles!
“Yes,” the woman’s gaze flickered over the big Orsimer. “I saw.”
Nice of you to just sit and watch while other people do all the work!
@mALX: Thanks!
@trey: I’m glad you liked the interaction between Julian and Sir Mazoga. She was a difficult character for me to write - I wanted to keep her rough edges and her likability without making her into a cartoon character.
@Acadian: Julian will be associating with Mazoga long enough to find herself a Knight of the White Stallion. But you’re right, her commitment to Martin Septim takes precedence over some Count’s flight of fancy. As for the pretty dresses, well, that’ll happen again but we’ll have to wait a long time for it!
@SubRosa: We will see more of Mazoga’s history in upcoming segments. I’m not surprised to see you pounce on Caelia Draconis’s inaction. You’re not alone in that!
*******************
Chapter 19.6 - Mazoga’s Mission
The Orsimer’s face fell when I shook my head at her. “I’m sorry, Sir Mazoga,” I left the audience hall behind and waved her to follow me to the tall entrance at the other side of the entry chamber. “Count Caro wouldn’t grant you an audience.” He didn’t grant my request for assistance for Bruma, not yet anyway. “He did ask that I find out what you need, then report back to him.” As she fell into step beside me, I noted the fatigue in her face. “Where are you staying?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been here since I arrived.” She avoided the look I shot her as we headed back out into Leyawiin’s damp climate. It’s raining again, I noted with a small part of my mind.
“All right,” I made my decision. “I’m tired, hungry, and my armor needs repairing. It would be a good time now to tend to these things, and you can tell me what it is you seek the Count’s assistance with.” We turned up Castle Road toward North Way, the street that led to Westgate. Mazoga scowled, but matched my shorter stride.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I thought Five Claws Lodge would be a good place to get some grub,” I answered. “The Dividing Line is on the way, and I intend to drop off my armor and weapons there.” Again I regarded the tall Orsimer next to me. “First I’m going to the Mages Guild, to change into my street clothes, then I’ll drop my gear with Tun-Zeeus. I’ll meet you at the Five Claws in say, about thirty minutes?”
“All right,” Mazoga sighed reluctantly, still scowling. “Thirty minutes, then.”
“Listen,” I put my hand on her left shoulder, “I still owe you for your help. Dinner’s on me.” Her scowl faded, and she flashed a gap-toothed grin at me.
We parted ways near the Chapel, where Chapelstreet ran south from North Way. While the Orsimer trudged toward the Five Claws, I passed the immense stone structure and made my way to the Mages Guild. The rain poured itself into torrents by the time I reached the covered stoop to the chapterhouse.
Again Uvenim discovered me dripping on the stone floor and scolded me for not taking a rain cloak. I shook my head and smiled as I headed upstairs to my room. She turned back into her alchemy lab, still muttering about me catching bloodlung and worse.
Once I was dried off and in my street clothes, a knock on my door followed by Uvenim’s soft voice distracted me momentarily from my hunger. “Come in,” I called, already rolling up the mail cuirass.
“Here, Julian,” Uvenim entered, her hands full of potion vials. “I’ve got some healing potions for you. Looks like you can use them.” Her eyes widened at my burned skin, the traces of bruises evident beneath the collar and below the sleeves of my green shirt. “Where on Nirn have you been?” I smiled at her exclamation. Though I had used Carandial’s refresh spell to clean the blood and gore off of myself, it had depleted my magicka yet again.
“Not on Nirn, ma’am” I replied, taking one of the vials and drinking it down. My face pulled into a grimace, but the healing effect was strong, and my skin felt immediately better. “In the Deadlands,” I finished. “Thanks for the potion.” I returned the empty vial back to Uvenim. She set the remaining doses on top of the dresser where my pack rested.
“You closed those two Oblivion Gates?” she exclaimed. “I saw that Orc near them, but I had no idea - !”
“That Orc is Sir Mazoga, ma’am” I responded, wrapping up my weapons and bundling them together with the cuirass. “I asked her to keep an eye out for daedra entering Nirn through those gates while I was in the Deadlands.”
“She is fierce!” Uvenim’s eyes grew wide. “I watched her hold her ground against three flame atronaches!” She shook her head in wonder. “I’d be afraid to talk to her!”
“Ach, she’s not so bad,” I responded. Unable to resist the sudden urge to tease the Dunmer, I added, “as long as you’re not a flame atronach yourself, ma’am.”
“Stop it!” Uvenim put her fists on her hips in mock indignation. She laughed at my stifled chuckle. “Are you joining us for dinner, Julian?”
“No, ma’am, I’m meeting Mazoga at the Five Claws,” I answered. The Dunmer’s brows rose high over her ruby gaze.
“Well, be careful over there,” she advised me, her expression turning serious. “Witseidutsei keeps a very clean lodge, and gets quite upset when customers mess up the place.”
Straightening up, with my bundled armor and weapons in my arms, I nodded. “I’ll be careful, ma’am.”
“I’ve seen how you eat, Julian,” Uvenim shook her head. “You’ll be fine. It’s that Orc you’re meeting that’s the problem. Dirty, stinky creatures . . .”
“You’ll be dirty and stinky, too, ma’am,” I countered, my own brows rising, “if you had to defend against daedra for two days.” I smiled to take the sting out of my words. “What better place to clean up than the cleanest place in town?”
“Well, I suppose -” the slight Dunmer’s voice trailed off. She turned from me and went to the wardrobe. “If you’re going back out in that weather, for Zenithar’s sake take this,” she drew out a dark grey cloak. “It’s been enchanted to dispel water and keep you dry.” She stood on tiptoe to toss the heavy woven linen around my shoulders, securing the silver clasp at my left shoulder. I studied the wide border of silvery grey vines woven along the edges of the cloak.
“Thanks, I appreciate the loan,” I began, but Uvenim shook her head.
“It’s yours - long enough for your height.” Her mouth quirked at my surprise. “I inherited much from my grandmother. Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit her height.”
*********************
After dropping off my gear at The Dividing Line, I stepped gratefully within the warm and dry environs of the Five Claws. A careworn Argonian woman looked up from her pewter steins as I started past the bar toward the common room at the rear.
“Hello, Redguard,” she said quietly, her hissing accent barely audible. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m supposed to meet an Orc named Mazoga here, ma’am,” I responded, scanning the common room. I almost missed the woman’s frown.
“She’s freshening up in one of my roomss,” her tone held distaste. My glance at her may have been sharper than I intended, for she drew herself up almost defensively. “I have enough cleaning to do as it iss!” she exclaimed.
I shook my head. “Did she take a room for the night, ma’am?”
“She could barely afford a bath!” Witseidutsei countered. I managed to hide my wince at the Orsimer’s obvious poverty. Spent all her coin on that armor, most likely. I had seen the cuirass on Tun-Zeeus’s forge.
“How much for the night, ma’am?” I asked the Argonian, unfastening my belt pouch.
“Ten drakes for the night,” the publican responded. I laid two ten-drake pieces on the counter.
“Ten for one night,” I advised her, “plus extra for the bath and food. Whatever she needs, she gets.” She reached for the coins, but I covered them with my hand. Witseidutsei met my gaze, her eyes widening at me. “Mazoga spent the last two days keeping daedra from the walls of Leyawiin. She deserves some respect for that, at least.”
“Oh, very well!” Witseidutsei huffed. I heard the door to one of the rooms open behind me, and turned to see Mazoga, dressed in a plain linen shirt and scuffed leather pants, step out.
“Let’s eat, Sir Mazoga,” I said, gesturing her to move ahead into the common room. As she passed me, I turned back to Witseidutsei. “Water for both of us, and whatever you have that’s hot to eat, please.” I smiled at the Argonian. “We’re both quite hungry, ma’am.”
Mazoga picked a nearby empty table, ignoring the glances from the other patrons as I joined her. Witseidutsei placed a pitcher and pewter tumblers in front of us, then returned to the ovens near the bar. The smell of hot meat pies drifted out into the common room as she opened one of the ovens and drew out two of the delectable dishes. The Argonian brought the pies and a loaf of warm bread and laid them out on the table. “Careful, the pies are hot.”
“I believe it, ma’am,” I responded. I could hear the juices bubbling away inside the pastries. Mazoga watched as I poked at the top crust with a fork, letting steam and savory smells out through the small holes and cracks. She mimicked my actions with her pie as I filled the tumblers with cool water from the pitcher. “All right, Sir Mazoga,” I said to her. “Dive in. Fill our stomachs first, then we’ll talk.”
Working our way through the hot pies took some time, as we had to blow on each forkful to avoid scalding our mouths. Mazoga finished hers first, and sopped up the last of the juices with a chunk of bread. I wasn’t too far behind her though. Two days of fighting was more than enough to work up an appetite.
“What was it you wanted to see the Count about?” I decided to be direct with the Orsimer. Her blunt approach, while not suitable for the Leyawiin court, was fine with me.
“I need to find someone to take me to Fisherman’s Rock,” Mazoga looked down at her place. “A woodsman named Weebam-Na. I hear he knows the forest around here.”
I regarded her silently for a few moments. “Why did you want to see the Count about that, sir?”
“He’s the Count, isn’t he?” Mazoga countered. “He knows everyone that lives here!”
“I think we can find him without the Count’s assistance,” I leaned back in my chair, twirling the tumbler on the table. “Let me ask around, sir.” I might get further with the locals than Mazoga. As Witseidutsei returned to the table to clear away the empty dishes, I caught her gaze. “That was mighty delicious, Witseidutsei. Far better than Legion food, ma’am.”
“Oh, thank you!” Witseidutsei smiled toothily as Mazoga grunted her agreement. “Do you need anything else?”
“Do you have any fresh fruit?” I asked. I wanted something light to fill the last few empty nooks and crannies in my stomach. Witseidutsei nodded with a glance at Mazoga.
“I’ll have some, too,” the Orsimer answered the unspoken question.
When the Argonian innkeeper returned with a platter of apples, pears and strawberries, I stopped her with a gesture. “Do you happen to know of a man named Weebam-Na, ma’am?”
“Of course! Everybody knows Weebam-Na!” Witseidutsei’s response was quite emphatic. “He lives here in town, on Water Street. His house is the little one on the lake, right next to Ahdarji’s house, the big red one on the corner of Water Street and Southcastle Avenue.”
I met Mazoga’s gaze. “We’ll go see him tomorrow morning,” I said quietly. She drew breath to protest, but I shook my head emphatically. “It’s late, and we’re both tired. I’ll meet you here after breakfast.”
This was a nice episode with a steady pace, showing Julian just being Julian. I vastly prefer these over the bashing monster ones, as they show Julian our Redguard for who she really is.
Dirty, stinky creatures . . .
Well, la, de, da! Miss high and mighty! I wonder if it is actual racism on Alves' part, or perhaps jealousy? She certainly is paying a lot of attention to Julian!
“Why did you want to see the Count about that, sir?”
So the player character would notice her and thusly begin a side-quest?
There really is no good reason for Mazoga to be talking to the Count when she wants to talk to Weebles-Wobble. However, I love the naivete you injected within her with, that she actually thinks the Count knows every resident in his city. Or perhaps it is simple unfamiliarity with Cyrodiil? If she is from the Wrothgarians, the local leaders there may well indeed be personally acquainted with all the constituents.
I really enjoyed this. You are doing a great job bringing Leyawiin to life!
Chapter 19.5 Sir Mazoga
Mazoga hints at a past spent learning from the steward of Castle Cheydinhal. That would seem to imply more than a passing knowledge of court politics. Her assessment of Julian’s chances for success on her behalf probably comes from bitter experience. Now you have me wondering at the chain of events that led to her splitting chests of gold with Black Brugo. I doubt that Naspia Cosma approved.
And what is it with the maddening inactivity of female guard captains in this story?!
It’s a wonder that the Imperials have an Empire at all! Given the capability and competence that they display in your writing, I hope you can forgive me for wondering why Black Marsh isn’t the seat of the Empire.
Chapter 19.6 Mazoga’s Mission
When Julian tells Mazoga that she will pay for the dinner I thought to myself, ‘Uh Oh!’ It turns out that, despite the gruff tone and manner, Mazoga is capable of a form of diplomacy. I am sure that she can eat far more than she just demonstrated.
In a place as notorious for bigotry and racism as Leyawiin, it is surprising to see that Orcs occupy a lower rung on the social ladder than Khajiit or Argonians. Maybe it’s just me, but belligerence toward an individual capable of facing down three flame atronachs doesn’t seem wise. Witseidutsei (now that is just a fun name to type) had better be careful not to let her mouth write checks!
The interactions of your characters are a joy to watch- again. And the practical uses you find for a world where magic works add tremendous depth and realism. As does the food- fresh bread and meat pies- perfect for a rainy afternoon in Leyawiin! And let me add my appreciation to those who have already noted the clever way you explain why Mazoga wants to see the Count. There is such a wealth of characterization in that deceptively complex bit of writing. Complex- but you make it appear simple.
@SubRosa: That was the one thing that niggled me the most about Mazoga - why the heck does she want to see the Count for?? After some mulling, I decided it’s because she didn’t know how to go about finding someone she’s never met.
@Acadian: Yes, Julian has taken Mazoga under her wing, for the time being. It’s not the first time she’s done that, though when I think about it, this may be the first time her readers are seeing that aspect of her nature.
@Destri: I think Uvenim is merely echoing the common stereotype in her comment about the Orc. In my experience, such racism (and many other forms of prejudice) come from ignorance, not from real experience. I suppose that’s why Julian doesn’t see Mazoga that way, because she knows from experience that they clean up just fine! As for Caelia, Julian will encounter her again before this chapter ends.
@mALX: Are you perhaps projecting?
I thought Alves was just happy to have someone else to talk “chick” with, considering how batty old Dagail is, and how busy Agata is.
@treydog: Thanks for the compliment. Complex is right - it’s getting to be a challenge keeping all the details straight! But I love it, and I ain’t settling for simple!
I love Weebam-Na for his unique dialogue. As an amateur foodie, I get a kick out of asking him about Leyawiin. Every. Single. Time.
**************
Chapter 19.7 Weebam-Na
Though I started my day early, rising before the sun at the Mages’ Guild chapterhouse, Mazoga was ready when I arrived. Apparently she had visited The Dividing Line, for she wore her freshly-repaired armor. The Orcish design shone softly in the morning light, an indication of the polishing Tun-Zeeus had lavished on it.
As soon as I reached North Way from Chapel Street, she waved at me from the porch of the Five Claws Lodge. “Hail, Julian!” she called, stepping down to the cobblestones without using the stairs. I eyed the gleaming armor.
“Are you expecting trouble, Sir Mazoga?” I asked wryly.
“I hope to be heading to Fisherman’s Rock this morning,” Mazoga responded heartily. “Better safe than sorry!”
“In that case, I’d better stop and pick up my own gear,” I commented, turning for the smith’s shop. Mazoga fell into step beside me. I wonder if she learned more than just blade-work. She certainly thinks like an adventurer, always ready for anything that may come her way. Or is she planning trouble for someone? Ah well, I did promise to help her.
*************
Consistent with the Black Marsh origin of his name, Weebam-na turned out to be an Argonian. Tall and muscular in a thin flaxen shirt and linen trousers, he exuded the quiet confidence of an experienced hunter. He eyed us warily as we approached the stoop in front of his home, his gaze lingering on our armor and weapons.
“Are you Weebam-na?” Mazoga spoke brusquely by way of greeting. The Argonian’s eyes narrowed at her, his temporal spines rising to vertical, much like the hackles on a wolf.
“Who wantss to know?” he hissed. I stepped forward before Mazoga responded.
“Good morning, sir,” I kept my tone quiet. “I am Julian of Anvil, and this is Sir Mazoga. She has been looking for you.”
Weebam-na turned his orange gaze on me. “Ssir Mazoga?” he repeated. As the Orsimer drew breath to object, he glanced at her. “Why are you looking for me?”
“I need you to take me to Fisherman’s Rock.” I could sense Mazoga’s barely suppressed indignation. Unfortunately, so could the Argonian hunter.
“Why?” his tone took on a challenge.
“None of your business!” Mazoga exclaimed curtly. “Just take me there!”
Weebam-na turned his shoulder toward the Orc in a gesture of dismissal. “If you won’t tell me why, I won’t take you - anywhere.” He entered his house, the closing door an unmistakable end to the incipient confrontation. Mazoga turned to me, her black eyes snapping with anger and frustration.
“Wait by Best Goods and Guarantees,” I told her quietly in my firmest pilus voice. “Let me handle him.”
She snorted and stomped away. I watched her go with a shake of my head. She needs to learn tact and manners. Not everyone likes the direct approach. I stepped onto the creaking porch and knocked softly on the doorframe.
“Go away!” A hissing voice sounded from inside. I tapped again.
“It’s me, Julian,” I called before Weebam-na could respond again. “I’d like to speak to you a moment, please, sir.”
“Iss sshe gone?” Weebam-na’s voice slipped through the cracked panel.
“I sent her away,” I kept my tone quiet. “Please, sir, it’s important.”
After another moment, the door squealed open, and Weebam-na looked out at me. He scanned the street beyond, then stepped out to stand beside me.
“How can you put up with that?” The anger was still evident in his tone, but Weebam-na’s temporal spines had eased down again.
I shrugged. “She’s no worse than the instructors I had in the Legion,” I replied. “At least she doesn’t hurl insults as liberally as they did, sir.”
Weebam-na shook his head. “We’re not the Legion here,” he muttered, turning his gaze away from me.
“No, you’re not, sir,” I agreed. “Nevertheless, we need to know where Fisherman’s Rock is.” I caught his glance at me. “And no, I don’t know why it’s so important to Sir Mazoga. She has her reasons, I suppose.”
“And why are you with her, then?” The Argonian faced me, his gaze raking up and down my frame, taking in the Kvatch Wolf on my chest and the weapons I carried. “Why iss the Hero of Kvatch wassting her time with an uncouth Orc?”
“She may be uncouth, sir,” I responded. “But she is brave, and she honored her side of the deal she made with me. Thanks to her, no daedra reached Leyawiin’s walls while I was in the Deadlands.” Weebam-na’s brows rose over startled eyes at my words. “I’m just fulfilling my side of the arrangement, sir.”
Weebam-na shook his head. “I had heard you clossed thosse two Gatess east of town, but -” his voice trailed off. He drew a deep breath. “Very well, ma’am. Fisherman’ss Rock iss on the east bank of the Niben River, about ssix hourss’ walk north of here.” His gaze sharpened on me. “Do you know where Fort Redman iss?”
Reluctantly I recalled my quest for Sheogorath’s artifact. “Opposite the Stendarr wayshrine south of Bravil,” I answered, swallowing down the shame I still felt over my actions there.
“Yess, that’ss right,” Weebam-na nodded. “Fisherman’ss Rock is just ssouth of there. You’ll recognize it by the big bonfire. It’ss a bandit camp, sso be careful.”
“Bandits, huh?” I felt my brows lift at the information. Wonder what Mazoga wants with bandits? “Thanks for your help, sir.”
“Not a problem, ma’am.” Weebam-na turned back to his door. He paused and looked at me. “By the way, have you sseen any ratss around here?”
“Rats?” I shook my head. “Not that I know of. Why?”
“They’re making me crazy,” his tone turned complaining. “Every time I kill one, there’ss ten more running away!” He let a frustrated hiss escape between his teeth. “Ssome guy decided to open a fancy restaurant and make a fortune. He wass going to sserve all kinds of fancy rat dishess.” His eyes rolled to the morning sky above us. “Rat in cream ssauce. Rat flambé. Rat bouillabaisse. Rat in marssala wine ssauce. Rat aglio et olio. Get the picture?”
My stomach growled as my lips twitched. Be quiet, you just had breakfast. “Yes, sir, I do. What happened?”
“When the Guard found out, they ran hiss ssorry butt right out of town. But they left all the ratss!” Weebam-na shook his head.
“Seems like you have your work cut out for you, sir.” I nodded at him. “Good luck catching all those rats.”
“Good luck with that Mazoga yoursself!” Weebam-na called after me as I stepped off his porch.
I found Mazoga waiting impatiently in front of Best Goods and Guarantees. “Well?” she demanded as soon as I reached her.
“I know where it is. It’s -”
“Good!” Mazoga interrupted me. “Take me there!”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “It’s on the opposite bank of the river,” I continued evenly. “About six hours north of here.”
“Take me there,” Mazoga repeated. She began shifting her feet under my steady stare. “Now!”
“If you had a mother, she would have taught you the magic word,” I said quietly, resisting the temptation to put my hands on my hips much as my own mother used to do. Her black gaze snapped at me. “That one word can make life so much easier for you.”
Mazoga tipped her head to one side, considering my words. “What word is that?”
“Please.” I held her gaze with mine. She scowled fiercely, and my right hand twitched toward the hilt of my katana. Akatosh! She’s really going to fight me over one word?
Her Orcish cuirass rose and fell impressively with her deep breath. “Please, Julian, will you take me to Fisherman’s Rock?” While not quite contrite, Mazoga’s tone was considerably less brusque than usual.
“All right,” I nodded acquiescence. “I’ll take you there.”
his temporal spines rising to vertical, much like the hackles on a wolf.
A good piece of description that lends realness to the Argonian.
I don't blame Weebles-Wobble for slamming the door in Mazoga's face, so to speak. She can really be a bear when you first meet her. Hopefully some of Julian's tact will rub off on our self-proclaimed knight, starting with that magic word. Mazoga really does make quite the contrast with Julian. One really sees the depths of our Redguard's people skills when compared to Mazoga's total lack in that department.
Great fun! Leyawiin is quite an interesting place. I don't think I would want to actually live there, but it is a great place to visit and adventure.
I see Julian still smarts from that rascal Sheo too. When Weebam na talked about the rat problems, I thought perhaps Julian was going to offer him some Borderwatch rat poison to use. Lol.
My favorite part:
Seems Sir Mazoga is not the only one who is as determined as a boulder rolling downhill.
@SubRosa: Will Julian pass on her tact to Mazoga? She’ll try, but we’ll see whether or not it takes . . .
@Acadian: Julian has learned the hard way to monitor her own body language. The Sunbird Dance has been especially helpful in that sense. We were both thinking of Buffy when I wrote that sentence!
@mALX: Rat has got to taste better than Maulhand’s stew! And besides, it’s the other red meat!
@treydog: Loved the vignette from Terry Prachett! I read one of his books a long time ago (think twenty-plus years) - I can’t remember the name of it or what it was about, but I do remember thinking how hysterically funny it was! One of these days I’ll have to go through the whole series. And yes, Julian is as indomitable in her own quiet way as Mazoga.
Here Julian finally learns why Mazoga came to Leyawiin. The Orsimer may be lacking in social graces, but she is a hell of a fighter.
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Chapter 19.8 Fisherman’s Rock
Mazoga didn’t speak as we walked along the east bank of the Niben, avoiding the occasional mud crab. I could hear her armor clanking along behind me, but didn’t say anything to her. I wasn’t certain what to make of the big Orsimer. Part of me liked her self-confidence and her courage. Yet her brusqueness, pronounced even for Orcs, rubbed my nerves raw. At least she’s that way with everyone, not just me. If what she says is true, and she has no parents, then she grew up without ever learning any social graces. Graces! As if an Orsimer was ever graceful in polite society. Still - Naspia Cosima thought well enough of Mazoga to train her.
The sunny morning gave way to an overcast afternoon. The air became heavy and still, the temperature oppressive. Ahead, the heat shimmer from a bonfire became visible just past a rise in the land. My steps slowed as I scanned the surrounding area. Bandit camp. Have to approach with caution. Mazoga stepped to my side with a soft clatter. “Is that Fisherman’s Rock?”
“I think so,” I answered. “Weebam-na said it’s a bandit camp.” Now I met her gaze. "I’ve led you here. Perhaps you can tell me why you want to go to a bandit camp.”
“Julian, wait,” she spoke quietly, likewise evaluating our surroundings. “Listen, there’s a guy I need to talk to that camps there,” she returned her gaze to mine. “Name’s Mogens Wind-shifter. I want to talk to him, then we’ll see what happens.”
“You want me to go with you?” I lifted my brows at her. Somberly Mazoga nodded.
“He’s not likely to be alone, and I’d be more comfortable with someone watching my back.” She waited as I glanced around again, searching the understory of the surrounding forest for enemies. “Please?”
“All right, then,” I nodded, loosening my katana in its sheath. “Let’s go.”
“Wait a moment,” Mazoga blocked me with a massive green paw. “I just want to make one thing clear, Julian. I need to talk to Mogens. That means no smashing his teeth in or chopping his head off until I’m done talking to him.”
At least that will give me a chance to size up the situation. “I understand,” I replied.
“Thanks,” Mazoga turned and started up the slope toward the heat shimmer. I fell in just beyond her left shoulder. We crested the rise to see a small clearing. The bonfire crackled merrily, a bright spot in the gathering overcast. Three figures lounging around it leaped to their feet as we approached, hands reaching for weapons. They watched us warily as we drew near the fire. One of them called to the tents behind them. A Nord, muscular chest bare above brown pants and leather boots, flung back a flap and stepped out of one of the tents. Mazoga strode toward him while I stopped near the fire, my gaze on the three bandits.
That male Khajiit has just a mace, but he’s wearing Elven armor. The female Khajiit is not as well armored, just a leather cuirass, but she has the big axe. The Dunmer is likely to be trouble - she has a bow and arrows as well as a shortsword. In a matter of seconds, I had sized up the three and made a plan of attack. If they jump us, I’ll take out that Dunmer woman first. Domina Incendia will be useful here, as well as my fireball spell. As I watched, the Dunmer sidled away from the fire, bringing her strung bow around and readying an arrow. I drew my katana, but held it low, away from the others.
“Mogens Wind-shifter?” Mazoga asked the tall Nord as she stopped in front of him. “Remember me?”
“No,” the Nord shook his head. “Should I know you?”
“Yes, I’m Sir Mazoga,” the Orsimer growled. “You killed my best friend Ra’vindra. Now I’m here to kill you!” Mazoga raised her shield with a sharp crack! to his jaw that sent him reeling. Her Dwemer longsword sang as it cleared the ornate scabbard at her left hip.
With a growl, Wind-shifter staggered back, drawing his own short sword. He braced for Mazoga’s assault, while I shot my left hand up and called Domina Incendia. As my flame atronach whirled into being, I leaped sideways to run around the fire, flinging my flare into the archer’s face before she could draw her bow to full tension.
While Domina Incendia sent fireballs toward the two Khajiiti, I leaped toward the Dunmer. Though she was resistant to the effects of fire, my flare served its purpose and spoiled her aim. As her arrow flew wide, I swung at her with the katana before she could back away. She blocked reflexively with the bow stave. My blade, its edge keen from Tun-zeeus’s diligent sharpening, neatly snapped it into two, the string twanging uselessly. The Dunmer’s left hand shot up, a green light swirling around her wrist, then she reached for the shortsword at her waist.
A shock spell slammed into me, spinning me to the ground. I caught a glimpse of a wraith hovering nearby. Damn! Dunmer Ancestor Spirit! Ignoring the tingling along every nerve in my body, I rolled back into a crouched position and raised my sword in time to deflect the shortsword. The hairs on the back of my neck rose again, and I grabbed the Dunmer by the arm and yanked her down beside me, placing her body between myself and the Ancestor. She yelped as the wraith’s shock spell struck her full-on. I reversed my grip on the katana and stabbed it into her shoulder, just beneath the Elven pauldron. Red blood spurted over my hand as the wraith beyond shimmered into thin air. I looked up in time to see the female Khajiit run at me, axe held high for the killing blow.
The deadly blade fell toward me, but I had already rolled away from the archer, the movement freeing my katana. The axe slammed into the ground beside me, and I raised my sword to swing it into the Khajiit’s throat above me. My bloodied hand slipped along the hilt on impact. The sharp blade slid through the bandit’s throat, bringing more blood cascading on me. I kept rolling in the direction of the katana’s arc, surging to my feet and spinning to face the Khajiit, but she had slumped over the handle of her axe. There was no sign of Domina Incendia.
Beyond, Mogens Wind-shifter lay dead, bowels exposed through a tremendous gash in his abdomen. The other Khajiit had charged Mazoga, his mace slamming into the Orc’s round shield. As strong as his blow was, it barely staggered Mazoga. She shrugged him off, and with deceptive speed her sword slammed against his Elven cuirass. The impact sent him reeling back, and she followed after him, her blade rising and falling in a chopping motion. He roared in pain as the dwarven longsword bit into his right elbow, neatly disarticulating the joint and leaving his hand dangling uselessly at his side by a strip of flesh. The mace fell to the ground at his feet.
The three of us glanced at the mace, then the Khajiit stooped, reaching for it with his left hand. Mazoga’s weapon flashed again in the dull overcast, reflecting the firelight as she drove the edge through the Khajiit’s exposed neck. I heard the Dwemer metal crunch into bone as he fell face-down. With a savage twist of her wrist Mazoga freed the blade and looked up from the still form at her feet.
We locked gazes, then she glanced around. Satisfied that no more enemies remained alive, she wiped her blade on the Khajiit’s fur and sheathed it. I cast Carandial’s refresh spell to remove the blood from my hand, and noted that it also removed the blood from the katana’s hilt as well. So it has some small area of effect on touch. Hmm. I knelt beside the Dunmer archer, removing the sash wrapped around her waist and using it to wipe my blade clean before I slid it home in its scabbard.
Mazoga joined me beside the fire. “Thanks, Julian,” she said.
“What was that about?” I asked. “Revenge?”
Her eyes dark, Mazoga nodded. “Ra’vindra was my best friend,” she turned her gaze to the fire. “We grew up together on the streets of Corinthe,” she named a city in Elsweyr. “She saw Mogens Wind-shifter attacking a merchant caravan. She told the Corinthe city guard, and they broke up his band, but he escaped. He killed Ra’vindra before he disappeared.” Her voice cracked, and she stopped.
“I’m sorry, Mazoga,” I turned my eyes away from the tears glimmering in hers. “I know how it is to lose good friends.” As we watched the flames snapping before us, the sky opened up, sluicing us with a sudden downpour.
“That’s when I became a free knight.” Her voice was barely audible above the rain. “I swore to hunt Mogens down. It took me a long time, but I finally tracked him here.”
“Now that you’ve avenged Ra’vindra’s death,” I glanced at Mazoga, “what will you do now?”
The Orsimer’s broad shoulders shrugged beneath the dark bronze cuirass. “I don’t know. Go back to Leyawiin for a couple of days, then take ship back to Torval.” Her head turned, her gaze meeting mine. “Would you guide me back to Leyawiin, please?”
The bonfire died down to a stutter as I stared at her. The walk up had been fairly easy - just follow the riverbank. Mazoga shifted her gaze away from me. I could swear she practically blushed with embarrassment.
“I’m not good at finding my way,” she muttered. “I can’t tell north from south.”
“Let’s go, then,” I didn’t say anything else, only started down to the riverbank from the guttering fire. We stopped long enough to drink from the Niben, then trudged south through the pouring rain.
Excellent tactical thinking and preparation, Julian...and very, very good descriptive combat writing, rider.
I hereby award you the steel pen of the warrior bard.
The description of the walk to Fisherman’s Rock was wonderfully evocative- I could feel the humidity and hear the sounds of the area. Equally fine was Julian’s internal dialogue.
“
“You killed my best friend Ra’vindra. Now I’m here to kill you!”
Well that was a brief discussion!
Yet Mazoga has indeed learned the magic word. I suspect her relationships will improve from here on out. As three dog noted, the little bit at the end about her not knowing directions was a good touch. It makes her seem less like a tank, and more like a real person.
And of course once again a rousing battle. As others have noted, Julian's assessment beforehand show her experience. Not just a mindless hacker, she thinks about what she is going to do. I always prefer that over the Conan-types who just wade in with their mighty thews and rend the foemen to and fro. Also another excellent display of the new tricks learned by the old dog, with her use of Domina and her flare spell.
This chapter had way too many places to quote that shook me from my seat reading it.
I'll grab just a few I can't ignore:
1. Julian's assessment of everyone's weapons, armor, and position - AWESOME !!!!!
2. Mazoga wiping her blade on the Khajiit's fur - What a detail that paints a picture of the scene, of Mazoga herself and her personality !!!! AWESOME !!!!
3. Trudged south through the pouring rain - Huge, to have that image as a last to this chapter!!! Staging in its finest form!!!
I loved this chapter !!! It has been added to my list of favorite chapters in this story !!!!!
@D. Foxy: I accept the steel pen with humble gratitude. High praise indeed from a RL warrior! Where is that darn twirl emoticon! I’ll settle for this:
@treydoggie: Having to learn battle tactics when alone or with a single “follower” is exactly what Julian has been struggling with. One good thing about all those Oblivion Gates - practice, practice, practice. Nothing like the edge of danger to make one learn in a hurry! Though Mazoga was tough to write in the beginning, I actually ended up enjoying this part of Julian’s adventures.
@SubRosa: Yes, after Mazoga ask the PC to let her talk first, she sure didn’t waste any time with that fetcher!
@mALX: I’m glad to see you share everyone else’s opinion of the fight, and of Julian’s mental preparations for it. When I’m watching sword-slasher movies, I always wince whenever I see the actors sheathing swords without cleaning blood and gore off of them. Back in the days when carbon steel was the epitome of metalworking, that was a sure way to get corrosion on your blade. After all, blood is oxidized iron, a sure-fire way to get rust started. I take better care of my chef’s knives than that! So I wanted to get that little bit of warrior craft in the story every so often.
Julian goes back to the wily Count to try again . . .
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Chapter 19.9 The Count Drives a Hard Bargain
“So, have you been successful?” The Count’s calculating gaze lowered to me as I bowed to him in greeting. “Did you find out what the Orc wanted?”
I met his eyes levelly from where I stood at the foot of the steps. “The Orsimer's name is Sir Mazoga, Count,” my quiet voice cut through the murmurings of the courtiers, bringing silence in its wake. At his side, the Countess drew herself up taller in her seat, her small frame swelling with indignation. Apparently she doesn’t think an Orc deserves to be called a knight. “She was on a mission of vengeance.”
“Vengeance?” Caro chose not to be offended by my directness. “Vengeance against whom?”
“A renegade named Mogens Wind-shifter,” I kept my eyes on the Count as I recounted Mazoga’s tale. Then I shifted my gaze to the Countess. They may not be Imperials or Altmer, but other races understand honor just as well. “Sir Mazoga swore to hunt Wind-shifter down and avenge Ra’vindra’s death at his hands.”
“Ah, I see,” The Count leaned back, steepling his hands before his face. His prematurely bald pate gleamed in the flickering lantern light, and his pale eyes regarded me for several moments. “And where is this Mogens Wind-shifter?”
“It took Sir Mazoga several years to find him. He now lies dead at Fisherman’s Rock.” Murmurings rose again at my words. “Disemboweled by Sir Mazoga’s sword.”
Caro’s forehead crinkled as his brows climbed toward his pate. “Really? So close to Leyawiin?” He cast his gaze around at the courtiers, tacitly silencing them. “Such vengeance is a noble deed. Leyawiin thanks you for your service, Julian of Anvil.”
“Me?” It was a struggle to keep the scorn I felt out of my voice. I shook my head. “No, it was Sir Mazoga who performed this service, and it is to Sir Mazoga Leyawiin is beholden.”
“Leyawiin beholden to an Orc?” the Countess could no longer contain herself. “How dare you!” She ignored the restraining hand Caro placed on her wrist. “Orcs are corrupt! Leyawiin shall never be beholden to -”
“Corrupt, my lady?” I broke in, hearing the pilus resurface in my voice. “Corrupt? Who held the line against the daedra for two days, without respite, while your guard protected you against citizens who intend no threat to you?” I locked gazes with the sputtering woman. “I have served twenty-five years in the Legion, Lady, and believe me, I’ve seen my share of corruption. Enough to know that Imperials and Altmer are just as susceptible to its seductive lure as any other race in Tamriel!” Stop now, Julian. Remember your real mission here. Don’t alienate these people. I turned my gaze back to Caro as Mothril bent down from her great height and murmured into the flushed Countess’s ear.
“Count, I have done as you have asked,” I took a deep breath. “About the matter we discussed before -”
“Yes, yes,” Caro waved his hand dismissively. “You and Sir Mazoga may have eliminated one - no - two threats to Leyawiin. However, I still can not spare my guard, for there is yet another that concerns me.”
What? Are you reneging on our agreement? I felt my jaw clench tightly. “What is it, sir?”
“Thanks to you and Sir Mazoga, we do not have to worry about Oblivion Gates or a renegade named Mogens Wind-shifter. But the outlaw Orc Black Brugo continues to plague the peace and prosperity of Leyawiin.” Caro’s expression remained bland. He knows he has the upper hand right now. “He is the marauder leader of the Black Bow Bandits, have you ever heard of them?”
“No, sir, I have not,” I answered, my voice more calm.
“Find Black Brugo and kill him, and bring me his black bow as proof,” Caro’s eyes hardened. Now he smiled, a small, cold smile. “Ask your friend Sir Mazoga about him. Somewhere in her shadowy past, I’m sure she has had some dealings with him. Do this, and I’ll make both of you knights-errant.”
Knights-errant? You can take your knights-errant order and shove it up your - I stopped my thoughts with a deep breath. Mazoga might like to have a purpose in her life. She won’t mind this supercilious fetcher - any sarcasm on his part would be lost on her.
Now the Countess regarded me with a smug expression. “Seeing how this Black Brugo is an Orc, do you consider him honest?”
I bowed to her. “Depends on how he treats me, Lady.” My gaze moved back to the Count. “Are there any additional threats to Leyawiin that concern you as well, Count? Perhaps I can address those issues too.”
His pale eyes sparkled as his smile widened. “Not at the moment, Julian of Anvil.”
“Very well, Count,” I bowed to him, then turned and strode out of the hall, my head held high and my back straight.
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I was still seething when I found Mazoga at the Five Claws Lodge. She was nursing a tankard of ale, its round sides shimmering with condensation in the warm, humid atmosphere. Witseidutsei brought me a tumbler of cold water as I straddled the chair opposite the Orsimer.
“Well, Julian?” Mazoga met my gaze steadily. “Any luck?”
“What do you know about Black Brugo?” I got straight to the point. After all, it’s Mazoga. Any subtlety would be lost on her.
Her brows rose at me. “Black Brugo? I know him.” She scowled. “Why?”
“The Count wants us to kill him,” the water was cool in my throat. “Kill him and bring back his so-called Black Bow.”
Mazoga’s black eyes narrowed at me. “And what do we get for it?”
I crossed my arms on the chair back and regarded her for several moments. “The Count has promised to make us knights-errant.”
Mazoga’s tankard stopped halfway to her mouth and returned to the table with a thump, shaking off some of the beaded moisture from its sides. “Knights-errant?” She blinked as she considered my words. “Are you pulling my leg, Julian? I may be a stupid Orc, but I’m not -”
“You’re not stupid,” I corrected her. “Uncouth and ill-mannered, maybe, but stupid? You make the Countess seem about as smart as a slaughterfish.”
“Julian!” Mazoga’s shout brought the attention of the other patrons around to us. “Don’t talk about the Countess like that!”
“Very well,” I locked gazes with her. “What about Black Brugo? Are we going to go after him, like the Count requested?”
“You bet!” Mazoga smacked the table with her hand. “Brugo’s a jerk! He’s got a hideout not far from here, in a ruin called Telepe.” Her voice died down to a more normal volume - normal for Mazoga, that is. “He goes there every night after midnight to collect his take.” She quaffed the last of her ale, then wiped her wrist across her mouth. “Hey, we’re pals, right? Let’s go get him!”
“Do you know where it is?” Doubt surfaced about her ability to find the place, especially after her admission yesterday about her lack of navigational skills.
“Of course!” Mazoga countered. “I hooked up with Black Brugo long enough to learn my way back and forth to Telepe. That’s how I found out that fetcher Wind-Shifter was at Fisherman’s Rock!” She shook her head fiercely. “That Brugo’s a real piece of work, though. I’d be happy to see the end of him and his gang.”
“How long will it take to get to Telepe?” I asked. “I want to scout the area before Brugo shows up. If we get there before he’s inside the ruin, it may be easiest to ambush him.”
“It’ll take a couple of hours,” Mazoga thought a few moments. “There’s usually a sniper above the entrance, and one or two guards in front of it. Inside - well, there might be no one, or there might be a whole gang full. Depends on how much traffic is on the Green Road.” Her eyes darkened. “He’s got two top people with him - Alonzo and Roxy Aric. They’re tough characters. Alonzo’s a Redguard, and he likes to slap people around with his hammer. Roxy’s a Breton, but she’s tall for one. She’s quite deadly with her bow.”
“I’d like to be there before dark,” I mused, taking another swallow of the water. “We’d better get started now.”
The table wobbled slightly as Mazoga placed her palms on the flat surface and pushed herself up out of her chair. “Then let’s go!”
I loved Julian's audience with the Count and Countess! The subtle nuances were wonderful, such as Julian's use of the word Orisimer where the others used Orc. Then of course Julian out and out throwing down on the Count and Countess. Yippie! I think Mazoga has found quite a good friend in our Redguard.
Knights-errant? You can take your knights-errant order and shove it up your
Well thought! By this time I was a frustrated as Julian. Yet once again we see that in spite of her fury, her wisdom held out. Biting her tongue, she did what was best for Mazoga, no matter how satisfying it would have been to spit those words into the face of the devious Count.
She was nursing a tankard of ale, its round sides shimmering with condensation in the warm, humid atmosphere.
This was an excellent piece of description!
And once again Mazoga shines, as we see more of her true character beneath that initial bluster. Story. Good. More!
HOLY COW!!!!!! The Countess was absolutely rabid!!! - and the Count restraining her by grabbing her wrist? - WHEW !!! I did not see any of that coming !!! If I were Julian, I'd do business with the Count while she is away each mid-month!!!
Like Sage Rosa, I loved the descriptive "tankard of ale" paragraph. Awesome Write !!!!!
Chapter 19.7 Weebum-Na
I like how you brought the Mazoga to Weebum-Na instead of fetching Weebum-Na for Mazoga. This subtle shift makes Weebum-Na’s refusal seem more real to me. Little details like the rising of his temporal spines and the way that his voice slips though the cracked panel really makes him stand out. Couple that with your usual brilliant incorporation of the in game dialogue and we get a new character that we wish to see more.
And I cannot let this chapter go by without commenting that Julian’s tendency to parent/scold another is finally manifesting itself with a member of her own sex. I think that the fact that it is Mazoga that brings it out in her is absolutely perfect.
Chapter 19.8 Fisherman’s Rock
Corinthe and Cheydinhal? Mazoga certainly gets around. This gives a lot of flavor to her character. Since her past has been spent dealing with Khajiit in Corinthe and, presumably, Dunmer in Cheydinhal, one is left with the feeling that her abruptness is more of a defense mechanism than a true lack in social graces. I imagine that Ra’vindra saw the wellspring of nobility that resides under the surface of the rough and tumble Orc (I mean Orsimer) just as Julian is beginning to.
Chapter 19.9 The Count Drives a Hard Bargain
This was one of those times when I was actually rooting for Julian’s scolding. Someone needs to take Countess Alessia to task for her attitude. And, since that someone will not be her husband, I suppose that Julian will have to do. Too bad her point wasn’t made by the end of her katana, she would have truly been doing a service for all Tamriel. I would have been happy if Julian had chosen Domina Incendia to do her negotiating for her!
I am left to wonder how effective any help from Leyawiin will be to Bruma when they are so woefully incapable of taking care of the problems that plague their own gates!
This is a chapter where Julian really shines. Well, I think she always does
, but her personality and strength of character are particularly strong here. That is especially true as she maintains her focus on her main mission and on helping her friend- refusing to allow the Countess' rampant bigotry to derail things.
The battle at Fisherman's Rock was gritty and well-done. That Mazoga is a terror with a blade, yes?
I was delighted to see Julian restrain (sort of) herself in the Court of Leyawiin for two reasons. It kept her out of the dungeon, and she wisely realized that becoming a 'real knight' would be a big big deal for Mazoga. I'm proud of Julian for helping Mazoga become a knight. Hopefully, the Count will run out of errands for her and give up the help for Bruma that Julian is there for.
Both the chapters I just read were very well written, Rider - and a real pleasure to read!
I loved the way that you do not confuse the reader with too many, un-needed, nor neccessary details here.
@SubRosa: If you liked this throwdown with the Count, wait until Julian really lets 'er rip!
@mALX: The Countess gets her comeuppance in this next segment. Enjoy!
@Destri: Your question about the effectiveness of the Leyawiin Guard will be addressed here!
@treydog: Ah yes, Julian has a temper, indeed. And you’re right, all those years in the Legion has tempered her temper (sorry - couldn’t resist!).
@Acadian: Thanks for the praise, paladin! Welcome back! Please give my regards to Acadian Sr.
@Ginner: Welcome to Chorrol! Thanks for the input!
Julian lets a bit of the savagery she is capable of show here when she matches wits for the last time with the Count of Leyawiin.
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Chapter 19.10 The Knights of the White Stallion
The guards eyed Mazoga and I as we strode through the entrance hall toward the throne room. The Orsimer remained at my side, her hands full of black bows, her stride matching mine in both length and purpose. I carried one black bow in my left hand, and the cloth-wrapped object in my right.
As I expected, the two guards at the entrance into the throne room clashed their pikes together in front of us. Beyond, Count Caro lifted his gaze from the petitioner in front of him, his brows lifting at the sight of us. I slammed the bow I held into the crossed weapons, breaking them apart and opening the way for Mazoga and I.
The Countess half rose from her seat indignantly at the sight of the Orsimer walking across her green carpeted hall. “How dare you - !” Her spluttering words subsided when Caro murmured something to her. His pale eyes remained fixed on mine as Mazoga and I stopped at the foot of the dais. We bowed to the Count.
“Black Brugo is dead,” I tossed the bow down, the ebon stave clattering on the stones at Caro’s feet. “There is his bow, as you requested. Sir Mazoga has the bows from five others of his gang, including his two top lieutenants.”
Beside me, Mazoga dropped her burden onto the steps in front of the Countess. The woman recoiled from the weapons with distaste. Cupping the object I carried in my left hand, I unwrapped the cloth and grasped the tousled topknot. Gasps and screams rippled around the hall as I held the Orc’s head up for all to see, congealed blood slowly dripping from the severed neck. Caro leaped to his feet, his face pale, while his wife fainted dead away in her chair. A perverse part of me noticed that no one stirred to her aid.
“I brought you his head in case you wanted further proof,” I said to Caro, casually tossing the grisly object to rest next to the bow at the Count’s feet. His bulging eyes moved from the contorted green features to me as he slowly sat back down, his hands clenched on the arms of his chair.
“J- justice has been served,” his voice wavered at first, then firmed into its light tenor. “Henceforth, Sir Mazoga and Julian of Anvil may be known as the Knights of the White Stallion.” He snapped his fingers, his usual insouciance restored. “And I shall pay you both a bounty on these black bows - one hundred drakes for each.” Behind his throne, On-Staya Sundew appeared and bent down to him. He whispered something into her ear. As she disappeared from the dais, he turned his gaze back to me. “You will have access to the White Stallion Lodge, just north of town.” Caro added. “Leyawiin appreciates the service you have provided.”
“Count Leyawiin,” I clenched my hands. “I must return to the matter that brought me here in the first place.”
“Yes, yes,” Caro nodded, waving his hand dismissively. “There are more than six members in the Black Bow -.”
“Count Leyawiin,” I interrupted, bowing from the waist. “It is becoming quite clear to me that your Guards would be quite useless in the task that faces Bruma. After all, they have done nothing while Mazoga and I closed two Oblivion Gates, eliminated a bandit leader, and decapitated a marauder gang.” I tipped my head at Mazoga. “Sir Mazoga has accomplished more in the past six days than I’ve seen of the Leyawiin Guard.”
Caro’s pate flushed, as the hall grew still with shock. But I was not finished. “Keep your guards, or send a contingent to Bruma, as you see fit, sir. I don’t care. But consider this carefully.” My gaze flickered from him to the Countess at his side, just beginning to stir out of her faint. “Mehrunes Dagon will be defeated. When Tamriel looks back on the greatest crisis that we have ever faced, how will history consider the Count of Leyawiin?” The Countess sat up, blinking at me in confusion. “Already the Count of Cheydinhal, a Dunmer no less, has secured a place for himself in the book of legends. Will Leyawiin be counted among those who stand with Bruma, or be considered a traitor to the Empire?” The Countess’s gaze fell on the disembodied head at her husband’s feet, and she slumped away unconscious again. I bowed to Caro one last time, Mazoga echoing me. “Farewell, Count. I am leaving.” I spun on my heel and stalked out, my Orsimer friend again matching strides with me.
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We did not speak again until we reached the Five Claws Lodge. When we had ordered our respective drinks from Witseidutsei, Mazoga and I regarded each other across the table.
“Gods’ goolies!” Mazoga exclaimed, slapping the table hard with her palm. The patrons glanced around at us, but she ignored them. “Not just knights, but knights-errant!” She took a gulp of her ale. “That’s got to be some special kind of knight, isn’t it?” Her black eyes sparkled merrily at me as she raised her tankard. “Go ahead and say it! ‘I greet you, Sir Mazoga!’”
I matched her grin and clinked her ale with my tumbler of water. “Hail, Knight of the White Stallion!”
“Why, thank you kindly,” Mazoga’s adoption of the courteous manner was somehow ironic. Her face turned thoughtful. “‘Knight of the White Stallion,’ huh? Has a nice ring to it.” She leaned back until the wooden chair complained under her weight. “Now I’ve got to go out and do good deeds.”
“You can go black bow hunting,” I reminded her. “One hundred drakes per bow. That’s enough to support yourself comfortably for a while.”
“Oh, I’m certain the Count will find something else for me to do once I get rid of all the Black Bow Bandits,” Mazoga remarked. Then she frowned at me as I took another sip. “But what about you, Julian?”
My eyes locked with hers over the top of my tumbler. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you came here to get aid for Bruma,” Mazoga spoke slowly. “But it doesn’t look like you’ll get it. So what will you do now?”
“It doesn’t look good, does it,” I could hear the rue in my voice. “Never mind, I still have other Counts and Countesses to see.” I met Mazoga’s gaze. “I’m from Anvil, and as I remember it, Countess Umbranox is a kind woman. She takes care of her people, and as I used to live there, she likely will listen to me.”
“I hope you’re right, Julian,” Mazoga’s eyes shifted beyond me, and she set her tankard down carefully. Caelia Draconis closed the door to the inn behind her when I turned to look over my shoulder. Her icy gaze met mine as she strode up to me. I rose to my feet to face her.
“I resent what you said about the Guard being ineffective,” her voice matched her eyes.
“Never would I say your Guard is ineffective,” I kept my voice even. “But I’ve been here for eight days, and I have yet to see your Guardsmen do anything beyond the town gates. Black Brugo’s hideout is a mere couple hours’ fast walk from here, and yet nothing has been done about him, nothing until Mazoga and I came along.” I recalled Lerus’s words “- your hands aren’t tied.” Could the same be true of Draconis? Beyond her, a young guard entered the inn, his arms laden with shields. He paused at the sight of the Captain facing me.
“What do you know of the Guard!” Draconis snapped. “Where do you get off criticizing us?” Mazoga jumped to her feet, the chair clattering to the floor.
My hand twitched for the hilt of my katana, but I kept it clenched at my side. With a warning glance at Mazoga to keep quiet, I took a deep breath. “I’ve served twenty-five years in the Legion,” that old pilus resurfaced in my tone. “I’ve watched the City Guard of other towns do everything they could to protect the people they were sworn to protect. The Kvatch Guard sacrificed themselves selflessly for the sake of the survivors. The Bruma Guard followed me into that Gate and learned how to close it, which they continue to do as fast as Dagon opens them. And Cheydinhal held the line while they waited for the Count’s son to return from accomplishing his mission.” I held her gaze levelly. “So tell me, how does yours compare to them?” How does Bravil’s compare? Not very favorably, come to think of it.
“I had heard what had happened at Kvatch!” Draconis’s eyes narrowed. “What purpose would it serve to run into the Deadlands waving our swords?”
“You are the Captain of the Guard,” I bowed my head to her. “As such, it is your decision, and the Count’s, how best to handle these Gates. All you needed to do was send to Kvatch or better yet, Bruma, and ask how their Gates were closed. They would have gladly shared their successful and unsuccessful tactics with you. Such is the nature of veteran soldiers.”
Draconis’s jaw clenched. “I’ll have you know that I, too, serve in the Legion!”
I lost my patience. “Then start acting like it!”
Her head reared back in surprise like a startled horse, and her face turned white. Without another word, Draconis spun on her heel and stalked past the nervous guard out of the inn.
Silence fell over the common room as the guard turned his face from the door to me. The shields in his hands clattered slightly as we regarded each other. I took a deep breath. “What is it, sir?”
He straightened his shoulders and approached us. “The Count has ordered these shields to be presented to the new Knights of the White Stallion.” He presented a shield to each of us with a bow of respect. I gazed at the light iron oval, emblazoned with the white horse of Leyawiin rearing on a grass-green background. It resembled those of the City Guard, except for the golden collar around the horse’s neck. “And here is the bounty for the six bows you collected,” he added, setting a blue silk pouch on the table. “Six hundred drakes in all.” He set a pair of ornate keys beside the pouch. “The keys to the White Stallion Lodge, on the Green Road just north of town.”
Mazoga and I murmured our thanks to him. He saluted us smartly, then turned and left without another word.
Always better to throw down than to throw up!
Julian was awesome! From bursting into the throne room with Mazoga at her side, to hurling the decapitated head of Black Brugo to the Count's feet! Whew! Teresa wishes she had those kind of ovaries!
Will Leyawiin be counted among those who stand with Bruma, or be considered a traitor to the Empire?
Not only is the threat implicit in Julian's words, but is given emphasis by the head of Black Brugo at the Count's feet! Bravo!
my Orsimer friend
Indeed she is. I wonder if Julian herself knows exactly when Mazoga moved into that category?
And finally a second throw down with the guard captain who watched as Julian spent two days in the Deadlands and Mazoga protected her city against the Daedra issuing from within. I was cheering for Julian the whole time!
OMG!!! I have been screaming and jumping up and down on the seat of my chair over this chapter!!!!! This is my absolute favorite chapter of all !!!!!
There is no where to begin to quote, all of it was so AWESOME!!! But I could not stand it if I didn't repeat these:
YES!!! Like 'Rosa and mALX, I was cheering for Julian all the way!
A rousing episode indeed. A couple times I found myself wondering if the Count would order Julian and Mazoga arrested. Now that would have been fun. I don't believe all the Count's horses and all the Count's men have the firepower to restrain Dames Julian and Mazoga!
It will be interesting to see if the seeds of shame that Julian planted will take root and bear productive fruit.
Doggone that Caelia; I sure hope she grows a pair. Same for the Count. I fear Countess Alessia is, unfortuanately, hopeless.
Oooh. I have a soft spot for Countess Millona of Anvil as well. I bet she'll help.
Best of all, Julian helped her friend, Mazoga become a knight errant. Ya, that's some special kinda knight!
@SubRosa: I rather thought that segment would get your blood going! Damn! It felt good writing it!
@mALX: I hope you didn’t break your chair!
@Destri: That scene with the Countess passing out and no one coming to her aid just popped into my head. That bit of tongue in cheek was so genius I just had to write it in! And I wanted to point out that Draconis is not the epitome of a Legion officer that she apparently thinks she is.
@treydoggie: That entire scene in the Leyawiin Court was playing just like a movie as I was writing it. It was a lot of fun!
@Acadian: I think the Count was too shocked at Julian’s bluntness to think about arresting her. Besides, she’s there on behalf of the Countess of Bruma, a far more interesting character than the vapid lady at his side. He wouldn’t make a good impression on the Northern Countess if he did arrest her representative.
Julian does one last thing for Mazoga before resuming her Grand Circuit of Cyrodiil.
***************
Chapter 19.11 The Lodge
After lunch, we gathered our gear and headed out of Leyawiin. Paint greeted me quietly when I stopped by the stable to settle his account, but I was dismayed yet again at how much weight he had lost in a little over a week. Atahba, the Khajiit who worked in the stables, advised me that Paint still wasn’t eating well. Though I visited him every day, the news remained the same. Paint just wasn’t his old self. Again I made the decision to walk.
“What’s the use of a horse if you can’t ride him?” Mazoga asked as we trudged up the muddy road in the rain. I glanced at her. Orsimeri see horses mostly as dinner on the hoof. Especially when they’re as broken as Paint is.
“He was a loan from a friend,” I answered finally. “The prior - died, and I made a promise to Paint that he would be well cared for as long as he lives. He has been of tremendous help to me.” Paint flicked an ear at me as I ran my hand down his neck, feeling the dullness of his coat beneath my palm. “I don’t desert my friends, Mazoga. I’m certain you understand that.”
“A horse a friend?” Mazoga snorted. “All right, if you say so, Julian.” She eyed the gelding again. “But what happened to him?”
“Will o’wisp,” I shifted Daedra Slayer at my waist. As long as I remained in the swamps of the Southern Niben, I intended not to be caught off guard again. Both my plain katana and my unenchanted bow were secured to the saddle, and I carried Akatosh’s Fury at my back, strung and ready for use.
The rain had stopped and the sun raised steam from the river and the road by the time we reached our destination. The White Stallion Lodge turned out to be a shabby frame building perched on a small knoll next to the Green Road. A weathered dock sheltered the opposite side of the road. While I viewed the headquarters of our new order skeptically, Mazoga seemed delighted to have a roof she could call home. “Look! A cooking fire!” She pointed out the stone hearth just behind the building. “And a porch,” she sprang onto the creaky boards and spun to look back at me. Her eyes moved beyond. “With a river view!”
Laughter spilled from my throat. River view, indeed, I thought as I turned to look at the waters of the Niben just past the worn dock. Paint followed me to the rear of the building, where I unsaddled him and provided a bucket of water for him. Mazoga had already gone inside, leaving the door open, when I returned to the porch.
Mazoga had tossed her shields, both the Orcish round and the Leyawiin light iron oval onto the shabby wooden table in the common room. Her voice reached me from an adjacent room. “Look! There’s two beds! Plenty of room for both of us!” Dubiously I peered into the small sleeping room at the pair of disheveled cots. Motheaten blankets failed to hide the lumpiness of the thin mattresses, the transparency of the threadbare sheets, the flat pillows. Mazoga plopped herself prone on one of the beds, which creaked dangerously under her armored weight. A cloud of dust puffed up from beneath her bulky form, nearly obscuring her face. “Ahh, this feels so comfortable!”
She waved me to the other cot. “Check it out!” Warily I did so, and found spiderwebs and mouse droppings. I picked up one corner of the mattress and checked beneath it. The frayed ropes that provided support did not give me confidence. I glanced at Mazoga, her own mattress now nearly reaching the floor. If I didn’t believe she was born under a rock, I certainly do so now. Holding my breath, I gathered up the bedding and carried it outside.
“What’s wrong?” Mazoga followed me out. “Isn’t the bed comfortable for you?”
“It may be comfortable,” I muttered, crossing the road to the dock and dropping my bundle on the wooden boards, “but it’s certainly not healthy.”
An hour later, the blankets and sheets from both beds, after a prolonged bath in the Niben River, were spread out on the sunny roof to dry in the hot afternoon sun. The mattresses had been emptied of rotting rushes, thoroughly shaken out, and restuffed with dry grasses gathered on the slope behind the lodge. The cot frames had been restrung with fresh ropes we found in a chest. I had a hearty fire going in the disused fireplace in hopes of drying the last of the mold from the interior. Mazoga had opened all the windows to catch any stray breeze.
“Hello!” the voice drew my attention to the road. A Legion Rider had stopped in front of the lodge and was staring at the roof. I stepped out onto the rickety porch.
“Hello, yourself,” I stifled a grin at the bemused look beneath his helm. “I’m Julian of Anvil, and this,” I turned as Mazoga joined me on the porch, still impressive in her linen shirt and leather pants, “is Sir Mazoga. We’re Knights-Errant of the White Stallion.”
“Oh, really?” The Legion rider’s brows disappeared beneath the helm as he regarded us. “The Count found replacements?” He tapped his chest. “I’m Quintus Tibullus.”
I let the grin surface as I shook my head. “How long has this place been closed up?”
His brown gaze grew thoughtful. “Since before I started patrolling here - about five years, I think.”
“Five years?” Mazoga exclaimed. “No wonder Black Brugo moved in here!”
“Yes,” Tibullus’s gaze narrowed at us.
“He’s dead,” I assured him. “Mazoga and I took care of him back in Telepe.”
“Did you?” I could see new respect in his eyes. “That’s mighty good news. Especially considering that Oblivion Gate up the road a ways.”
I frowned. “Where?”
“North of Water’s Edge,” Tibullus jerked his thumb northwards over his shoulder, as his bay pawed at the cobblestones, sparks flying from her shoe. “It’s set back from the road, and so far the people in the settlement haven’t been bothered by it. But I’ve already encountered a stray scamp or two, and a clannfear the last time I passed it.”
“Are you and your horse okay?” I asked.
Tibullus nodded. “Aye, that we are. That clannfear was a piece of work, though.”
“Watch out for flame atronaches,” I advised. “They’re worse.”
“Yes, they’re bad enough,” Mazoga agreed. “But if you can get close to one, she’s easy meat.”
Both Tibullus and I gave Mazoga a considering glance. “Meat?” the Legion rider repeated. “More like hot coals, I imagine.”
“Hot stuff, indeed,” I put a wry tone in my voice, lifting one brow suggestively. Mazoga missed my reference, but Tibullus didn’t. He guffawed heartily, then saluted the two of us.
“Good to meet you both,” he said. “Look forward to more encounters with you.”
“Oh, I won’t be staying here,” I ignored Mazoga’s quick glance at me. “Though I intend to stop by from time to time. But I have other tasks to perform.”
“Very well,” Tibullus nodded at me, picking up his rein and smooching at his horse. As she started her easy stroll down the road, he turned back. “But I hope you keep this stretch of road clear of bandits and monsters!”
*************
“Do you really have to go on?” Mazoga asked me the next morning. “I know it’s important that you get some aid for Bruma, but your horse doesn’t look very well at all.”
“I’ll keep walking,” I replied, my heart heavy at the thought of Paint’s persistent lack of energy. “If he doesn’t get better, there’s a friend in Weye who will take excellent care of him.” After all, Paint is seventeen years old. And the past few months have been hard on him, though he had taken it all in stride. Until that will o’wisp. What did that creature do? The convalescence spells no longer work on him. “I walked everywhere when I was in the Legion,” I continued. “I just have to rebuild my marching calluses again, that’s all.”
“Will you be back, Julian?” The wistfulness in her tone drew my gaze to Mazoga. “I liked having you with me at Fisherman’s Rock, and in Telepe.”
“You’re a damn fine fighter, Mazoga,” I secured my plain weapons to Paint’s saddle. “Just be careful.” I cast a glance at the dwarven blade at her hip. “Watch out for will o’wisps. Your weapon will be useless against them.”
“Aye, but I can’t afford an enchanted blade, yet.” Mazoga responded.
I recalled the sigil stones in my pack. Martin had shown me how to identify their effects, and I was lucky to get a shock damage stone. Mazoga watched with some befuddlement as I searched through the pack. Her eyes widened at the sight of the softly glowing stone I unwrapped.
“Draw your sword and give it to me,” I said, holding my right hand out for it.
“What?” Mazoga was understandably wary of surrendering her weapon. After a moment, she apparently decided she trusted me. The dwarven blade whispered as she drew it from its scabbard and handed it to me hilt first.
I tried to remember how I had enchanted the first Daedra Slayer. Martin had enchanted my present one, as well as Akatosh’s Fury, while I was laid up from the surgery on my knee. I simply dropped the stone on the blade. That is, I think that’s what I did. I looked up at Mazoga. “I’m not sure I know how to do this, so let’s give it the old Legion try.” Her eyes widened further as I held the buzzing stone over her precious blade.
I tapped the orb against the dwarven metal. The sword groaned, but the stone did not disappear. I closed my eyes and searched my memory again. This time, when I tried again, I let the full weight of the heavy globe drop onto the blade. Energy sizzled through the bones of my hand and wrist, and the weapon sang that discordant tone I remembered. I looked down to see my empty hand resting on the blade, which now glowed with a soft argent light.
I hefted the blade, getting a feel for its balance, then tested it on a nearby shrub. Lightning flared, and a small thunderclap followed, splitting the woody branches and throwing sparks. Paint threw his head up and snorted, and Mazoga stumbled backwards.
“Gods’ goolies!” she swore. “What in ‘blivion did you do?”
I took the blade in my still-tingling hand and extended its hilt to Mazoga. “You have an enchanted sword now.” I smiled as she stared at the weapon disbelievingly. “It should make quick work of any will o’wisps you find.” As her hand slowly grasped the hilt, I released the heavy sword into her grip. “Mind you, it needs recharging from time to time. If you find filled soul gems, use them. Otherwise, go see Agata at the Mages Guild in Leyawiin. Tell her I sent you, and she’ll take care of it for you. She’s expensive, though.”
The big Orsimer stared wordlessly at me. Finally she took a deep breath. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she exclaimed. “Thanks, Julian. You’re a real pal!”
I reached up and clapped her on one broad shoulder. “I’ll see you next time I come this way. In the meantime, remember to say please if you want something!”
Your depiction of Mazoga gets better with each chapter! You have her personality down pat, I can picture her saying everything exactly as you have written it, the expressions on her face as she says them!!
This chapter was a winding down in one way, and a building block at the same time. Deep bonds of friendship are being forged that are tangible - Awesome Write !!!!!!
Lovely!
I thoroughly enjoyed the contrast between Julian's view of the Lodge and that of our optimistic orc. The place is perfect for her - with a river view! Julian was wonderful to help shore and clean things up though.
I'm so pleased that Julian recognized the danger posed by wills-o-the-wisp to the mighty Mazoga and took appropriate steps to help her friend survive. Even to include advice on how to recharge the weapon.
I feel the heaviness in Julian's heart as she procedes north on foot with her four legged companion at her side. I fear Paint may be heading for retirement, and wonder if he will spend his days in the comfortable climate near the lake at Weye, or perhaps in the chilly Bruma Wild Eye stables of his birth. Lead on!
GAAAAAAAH !!!!! I hope by in Weye - you don't mean at the stables outside the Imperial City where they ... eat horses !!!!!! ARGH !!!!!!!!!!
Yes, by Weye, I meant, um, Weye. Not the Imperial City.
Perhaps under the care of his old retired fisher friend, Aelwin, in Weye who has taken care of Paint several times. Or perhaps at the Bruma stables of his birth.
Julian would never surrender Paint to that Snack Grabbing orc at Imperial City stables.
“A horse a friend?”
Buffy and Teresa would have no trouble understanding this!
Once again, Mazoga's naivete is very fun as she and Julian do some much-needed Spring cleaning at the Knights of the Green Mare's headquarters. Now the Count just has to shine the Horselight in the sky, and Sir Mazoga will be ready to do battle with evil-doers!
“I just have to rebuild my marching calluses again, that’s all.”
This reminds me of one of my favorite lines in the movie Gettysburg: "After the first few thousand miles, a man gets limber with his feet."
You know something, rider?
I resisted, and resisted, but now....it's too much...
MAZOGA IS NOW AS FIRMLY ENTRENCHED IN MY HEART AS IS VOLS IN ROSA'S STORY!!!
I demand (and I strongly, strongly suspect other readers will demand) that Mazoga be given more and MORE room in later episodes!!!
Dang...come to think of it, Mazoga would make a perfect pair with a certain lady Super Mutant in my friend Ole Andeee's story...
...Now THAT would be SOME crossover!!!
The return of Paint is bittersweet; I am happy to see our friend one more, but sad to see he is still not recovered.
Mazoga exuberance at having a home was wonderfully endearing, even as you described the shabby reality through Julian’s eyes. That was an excellent display of the writer’s craft.
@mALX: Thanks for your thumbs up on my view of Mazoga. She is a wonderful, if difficult, character to write. And you’re right, the last segment is both an ending and a bridge at the same time.
@Acadian: So you enjoyed the contrast in how Mazoga and Julian saw the charming Lodge. I knew you would appreciate Julian’s parting gesture in enchanting Mazoga’s sword and advising her how to keep it recharged. As for Paint, not to worry, he’ll be comfortable in his retirement.
@SubRosa: You had me rolling with your comment about the Horselight!
@Foxy: Mazoga as memorable as Vols? Now I’m thrilled! She really grew on me, I’d have to admit.
@trey: Developing Mazoga’s character was a challenge, as she was already so distinctive in the game, but it ended up being quite fun. Julian won’t forget Mazoga so quickly. As for Paint, help arrives sooner than Weye.
With the start of a new chapter we revisit a familiar place and continue the Grand Circuit of Cyrodiil.
****************
Chapter 20.1 Back to Bravil
Antoine Branck eyed Paint as I led him through the gate into the paddock. “What happened?” he said on a low whistle. “Paint looks quite ill.”
“Yes,” I answered, patting my loyal companion on his arched neck. He still hadn’t regained the old vigor, nor had he recovered the weight he had lost. “Will o’wisp laid into him pretty good before I could kill it.” I pulled my pack and bows from the saddle. “I haven’t been riding him since. I’ve also been casting convalescence spells on him as often as I can, but this is as good as I’ve been able to get him.”
“Well, let me and Isabeau put our heads together on him, and we’ll see what we can do!” Antoine averred firmly, stripping the tack from Paint’s spotted back.
“If you can get his appetite back, I’d be happy,” I said.
“Not eating well?” Antoine frowned.
“Not taking apples anymore,” I responded sadly. He had started refusing them in Leyawiin, and that had scared me more than the weight loss or the dull look in his eye. “If I can get him back to Weye, he has a friend that adores him.”
“Right, we’ll get right on it, ma’am,” Antoine’s brisk tone did little to ease my worry, but I appreciated his can-do attitude. Swinging my pack to my shoulder, bows in hand, I laid my cheek against Paint’s neck. He flicked an ear at me, then dropped his head and nosed desultorily at the lush marsh grass at his feet. When he raised his head without taking a bite, I caught Antoine’s wince, and turned away before tears could break through my self-control.
Wearily I trudged to the Quaking Bridge. Frederick greeted me as his relief stepped off the bridge. “Hello, Julian!” his welcoming smile faded at the look on my face. “It seems that you and Paint have walked a long road,” his tone turned somber. “I’m off duty now, shall we walk in together?”
“Certainly,” I agreed, glad of his company. “Long road indeed, and the road ahead is still longer yet,” I continued as we walked along the Quaking Bridge.
“But I see you no longer limp,” Frederick said. “And you’re filling your armor more.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Worried about your horse?” I nodded silently. “Talk to Marz. She may be able to help Paint.”
“A Chapel healer that works with animals?” I glanced sharply at Frederick. He grinned lopsidedly at me.
“Most of ‘em don’t, but Marz has a soft spot for the dumb ones.” He clapped my shoulder, tipping my balance just a little before I caught myself. “What news do you bring?”
I paused as we reached open gates and glanced back across the canal. “Have you had any new Oblivion Gates open around here?”
“Since you last came this way?” Frederick shook his head, his gaze following mine toward the ruined fort and the remains of the Gate. “No, none at all.”
“I need to head to the Mages Guild first,” I looked at Frederick. “But after that, do you think it’s possible for me to see Viera Lerus?”
“The Captain?” Frederick’s brows rose in surprise. “I don’t see any reason why not,” he said after a moment. “She seems to think better of you since your last visit.”
We walked through the gates into the town. The guards standing at their posts greeted us by name. Startled, I glanced at them as we walked down Gate Way. After the indifferent arrogance of the Leyawiin Guard, the camaraderie from these guardsmen was unexpected.
“Well, Frederick, I’ll see you again,” I said when we reached the intersection of Gate Way and Canal Street. He knuckled his helm at me with a grin and headed for the Castle. I turned right and made my way down Canal Street, with barely a glance at the skooma den above my head. I’ll sound out Lerus about the best way to approach Count Terentius, I thought to myself. I’m not in the mood to waste more time jumping through hoops to make another lazy-butt noble happy. I still felt resentful of the days I had lost convincing the Leyawiin Count to send a contingent to Bruma. Still, I’ve gained a friend in Sir Mazoga. I smiled to myself at the remembrance of her reaction to her newly enchanted sword - “Gods’ goolies!” I hoped that she still found the White Stallion Lodge much to her liking.
The afternoon air was already turning cool as I stepped onto the porch of the Mages Guild chapterhouse. The unmistakable tang of autumn was already palpable, even this far south. Is winter already set in at Bruma? How long before I find out?
Kud-Ei greeted me warmly from her chair when I entered the chapterhouse commons. “Welcome, Julian!” she smiled toothily as I approached her. I dropped my pack to the floor, leaned my bows against the wall, and collapsed into the easy chair next to her. Stretching my long legs, I leaned back with a sigh. “Fancy some tea?” she asked me, her orange eyes regarding me with some amusement.
“Certainly,” I admitted, thinking of walking back across town to the Castle on my sore feet. Haven’t walked this much since I was in the Legion! Got to build up my marching calluses.
Kud-Ei rose gracefully to her feet and moved into the dining room. She returned a short moment later with a cup. Filling it with tea from the pot on the side table, she handed me the mug before resuming her seat. She waited until I took a sip before speaking again.
“I hear you have been quite busy,” she murmured. “It’s a shame that Falcar hass been so careless with the apprenticess.” I glanced at her, hoping she did not see the tensing in my jaw at the mention of that accursed Altmer. Her orange eyes met mine squarely. “I ssee that you are sstill angry. Why?”
“Such total disregard of the value of life is not befitting a leader,” I said slowly.
“Where did you learn that?” Kud-Ei’s spined brows had climbed her forehead at my words. “Certainly not in the Legion?”
“Oh, yes, in the Legion,” I answered firmly, nodding for emphasis. “In times of war, in combat, every capable soldier counts. When a soldier falls in battle, we consider that a sacrifice. But when a soldier falls because of the carelessness of comrades or officers, we consider it a waste.” I turned my gaze to the amber tea in my cup. “Battles, wars, even kingdoms have been won or lost by one life.”
“I never realized ssoldierss felt that way,” Kud-Ei murmured into her tea. By now I was unsurprised. It was not the first time I had encountered the common perception of soldiers as emotionless killing machines.
“Not all of them do,” I responded. “There’s all kinds in the Legion. I was lucky that my first two pili were men of integrity.” I drank down the rest of the tea, washing the dust of the road from my throat. Kud-Ei nodded when I pointed askance at the tea pot.
She waited until I had refilled my cup before speaking again. “And I hear Dagail in Leyawiin iss hersself once more.” Again, she did not miss my reaction. “And I ssee you are angry about that, too. Why?”
I slid a sidelong glance at the Argonian. “Because no matter what a leader’s faults are, showing overt disrespect toward her is detrimental to the group as a whole.”
“You must think uss magess are an undissciplined lot, after so many yearss in the Legion,” Kud-Ei commented. A short chuckle escaped my lips. Not your mages, Kud-Ei.
“There’s all kinds in the Guild, too,” I remarked. Her eyes gleamed with amusement, then turned serious again.
“What newss do you bring, Julian? How do you return without a limp, but with the weight of the world on your shoulderss?”
Startled by her perception, I glanced at Kud-Ei. Sighing, I returned my gaze to the tea in my hands. How much to tell her? “I’m certain you’ve heard of the Mythic Dawn,” I began.
“Yess,” Kud-Ei turned her gaze to her cup. “Ranaline tried to kill you the lasst time you were here.”
“They are planning to make Bruma the next Kvatch,” I continued. “I’ve been tasked to ask for troops from the other counts and countesses around Cyrodiil.” Sighing, I sipped at the tea. “So far, Count Indarys of Cheydinhal has sent troops. I’m here to ask Count Terentius for support, as well.”
“Then you will go to the other citiess, too?” Kud-Ei asked. “Sskingrad, Anvil, Chorrol?” I nodded. “What good will more numberss be againsst the hordess of Oblivion? I undersstand they broke down the very wallss of Kvatch!”
“So they did,” I answered. “The Bruma Guard has learned how to close the Gates as they open, but casualties are inevitable, and they will come to the point where they will be unable to prevent the opening of a Great Gate. Once that happens, Bruma will fall.” I met Kud-Ei’s gaze. “It is the Countess Bruma’s hope that having reinforcements from the other counties will buy us enough time to figure out how to -” my voice faltered as Uriel’s voice brushed through my memory, “- to close shut the jaws of Oblivion.”
Kud-Ei regarded me for several moments. “Jusst how sseriouss iss thiss, Julian?”
“If Bruma falls,” I closed my eyes against the terrifying thought, “so goes all of Cyrodiil.”
“That bad?” Kud-Ei whispered, dismay in her voice. Silently, I nodded.
The contrast between Bravil and Leyawiin was deftly drawn. That is particularly true given Julian’s past experiences in Bravil- the unfortunate ones, I mean.
Hooray for Marz! If anyone can provide Paint with the Restoration he needs, I would put my money on her.
I will try not to go into “cold shower” territory in regards to Frederick of Bravilwood’s interest in Julian. I will say that he is rather observant and aware of the changes in our favorite former soldier. But perhaps that is simply camaraderie…
Good plan to talk to Lerus before going to the Count- of course, Julian is generally a careful planner.
Do we assume she stopped and talked to Marz on her way? Or will you be writing that out? ARGH! PAINT!!!
I think one of the most revealing passages in this chapter of beautifully worded and poignient phrasing is this:
So does Isabeau look like Michelle Pfeiffer, and turn into a hawk when the sun is up?
Poor Paint! My heart goes out to him. You do a good job of conveying Julian's love for her trusty steed.
http://www.apha.com/images/press/04viggo3_sm.jpg
“And you’re filling your armor more.”
Hubba-hubba!
How do you return without a limp, but with the weight of the world on your shoulderss?
Well said Master Po! I almost expect Kud-Ei to start calling Julian grasshopper next!
As Three Dog noted, the contrasts you draw between Leyawiin and Bravil are startling. I almost want to say that Bravil seems too nice now. But of course we are seeing it through Julian's eyes, as a place filled with friends and comrades: Frederick, Marz, Kud-Ei, Antoine, etc... Quite the turnaround from how she perceived the city when she first arrived. I cannot help but to think that Julian has come home. It is rather fitting too, that the place where she completely sank into darkness be the same one where she returns to the light.
Yay, Bravil!
Antoine is a peach. I hope Marz can help with Paint.
It is good that Julian has a friend in Frederick. I'm pleased she can speak with him as a fellow soldier. Hopefully he can help provide a little info on how to best procede with, um, Count Pompousness.
You do wonderful justice to dear Kud-Ei. What a joy she is!
Great insights on the mind of a soldier.
Chapter 19.11 The Lodge
The update on Paint’s condition is just heartbreaking. I was so sure that Julian would find him at the stables prancing around like his old self. As fitting as it may be to allow him to be looked after by fellow retiree Merowald, I would much rather see him put out to pasture at his old stomping grounds in Bruma . . . or in the quiet and (relative) serenity of Weynon Priory.
I agree with everyone else in praising your version of Mazoga. I hope we get to see more of her. It was a small thing, but I loved the way that Julian made sure to establish Mazoga in the mind of Tibullus. All this panhandling diplomacy she has been doing of late seems to have made her even more acutely aware of the importance of appearances. I doubt that Tibullus would have been so cordial encountering a solitary Orc squatting in the White Stallion Lodge, knight or not.
Given Mazoga’s complete lack of concern for hygiene or cleanliness, I shudder to think what the White Stallion Lodge will look like the next time Julian comes through.
Chapter 20.1 Back to Bravil
I can’t say it any better than SageRosa already did. My favorite part was where Julian made her way down Canal Street with ‘barely a glance’ at the skooma den, yet still remained cognizant of where it was. That stands in stark contrast to the last time she stood on that street just after leaving Fort Grief. Julian is ‘filling her armor’ in more ways than merely the obvious.
@treydog: I wanted to establish Bravil as a friendlier place now that Julian has confronted her past there and overcome it. But we will see more of the less savory side of it again. As for Frederick’s interest in Julian, she prefers to see it as camaraderie.
@mALX: Don’t worry, you haven’t missed anything. Read on for Marz’s assessment of Paint’s condition!
@SubRosa: I wouldn’t know about Isabeau’s nighttime activities. As for home, well, it’s not Bravil, but it’s a place where she now has friends. Home is a place still ahead on the road Julian has picked for herself.
@Acadian: I knew you would enjoy seeing old friends again!
@Destri: Thanks for the kudos!
Julian finally learns why her convalescence spells haven’t been working on Paint.
****************
Chapter 20.2 Marz and Paint
After enjoying a pot of tea and the latest news around Bravil with Kud-Ei, I took Thornblade to Ita Rienus for evaluation. Her brown eyes lit up as I carefully drew the serrated blade from its specially designed scabbard. “Oh, my!” she held her hands out as I laid the hilt in her grip. “This is the Indarys ancestral sword! How did you come by it?”
“It was a gift from Count Indarys,” I replied. Ita narrowed her gaze at me when I didn’t say any more.
“I heard his son closed the Oblivion Gate outside Cheydinhal,” she remarked with mock casualness. “And I heard a certain white-haired Redguard was with him.” She chuckled when I looked away from her. “Very well, why are you showing me this?”
“What do you know of it, ma’am?” I asked. “T’would seem to me that those serrations on the blade would be difficult to maintain and repair, let alone keep it sharp.”
“You would think so!” Ita exclaimed, turning from me and swinging the sword, testing its balance. “But it’s enchanted with an armor damaging effect. Because it does more damage to most plain armor than any steel plate could do to it, it keeps its edge -” she touched one of the spiny protrusions along the blade, “and its thorns.” She handed it back to me. “You’ll need to keep it recharged, of course, but it has a very reasonable magicka cost. You’ll get sixty uses out of it before you need to find a couple of filled greater or grand soul gems.”
Carefully I slid the blade back into its sheath. “Thanks very much, ma’am,” I said.
***********************
It was nearly dusk when I reached the Chapel. Marz sat near the front, praying silently. I sat quietly next to her, my gaze on the last of the sunbeams filtering through the stained glass windows at the west end of the nave.
I sensed her head turn toward me. “Ah, Julian,” she greeted me in that wonderful melodic voice of hers that eased all my cares and burdens. “Welcome back to Bravil. It ssemss to me that you have recovered from your old woundss.”
“That’s right, Marz,” I answered softly. “Thanks to the healer of Talos, and to Akatosh’s will, my knee is restored.”
“Praisse the Nine!” Marz exclaimed softly, joy in her voice. “Cirroc is a sskilled chiurgeon as well as a compassionate healer. I am glad he wass able to assist you.” She regarded me a moment longer. “But your heart iss heavy. What troubless you?”
“It is Paint, ma’am,” I answered softly. “My horse was attacked by a will o’wisp eleven days ago. I cast convalescence on him multiple times, but he still lacks his usual energy. He has little appetite, and is still weak and slow.”
“Oh, dear,” Marz hissed softly. “Where iss he?”
“With Branck and Bienne at the Bay Roan Stable,” I answered. “They said they would see what they can do for him.” I looked down at my clasped hands, realizing how tightly my fingers clenched themselves.
“Then let’ss go vissit him, shall we?” Marz rose to her feet. Without another word, we walked out of the Chapel into the cool evening. The sun had slipped behind the hills to the west, and its light was fast fading from the sky. Ahead of us, in the eastern sky, stars twinkled in the dusk. Masser and Secunda would rise in another hour or so, but for now we had only the starlight and torches to guide our feet down Wall Street toward the gates.
The guards opened the tall wooden portals for us, letting us out onto the Quaking Bridge. As we approached the stables, Branck appeared from the paddock, walking toward the front door. He paused on the porch as we walked into the circle of light cast by the torch.
“Hello, Julian,” he said. “And Marz. Come to look at Paint?”
“Yess,” Marz spoke for me. “How iss he right now?”
Branck shook his head. “Not interested in grain or forage. Isabeau’s cooking up some molasses and bran mash for him to try and entice him to take something. If we can get him to eat, hopefully we’ll be able to get some restore health potions into him.”
“Let me ssee him firsst,” Marz said. “Then we will sspeak further of how besst to treat him. For now, the bran massh ssoundss good.” With a nod at the hostler, she led me to the paddock gate. I heard his footsteps fade within the building as I followed the Argonian healer into the enclosure. Paint was easy to see in the dusk with his white-splashed coat. He pricked his ears at Marz’s soft hissing, then nudged my cheek with his soft muzzle while she stroked her hands over his neck and body. She laid her ear against his chest, just behind his elbow, and listened for several minutes. She did the same thing along both his flanks, all the time running her long-fingered palms over his smooth coat. He did not budge during her examination, though he flinched once or twice. She finished up standing in front of him, her hands beneath his jaw, her blunt scaled nose against his velvety nostrils. Then she stepped back with a gentle rub of his long face.
“Come with me,” she whispered to me. “I will sspeak with Issabeau and Antoine, and we will disscuss how besst to treat your friend.”
Bienne straightened up from the mash cooker as we entered the stable. Antoine sat at the table, slicing an apple into thin pieces. “Hello, Marz,” Bienne greeted her. “Julian.”
“Pleasse ssit,” Marz waved me to the table opposite Branck. She took the chair next to me as Bienne moved to join us. “Julian, a will o’wissp’s attack iss two pronged. It not only hass a drain health effect, which iss the mosst obviouss, but it alsso hass a drain magicka effect.”
I frowned at her words. “Yes, I’m aware of the magicka effect, ma’am,” I responded softly. “But Paint is a horse, how can that affect him?”
“All living creaturess possess magicka,” Marz responded. “Many people don’t believe sso, but it’ss true. Though animalss can not casst sspells like men, mer and tailed folk can, magicka iss sstill essential for their ssurvival. Magicka iss what createss the sspecial bond you sso obvioussly share with Paint. It iss what enabless animalss to experience joy, contentment, pain, and yess, ssuffering.”
Makes a weird sort of sense to me. “It’s clear to me that Paint is suffering,” I spoke slowly. “But I don’t know how to restore his magicka.”
“It iss more difficult to resstore the magicka of animalss than of people,” Marz agreed. “Animalss view the world differently from uss. Thosse of uss who are clossesst to animalss - Argonianss and Khajiiti, find it ssomewhat eassier to esstablissh empathy with the dumb creaturess, but even you, Julian, can accomplissh ssomething.” She sat back in the plain chair, her orange eyes sad. “Yet, it issn’t as sstraightforward as a convalessence sspell. Time is crucial for full recovery. Animalss are sslower to recover from loss of magicka than people.”
“Would the bran mash be of help, then?” Bienne asked. She had been listening intently to Marz’s dissertation.
“Yess,” Marz nodded. “It iss warm, ssavory of odor, and eassily doctored. Molassess is a wisse choice, as are appless,” she gestured at the apple Branck had sliced. “If you have apple cider, that would be a good addition as well.” She turned to me. “Julian, if you wissh, I will teach you a resstore magicka sspell. You will get better with practice, as you have done with your convalessence sspell.” Now she shook her head. “But I doubt that Paint will recover hiss full sstrength anytime ssoon. Iss there ssomeplace you can leave him to recuperate?”
“I have a house in the Imperial City,” I mused softly, my eyes on the table. “And a good friend in Weye. If I ask, I’m sure Aelwin Merowald will be happy of Paint’s company. He adores Paint, and I think Paint likes him very much too.”
“Good,” Marz nodded. “Though the road to the Imperial City is full of danger, we can get Paint a little sstronger for the trip.” She regarded me a moment longer. “As a Magess Guild member, do you have resstore magicka potionss with you?”
“Yes,” I answered. “And I can get more while I’m here. Will that help?”
“Once we get Paint eating again,” Branck nodded with a glance at Marz, “it should work, right Marz?”
“It will help potentiate the effect of the sspell,” Marz agreed. She looked at me again. “Julian, get ssome resst tonight. I will casst the sspell tonight, and teach you tomorrow. You must be ressted to learn it. It requiress much concentration on the part of the casster.”
The tightness that had persisted in my chest for the past eleven days eased a little at the confidence in Marz’s tone. Do I have what it takes to heal Paint? But how long will it take for him to recover? Still, it’s more hope than I’ve had ever since he collapsed on the Yellow Road and I thought I was going to lose him. “Thank you, ma’am,” I said. “And you, too, Bienne and Branck. I really appreciate your help.”
ARGH!!!!! PAINT !!!! Why can Marz teach the spell but not cast it on Paint herself? ARGH !!!!!! I wouldn't make Paint walk all the way to Weye ill, and Aelwin Merowald can't heal him!!! ARGH !!! I would leave Paint there, where Bienne and Marz can work on him !!!! ARGH !!!
A Great Write, and great chapter...but heart-wrenching, poor Paint !!!!
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I would never have thought of THAT as the reason!!!
Brilliant, rider! How did you come up with that little piece of genius?
I very much enjoyed your portrayal of Ita and the interactions/observations among her, Julian and the Thorn blade. Another wonderful character that closely matches my own vision of her.
Very clever twist on the wisp's attack, and its effects on Paint. One can clearly see the writer's veterinary knowledge in Marz's examination of Paint as well.
Like Acadian, I also liked the use of the term 'tailed folk'.
I, like all others, have Paint in my heart as much as any of the wonderful characters you have created and I was sad to read that even though he was healed, he didn't seem the old frolliccing horse he used to be. I truly adore the depth you have given the infliction on the poor horse.
Oh, I also loved what you did with Mazoga
This is another one where I just want to quote the entire post to highlight the “good parts.” The discussion of the Thornblade is a fascinating bit of enchanted weapon mechanics. But Marz is the star once more. The idea that all creatures possess magicka in a magical world is one of those- “Well of course they do- why did I never think of that?” moments. Inspired and creative storytelling there. And your personal and professional experience with equine companions is again a wonderful source of inspiration. Like Julian, I am sorry that Paint's recovery will be slow- but glad that recovery is possible.
I like how Ita Rienus gives Julian an assessment of Thornblade's abilities while also telling her the number of charges that the blade possesses and the cost (in soul gems) of keeping it recharged. That is another of the wonderful details that set Old Habits apart.
And, once again, the voice of sage counsel and reason comes with the Argonian sssibilant ‘sss’. As the others said, Marz’s examination of Paint was both thorough and well-described. Her diagnosis was spot-on, and her prescription for treatment leaves no doubt that Paint will eventually regain much of his previous health. Given the squalor around them, the indifference of the guard, and the predilections of their no account . . . er . . . Count, I wonder if the people of Bravil realize the treasure they have over in the Chapel of Mara.
[quote name='Destri Melarg' date='Oct 12 2010, 02:18 AM' post='119547']
[quote name='D.Foxy' post='119534' date='Oct 11 2010, 10:52 AM']
And, since we have decided to share our ideas of Julian’s family members, I present Julian’s twin sister, http://i.annihil.us/u/prod/marvel/universe3zx/images/5/5a/Stormcivilwar.jpg, the one who is further along in her studies of magic.
[/quote]
@Destri are you trying to give us young blokes a hernia? Oh and certain women?
Love your writing h.e.r
I started reading your series today, and while I haven't finished it yet, I haven't been able to put it down. You have the amazing ability to draw your readers into the story.
@mALX: Julian wants to leave Paint where she can visit him more often. That would mean Weye (close to her charming shack on the Waterfront) or Cloud Ruler Temple. She is opting for Merowald because the climate is kinder to aged horses, not to mention the lovely little paddock with the grand old oak tree next to his house.
@Foxy: I assume you are speaking of the magicka-depleting effect of the will o’wisp? I looked it up on wiki, and thought, a-ha! In shamanistic traditions, shamans heal the soul, while healers heal the body. I figured this was the same thing, or similiar.
@Acadian: You have the right of it: Paint’s days as Julian’s traveling companion on the roads of Cyrodiil are over. She will not risk his life more than she has to.
@SubRosa: Thanks!
@Remko: Long time no see! I’m glad to know that you’re still reading my fan fic. I hear you about Paint and Mazoga.
@treydog: I’ve always written what I can imagine, rather than what I know, but what I know has a tendency to creep into my writing from time to time.
@Destri: I think the people of Bravil do recognize the gem that graces the Chapel of Mara, it’s just that their appreciation runs quieter and deeper than mere singing of praises.
@Doommeister: Welcome to Chorrol! I’m glad to see that you have stopped reading long enough to tell me how much you like Julian’s story. I hope that you will continue to enjoy this as I continue with the Main Quest.
*****************
Chapter 20.3 Count Terentius
Viera Lerus greeted me within the great hall. “Good morning Julian.” She looked closer at my face. “Didn’t you get much rest last night?”
I shook my head. “I did sleep well, but I was at the stables with Marz just now, learning how to cast a restore magicka spell on touch.”
“Ah, yes, your horse,” Lerus nodded her understanding. “Frederick told me the two of you had some bad luck on the road.” She turned and led me toward the dais at the rear of the hall. “I hope he gets better, Julian.”
I hope so too. This morning he had shown some interest in the apple I offered him, though he only lipped at the pieces. However Branck reported to Marz and me that Paint had eaten the bran mash last night after Marz had cast her spell on him. When I looked at him this morning, I thought his eye looked a little brighter, not quite so sunken. Still, the change was so subtle, I wasn’t certain if I was imagining things.
We waited behind a man, a Breton by his fair coloring and High Rock accent, while he complained of the lack of fishing in the bay. “The schools are getting smaller and scarcer,” he demonstrated shrinkage with his hands. “I ‘ave to go further and further away from the walls to find ‘ealthy fish. And just the other day, I was almost beset by pirates!”
Count Regulus Terentius, a bored expression on his face, shrugged. “Your fishing problems are not my concern. Your inability to pay your taxes are.”
“But Count!” the Breton spread his hands helplessly. “If I can’t fish, I can’t make enough to pay my taxes, let alone feed my family!”
The count waved him away impatiently. As the Breton stumped dejectedly away, Terentius’s jaded gaze fell on us, and a flicker of resentment mingled with recognition passed through his slack-featured face as we stepped forward. “What is it, Lerus?” His tone held overt contempt for the lean woman at my left side.
“This is Julian of Anvil,” Lerus kept her voice commendably calm. “She is the person responsible for closing the Oblivion Gate in the old Bravil Fort ruins.”
He regarded me with disinterested eyes. “I’m rather busy,” his breath huffed as he sipped at the goblet in his hand. I glanced around the great hall. It was empty of citizens. Fathis Aren, standing off to one side, arched a disdainful brow at me as he nodded in silent acknowledgment. “I doubt you have anything,” the count’s additional words drew my attention back to him, “to tell me that I’d want to hear.”
Lerus’s advice from last night fresh in my mind, I bowed to the Count. “Good morning, sir. I come with a message from Countess Narina Carvain of Bruma.”
Terentius’s brows rose. “Really?” His tone held less contempt and more interest. He set the wine on the small table next to his seat. “And how is the old girl these days?”
“Holding up, sir,” I kept my voice neutral. “These Oblivion Gates that are opening outside her walls are occupying much of her attention. There is evidence that the Mythic Dawn has selected Bruma as their next target for the Oblivion siege engine.”
“Indeed,” Count Terentius shook his head, his brown hair glimmering in the firelight from the braziers on either side of his high-backed throne. “Do send her my sympathy and my regards.”
“Countess Carvain would ask for more from you, sir,” I held his gaze steadily. Remember what Lerus said. He asked Carvain to marry him years ago, and she refused. But he still holds a torch for her. “She asks for reinforcements for her garrison. It is her hope to keep closing the Oblivion Gates as fast as they open. That would prevent a Great Gate, such as that which overpowered Kvatch, from opening on the plain in front of Bruma.”
The man’s brown gaze flickered from me to Viera Lerus. A small smile of triumph appeared on his face. “Do not think me ungrateful, Julian of Anvil,” he remarked casually. “Your selfless act of closing the Gate in the fort ruins outside our walls has not gone unremarked. Let me show my gratitude by sending my Captain of the Guard to Bruma.”
Beside me, Lerus stiffened. “Sir, I can’t leave -”
“Yes, you can,” Count Terentius nodded. “After all, you have a competent second in Thalberg, do you not? He is perfectly capable of managing the Guard in your absence.”
I narrowed my eyes at the count as Lerus inhaled slowly. “Are you sending Captain Lerus by herself, sir?” I asked.
His smile grew wider. “Ah, yes, indeed. Captain Lerus is a fine warrior and worth three of my Guard.” Now he grew serious. “And I can not take any chances at leaving the town undefended should another Gate open outside our walls.” His tone brooked no further argument.
“Many thanks,” I said, bowing to him again. Big help you are. If you want to impress Countess Carvain, this isn’t the way to do it.
“Have a safe trip!” Terentius waved us away, reaching for the wine goblet at his elbow. I caught Lerus’s angry glare and jerked my head toward the tall doors leading outside. Her jaw clenched, she took her frustrations out on the russet and gold carpet that led us to the portal. As the sentries hurried to open the doors for us, I turned to Lerus.
“There’s no reason for me to stay in Bravil any longer,” I said quietly. “How soon can you leave? Perhaps we can travel together as far as Weye.”
“I don’t have a horse, I’ll only slow you down,” Lerus shrugged. I shook my head.
“Paint isn’t well enough for me to ride him,” I met her gaze. “You won’t be the one slowing me down. I can appreciate some help keeping the predators away from him.” And I’d like time to speak freely with you, Lerus.
“All right, give me an hour, then,” Lerus agreed, her irritation at Count Terentius easing a little. “It’ll be good to get out of Bravil.”
***************
I was already at the stable with Branck and Bienne getting Paint ready for the long walk back to Weye when Lerus joined us. “You’d best break it up over a couple of days,” Bienne advised me. “Stop at the Faregyl Inn for the evening. It’s an easy walk from here,” she squinted up at the late morning sun, “and you should get there before dark barring any delays on the road. It’s off the road a bit, but the fare’s hearty, and Alix Lencolia, the blademaster there, knows his equines.” She pressed a couple of pieces of folded parchment into my hand. “One of these is for him, the other is for the person you’ll be leaving Paint with at Weye. They contain the recipes for the bran mash we’ve been giving him.” She smiled at me. “He had another meal of it after you left, and we were able to get a vial of restore magicka down him that way.”
“Thank you so much for all your help,” I could feel a further easing of that knot in the pit of my stomach. Paint did indeed look improved after the second spellcasting. He held his head up higher, and seemed curious about Viera Lerus. She opened the gate as I led Paint out, his saddle bristling with Thornblade, Daedra Slayer and both bows. “You’ve got quite the collection of weaponry there,” she remarked. I glanced at her after I waved good bye to Branck and Bienne.
“I’m leaving one of the blades at my house on the Waterfront,” I said after we reached the cobblestones that marked the Green Road. “It was a gift, and I’m told it’s a very valuable weapon. But it’s a bit heavy after these katanas, so I’ll put it aside for now.”
We were silent as we walked north toward the ridge that marked the upper end of the Niben Bay floodplain. The sun was warm on our backs, the breeze in our faces a cool harbinger of winter. The trees around us hid deer, the occasional wolf, and boar within their shadowy embrace. Paint’s hooves clopped slowly on the stones as he walked with his head between us. I was reminded of the time Martin and I walked to Weynon Priory from Kvatch. The slow easy pace of our walk had been a peaceful interlude between the chaos of Kvatch and the tragedy that struck Weynon Priory on our arrival.
The climb up the steep ridge was hard for Paint, but he followed us gamely. When we reached the top, he was blowing hard. As Marz had taught me, I laid my fingers against his jaw behind the bit, where I could feel his pulse. Though elevated from the exertion, his heart rate dropped quickly to a more normal pace. I made him stand still for a few minutes while I recalled the restore magicka spell the healer of Mara had taught me.
“Put your handss on Paint’ss ribss, jusst behind the shoulder. Feel hiss heart beat, and the air moving through hiss lungss.” Marz placed my hands in the appropriate place on Paint’s side. He swung his head around and bumped my shoulder gently with his nose. “Thiss iss hiss core, the ssource of hiss magicka. Let your heart beat match hiss, your breath match hiss.” I closed my eyes and concentrated on my hands. “Once both of you are in tune with each other, find hiss core. It can be a flame of white light, or a concentration of heat, or ssome other thing. But you will know it by the way it beatss in time with hiss heart and yourss.” Behind my eyelids, I saw a tiny white spark that flickered feebly. Though my hands still rested on Paint’s warm coat, I reached through him toward that faint flame. I could feel the merest hint of warmth beyond that of flesh and blood. “Touch hiss core with one hand, and find your own with the other. When you touch your own core, energy will flow from you to him. It will alwayss flow from sstrongesst to weakesst, as water will flow from high to low, and warmth will flow from the fire to the cold sstone.”
As Marz spoke in her singsong hiss, I became aware of my own white flame, a modest fire like the hearty crackle of a campfire. With my soul’s left hand cupping Paint’s spark, my other hand moved over my own core. As my palm touched my magicka, it surged high, arcing through my arm, through my body, and down to that feeble flare. Like a lava flow in the Deadlands, the argent energy flowed from me to Paint. Before long my own fire was diminished, and his had grown, until they were equal to each other, as our heart beats and our breaths matched. Paint shifted under my physical hands, and I opened my eyes, losing the contact. I found myself leaning on him, my forehead resting against his back.
“Do you feel ssuddenly weak?” Marz steadied me with her gentle hands.
“Like I’ve cast several healing spells in a row,” I murmured. “Is that what it is? I give Paint some of my own magicka?”
“Yess, that iss exactly what it iss,” Marz’s voice held encouragement. “As your magicka replenishess, you’ll be able to give him more. He will alsso begin to regenerate his own.”
As the memory of the lesson passed through my mind, I regarded Paint. His own hard breathing subsided to a quiet respiration. Lerus watched me as I glanced around at the forest. “Is he all right?” She caught my gaze.
“I’d like to repeat that magicka spell I learned,” I watched her expression. “But it takes all my concentration -”
“Say no more,” Lerus drew her steel sword, its blade catching the sunlight. “I’ll keep watch.” She backed away from us, stopping a few paces in front of Paint.
“Thanks,” I said. Slipping my hands beneath the saddle near the girth, I closed my eyes and concentrated on Marz’s lesson. Again I found Paint’s magicka, again I poured my own into his core until his flame grew a bit stronger, and mine was a bit weaker. This time, I was prepared for the weakness when I opened my eyes. Paint stood quietly, his head turned toward me, his dark eye watching me. When I felt strong enough to stand on my own two feet, I rubbed his neck. As I took his rein, he swung his muzzle against my cheek and blew softly onto my neck, making me shudder.
Lerus sheathed her sword as we approached, her eyes on me assessing. “I think it’s helping, for what it’s worth, Julian.”
“I hope so,” I answered as she fell into step at Paint’s right side.
Great descriptions in this chapter! The dealings with Terentius - hilarious !!!!
“What is it, Lerus?” His tone held overt contempt for the lean woman at my left side.
Now this tells us something of Bravil's problems right here.
If you want to impress Countess Carvain, this isn’t the way to do it.
No kidding. The way to do it would be by showing up personally and showing the daedra why he was a tournament champion! As Legionary Pullo said, there's nothing women like more than to bring them the still beating heart of an enemy.
However, one can clearly see that the Count's decision is not based on impressing the lady, so much as getting rid of his guard captain.
Finally, a simply lovely description of Julian's restore magicka spell.
nits:
It is her hope to keep closing the Oblivion Gates as fast as they open, to prevent a Great Gate, such as that which overpowered Kvatch, from opening on the plain in front of Bruma
This really goes on for a long bit. Perhaps It could be broken up into several sentences?
It is her hope to keep closing the Oblivion Gates as fast as they open. That would prevent a Great Gate - such as that which overpowered Kvatch - from opening on the plain in front of Bruma
Wow! Some true colors revealed. So Lerus is an impediment to the Count. . . and now he is rid of her. How cleverly creative - I love the way you did it! Wonderful depiction of both Lerus and the Count.
Upon seeing the No-Count, we are immediately given tow excellent pieces of “show, don’t tell” writing: the fisherman’s concerns and Terentius’ dismissal of them provide a wealth of information. And his attitude toward his guard captain reinforces the impression.
The inspired (by Captain Lerus) use of Countess Carvain was a lovely bit of background. And you manage some wonderful characterization with Terentius backhanded compliment to his captain. One gets the feeling that he mostly wants Lerus out of the way… for some reason or other.
More Julian diplomacy, finding an acceptable reason for Lerus to travel with her.
I think it is telling that the two poorest cities in Cyrodiil have Counts who are either inscrutable, or ineffectual. I think that Lerus is well rid of her burden under this Count. Really, how much worse can Bravil get in her absence?
I have a feeling that Lerus will find employment with far greater meaning on the fields outside Bruma.
Once again magic is transformed in your hands. The restore magicka spell is so well described that one feels that there is no other way such a spell could work. If I ever get around to describing the nuts and bolts of magic, I hope I can do it with half as much scintillating detail!
@mALX: Thanks! I think you will really enjoy this next bit!
@SubRosa: I’m glad you see the source of Bravil’s problems as I do. In Countess Carvain’s case, I think bringing her the Akaviri Madstone from Pale Pass will win her heart! Thanks for the nit!
@Acadian: I knew you and Buffy would love the description of the forest along the Green Road.
@treydog: while I consider Count Leyawiin canny but not necessarily bad (though I will argue otherwise where his dimwit wife is concerned), I really, really wanted to convey the real smarminess that is The (Dis)Honorable Count Bravil. I’m glad it came across.
@Destri: Cities under inspired government tend to thrive, while those under poor management do poorly. It’s something we see all the time in RL, and there is no reason why it can’t be the same in TES. As for Lerus, I think the Count is making a grievous mistake. In certain circles, it is a given that you want to keep your enemies closer than your friends. We’ll see what happens with those two!
I think it will be obvious to many that a certain Khajiit writer has been influential in how I view the residents of Faregyl Inn. Many thanks, mALX. I had tremendous fun writing this!
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Chapter 20.4 The Stolen Darlings
The rest of the walk from the ridge to the Faregyl Inn was easy, as it followed the top of the ridge that ran between the Niben Basin and Hidden Valley to the west. We made good time along this stretch of the Green Road. Paint’s stride was decidedly less stiff, more fluid, which gave me more encouragement than I expected.
I found Talos’s wayshrine and stopped there to give thanks for a safe trip so far. We had encountered no enemies. Animals wisely left us alone, and apparently any bandits hiding in the trees made the same choice.
Golden beams were slanting through the branches of the forest by the time I spotted the archery target and the ramshackle lines of the Inn of Ill Omen. Marsias was nowhere to be seen, and I didn’t want to stop inside the place. It would be hard for me to resist the obligation to buy some food from Maulhand, but I was determined never to eat there again. Even my own Legion slop tastes better than that vile soup.
We found the small path that led down toward Hidden Valley and Faregyl Inn. My nose twitched at a warm, yeasty aroma that floated up to us on the cool breeze. A glance at Lerus indicated she too had noticed the scent. The thought of fresh-baked bread made my stomach growl.
As we approached the charming structure, I studied its thatched roof, round river stone walls, and half-timbered upper story. It reminded me of Wawnet Inn in Weye. A low stone wall surrounded the inn’s yard, enclosing a riot of blooms. Two figures stood within the profusion of pink and purple cosmos, their backs to us, faces turned west. The smaller female Khajiit turned to the tall man next to her with an air of distress, her ears back and her tail twitching.
“Oh, my poorr darrlings! I only wanted them to have a little bit of sun! Now they’rre gone!”
The man turned around at the sound of Paint’s hooves on the cobblestones outside the yard. “Hello, and welcome to Faregyl, travelers,” he greeted us, opening the gate. His lilting accent gave away his Breton heritage, in spite of his tanned skin and brown eyes.
“Hello,” I answered. “I’m looking for Alix Lencolia, sir.”
He beamed as we led Paint into the yard, but his smile faded as he took in the horse’s thin appearance. “That’s me, ma’am. Is there something wrong with your horse?”
“He was attacked by a will o’wisp twelve days ago,” I was getting tired of explaining Paint’s condition to everyone we met. Hopefully I won’t have to talk about it anymore soon. “Isabeau Bienne said to give this to you,” I handed him the missive from the Bay Roan hostler. The parchment rustled in the afternoon breeze as he opened it. Muscles clenched beneath his five-bells shadow as his eyes scanned the message.
“This is serious,” he looked back at me. “It’s difficult and time-consuming to restore magicka in an animal.”
“Serrious!” The slight Khajiit had turned around and darted to Lencolia’s side, tugging at his sleeve. “But what about my darrlings! Oh, my poorr babies!”
“Is there something wrong?” Lerus kept her steady gaze on the distraught female.
“This is S’jirra,” Lencolia performed the introduction. “She’s upset because someone or something stole her jumbo potatoes.”
“Potatoes?” Lerus repeated, her finely arched brows rising.
“Yes, my lovely, darrling jumbo potatoes!” S’jirra tugged again on Lencolia’s sleeve. “Please, Alix, you must go find them!”
Somehow Lencolia did not share S’jirra’s concern for her lost tubers. “I must start the bran mash cooking for Paint,” he gently put her off. “It’s going to take a few hours before it’s ready.”
“No!” S’jirra yowled as if her tail had been caught in a closing door. “By then it’ll be too late for my babies!”
“Tell me about your jumbo potatoes, ma’am,” I stepped forward. “Maybe Captain Lerus and I can be of help while Alix Lencolia tends to Paint.” I sensed Lerus’s dubious glance at me, but she said nothing.
“I know it was stupid of me, but I put my jumbo potatoes out to get some sun,” S’jirra wrung her hands. “I shouldn’t have left them all alone like that! Next thing I knew, they werre gone! I saw someone rrunning into the west,” she gestured toward the eaves of the forest just beyond the inn.
“How long ago did this happen?” Lerus stepped to my side, assuming the attitude of an investigator. Lencolia took Paint’s rein from me and led the gelding around the side of the inn, toward a patch of green grass.
“About an hourr or so ago?” S’jirra licked nervously at her right hand, then rubbed her ear, setting the ornaments woven into her mane jingling. Lerus and I exchanged glances. An hour ago - those potatoes are probably in someone’s stomach by now.
“Did you get a good look at the person you saw?” I asked. “Was it a man or a woman?”
“I only saw him from behind, but I think it was a man.” S’jirra rubbed at her ear some more. “Big,” she added. “Oh, please, if I don’t get them back forr the next batch of my famous potato brread, I don’t know what I’ll do!”
“Can’t you describe him a little more for us?” Lerus kept her voice cool. “What was he wearing? What color was his hair?”
“Oh, I don’t know!” the Khajiit wailed, her tone reaching an uncomfortable screech. Paint threw his head up, his ears pinning back against his neck. Lencolia murmured something to him, stroking his shoulder.
“All right, ma’am,” I reached a hand out to the overwrought woman. Lerus returned my glance with a shrug. “We’ll go take a look while Lencolia tends to Paint.” The Bravil Captain’s gaze sharpened on me in startled apprehension. Ignoring her, I moved to the west wall and swung my leg over it. I was a few strides into the forest before she caught up to me.
“You’re serious about finding those potatoes, aren’t you?” she demanded softly, her drawn steel sword glimmering softly in the shadows. Her eyes flickered around us.
“I want Lencolia to tend to Paint,” I answered. “If I didn’t offer to go look for those potatoes, S’jirra wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace, let alone time to make the mash.”
We walked further into the woods before I stopped to cast a detect life spell. Lerus watched me while I gazed into the trees for pink life signs. I kept my gaze averted from her face, for I hated the way the haze thrown by the spell obstructed people’s expressions.
“Do you see anything?” her quiet voice was barely audible above the buzzing of the cicadas. I drew my katana under handed, keeping its blade along my forearm.
“Just a couple of deer,” I shrugged. “I doubt they are S’jirra’s thieves. Let’s head west a little further.”
“Lead on, Julian,” Lerus fell in behind me as the pink haze dissipated. We wove our way through the thick trunks of the beeches deeper into the forest. The ground began to climb, indicating to me that we had crossed Hidden Valley. I paused again and renewed my detect life spell. This time, a large form glimmered into shape further up the rock-strewn slope.
Holding my finger to my lips to signal silence, I pointed its location out to Lerus. She slid several steps away to my right, her gaze scanning the foliage up the ridge. I watched the shape a few moments longer. Troll, or bear maybe. Big, like S’jirra said. As the pink glow faded, I kept my eyes on that spot and began moving forward slowly. The buzzing insects covered any sound our mail made as we crept up the slope, maintaining our separation.
Halfway up the ridge, I stopped and threw up another detect life spell. This time I could visualize the shape better. No, not a troll. Cacat, it’s an ogre! I cast my gaze around the forest, searching for more hulking forms. He’s alone. That’s odd. But it’s good for us. A glance at Lerus indicated her readiness. I made the signal to hold her position, then whistled a sharp blast. The pink haze ahead stiffened, spun around, then started moving toward me. I twirled the hilt of the katana in my right hand, bringing the blade to the ready position. Sounds of breaking branches and heavy footfalls soon reached me, just as the detect life spell faded away.
My feet braced, I brought the sword in front of me. I had stopped in a small clearing, just a few meters across. It gave me enough room to maneuver and swing my blade. I didn’t have to wait long before the small head and broad shoulders appeared through the leaves. The ogre’s beady eyes lit on me, and he growled, showing crooked peg teeth. His huge fists appeared next, rising to deliver a death’s hammer blow. I held my ground as he ran at me.
His approach was slow, but then several things happened at once. He towered over me, those fists beginning their descent. I dove to one side, stabbing the katana into his flank as I did so. At the same time, Lerus’s Bravil livery glimmered into view behind the ogre. Her steel sword flashed as she drove it into the big creature’s back just below his ribs. His massive hands smacked into the ground where I had been standing just an instant ago, and he reared back. He spun around with an agonized roar, his hands swiping at me, then at Lerus. But both of us had danced out of his reach.
As he turned ponderously toward Lerus, I darted behind him and slashed my katana at his legs. The sharp blade bit deeply into the muscles of his right calf, bringing him crashing to one knee. With another shout, he swiped at me with one long arm. I barely ducked back in time to avoid a punishing blow to my side. Lerus took advantage of the opening to run the tip of her steel sword along the ogre’s left arm from shoulder to elbow, leaving a deep gash.
With both of us taking turns keeping the monstrous creature off balance, we wore him down until his breaths began to falter. Blood oozed from multiple wounds in his massive body and limbs, and dribbled from his mouth. He flailed weakly at us, then he pitched forward onto his face, the last breath escaping in that unmistakable death rattle.
Wary, we waited several seconds before approaching him. Hard lessons from my Legion past prompted me to drive my katana between the ogre’s ribs toward the center of his chest. He did not stir as I twisted the tip of my blade inside his massive body. Definitely dead.
Lerus and I looked at each other over the immobile ogre. Like me, her face was covered with perspiration, and her breaths came short and hard, but otherwise she seemed unharmed. She knelt beside the ogre and wiped her blade on the monster’s loincloth. I used Carandial’s refresh spell to remove the blood and gore from my slender katana before sheathing it.
“Are we alone?” Lerus asked me as I cast another detect life spell. I nodded after a quick scan of the forest. “Do you think this thing’s responsible for those potatoes?” she sheathed the sword, her gaze on the body between us.
“Could be,” I pointed up the hill. “He was sitting there, not far away. Let’s see if we can track his trail back to that place, ma’am.” The broken branches were easy to follow, and Lerus fell in behind me.
“Tell me something, Julian,” she panted as our climb grew steeper. “Did you call that fetcher to you?”
“Yes, I did, ma’am,” I did not pause in my climbing. “I knew what he was, but I couldn’t tell you without revealing our positions. If you heard him coming and expected something like a bear or a troll, you’d be in for a nasty surprise.”
“It was a nasty surprise anyway,” Lerus commented as we reached a tiny clearing, even smaller than the one where the ogre now lay dead. It was just a break in the forest canopy created when a matriarch tree fell down, perhaps in a storm. Beside the rotting trunk lay a jumbled brown cloth. I used my sheathed katana to nudge the rough weaving aside. Six ogre-sized potatoes nestled within its coarse folds.
“Well, looks like we’ll be able to make S’jirra happy after all,” I said, kneeling and gathering up the corners of the cloth, knotting them around the tubers.
“It’s getting dark.” I looked up at Lerus’s voice. She was right - I could barely see her face in the gathering gloom beneath the thick branches of the forest. “Can you find our way back?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I silently thanked my years in Valenwood. At least the trees here don’t move. Hefting the makeshift sack of potatoes over one shoulder, I returned to the trail broken by the ogre. Lerus fell in behind me, quietly following my footsteps.
By the time we reached the ogre’s body, it was full dark. I stopped beside him. “Lerus, you can’t see where you’re going, and neither can I. I’m going to cast starlight on us.” I suited action to words. As the faint green glimmer grew around us, her pale face emerged from the gloom. “Keep an eye out for predators, ma’am.”
S’jirra was waiting with a flaming torch in the yard when we emerged from the blackness of the forest. She lifted the brand higher as we swung our legs over the wall. “Ohh, you found my babies! I just know you did!” As I swung the package from my shoulder, she shoved the torch at Lerus, who took it with a silent roll of her eyes. The Khajiit held her hands out, and I gently laid my burden into her arms, opening the cloth so she could see the tubers within. She cradled them to her chest, purring madly over them. Her eyes shone as she lifted her gaze to us. “Oh, my goodness, you found them!” She sprang gleefully away from us toward the bench near the inn door, where she laid the six potatoes carefully down. Then she bounded back to us. “Oh, I could kiss you both!”
Before Lerus or I could react, she had taken Lerus’s face in her hands and kissed her soundly on the lips. Then she was pulling my face down to hers while Lerus spluttered into her mailed sleeve. I barely managed to refrain from spitting the fine hairs from my own lips while S’jirra returned to her jumbo potatoes. “You must come inside! We have dinner rready!” Somehow she managed to open the door for us in spite of a double armful of tubers.
Ah, well, not all Khajit are nice to kiss. Some Khajit, though...especially white ones...
Before you decide if the Count is bad or not, keep in mind that he and Caelia Draconis are the ones with the key to the secret torture room, not the Countess.
Even my own Legion slop tastes better than that vile soup.
Poor Maulhand, nobody loves him but Minerva!
http://www.hiddenvalley.com/
five-bells shadow
An excellent way of getting around "o'clock"! Remind me to steal that phrase!
I kept my gaze averted from her face, for I hated the way the haze thrown by the spell obstructed people’s expressions.
That is the thing I do not like about detect life as well, how it obscures peoples faces when you try to talk to them.
S’jirra's antics were fun. I loved how you made the extra effort to felinize her behavior, yowling, her ears back in distress, tail twitching, etc...
The battle with the ogre reminded me of hunting dogs harrying a bear, or a pride of lions taking on a cape buffalo. Nicely done.
nits:
He towered over me, those fists beginning their descent.
You changed tenses after the comma, going from past to present. Perhaps instead try:
He towered over me, and those fists began their descent.
Well I've caught up, there's certainly a lot of this now and it remains as good as ever, better even. I shan't comment on individual parts rather on the overall shape of things. I like the way you deal with the endless dungeon delving in game, while it could get far too repetitive you avoid that but stay true to game well. Fort Blueblood was a good example, avoiding the details and going straight to the important bit, Kalthar, made Julian's reactions all the clearer and avoided repetitive fighting to focus on her thoughts at killing another mage.
Likewise only giving description of the interesting gates, makes them seem more important and stops too much solo action slowing things down (which oddly is what all that action would do...). It's the characters and their interaction which are the really interesting stuff, as it should be. Seeing how Julian will deal with new people and places (I am very much looking forward to Anvil) is the real joy of this piece because she's so real. More so than just a 3d character she seems like a fully fledged person, and with the supporting cast of excellent side characters she really shines.
I'm also noticing that she is still developing, in the last few chapters she seems to have rediscovered her legion side which had only peaked through before, while also becoming increasingly able to do magic. She's certainly becoming more formidable, far more smoothly than the game would have it but again it reinforces that this is close to the game.
On that note one chapter I will mention was chapter 15 which was a joy to read, not being tied to events really gave the characters a little space to show.
I could continue... like paint who is so much more than quick transport...
But I'll leave it with SGM.
@D. Foxy: I presume you speak from experience?
@mALX: Somehow I just knew you were going to loooove this chapter segment!
@Acadian: Lerus was initially wondering why the hell are we doing this when we’ve got bigger tasks ahead? But then her Legion training took over and she stepped up. I’m glad you liked seeing her in this segment. I hope you like seeing more of Lerus in this segment.
@SubRosa: I was thinking salad dressing too! But Hidden Valley was too appropriate for that out of the way place that winds down from the Lake to Bravil. And you can take the five-bells shadow if you like! I tried to show S’jjirra as a very agitated feline. Believe me, I see this behavior all the time in the clinic.
@Olen: Welcome back! You and your wonderful insights have been sorely missed, but I figured RL got in the way. I could say I’m sorry for leaving so much material for you to catch up on, but somehow I get the impression you didn’t mind. And yes, I am so looking forward to Anvil too, but there’s the matter of Paint, and the musical beds and wayward zombies and a certain eccentric alchemist in Skingrad . . .
@Destri: It looks like you had as much fun writing your critique as I did the chapter segment! It’s funny, but I was seriously considering writing that particular quest from the ogre’s point of view as a short story! You have summarized my thoughts so succinctly it’s almost moot to write it now.
And now we wrap up Chapter 20. The funny thing is, I thought I would wrap the entire MQ up in 20 chapters when I started this. But it has grown into something a bit more epic, and I’m thinking this will go another 20 before Martin’s ultimate sacrifice . . . I hope that doesn’t scare people away!
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Chapter 20.5 Tied Hands and Potato Bread
S’jirra insisted on buying us supper. Once she made certain Abhuki had provided Lerus and I with a hearty meal, she disappeared with her jumbo potatoes. The innkeeper, another Khajiit female, shook her head at us. “Likely she’s gone to make morre of that potato brread of herrs,” she grinned toothily at us. “It’s a good thing Alix is nearly done with that brran mash forr yourr horrse.”
After we finished the supper of barley beef stew, roasted vegetables and sliced melon, I left Lerus beside the fire with a tankard of mead while I went out to check on Paint. Lencolia was leaning against the wall, watching the gelding as he slurped up the warm bran mash from a wooden tub. “Hullo,” he greeted me. “Thanks for getting S’jirra out of my hair.” He chuckled softly. “She’s a sweetheart, and I love the dear, but she can be a bit batty where her potatoes are concerned.”
I ran my hands over Paint’s smooth coat, feeling the dullness and the protruding bones. He picked his head up from the mash, bits dribbling from his mouth, and waggled his ears at me. My heart sang when he lowered his nose back into the tub. “Thank you for doing this, Lencolia,” I kept the tears out of my voice. “I guess I’m a little batty myself where Paint is concerned.”
“Ah, but he’s a living breathing creature that can feel pain,” Lencolia pushed himself from the wall and stepped to Paint’s opposite shoulder, patting him gently. “Where S’jirra’s potatoes are, well, inanimate.” He met my gaze over Paint’s back in the torchlight. “Will o’wisps are deadly creatures, indeed, and Paint is lucky to have survived.” His handsome face grew serious. “But I doubt he’ll ever regain that vigor that Wildeye Paints are known for.”
I remained silent. I’m sorry, Prior Maborel. I didn’t take as good care of Paint as I promised you. The tub clattered as Paint nosed through the corners after the last bits of mash. Satisfied that it was as clean as he could get it, Paint stepped back and swung his head to me. I rubbed his long nose, smiling in spite of the sadness I felt. The gelding took another step back and turned away, dropping his nose to the lush grass at his feet. The sounds of his large teeth tearing at the green stuff nearly brought tears to my eyes.
“Still, he is making progress, if he wasn’t eating well before,” Lencolia moved to stand beside me as we watched the horse graze. “At least he is not in pain anymore.”
“Will I ever be able to ride him again, sir?” I asked. Lencolia shrugged.
“Not for months, at least,” he met my gaze. “It’s best to find a place with good grazing and a person who will provide excellent care.”
“I have someone in mind, sir, someone Paint likes very much. He lives in Weye.” Please take care of Paint, Merowald.
Lencolia turned his face skyward, to the stars above us. “Then it should be an easy walk for him, once you get back up to the Green Road.” He clapped my shoulder. “Paint should be fine for the night. I’ll make him more mash in the morning before you leave. Come in and have a drink.”
“Make it water, please,” I murmured, giving Paint a last pat on his rump. He snorted without pausing in his grazing.
Tumbler of cool water in hand, I joined Lerus beside the fireplace, my aching feet stretched toward its warmth. She met my gaze. “How is Paint?”
“Eating, ma’am,” I responded. “Which is a considerable improvement over yesterday.”
“That’s good news,” she lifted her tankard at me. After a hearty swallow, she sighed. “As crazy as it sounds, it felt damned good to be helping someone in need for a change.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Remember Aleron Loche?” I nodded. “I knew gro-Dragol was up to something illegal. I wanted to detain him for interrogation, but I had a standing order from the Count to never interfere in that Orc’s affairs.” Lerus met my gaze. “How familiar are you with the command structure of the City Guards?”
“I know the Captains are Legion, ma’am” I answered, thinking of Burd and Draconis. “The rank and file are usually locals, or Legion recruits that didn’t quite make the cut for provincial or solo duty.”
“And the Captains answer to the Counts and Countesses of their jurisdictions. But if there’s a conflict of interest between the Count and the Legion, the Captain can then go to the primus legate of the Legion.”
“Adamus Phillida?” I thought of the commander. I had never met him, but knew of his status as the Legion primus legate. As far as the Legion was concerned, he was just one step below the Emperor. Lerus regarded me over the rim of her tankard as she took another draught of the mead. Her gaze wandered around the common room, then she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
“I’ve been trying to gather evidence of the skooma trade and gro-Dragol’s illegal activities in Bravil for a few years now,” she murmured quietly. “But the Count has obstructed me at every turn.”
“Did you apply to Phillida, ma’am?” I matched her tone.
“That’s just the thing. I’ve sent messages, but I’ve never heard back from him.” Lerus met my eyes. “Until now, I couldn’t get away to go to the Imperial City myself.” She looked back down at the tankard in her hands. “I think the Count sent me with you to get rid of me. But it can be a blessing -”
“You’ll try to see Phillida on your way to Bruma then?” I echoed her posture, so we could talk in whispers. “Do you think he’s ignoring your messages, ma’am?” Lerus shrugged. I considered her a moment longer. “Or the messages are not getting through at all. How have you been sending them?”
“By Legion courier,” Lerus answered. “Furio assures me that he has delivered every message I sent with him, but I’m not convinced.” She drained the last of the ale. “I brought copies of every report I’ve sent over the last two years.”
I considered Lerus thoughtfully. Why is she telling me all this now? If she has copies of those reports, she’ll get to the bottom of this. Or is she afraid those reports won’t be enough? “Do you want me to go see Phillida with you, ma’am?” I asked. “I can tell him about gro-Dragol, and about seeing Gellius Terentius in the skooma den.”
“The skooma trade is more than just gro-Dragol,” Lerus told me. “He was hired to handle the transfer from pirate to shore. But someone else is running the skooma operation in town.”
I met Lerus’s gaze. “Who?”
“Do you remember -” Lerus paused as Abhuki approached us with a pitcher of ale. We shook our heads at her in unison. When she withdrew, Lerus set the empty tankard on the nearby table. “Do you remember how you became addicted to skooma?”
“Akatosh,” I half-groaned. “I’ve tried hard to forget that. Ma’am.”
Lerus looked away. “I’m sorry, Julian. But it’s important, else I wouldn’t have asked.”
“I know, ma’am,” I shook my head, sifting through fogged memories. “I had just been thrown out of the Lonely Suitor for harassing the customers. The pain was very bad, and all the drink I’d had wasn’t enough. Someone came up to me, a grey-haired Bosmer. He offered me a drink of something. I was in too much agony to notice what it was, but I certainly noticed what it did for the pain.” I leaned back in my chair, stretching out my feet. “Later I begged him for more, and he set me up in the den above Carandial’s house.”
“Anything else you can tell me about the Bosmer?” Lerus asked.
“Just that he lived above The Fair Deal, ma’am,” I answered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you any more information.”
“How certain are you of those memories?” Lerus held my gaze.
“Pretty certain, ma’am,” I glanced up at the beamed ceiling above our heads. “That happened when I was relatively sober between binges.”
“You’ve given me enough,” Lerus assured me. “There is only one grey-haired Bosmer male that lives above The Fair Deal. His name is Nordinor.”
************************
The next morning we woke to the most wondrous smell I had ever experienced. The odor of fresh-baked bread drew me downstairs, where S’jirra bounded over to me. I cringed, expecting another furry kiss, but she settled for throwing her arms around my waist and hugging me tightly. “Oh, I can’t thank you enough. But let me give you a loaf of my Nirn-famous potato brread!” She shoved a warm package into my hands. Cautiously, I unwrapped it to discover a round crusty bread, its aroma coursing through my nose and warming me from the inside out.
Before I could thank her, she had bounced to Lerus, who had just descended the stairs behind me. I noticed that Lerus swayed away from the ebullient Khajiit and hid my smile. As she had done with me, S’jirra hugged the Bravil Captain and pressed another cloth-wrapped package into her hands.
Abhuki gave us a few slices of the bread along with some honey to drizzle on it for our breakfast. I sampled it without the honey, and was stunned at how delicious it was. A glance at Lerus’s face indicated she shared my surprise.
“I guess it was worthwhile recovering those jumbo potatoes after all,” she muttered around a mouthful of the bread. “It certainly makes up for getting kissed by fuzzy lips.”
Are you kidding h.e.r? I would read this story for another hundred chapters! I love it.
I'm glad paint will be okay. I just hope that he gets to weye safely
This has become my favorite chapter so far. Julian's rapport with Lerus was totally natural and easily visualized - and gave a foreshadowing of a subplot - YEAH!!!!!!
It is amazing how these stories can grow completely beyond the scope you originally intended is it not? When I started the TF 2.0 here at Chorrol I had planned to write a few new chapters to tie things together between some of the old ones. But I have written at least as much new material as I had at the Beth forums! Probably more.
Once you really get to know the characters, they begin to take on a life of their own. They start going down paths you had not thought of, and demand that their little side-adventures be told. What can we do but follow? It is like when a cat jumps up in your lap and goes to sleep. You are just stuck there for as long as they decide to stay.
But back to today's segment. I see Paint is indeed improving, with quite the healthy appetite! That is indeed heartwarming, as he has always been one of my favorite characters in the JF.
And we finally see a bit more under the helmet concerning the Bravil captain and the crime within her city. Most intriguing. I wonder if it is the courier who is not delivering Lerus' reports, or maybe some clerk or aide at Phillida's office?
Julian was thrown out of the Lonely Suitor? I shudder to think of how bad you would have to be in order to be tossed from that dive!
“It certainly makes up for getting kissed by fuzzy lips.”
It sounds like Captain Lerus does not like kissing men. Teresa will have to look her up when she gets to Bravil...
This episode shows your talent for creating characters that live and breathe. S’Jirra is the most obvious, with her endearing feline tendencies. But even the ogre gains some… not “humanity,” exactly- but “personality”- from your capable writing. Also of interest is the way Captain Lerus and Julian are able to work together effectively. Apparently, despite Terentius, they do not pick their guard captains out of a box of Cracker Jacks.
That conversation was spot on. The interaction between Julian and Lerus is very well done, there's so many level to it lurking beneath the surface from their past encounters which are all there and I'm still far from sure either particularly likes the other yet. It feels as though Julian doesn't like the memories of Bravil Lerus brings up and Lerus feels slightly threatened (or perhaps inadequite) next to Julian, so while they would get along as people their own issues come between them. That conversation felt like them over coming it a bit (and really packed in the character and interactions of them both).
I'm rather enjoying this Bravil subplot, make me wonder if there might be more OHDH after the main quest end...
It is so good to see Paint regaining his spirit and interest. Even if he will never be completely well, progress is progress. And Julian’s care with her own health, as regarding avoiding alcohol, shows awareness and strength of character.
And speaking of strength of character- Captain Lerus is appears in a better light.
Once more; I really miss the twirl smiley to express on how I feel about Paint getting better. Ah well, this will have to do
I also love the slowly improving relationship between Julian and captain Lerus.
Oh no, I go away for a month (or was it two?
) and find my favourite character in the WHOLE world is recovering and will struggle to be his old self...
Still, I am overjoyed to see that he is eating again and I do hope the luster in his coat starts to come through again.
Awesome to read your take on S'Jirra and Alix. That little hamlet seems to have a real life of its own.
Furry kiss!? Aaargh, that does sound horrible.
GAAAAH!!!!! What's goin' on here? NanoNano stole Naughty Haute !!!!!!! GAAAAAAAH !!!!!!!!! 5 days...KA! KA! .... GAAAaaaah ... * mALX expired in front of PC *
@Doommeister: I'm glad you're lovin' this!
@mALX: Subplot? What subplot?
@Acadian: I almost forgot that I hadn't fed you in a while! That's why I slipped those two meals in. I hope they made up for your enforced starvation!
@SubRosa: Well, there's always clean-shaven men . . .
@treydog: Regarding crickets and kisses, why oh why do I get the feeling that Princess Ms. Juneipurr is guilty of that social faux pas?
@Destri: You took the words right out of my thoughts!
@Olen: Old Habits will Die very Hard . . .
@Remko: Thanks for continuing to read!
@Wolf: LONG TIME NO SEE!! Paint was ready to give up out of loneliness - he missed his snow-lovin' buddy!
No story post this time. I actually wrote the bulk of OHDH back in January - March; Chapter 19 was written through the summer months, and Chapter 20 in September. I've not written since. So what happened was that the well of chapters have run dry. For the moment. Julian is too busy reading other fan fics to harass me about hers, so I'm focusing on Nano for now. Come December, though, we'll see. I have no intention of abandoning this, especially since I still have Anvil and Sancre Tor to write!
If between now and then Julian comes back to me and tells me more of her story, I'll post it right away for you to see. Promise! But my posting will become more irregular, I suspect.
Thanks all of you for your ongoing support of Julian and Paint and their friends.
(Most) women are all clean-shaven too.
Oh Noes! the well has run dry! Now we have to wait to see who Julian hooks up with. Will it be the blackguard pirate? Burd? Frederick of Bravilwood? Alves? Or the soon to be sainted Martin himself? She has someone in every town!
Totally understand, Rider! Take your time. I somehow know that you are nowhere near done treating us to Julian's adventures. If it takes a long while between updates, consider leading your next episode with a short summary from the author to warm us all right back up to the action.
At 215,000+ words to date, this is now officially the longest story I’ve ever written! Julian and I have finally returned to her tale. After a well-deserved break, we have sat down together over several pots of spiced tea to work further on her story. Thanks to all who have been reading this magnum opus. I have noticed that we have a lot of new members joining us here at Chorrol recently, and hope that they feel welcome to enjoy this journey of Julian’s and mine. If any of you would like to start at the beginning, the links to the previous three threads are in the first post of this thread.
The story so far - Julian has left her years of pain and addiction behind and is now a Blade sister, functioning as a secret agent. She is traveling around the county seats of Cyrodiil on behalf of Countess Narina of Bruma, requesting support from the other county leaders to continue closing Oblivion Gates outside the northern city. So far, Julian has succeeded in obtaining the assistance of the Count of Cheydinhal, though Count Caro of Leyawiin was less forthcoming. She has obtained the assistance of Captain Lerus of Bravil, but no other troops from the City on the Bay. However, she has promised to help Captain Lerus in her investigation of the corruption in the Bravil Court however she can. The first step consists of stopping in the Imperial City to report to the primus legate, Commander Phillida of the Legion.
***************
Chapter 21.1 The primus legate
Those steel-grey eyes bored into Lerus’s carefully blank expression. “What reports? I should be asking you about those reports! What in Oblivion makes you think I’m interested in how much the price of fish rose or fell on the city docks!”
Both Lerus and I stared at him. “I beg your pardon, sir,” Lerus managed to keep her voice calm in the face of Adamus Phillida’s icy censure. “I sent weekly reports detailing illegal activities in Bravil just as you asked me.”
“Decius!” Phillida shouted. The old centurion limped in from the outer office. I hid my wince at the reminder of my own erstwhile handicap. “Bring me the Bravil reports!”
“Yes sir,” Decius clapped his gnarled hand on his breastplate. “How far back would you like to go?”
“Six months would be adequate,” Phillida’s voice returned to a more normal level. The centurion turned and hobbled out. The primus legate’s gaze flickered at me where I stood to one side, then returned to Lerus. “I sent you to Bravil with orders to report to me on how the Count is handling illegal activities in that city. All of your reports to date contain only innocuous details such as how many arrests for drunk and disorderlies were made each week, and how many citizens filed complaints of petty fraud. I’m beginning to think you’re slacking off, Lerus.”
She squared her shoulders at Phillida’s cold words. “I have sent no such reports, sir.” I could hear the slightest hint of doubt in her level tone, however. “Honestly I have no idea what you are talking about, sir.”
Decius returned, a basket full of scrolls in his arms. I moved to take the basket from him. He grinned cannily at me and jerked his head toward the wide desk standing between Phillida and Lerus. As I set the basket down with a quiet clatter of the messages within, Decius reached past me and drew out the topmost scroll. “Here is the most recent dispatch, sir.”
Phillida indicated that Lerus should take it. She accepted it from the centurion’s hands with a nod and unrolled it onto the table. As I watched, her face turned to alabaster as she read the missive.
“Do you deny sending that report?” Phillida demanded.
“Yes, sir!” Lerus’s voice rang off the stone walls of the cluttered office. “I never wrote this - this - Minotaur crap!” She slammed the scroll down and shot a glance at me. I understood her unspoken message and reached down for her pack, resting on the tiled floor at my feet. Lerus took the bag from me and set it next to the basket. She found the dispatch she sought and held it to Phillida. “This is a copy of the original dispatch I sent on that date.”
Phillida’s glacial eyes moved from Lerus to the scroll she held out to him. He accepted it and opened it. Muscles striated the edges of his lower jaw as the primus legate scanned the words within. Lerus and I waited until he finished reading the dispatch. His eyes on the table, Phillida rolled the scroll in his weathered hands. “Decius,” his quiet voice matched his averted gaze. “Who is the Legion courier on the Green Road?”
“Titus Furio, sir,” Decius answered crisply. “He’s been on the route for the past six years.”
“Time to reassign him, don’t you think?” The question was more rhetorical, as Phillida didn’t meet his adjutant’s gaze. “Get me the Inspector General.” This was a command.
“Sir!” Decius slammed fist to breastplate before leaving the office. Phillida lifted his gaze to Lerus as he leaned an elbow onto the left arm of his curule chair. Again she stiffened beneath his steady eyes.
“How far back do these copies go?” Phillida gestured toward the pack.
“Four years, sir,” Lerus answered. “Since I was posted to Bravil.”
“And what prompted you to keep copies of every dispatch you sent?” Phillida drew another scroll at random from the pack and unrolled it on the desk.
“When I first arrived at Bravil, and the Count mentioned Furio by name.” Lerus’s voice resumed its crisp diction. I stood back and listened, fascinated, as she recounted how her suspicions were triggered by Count Regulus Terentius’s familiarity with the Legion courier, something she had not witnessed elsewhere. She’s right. I’ve never seen nobility be on first-name basis with lowly Legion soldiers, either, unless they had good reason.
“I see,” the primus legate mused, his eyes moving over the scroll. “Give me a brief summary of what you’ve found so far.”
I stepped back into a dim corner near the entry as Lerus recounted the events of the past few years. My feet braced shoulder width apart, my hands clasped behind me, I stood at ease while I listened to the Bravil Captain’s accounting of her investigation. She’s thorough, but there is nothing there that can be considered evidence. I felt my eyes widen at a sudden thought. But she has evidence now. Evidence I gave her. Evidence of gro-Dragol’s Hunter’s Run. But does that lead anywhere? No, not to the skooma trade or the black market smuggling with the pirates. And now that Orsimer is dead, he won’t be leading Lerus anywhere. I didn’t help her cause by killing that fetcher. I closed my eyes.
I recalled the request I had made of her nearly a month ago. I had not had the chance to look over the missive Frederick had brought me before I left Bravil then. Where did I put it? In my house here in the Waterfront. Now would be a good time to look at it. I wonder if Adanrel’s brother would be on that list? What was his name? Aden of Silvenar? Yes, that was it.
“- several of the victims that disappeared at Fort Grief had grievances against Count Terentius,” Lerus’s even voice brought me back to the present. “The most recent, Aleron Loche, had filed a petition with the county Court concerning maltreatment by his son Gellius.” I blinked at the words. That fetcher Gellius. Aye, he was one for trampling on the downtrodden. When he was sober, that is. Wretched Aia. Cosmus the Cheat. Reenum. City-Swimmer. Even me, before I was hooked on skooma.
“And where is this Kurdan gro-Dragol?” Phillida growled. “It’s time to bring him here, let the battlemages have a go at him.”
“He’s dead,” Lerus answered. “gro-Dragol made the mistake of bringing the wrong victim to Hunter’s Run.” She turned around and waved me out of my corner. I obeyed with the old crispness of my Legion rank of pilus prior. Phillida’s cold eyes narrowed at me as I stopped beside Lerus with a whisper of mail. His gaze moved from the Wolf on my chest to the katana at my left side to my white hair.
“This is Julian of Anvil,” Lerus nodded at me and turned back to the primus legate. “She went to Fort Grief to find Aleron Loche at the request of his wife Ursanne. Instead she ended up shutting down Hunter’s Run.”
Adamus Phillida’s face took on a thoughtful cast as he regarded me. “Julian of Anvil?” he repeated. “Have you always gone by that name?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered.
“Hmm -“ If Phillida was about to say something more, he was interrupted by the return of Decius.
“The Inspector General, sir,” he announced before stepping aside to let the tall man behind him enter.
I resisted the impulse to salute the big Nord as he strode into the office. Clad, like Phillida, in the argent and gold armor of the Imperial Palace Guard, Marcus Camillus was as bulky and imposing as I remembered him. Where Captain Burd was tall and lean, in the way of most soldiers, Camillus filled the room with his presence, physically as well as with the force of his personality. The red-edged black cloak swirling from his wide shoulders did nothing to hide the massive musculature I recalled so well.
My right arm twitched at my side as I barely suppressed the automatic salute his arrival triggered. It’s been how long -? Five years? Almost. His blue eyes swept over Lerus and me before he greeted the primus legate with a crisp salute of his own.
“Inspector General Marcus Camillus reporting as ordered, sir.” His quiet voice brought back memories of distant avalanches in the snow-covered mountains of Skyrim. Again he regarded us, his gaze lingering on me a little longer than I liked.
“I know you’re busy with the investigation into the Mystic Dawn,” Phillida’s own presence no longer seemed so impressive next to my old commander. “But something has come up that requires your tactful attention.” He gestured toward Lerus. “This is Captain Viera Lerus, whom I sent to Bravil four years ago.”
“I remember the case, sir,” again distant avalanches reverberated softly through the office as those blue eyes met with Lerus’s own glacial gaze. She averted her gaze with a salute. “And did you accomplish your mission, Captain?”
“No, sir,” Lerus replied, her own voice holding on to its confidence by a thread. “It has been quite the challenge.”
Again those Skyrim-blue eyes returned to me. “And I remember the Solstheim case as well,” he added, addressing me. “You acquitted yourself admirably well there, Julian of Anvil.”
“Oh, yes,” Phillida turned his gaze to the ceiling while I struggled not to squirm under Camillus’s steady gaze. “The Eastern Empire Company corruption case. No wonder you seemed familiar, Julian of Anvil.”
I kept my gaze level with Camillus’s cleft chin beneath that bristling sandy mustache. “Yes, sir, I am responsible for that case,” my voice managed to stay even. I sensed Lerus’s startled glance at me.
“I had heard that you were no longer fit for active duty, Julian,” Camillus rumbled at me. “How is it you stand in front of me, wearing the mail of Kvatch, with an Akaviri katana at your side, as fit as the day you entered my service?”
“It’s a long story, sir,” I answered. “And a long, hard road to get here.”
“Sometime when this damned crisis is over,” Camillus’s words drew my gaze to his eyes. The white crows-feet, more prominent in that ruddy face than I remembered, crinkled at me. “You’ll have to tell me over some ale at the Bloated Float.”
“Are you buying, sir?” Lerus inhaled sharply at my quiet answer, while Phillida stared at me. “’Tis a long tale, sir,” I added.
Camillus chuckled, the avalanches in his voice sounding even nearer as he clapped my shoulder. “I think I have enough drakes saved up!”
Yay! the Interregnum of Old Habits is over, and Empress Haute Rider has resumed the Ruby Throne!
Lots to like here as we meet Old Man Phillida, and what appears to have been Julian's former c.o. as well. Your tie in with Solstheim and Blood on the Moon was very nice, and worked in seamlessly.
It was very observant of Lerus to be suspicious of the Count after she learned he knew him by name. Not just of Counts in general, but Terentius in particular does not seem to be the kind of person who cares to know the names of any of his servants. I doubt he even knows the name of the guy who wipes his butt.
nits:
That honoured user Gellius.
I see the forum is handing out undue honors to characters again...
“And where is this Kurdan gro-Dragol?” Phillida growled. “It’s time to bring him here, let the battlemages have a go at him.”
This made me shiver!
I am so happy that you and Julian are bringing us more of her story! I like to read through every post multiple times, and each time I get more out of it. When Marcus Camillus strode into the room, he became instantly alive to me. Yay Julian and haute ecole rider!
And we all have more than enough interest saved up! Hooray for your continuing the story!!!
Welcome back to Julian and her Rider!
I'm pleased that you preceded this episode with a short review to warm us all up again. Then you included plenty of carefully crafted flashing back to help even further. I feel fully up to speed - which for me, says a lot!
I must heartily agree with SubRosa that Lerus was very astute to cue in on how Count Bravil treated the courier. Also, I quite adored how you tied Julian back to her guest appearance in dear treydoggie's story!
I also endorse Grits' observation of Camillus. He captured the room upon his entrance - wow!
Like Julian, I am perplexed that the wonderfully satisfying act of killing Kurdon, now seems to be a bit of an impediment. I look forward to finding out if the four folks in that room can render a military solution to a problem laced with nobility and, no doubt, politics.
Well done!
I love how deep the description is
Welcome back! (and it's about time !!!)
@SubRosa: Thanks for the welcome back and the nit. I’m still blushing at being called the Empress. Guess I now know how Julian feels about the Hero of Kvatch! I’m glad you liked how I portrayed Phillida as the Old Man. His obsession with the Dark Brotherhood will appear in the future, but for now, the Oblivion Crisis is in the forefront of his thoughts. Thanks for the compliment for my nod to treydoggie’s story. He has done a wonderful job with Julian there. And you are so right about Count Terentius’s suspicious behavior in front of Lerus when she first reported to him. That honoured user got by me once again! Thanks.
@Grits: Thanks for your kind words. I’ve been enjoying your tale of Jerric as well. Have you ever read Interregnum? Destri’s depiction of Hoag Merkiller was my inspiration for Marcus Camillus. I promise that when Julian finally arrives in Anvil, we will see more of her past.
@Foxy: Thanks for the welcome back! Julian has missed Dhertee Innu Endo more than she thought she would!
@Acadian: Yes, that quandary of that killing Kurdan gro-Dragol rears its ugly head now! Julian knows that there is more to lawkeeping than just killing the bad guys. The problem’s figuring out which is the small fry that you want to keep alive to go after the big fry. I think that is a big part of her commitment to helping Lerus gather the proof she needs to shut down Terentius’s illegal operations. For now, the Oblivion Crisis takes precedence, but the Bravil Crisis will eventually gain its own moment in the Legion’s spotlight.
@Zalphon: Thanks for the kind words!
@mALX: Thanks!
After reporting to Phillida, Julian and Lerus spend a long day in the Imperial Legion headquarters in the Prison District. Finally they retire to the Feed Bag in the Market District for a late dinner and some drinks.
*******************
Chapter 21.2 In the Feed Bag
Lerus leaned back with a replete sigh. Stripped bones, traces of thyme-seasoned gravy and tender crumbs were the only evidence of the herbed mutton, roast vegetables and fresh bread that now filled our stomachs. She stretched her legs beneath the table as the serving varlet cleared away the dishes.
“I don’t know about you, but that Inspector General Camillus certainly knows how to interrogate someone without torture!” Her sigh reflected Lerus’s exhaustion after hours of debriefing.
I hid my grin behind my tumbler of water. He’s the one that taught me what I know about information gathering. “His adjutant isn’t much nicer, ma’am.” Gnaeus Murrius had spent the entire afternoon walking me through my experiences with gro-Dragol and the Hunter’s Run. His incisive demeanor had resembled that of his commander so much that if I closed my eyes, I sat in front of Camillus again. Though I knew I had committed no crime, Murrius had made me feel guilty of something.
“Tell me something, Julian,” Lerus took a deep swallow of her ale, then burped quietly behind her free hand. “How is it you know the Inspector General?”
“He was my last commanding officer in the Legion, ma’am,” I responded. “I was pilus prior in his Ninth Cohort.”
“That’s right, you were in the Sixth,” Lerus’s gaze grew thoughtful. “And you investigated something for him?”
“A promising young Legion soldier was accused of corrupt activities in the East Empire Company in Solstheim,” I answered. “I was sent there to look into the charges.” My gaze moved to the water swirling in the bottom of my pewter tumbler. “He was cleared of all wrongdoing.”
“So that’s how you knew the kind of report to give,” Lerus mused. “When you came back from Fort Grief, I was impressed by the details you were able to provide from memory.”
“I learned from the best, ma’am,” I murmured softly.
“Well, I have to meet with the Inspector General again tomorrow,” Lerus continued. “I hope it doesn’t take much longer. I’m anxious to head up to Bruma and provide my assistance there.” She grinned lopsidedly at me. “You could call it a vacation from my duties at Bravil.”
I scoffed silently. “I can think of better places to have a vacation, ma’am.” Lerus chuckled at my acerbic rejoinder. “And better things to do than closing Oblivion Gates.”
“I remember what you said about the Deadlands,” Lerus’s green eyes grew serious. “It sounds scary enough, I wouldn’t want to go in there by myself. I still don’t know how you do it.”
I shook my head. “There was a time when I wouldn’t dream of going someplace like that without my cohort, ma’am.” I drained the last of my water. “And in the first few Gates, my knees wouldn’t stop shaking the entire time!”
“And now?” Lerus met my gaze. “Do your knees still shake?”
I considered her question for several moments. “When I taught the Bruma guardsmen how to close a Gate,” I said finally, “it was more nerve-wracking for me to watch out for them. It was like taking a century of rookies into a goblin dungeon all over again.” I shook my head. “Bor and Soren were incredibly brave, though. I think they were more scared than I was the first time I entered the Deadlands!”
Lerus regarded me silently, then set her tankard down gently. “I’ve heard things about the Bruma Captain. What do you think of him?”
“Burd?” I lifted my brows at her. What sort of things? “He’s a good commander, has a close rapport with his men.” I considered my interactions with the tall Nord. “The people of Bruma seem to like him well enough, for all that his manners are more Imperial than Nord.” I fell silent at a sudden thought. Two Guard Captains in the same place? No, three - Cheydinhal sent their Captain as well. Will there be some serious head-butting there? Have we created a greater problem within than without the city walls? While Burd had seemed easy-going with me, placing me in charge while we closed the Gate outside Bruma, he had made it clear that the Guard was his to command.
“Don’t worry,” Lerus had sensed something of my doubt. “I won’t play Captain in someone else’s town.” She smiled at me. “Like you, I know how to lay low and do my job.”
“I think you’ll get along fine with Captain Burd, ma’am,” I answered slowly. “It’s the Cheydinhal Captain I’m not so sure of.”
“Indarys sent his Captain too?” Lerus repeated. “Ulrich Leland?” She shook her head. “I don’t know much about him, but I’m surprised that the Count sent him.”
“And a full century of the city Guard,” I added. Lerus stared at me, her tankard halfway to her lips.
“Indarys sent a full century to Bruma? And his Captain?” She shook her head. “I’m posted to the wrong town,” she muttered more to herself than to me before taking another swig.
“Just be glad you didn’t get posted to Leyawiin,” I could not hide the grumble in my voice. Again I endured Lerus’s steady gaze.
“Caro didn’t send any help at all?” She shook her head. “I had heard about his provincialism, but that’s going too far.”
“That’s because he never served in the Legion,” a familiar voice brought our heads up from our drinks. I locked gazes with grey eyes in a weatherbeaten face topped by a fringe of close-cropped light brown hair. “Hello again, Julian,” he greeted me with a smile. “Mind if I buy you ladies a round?”
“Hello, Forenze,” I greeted him with a glance at Lerus. “Ale for her, and water for me.” I waved him to the empty chair beside us. He signaled to the serving varlet before obeying my gesture. “Lerus, this is Claudio Forenze, of the Fifth. He patrols the Temple District here in the Imperial City.” I turned to him with a warning in my eyes. “This is Captain Viera Lerus, of the Bravil City Watch.”
Forenze nodded respectfully to her. “I see I’m outranked here, ma’am,” he remarked. “But what brings you so far from your posting?”
“Count Terentius sent her to represent Bravil at Bruma,” I answered. “I’ve been tasked by Countess Carvain to ask her fellow patricians for reinforcements.”
“Really?” Forenze turned his steely gaze to me. “Only Captain Lerus?”
“That’s what we were just talking about,” Lerus accepted the new tankard from the varlet with a nod of thanks. “By comparison, Count Caro sent nothing.”
“Nothing?” Forenze repeated. “Well, like you said, his provincialism knows no bounds.”
“And if he had served in the Legion,” Lerus countered, her green gaze steady on Forenze, “the outcome would have been different?”
“Nothing like a few tours in the provinces,” Forenze grinned at his play on words, “to broaden one’s outlook.” He slid a sly glance at me. “Right, Julian of Anvil?”
“The Legion’s not the only way,” I responded. “Though I admit it has broadened mine, all right.” I met his gaze. “But to the best of my knowledge, Count Indarys has never served in the Legion, yet he has shown the best response so far - a full century of Cheydinhal Guardsmen led by Captain Leland.”
“Well,” Forenze rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I know that Indarys is a member of House Hlaalu in Morrowind. Hlaalu made their fortune in trade, so I would expect them to be less - well, provincial - than the other Dunmer Houses.”
“And he immigrated to Cyrodiil,” Lerus added. “So he’s been around quite a bit in his life.”
And here I thought it was because I rescued his son from that Oblivion Gate. I kept my thoughts silent.
Forenze turned to me. “So, Julian,” he lifted his tankard to me in salute, “I hear you closed a few more Gates.”
I shrugged my shoulders. Lerus regarded me with a small smile on her lips. “More than a few, I’d say,” she remarked softly to Forenze. “Let’s see, the one outside Kvatch that we all know about, the one outside of Bravil that Count Terentius wouldn’t let me scout, two outside Leyawiin, one at Bruma, and one at Cheydinhal.” Again she eyed me, counting off the gates. “Then we passed one near the Inn of Ill Omen that was already closed.”
“Seven by my count.” Apparently Forenze had been keeping count along with Lerus. “And my friend Marc Atellus told me she closed two along the north side of the Red Ring Road. That makes nine.” He turned his grey eyes on me. “Is that all of them, Julian?”
Hiding my face in my tumbler, I shook my head. There’s three more along the roads they don’t know about. Yet. After swallowing a mouthful of the refreshing liquid, I lowered my tumbler to see stunned amazement on their faces.
“Just how many have you closed so far, Julian?” Forenze asked. I shrugged.
“I still have three more cities to visit.” The swirling water in my tumbler echoed my thoughts. “More than likely I’ll have to close nearby Gates before their Counts and Countesses will agree to send reinforcements to Bruma.”
“And have your knees stopped shaking yet?” Lerus repeated her earlier question. I met her gaze.
“The day my knees don’t shake when I’m in the Deadlands, that’s the day I die,” I replied.
Forenze slapped the table with his hand. “That’s more than the Legion’s been allowed to do!” he exclaimed, ignoring the stares from the other patrons in the tavern. “Yeah, we’re spread thin right now, what with gates opening in all the provinces as well. The Televanni are managing to close them in Vvardenfell, but more keep opening up. Over in Summerset Isle, the wizards are studying them. Studying them! I’m surprised they haven’t had a Kvatch there yet!” His eyes blazed argent in the dimness. “And we have one right here on City Isle, yet the Watch isn’t allowed to leave the city walls and do something about it!”
My dismayed heart dropped like a lead weight. “There’s one on City Isle?” I asked him. Forenze nodded. “And the Fifth can’t sally out?”
“We’ve increased patrols here due to refugees from besieged cities,” Forenze replied. “Bravil, Cheydinhal, Chorrol, Anvil, even Skingrad. While some Bravilians have returned, the others, as well as several from Cheydinhal, have refused to return home. They say what’s to keep more gates from opening up?” He sighed, all the fury gone as suddenly as it flared. “Petty theft has gone up, and most of the inns are full. Tiber Septim in Talos Plaza still has a few rooms open, but I think it’s mainly because they’re too expensive for the refugees.”
“I see the problem,” I mused. “The thieves and con artists here in the City must be having a field day.”
“At least there have been no more mysterious deaths,” Forenze met my gaze. “Thanks to you.”
Two Guard Captains in the same place? No, three - Cheydinhal sent their Captain as well. Will there be some serious head-butting there? Have we created a greater problem within than without the city walls?
This is a wise observation. How long before all the roosters start loaf of bread-fighting?
And here I thought it was because I rescued his son from that Oblivion Gate.
Oh I'm sure that had nothing to do with it!
A good dinner that brings us up to speed on the events in the story. Not only of the results of Julian's work to recruit help for Bruma, but also explaining that the Legion appears to be doing nothing in Cyrodiil because things are falling apart everywhere in Tamriel. The part about the Altmer studying the gates was perfect. It sounds so like the image of the elves from Summerset!
This was a pleasure to read. A yummy dinner with conversation that ranged far across Tamriel. I enjoyed the magnitude of the crisis you portray and thought it was a wonderful touch to see that there are others attempting, and in some cases, succeeding in closing other gates. I agree with the lady of the faint smile that having wizards 'study' the gates was a fabulous thing to bring out!
I can't help but like the Viera Lerus you portray. You have really brought her a long way. I like how she endorses that on Burd's turf, he should be in charge.
It's been awhile since we heard about the vampires of The Imperial City, but it sounds like things worked out ok for Roland. I hope I have correctly identified that you are referring to this now tied up loose end?
Speaking of loose ends, thank you for deliciously back filling us on her investigation into dear Athlain!
Hmm, let's see. Bruma, Cheydinhal, Leyawiin, Bravil. . . . Time to head west?
As has been said the wizards studying them was a stroke of genius, made me smile (and being honest if strange firey gates started opening study would be the first thing to happen). The characters are all excellently formed, I'd almost forgotten what a joy this piece is to read
The interactions in 21.1 were very well done, they served to highlight the differences between Julian and Lerus well. Though Julian has been down low she has regained a lot of confidence and stood up to questioning more than Lerus. Things like that really make your characters breathe.
So good to see this going again, I look forward to reading more .
And 215k! That's impressive.
@SubRosa: After hearing countless rumors (I love eavesdropping in the game, it’s funny how rumors get recycled from one conversation to another) about Oblivion Gates in other provinces, I thought it was high time to bring it into Julian’s fiction. When I got to thinking about it, I realized that the Altmer wizards in Summerset Isle would be more likely to study the darn things than try to close them! That comment on Forenze’s part came so naturally!
@Acadian: Sorry you missed the dinner, and only saw the rumors of it! I always thought it stupid in-game that a low level PC character can close those things, but no one else could? So I’ve been trying to provide a natural progression in other people closing the gates. In game they say the Telvanni wizards have not succeeded in closing the gates, but I like to give them more credit than the developers apparently did, so I have them being partially successful. Yes, that last comment of Forenze’s refers to Julian’s handling of the whole Seridur/Jenseric mess. You may recall that he was the one that gave Julian tacit approval to enter Jenseric’s house way back in Chapter 14.7 (thread 3). I’m glad you like how I’ve been developing Viera Lerus. She is one of my favorites of the minor NPC’s. And yes, Julian will be heading west soon.
@Olen: I figured the Summerset wizards would be more like modern-day scientists in RL! While I love science, sometimes their fixation on studying and research (rather than action) leaves me a little baffled! I think your comparison of Julian and Lerus is pretty spot-on. I’m glad you’re still enjoying this!
In the game, whenever I play the MQ, I almost never close the IC gate, or see Chancellor Ocato, since he doesn’t send anyone to Bruma. But here, Julian doesn’t know that, and is thinking maybe the Legion can help out a little bit. But it never made sense for a nobody to get in and see the High Chancellor himself, and it made more sense (to me at least) for Julian, being former legion herself, to go to the highest ranking Legion officer and ask him for aid instead.
***************************
Chapter 21.3 The High Chancellor
Phillida cast his sharp gaze over the Kvatch Wolf on my chest, freshly repaired and cleaned after my thirteenth foray into the Deadlands. “Is there any way I can talk you into signing on with the Legion as an independent agent?” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You’ve been invaluable to us in your own way these past two months.”
I shook my head. “I appreciate the compliment, sir,” I replied. “But I have other commitments that precede your offer.”
“Ah, yes, reinforcements for Bruma.” Phillida nodded to himself, shuffling papers on his desk. “And I know what you are hoping for, coming here like this. But Julian of Anvil, I’m sorry to say that we just don’t have the manpower to spare.” He met my gaze levelly.
“Then you understand why I can’t sign up with the Legion, sir,” I returned his stare. “I’ll have to continue helping people where ever I go.” I took a deep breath. “I hope you realize that I won’t do anything counter to the teachings of Akatosh.” My right fingers rubbed the faded dragon on my left forearm, hidden by the mailed sleeve. Phillida’s sharp gaze didn’t miss the gesture, however.
As he inhaled slowly to respond, Phillida’s gaze moved to the doorway behind me. He stiffened suddenly at what he saw. I turned around as Lerus stood back against the wall, her head bowed and her right fist at her breast.
An Altmer, clad in scarlet brocaded robes, brown hair slicked back from a tanned face, stood in the open doorway. “Is this Julian of Anvil?” His brown gaze moved from me to Phillida beyond.
“Yes, High Chancellor,” the primus legate’s words told me the reason for the sudden deference. Belatedly I bowed my own head and mirrored Lerus’s salute.
“As you were, all of you.” Ocato’s light tenor released us from our obeisance. I looked up to see those brown eyes steady on me. “Julian of Anvil, I have heard much of your activities these last several weeks. How is it you come to serve an Emperor who is dead?”
How much do I tell him? “Emperor Uriel served the Nine, sir,” I recalled the words the old man had spoken to me beneath the Imperial Prison. “In his honor, I continue to serve Akatosh, the father of all the Divines.”
For the briefest instant grief darkened Ocato’s eyes, then his gaze cleared. “You could not choose a better role model to follow,” he said quietly. Something in his voice told me he knew more about me than I had let on. “And now you are on a mission for Countess Narina Carvain?”
“Yes, sir,” I inclined my head in response. “She seeks reinforcements for Bruma.”
“Why?” Ocato asked, his gaze turning sharper than Phillida’s most glacial look.
“There is evidence that Bruma will be the next Kvatch,” I answered. “If the Mythic Dawn manages to open three gates simultaneously in front of the city, it will allow them to open a Great Gate, the same one that destroyed Kvatch.”
“Bruma is a modest county on the edge of Cyrodiil,” Ocato mused thoughtfully. “Why there? Why not here, at the Imperial City?” His slanted brows drew together in a scowl. “With the Dragonfires out, what’s to stop them from targeting the heart of the Empire?”
Is the Imperial City really the heart of the Empire? Or is it Martin Septim? Silence seemed the best course of action for me at this point. High Chancellor Ocato’s very intelligent. He has to be - he’s a battlemage and the de facto ruler of Cyrodiil at this time. Emperor Uriel trusted him for a reason.
Now Ocato’s expression eased. “I see you know the answer, but choose not to divulge it. Whether that is a wise choice on your part remains to be seen.” He tilted his head at me. “But that is not why I came here. I came to see Uriel’s newest Champion for myself.”
Newest Champion? I felt my own brows rise at the Altmer’s words. It is true Emperor Uriel tasked me with delivering the Amulet, but that is all he entrusted to me. Everything else -- but did he foresee the path I would tread once I passed the Amulet into Jauffre’s hands?
Now Ocato turned his penetrating gaze from me to Phillida. “Commander, I’m aware that you want Julian of Anvil to rejoin the Legion. While I don’t doubt that the Legion would benefit immeasurably if she were to accept your offer, Commander,” he inclined his head at me before those omniscient eyes returned to Phillida, “I have reason to believe that Cyrodiil has greater need of her as a free agent answerable to no mortal.”
What? But I answer to Grandmaster Jauffre and Martin Septim! I bit down on the thought before it escaped my lips. But I can’t let anyone, even High Chancellor Ocato, know that I am a Blade sister, or that a son of Emperor Uriel remains alive.
“I’m not sure I understand, High Chancellor,” Phillida shook his head. “But if you say so, then I defer to your greater wisdom.”
“Every decision that Julian has made since that fateful night two months ago,” Ocato avoided the glance I shot him at the reminder of Uriel’s assassination, “has been to the greater benefit of Cyrodiil and its people. I do not doubt her dedication to Akatosh and his tenets.” He turned back to me with a slight bow. “Thank you for closing the Oblivion Gate on the east coast of City Isle. Now I must leave. I have much to do. But I am certain we will meet again, Julian of Anvil.” His brocaded robe shimmered as he turned away and disappeared from the doorway.
Lerus and I stared at each other in silence. Her stunned expression mirrored my own feelings at Ocato’s words. Phillida’s harrumph drew our attention to him.
“It’s not every day that the High Chancellor comes all the way here to my office,” he grumbled, almost to himself. He met my gaze. “Julian, I really wish I could help you on your mission. If it was only Bruma that is threatened by these gates, I would send a Legion or two to Carvain’s aid. But with gates opening everywhere within the Empire, I just can’t take the chance that the Mythic Dawn will exploit a weakness somewhere.”
Now his gaze moved from me to Lerus. “Ordinarily, I would order you to return to Bravil and continue your investigations there,” he continued, addressing the Captain. “But under these circumstances, it’s the least the Legion can do to allow you to carry out your Count’s order and head to Bruma as soon as you can to lend your sword.”
Decius entered with a knock on the door jamb. “Commander, a report from one of the riders on the Red Ring Road.” He held a scroll out to Phillida.
“Ah, which one?” Phillida answered his own question by unrolling the scroll. “Laterensis Maro. Ah, yes. Five contuberii of the Leyawiin City Guard are on their way north?” His gaze lifted to meet mine. “How in Oblivion did you convince Count Caro to part with some of his precious Guard?”
I stared back at him. “I - I’m not certain, sir.” As I stammered a reply, my memory brought back my own words - Mehrunes Dagon will be defeated. When Tamriel looks back on the greatest crisis that we have ever faced, how will history consider the Count of Leyawiin? “I only appealed to his vanity, sir.”
Phillida smiled tightly at me. “I wonder if High Chancellor Ocato already knew about this when he said you work best on your own.” He shook his head and returned his gaze back to the parchment. “And Captain Lerus, you have a few contuberii of your own, led by a Mirko Frederick, waiting for you in Weye.”
“What?” Lerus’s response was a muted exclamation. “How in Nirn did that happen?”
“Now, Frederick’s not your second, is he?” Phillida asked, handing the scroll to Lerus.
Her gaze on the parchment, Lerus shook her head. “No, sir, it’s Hans Thalberg.” Something in the way she spoke the name indicated her strong distaste for the man.
“Not exactly on the up-and-up, is he?” Apparently Phillida had noticed it too. “And Frederick?”
“He’s as good as they come,” Lerus set the scroll down on the desk thoughtfully. “Could it be -?”
“It seems that Count Terentius is getting rid of all those honorable elements in his Guard and keeping only those already in his pocket.” Phillida rocked back on his heels, his gaze on the ceiling. “It fits in with what you’ve already found out about the situation in Bravil. When this Oblivion Crisis is over -“
“That will be a matter for the Elder Council, won’t it?” Lerus asked. “And if so, what can be accomplished?”
“In spite of Count Caro’s narrow-mindedness,” Phillida’s gaze flickered in my direction, “he is not the least contributor to the Empire’s coffers. Count Terentius has always been most difficult concerning his obligations to the Elder Council. It is just a matter of time.”
Lerus and I exchanged glances. Is the Legion angling to replace Count Terentius with someone a little more - principled? Who? Will there be a shakeup in the Elder Council?
“Now the two of you get out of here,” Phillida returned to his customary growl. “I have too much work to do here, and not enough hours in the day and night to do it!”
The speculation of shake up in the governing forces in Cyrodiil at the end of this chapter are intriguing !! Great Write!
but did he foresee the path I would tread once I passed the Amulet into Jauffre’s hands?
I have always imagined that yes, he did see it all, or at least hope for it all.
But I can’t let anyone, even High Chancellor Ocato, know that I am a Blade sister, or that a son of Emperor Uriel remains alive.
I am afraid I really do not understand the reason for this, or for Julian hiding her being a Blade from Phillida? It is like a CIA agent hiding their affiliation from the Vice President or Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The Mythic Dawn knew about Martin from the beginning, that is why they attacked Kvatch after all, and are planning to attack Bruma rather than the Imperial City, so it is not like she might be divulging secrets to the enemy if either is a double-agent. Unless Julian believes that Ocato and/or Phillida would want to assassinate Martin to seize power for themselves?
Is the Legion angling to replace Count Terentius with someone a little more - principled?
Like a certain white-haired Redguard perhaps?
nits:
Julian, I really wish I can help you on your mission.
Perhaps you meant could here?
I like the edge of political intregue. Julian is clearly apart from it but it still spills over a bit, I sense that this might well become a bigger element once the more immediate crisis passes. I also like how Julian went to Phillida rather than Ocato, it fits better with her character and makes more sense to see the legion commander rather than the de-facto head of state.
West... well that means two places, both of which should be fun.
I liked how you portrayed Ocato. He is often kicked around, but you seem to show him in a reasonable light. After all, as Julian seems to point out, I presume he was trusted by Uriel and didn't get to his position by being a fool. I like it!
I also like what you are doing with Count Bravil. If you want to see which of his guard force have some honor, it seems one merely has to see who he is transferring away with the excuse of the Oblivion Crisis.
And Marius Caro comes through! Now, if we could only get him to take his Countess over his knee!
Goodness, the countryside is now filled with contuberri! That is some sort of pasta, right? Oh, Rider, I love it when you feed me. Yum!
Heh. Seriously, your writing continues to feel rich, tight and immersive.
I think Alessia Caro might find the head of a pin a tight fit!
*ducks and runs*
@mALX: Yes, I figure once the Oblivion Crisis is over, there will be a shakeup in the political organization of the Empire. After all, what’s going to happen with no Emperor? Are conditions ripe for a revolution? I do think so.
@SubRosa: Julian does not yet know what High Chancellor Ocato or Phillida knows, so she would rather they not find out from her! And she can’t let on that she is working for Martin. That’s why she is using the Countess of Bruma and the Mages Guild recommendation as her cover while she is working her way toward Sancre Tor. But Ocato is smart, and he is already asking the question why Bruma? He’s not the only one! As for replacing Count Terentius, I can assure you that Julian says no way! Thanks for the nit!
@Olen: Yes, westward ho. Two and a half places, actually. By this point in the MQ, Julian has actually become sort of matter-of-fact about how many Gates she has closed. The Deadlands still scare her, but she is getting used to its quirks and twists. I’m glad you liked the way I handled the IC part of the MQ.
@Acadian: I’m glad you like what I’m doing with some of the NPC’s in this game. I’ve always liked my villains to be smart and crafty, even likable, rather than some big, scary bogeyman that you just want to get rid of because he’s just in the way. I guess that’s why when Dagon finally makes his appearance in the MQ, I felt let down - like - this is it? Some thirty-foot high four-armed red Neanderthal waving a few clubs and axes?? Because we never really saw Sauron in LOTR, he was scarier to some degree! Oh, and it's my mistake. I just rechecked my research, and it's contubernium/contubernii, not contuberium/contuberii. I'll have to go back through my earlier posts and fix them!
@Foxy: Welcome back, Dhertee Innu Endo!
@All: For those who are not familiar with the Roman Legion, a contubernium (plural contubernii) is the most basic unit of the Legion. It consists of eight men who share a tent. Ten of these contubernii make up a century, or 80 men (not 100, as is commonly supposed). A cohort is made up of six centuriae, while a legio (aka legion) consists of 10 cohorts. That’s the organizational tree I used for the Legion - contubernium - century - cohort - legio - Legion. I hope this clarifies things for those who may be confused. A more detailed discussion can be found http://www.unrv.com/military/legion.php.
After leaving Lerus with her contubernii at Weye, Julian says farewell to Paint and heads out on the Gold Road. First stop: Skingrad. A most interesting town, indeed.
***************
Chapter 22.1 Captain Dion and the Skingrad Gate
Roseate sunlight poured through the thinning canopy of the Great Forest as I hiked up the steep ridge that bordered Skingrad on the east. The thought of spending the night at the Mages Guild in the highland city drew me on. It had been a long day’s march since I parted ways with Lerus and her guardsmen at Weye, and my back ached from the pack that seemed to grow heavier with each step.
Having Paint has spoiled me. I’ve quite forgotten how to march twenty miles a day with my full gear! I smiled to myself. Paint had watched me leave him behind at Weye, his head over the top rail of the fence that enclosed the little paddock as I walked westward. I comforted myself with Merowald’s promise to tend to the gelding’s needs as long as I chose to leave him there.
But maybe I should return him to Weynon Priory. After all, he belongs to the Prior, and that place has been his home for ten years. But with Jasmine and Red both at Cloud Ruler, Paint may be quite lonely at the Priory with only Brother Piner and Eronor to care for him. Should I bring him back to Cloud Ruler? But that’s a hard walk into the mountains, not to mention the cold there. And Paint’s not as hardy as he used to be.
I decided to make my decision on my return to Weye. Until then, I’ll just have to hump my own gear. It’ll be just like when I was in the Legion.
As the lowering sun dropped behind the ridge, I recognized the black and red thunderheads typical of another Oblivion Gate. That’s right at the top of the ridge. Must be just south of the road. I haven’t seen Venturius yet. He hasn’t tangled with those daedra, has he? I sighed to myself. The Legion rider that patrolled the eastern part of the Gold Road between the Red Ring Road and Derelict Mine had been noticeable by his absence during my long walk. And now with the sun setting, the goblins would be coming out from Derelict Mine to ambush travelers along the road.
At the top of the ridge, I stopped to catch my breath and scan my surroundings. Smoke drifted up into the dusky sky from trees burning just south of the road where it turned north to descend the ridge. To the west, Skingrad’s crenellated battlements loomed black against the roseate afterglow of the setting sun.
Past the burning trees, I could see red surcoats of the Skingrad Guard moving through the gathering gloom. Overhead, the clot of thunderclouds rumbled and flashed blood-red lightning.
“Hullo, Julian,” Venturius’s voice reached me as his bay clip-clopped up the ridge from Derelict Mine. “I was wondering when you were going to show up.” He drew his bay to a stop beside me.
“Since when has that been open?” I pointed in the general direction of the Oblivion Gate, its flickering shape just visible beyond the burning trees.
“It opened on top of the Kynareth Wayshrine about a month ago,” Venturius kept a grim gaze on the path leading to the shrine. “Dion and Artellian have been rotating their guards around the clock manning the barricades.”
“Dion and Artellian?” I repeated. Venturius nodded.
“Dion’s the Captain of the City Guard, and Artellian heads up the Castle Guard.” His gaze grew momentarily distant. “I think it’s Dion that’s on duty now.”
“A month?” I repeated. “They’ve been holding the daedra off for that long?”
“Yes,” Venturius met my gaze. “They’ve had no respite, and no chance to go in the Gate itself.”
“I see,” I stifled a sigh. “Thanks, Venturius. By the way, I’m glad to see you alive and whole.”
He smiled at me. “That’s good to hear, Hero of Kvatch!” With a slap of his right fist against his breastplate, Venturius smooched at his gelding. The bay started eastward, following the route he knew by heart.
I set foot on the path leading to the Wayshrine. Before I reached the burning trees, I spotted the barricades that blocked further progress toward the Gate. I could feel the growing heat and crackling of energy in the air. Several Guards stood ranged along the barricades, their faces turned toward the portal beyond. I could just make out the shattered remains of the colonnade that marked the Wayshrine.
A slight figure stalked behind the Guards, pausing here and there to speak to one of the men. As he turned to retrace his steps, his gaze caught me standing a few meters away. Brows drew together in a scowl as he strode toward me. The red lightning flashed off his bald pate and highlighted his narrow face.
“I’m Julian of Anvil, sir,” I introduced myself as soon as he was close enough to hear me above the thunder and crackle of the Oblivion Gate. “I’m on a mission for Countess Bruma.”
“Julian of Anvil?” The Guard Captain, his rank signified by the russet cloth tied around his right upper arm, stopped in front of me. “And have you come to tell us how to do our job?”
I took in his gaunt expression, the thick beard blurring his jawline, the prominent shadows beneath his eyes. “Rider Venturius tells me you’ve been manning the barricades for a month, sir.” I nodded at the Gate beyond. “That’s a long time to be fending off the daedra.” His dark gaze wavered slightly. “How many men have you lost so far?”
“Eight men are dead,” the Captain responded bleakly. “And another twelve are laid up in the Chapel infirmary. That’s just the City Guard!” His eyes refocused on me. “I’m Dion, Captain of the City Guard. Do you need anything? Though I don’t know how much we can help you.”
“Do you think your men can man the barricades just a little while longer, sir?” I set my pack down and knelt beside it, detaching Daedra Slayer from its bindings on the outside of the bag.
“What are you proposing?” Dion’s voice turned wary.
I glanced up at him while I unhooked Akatosh’s Fury. “I’ll go in there and close that Gate. You can’t spare the men, and I’m available.”
Relief warred with worry in Dion’s brown eyes. “Are you certain? You’ve been walking far, by the dust on your boots and greaves.”
“I just need to refill my canteen,” I shook the container at my waist, emphasizing its emptiness. “Then I’m ready. It’s been an easy walk today.”
“If you’re tired, Julian, we can hold the line long enough for you to rest,” Dion laid his hand on my shoulder as I counted out my arrows and set the quiver at my right hip.
I shook him off and rose to my feet, buckling Daedra Slayer at my left hip, next to my plain katana. It was a moment’s work to string Akatosh’s Fury and test it for straightness, then I placed it at my back opposite the plain bow. “Your men are more tired than I,” I countered. “Even with the rotation you’ve been doing with the Castle Guard.” I pointed at the Gate. “If your men can keep the daedra from Skingrad long enough for me to close the Gate, you’ll get your reprieve soon enough.”
“How long will it take you?” he asked me.
“Typically between twelve and twenty-four hours,” I replied. “Depends on how big things are inside.” I locked gazes with him. “If I’m not out by ten bells tomorrow night, consider me dead.”
“You would endanger the Countess Bruma’s mission that much?” Dion’s voice held a slight edge of skepticism.
“I’ve closed enough Gates by now to know what to expect,” I adjusted the hilts at my left hip and drew the plain katana. “And my mission can not be accomplished if I don’t close this Gate.” I can’t expect the Count Skingrad to release any of his Guard with this so close to the Castle.
“I won’t pretend that I’m not happy to see you, Julian of Anvil,” Dion said finally. “But I won’t take your risk for granted, either.” He pointed at my quiver. “It’s looking a little light, don’t you think?”
“My marksman skills are much better than they used to be,” I answered. “Fifteen arrows should be more than adequate for me. And if I run out, there’s always my flare spell.”
“Magic spells?” Dion repeated. “What are you, a battlemage?”
“Ever seen a Redguard battlemage?” I countered, shaking my head. “Give me water and I’ll get going.”
****************
Twenty-two hours later, I crouched within the ruins of the Wayshrine, pulling deep breaths of the cool evening into my scorched lungs. The sigil stone sent its ghoulish song from my left palm up the bones of my arm. I used the plain katana for support as I staggered to my feet.
“Welcome back, Julian,” Dion’s voice reached me in the sudden silence that always followed the closing of an Oblivion Gate. I looked up as he held out a canteen, its top uncorked. He waited while I slipped the sigil stone into my belt pouch and cleaned my katana with the refresh spell. With the slender blade safely sheathed, I accepted the full canteen and drank it dry.
My empty belly full of cool water, I handed the canteen back to Dion. “Thanks, sir,” I croaked.
“Artellian’s men are on the barricades, but should he send them back to the Castle now?” Dion asked, his gaze scanning the surrounding slopes for remaining daedra.
“The Gate should stay closed now,” I replied. “If you’ve cleared the area, there is no further need to stand guard.”
“Then let’s head back to Skingrad,” Dion clapped my shoulder. My stride barely faltered, though Dion’s gesture was hearty enough. Once upon a time that would have knocked me off my feet. I’m still getting stronger.
Artellian turned out to be a heavy-jawed Imperial with a dissolute look in his eyes. He met us at the barricades and gave me a grudging nod. “Captain Dion told me you would close the Gate,” he remarked. “I admit I had trouble believing him, but I’m convinced now.”
“Julian says if the area is clear, your men can head back to the Castle, Captain,” Dion addressed his contemporary coolly.
“We’ll wait an hour longer, make certain there are no more daedra around,” Artellian responded. He turned to the assembled men along the barricades. “I need eight men to make a sweep right away!”
“Let’s go,” Dion said as I watched the requisite number of guardsmen peel off the barricades. “You’ve done more than your share here.” He turned and led me along the path back to the road, pausing to pick up my pack where I had left it beside the barricades. “Let’s get back inside the city walls before the goblins come out again.”
“How late is it?” I asked when we passed the mine. The sun disappeared behind the crenellated walls as we descended from the heights.
“The Chapel just rang five bells not long ago,” Dion answered. “You’ve been in there twenty-two hours, just like you said. I take it it was quite a large place in there?”
“Yes, though not as large as the ones outside Bravil or Leyawiin,” I answered. “But I had to do a lot of backtracking to reach the Sigil Keep.”
“And it’s as simple as taking the Sigil Stone?” Dion asked. At my nod, he glanced at me. “May I see it?”
I fished the fist-sized stone and held it out to him as we turned onto the Skingrad road that ran between the Castle and the city. He eyed the thrumming stone a moment, then plucked it from my palm. His brows rose in surprise at the aliveness of the thing.
“This really sets my teeth on edge,” he hefted it a moment, then handed it back to me.
“As I understand it,” I thought back to what Martin had said about the Sigil Stones, “they contain the souls of men and mer that have been abused into death in the Deadlands.” I recalled again the torture chambers I had seen numerous times, the blood splashed on the walls and floors in the towers, the ravaged corpses displayed like fine art. Even after twelve - no, fourteen now - Gates, my stomach still rebelled at the gory sights behind each and every portal.
“You’ve done us an immeasurable service,” Dion’s voice, unlike that of Count Caro’s, held sincere gratitude. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“It’s late, but I’ll need to see the Count Skingrad,” I glanced up at the rapidly darkening sky. The stars were already appearing in the clear firmament overhead.
“It’s not late for him,” Dion remarked cryptically. “Let me send a runner ahead to the castle. The Count will see you when you arrive.”
The thought of spending the night at the Mages Guild in the highland city drew me on.
I guess no one has warned her about Vigge the Cautious!
No Julian, don't go there for the night!
It is strange seeing Julian hiking. I am so used to her being on Paint all the time. It makes me sad that he has to stay behind these days.
The sigil stone sent its ghoulish song from my left palm up the bones of my arm.
This is an excellent description!
“they contain the souls of men and mer that have been abused into death in the Deadlands.”
A nice bit of world-building to explain the origin of the sigil stones. Well, maybe nice is not the best word...
nits:
Roseate sun poured through the thinning canopy
The beginning sounds a bit odd. Perhaps Roseate sunlight? or A roseate sun?
I comforted myself with Merowald’s promise to tend to the gelding’s comfort
You have a variation of comfort twice here. Perhaps the second instance might be replaced with something like needs?
Paint had watched me leave him behind at Weye, his head over the top rail of the fence that enclosed the little paddock as I walked westward.
*sniff* Oh, Paint!
And now with the sun setting, the goblins would be coming out from Derelict Mine to ambush travelers along the road.
Now those goblins make sense to me!
It warms my heart to see Julian’s confidence and renewed strength. Skingrad Mages Guild tonight, eeep! I’m not sure who is creepier, the Count or the Cautious!
Oh noes. I didn't mean to cause concern with my carbonari comment. I was joshin' ya. You know me and chow!
The old veteran doing what she does. Well done, Julian!
Nice touch regarding the goblins of Derelict Mine.
“You would endanger the Countess Bruma’s mission that much?” Dion’s voice held a slight edge of skepticism.
“I’ve closed enough Gates by now to know what to expect,” I adjusted the hilts at my left hip and drew the plain katana. “And my mission can not be accomplished if I don’t close this Gate.” I can’t expect the Count Skingrad to release any of his Guard with this so close to the Castle.
Wonderfully done. This shows Julian's experience here. She knows the first thing the Count would do before considering help would be to send her to this very gate.
Dion clapped my shoulder. My stride barely faltered, though Dion’s gesture was hearty enough. Once upon a time that would have knocked me off my feet. I’m still getting stronger.
Boy, she sure is. She carries quite the arsenal now - and each piece with its own rich story.
Wonderful descriptions of the humming and thrumming and aliveness of sigil stones.
She's certainly tough, walk twenty miles with a pack then fight for twenty two hours and still be able to go to a meeting. Impressive, she's becoming stronger and much tougher.
*pant*
finally...
*pant*
caught...
*pant*
up....
*faints*
Paint had watched me leave him behind at Weye, his head over the top rail of the fence that enclosed the little paddock as I walked westward.
Farewell, Paint! you shall be sorely missed!
I really love how you gave Paint such a distinct personality, they can be such characters sometimes! His exit from the story was also drawn out just long enough for the reader to understand just how much he meant to our angelic-haired Redguard. Bravo! (Grr! no applause smilie!)
I took in his gaunt expression, the thick beard blurring his jawline, the prominent shadows beneath his eyes.
Loved this one, I'm a sucker for atmosphere!
@Sage Rose: Yes, it is strange to be hiking cross country after riding horseback for two months! But Julian was a footsoldier first, and ground pounders have a certain pride in their ability to hump a quarter of their body weight thirty miles a day. You can be certain she took advantage of the opportunity to collect quite a few plant specimens for alchemy practice!. I'm glad you approved of how I addressed the power of the sigil stones. I expand on that idea in a few posts from now. And thanks again for the nits - they've been fixed.
@Grits: Thanks for reading! Yes, it was sad to leave Paint behind. My own gelding would do that (put his head over the fence and watch me) whenever I left the farm. He was a great saddle horse and really loved the time we had together. It's been almost ten years, and I still miss him terribly.
If you can't decide which is scarier, the Count or the Cautious, let me leave you with this - how about meeting both of them in one night?
@Acadian: I knew you were joshing about the contabarri comment! But it made me realize that others might not get the joke.
I thought it was a good time to clarify things a bit. (More than one person have told me I should have gone into teaching!) As for closing the Gate at Skingrad, well, it's motivated more by her concern for the men of the Skingrad guard, though her experience with the wily Count Leyawiin certainly has been a learning one! It's always good to see how much you enjoy Julian's journey through Cyrodiil.
@Olen: Your impression of Dion is exactly what I was going for - being on increased duty and fighting incessant hordes of Daedra (though I see this more as a process of attrition than an all-out attack) for a month has got to have a big impact. He is one of those NPC's that I have a particular fondness for - not because he's nice and friendly, but because he's serious, brisk, professional, and you always know where you stand with him. As for closing the gates first, I learned pretty quickly the first time through that Counts/tesses aren't going to send their guards kiting off to some remote mountain town just because I said pretty please; and it makes sense from a strategic standpoint to want the immediate threat to their own towns eliminated before they will think of someone else. For a military pro like Julian, it's got to be a no-brainer. As for the use of the word roseate, well, it's one of those things that's difficult to find a synonym for. In the game (I play XBox, remember) the late afternoon sunlight has such a wonderful, amazing quality that can only be described as roseate. Pink just doesn't cut it, and no other word captures the atmosphere as well. So I'll think on it for a bit, and if anyone has any suggestions for alternatives, I'm open! But I will keep your comment in mind and avoid using it again so close together.
@TK: Finally caught up? I'm impressed. Did you actually read the whole thing?? Yes, Paint is sorely missed already! We'll see him again briefly when Julian stops by on her way to Chorrol (and let's not forget Sancre Tor beyond). As for Dion's scruffy appearance, I suppose it's obvious that I've watched way too many gritty war movies (and read even more war books) depicting soldiers on the front line (or behind enemy lines, for that matter) for days or weeks. Shaving is one of the first things to go under such circumstances, I've noticed. Sleep seems to be the second. So that's the impression I wanted to convey, as Olen (as well as you) so aptly pointed out.
After walking all day from Weye and spending another day in the Deadlands, Julian faces her toughest obstacle yet - Mercator Hosidus. Fortunately, her knack for finding allies in the unlikeliest places still holds true.
********************
Chapter 22.2 Count Janus Hassildor
Unencumbered by my pack and most of my weapons, which I had left with Dion at the City Guard barracks, I adjusted the hilt of my plain katana at my hip. The massive doors of the Great Hall swung open silently at my push, their hinges operating smoothly. Two Castle Guardsmen turned to face me as I paused on the top of the stairs leading down to the grand expanse of the stone floor.
I nodded at the sentries, then cast my gaze around the Great Hall. It was the grandest of the county halls I had visited so far, dwarfing even that of Leyawiin. I stifled a smile at the thought. Wonder if Countess Caro has ever seen this place. She’d be green with envy. Unlike the other county seats, though, no throne marked this as the seat of Skingrad.
Unlike the dark and sooty hall of Bruma, Skingrad’s Great Hall was well lit with clean-burning candles that filled numerous chandeliers suspended from the high roof and tall candelabras set around the walls. Beautiful tapestries in rich greens and golds hung on the walls, and plush carpets covered the floor. Several tables with chairs were scattered around the hall.
Where does Count Skingrad hold audience? I wondered. My gaze fell on a middle-aged Imperial, his green brocade stretched over a noticeable paunch, seated at one of the tables. He glanced up as I descended the stairs, and his lips curved into a sneer.
“Do you want to see the Count?” He cast a scornful glance up and down my frame. “You won’t get to see him. Not now, not ever.” He took a sip from the chased silver goblet in his hand. “I should know. I’m Mercator Hosidus, his steward.”
But Captain Dion said that he would see me! “I come with a message from Countess Carvain of Bruma, sir,” I kept my voice even.
“Give me the message, and I shall pass it along to the Count,” Hosidus leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. My eyes narrowed at his tone.
“I am to give the message to the Count directly,” my voice turned icy. “With all due respect to you, sir.”
“Ah, but the Count trusts me,” Hosidus rose to his feet. He seemed slightly miffed by the fact that he still needed to look up to meet my gaze.
“Maybe so,” I countered. “But it is the Countess whose orders I am following, sir. And her orders are to deliver her message directly to the Count himself.”
“Feel free to wait,” Hosidus waved at the tables. “Make yourself comfortable, for it will be an interminable wait.” He drained the goblet and set it back on the polished wooden surface, then turned and walked away from me. I stared after him as he disappeared through a door on the far side of the hall.
Did you know what you were asking of me, Grandmaster, when you sent me on this wild goose chase across all of Cyrodiil? I sighed in frustration and unbuckled my katana from my hip. I selected a nearby table, laid my weapon down across it and pulled a chair out. Count Cheydinhal has been the most reasonable so far, but only because I pulled his idiot son out of the lava - literally! Seated on its comfortable cushion, I leaned back and stretched my legs beneath the table. And Count Leyawiin with his conditions upon conditions! And let’s not forget Count Bravil and his lily-white principles! I closed my eyes. Now I can’t even get past that supercilious twit of a steward to see Count Skingrad! Akatosh! Please let Countess Anvil be the most approachable of them all!
“Would you like some refreshment, ma’am?” I opened my eyes to see a nattily dressed Orsimer standing beside me. His green linens nearly matched his skin as he bowed to me. “I am Shum gro-Yarug, Count Hassildor’s butler. Shall I provide some wine?”
“No thanks,” I shook my head. “I’m here to see the Count, not partake of his hospitality.” He stepped back as I straightened up in the chair. “When does he hold audience?”
“Ah, Count Hassildor never holds audience,” gro-Yarug responded. “He’s not like other Counts and Countesses, see.” He leaned conspiratorially toward me. “You have to go through his stewards, see. And that Hosidus, he’ll never let you see the Count.”
“It’s important that I see him,” I could feel the frustration beginning to creep into my voice and took a deep breath. “What do you recommend?”
“Ah, you leave that to old gro-Yarug, see,” the Orsimer laid a finger alongside his nose. “I’ll take right good care of you.” He grinned toothily at me. “You just sit quietly like, and wait just a bit, ma’am.” With a courtly bow the butler turned and walked away from me.
I’m too tired to do anything but sit quietly like, I grumbled silently to myself and leaned back in the chair. I’ll just close my eyes while I wait.
“Julian of Anvil?” The soft hiss roused me from dreams of blood and fire. I opened my eyes to see an Argonian woman bending over me. Like the others, she wore green, this time a lush velvet that did nothing to hide her curves. “I am Hal-Liurz, Count Hassildor’ss perssonal ssteward.”
“Isn’t Hosidus the steward?” Momentarily confused, I forgot to control my tongue. The Argonian smiled sweetly at me.
“He iss the Casstle ssteward,” she replied. “I am the Count’ss perssonal ssteward.” She straightened up as I rose from the chair, mentally shaking the last of the grogginess from my mind. “I undersstand you clossed the Gate just outsside the Casstle.”
“It was the least I could do for Dion’s Guard,” I picked up my katana. I suppose there’s a difference between the two stewards, but I’m too tired to figure it out.
“Of coursse,” Hal-Liurz nodded. “If you will follow me, I will take you to the Count.”
I hesitated. “It’s late, ma’am -“
“I assure you, the Count keepss very late hourss.” Hal-Liurz smiled again at me. “Come, he wantss to ssee you.” She led me toward the grand staircase that led up to a balcony across the rear of the Hall. As I fell into step behind her, gro-Yarug stepped out of the shadows beneath the stairs and winked at me, his yellow teeth gleaming softly in the candlelight.
“Thank you,” I whispered as we passed him. The Orsimer inclined his head to me, his black eyes sparkling. Why do I get the feeling he rather enjoyed the opportunity to go behind Hosidus’s back?
The Argonian steward led me through a maze of hallways and passages into the depths of the castle. As we moved deeper into the private quarters, the candles became fewer and further between. Still, the air remained fresh and clean. There must be a ventilation system here.
At the top of a flight of winding stairs, Hal-Liurz led me into a round room. I shivered in the cool night air and realized we stood at the top of one of the towers, its sides open beneath the conical roof. I cast my gaze around the dark space, my eyes drawn to the vista outside. Off to the west, I could see the silhouette of burned Kvatch on its mesa black against the starlit sky. Below us, the spire of the Chapel of Julianos gleamed softly in the double moonlight.
A flame flared and caught the wick of a fat candle, drawing my attention back to the center of the room. I could make out a table, a shadow seated beside it. A narrow hand gestured in the candlelight, and small sparks leaped from its fingertips toward a candelabra standing beside the table. A broad-shouldered man emerged from the shadows as the glow widened to fill the space beneath the roof.
“Forgive me for meeting you here,” a smooth, cultured voice reached me as the man waved me to the chair opposite him. “You are Julian of Anvil, Hero of Kvatch?”
“Just Julian of Anvil would be fine, sir,” I couldn’t keep the exhaustion out of my voice as I sat down a little too heavily for grace.
“I am Janus Hassildor, Count Skingrad,” the man met my gaze. His face, pale in the candlelight, showed the well-defined bone structure typical of Colovian Imperials. Shadows still hid his eyes. “I take my fresh air here at night. Pleasant view, isn’t it?”
Again I looked around. I could see the still-smoldering ruins of the Oblivion Gate to the east. He knew when the Gate was closed. “I’m certain it’s more pleasant now than it was earlier.”
“Of course,” the Count responded. “That portal to Oblivion was a blight on the landscape.” He shifted slightly in his chair and crooked a beringed finger at Hal-Liurz. “Would you like some refreshment? A glass of Tamika’s, perhaps?”
“I’m a recovering drunk,” I shook my head. “Water would be fine, if you have some ready.”
“Of course.” That finger flickered, and Hal-Liurz moved to a sideboard near the stairs. I heard her pouring something, then she returned with a fine crystal goblet which she set before me. “You must be weary after spending the last day in the Deadlands,” the Count continued as I took a sip. “Let’s get to the point, shall we? I understand you have a message for me from Countess Carvain of Bruma.”
“Yes, sir, I do,” I set the goblet down carefully, considering my next words. “Countess Carvain is facing a serious threat, one potentially more serious than the one you have faced for the past month. There is evidence that the Mythic Dawn plans to open a Great Gate at Bruma. If they succeed, it will allow them to send a siege engine through that can destroy the city, as it did Kvatch.” When I paused for breath, Count Hassildor turned his gaze to the fine silver-trimmed crystal goblet in his hand.
“I remember the night Kvatch burned,” he spoke quietly. “It was a terrifying sight to see.”
My eyes moved of their own volition to the charred remains of the city visible on the horizon. “Yes, it was, sir,” I kept my own voice soft.
“Why Bruma?” Again the Count shifted in his seat and drew my gaze back to him. “Why not Skingrad? Or Anvil?”
As I had with High Chancellor Ocato, I kept my silence. After a moment, Hassildor nodded to himself. “I see. And how may I be of assistance to Countess Carvain?”
“Her City Guard has learned to close Oblivion Gates as soon as they open. Three must be open at the same time in order to bring up a Great Gate, that is how it was done at Kvatch.” Hassildor kept his shadowed gaze unwavering on me. “Yet her Guard will take casualties, it is inevitable. She asks for reinforcements from her fellow Counts and Countesses to bolster her Guard and buy time for others to find a way to end this Crisis for good.”
“Who are these others seeking a way to end this?” Hassildor’s voice turned cool.
“Those who are familiar with the workings of daedric magic,” I answered. Hassildor nodded at my evasiveness and didn’t press the matter further. Instead, he regarded the burgundy colored fluid in his goblet, cupping its bowl in the palm of his hand and swirling the wine, as if reading portents of the future in its depths. I waited silently, sipping at the cool water that finally moistened my dry throat.
Hassildor drank down the last of the wine and set the goblet down on the table with deliberate movements. “Mehrunes Dagon has no more love for my kind than for my mortal subjects,” he leaned forward, the candlelight chasing the shadows away from his eyes. With a sharp inhalation, I recognized the same pale red irises I had seen in Seridur’s eyes. Janus Hassildor is a vampire? My body stiffened involuntarily, and my right hand caught the hilt of my katana before I could stop myself. Hassildor smiled humorlessly at my reaction. “Less perhaps, as we make poor slaves,” he continued calmly. “You have helped me by closing the Oblivion Gate here. I will likewise help you by granting the Countess’s request.”
Slowly I forced my right hand away from my weapon. He isn’t threatening me. And he’s been the Count of Skingrad for a very long time. Longer than I’ve been in the Legion. “On behalf of Countess Bruma, I thank you for your assistance, sir.” I managed to keep the tremor in my fingers out of my voice.
“Stay a bit in Skingrad, rest and recover,” Hassildor leaned back, his eyes disappearing again into darkness. “See Agnete the Pickled for your armor repair. I’ll send a message to Dion about sending some men to Bruma. I’ll defer to his judgment concerning the number of men we can spare.” His hands folded in front of his brocaded robe. “Good night, Julian of Anvil.”
So Julian comes face to face with Count Hasslehof -dor. I liked your presentation of the corpse-humper Hosidus (that is what I get for reading Cardboard Box's story), and the rivalry between him and the butler that is bubbling just below the surface.
Likewise, the tower was an excellent place for the reclusive Count to meet with Julian, rather than the hall, or even his private chambers. It shows us a bit of his personality, and it also allows you to use the view of both Kvatch and the newly shut Oblivion Gate to move the story along.
Now that Julian knows that the Count is a vampire (I bet Bethesda just could not resist a Count being a vampire...
) I wonder what she will do with that information? I expect she will keep the secret, given that he is sending support to Bruma. To betray it would be a breach of faith. In spite of what Hassildor is.
I try my best to finish what I start, and I would consider it an insult to an author's hard work and dedication to start their story part-way through. IMHO, that is a way of stating that the work is only partially worth reading, and how would you feel if some came up and told you that? This is simply my way of saying "Your story is worth every word."
Besides, if I'm planning to have yours occurring in the background of mine, I need to do my homework, right?
Instead, he regarded the burgundy colored fluid in his goblet, cupping its bowl in the palm of his hand and swirling the wine
Some strange portent tells me that that may not have been wine in his goblet....
and that mad tomato woman... And the mad alchemist, and mad bosmer...
Makes me wonder why Sheogorath opened the gate to his Realm all the way on the other side of Tamriel, but then again, as Haskill would say... to comprehend the Lord's will is an exercise in futility.
'Did you know what you were asking of me, Grandmaster, when you sent me on this wild goose chase across all of Cyrodiil?'
I hear ya, Julian!
I like the nice suggestions of internal politics among Hassildor's staff that marked what it took for Julian to get an audience.
And meeting Hassildor! You did not disappoint. I agree that the open high tower location and views at night were spectacularly appropriate. The scene just dripped with atmosphere, and was expertly presented with rich and evocative description. Wonderful touch, Julian's hand and the hilt of her katana. Well done!
@SubRosa: I'm tempted to use Boxee's epithet for all necromancers from now on! But somehow I just can't see Julian adopting Aussie slang. Maybe someone else will use it in her hearing . . . I've always felt that there were some interstaff politics going on in that castle (as at Anvil). Hosidus was easy to write, but then when I introduced gro-Yarug (the butler), he just beat Hosidus over the head and took off running with the keyboard. Then Hal-Liurz wrested it from him! Julian had to use her pilus voice to get it back from those three!
Julian will have a chance to consider the quandary of a vampiric Count. Just not right now - she has enough on her mind between closing OG's and getting the last of the recommendations she needs to get into the University.
@Olen: Skingrad also has really nice artesian water (yes, water can taste differently from locale to locale, and not just because there is a dead Mages Apprentice in the well!). As for the mad folks, well, that'll be later . . .
@Grits: It always struck me that you can see Kvatch from the bridge leading to the castle at Skingrad, yet no one ever talks about what happened there. You would think that would be a huge topic - "where were you the night Kvatch burned?" - "Oh, I was busy with Servilia the Serpent."
@TK: Maybe good ol' Sheo figured Bravil was just a little too uptight and needed a little loosening up. Being the skooma capital of Cyrodiil just doesn't cut it.
@Acadian: About the wild goose chase, I think that's why Jauffre sent Julian - "Better her than me!" I'm glad Count Hassildor came across well for you and quite a few others. Following mALX can be a real challenge at times.
Has anyone ever noticed that there is a shortage of beds at the Skingrad chapter? For a long time I have been waiting to write about the goings-on at the Skingrad Mages Guild, especially late at night. This chapter is my reward for waiting for the right moment to introduce Julian to this particular group of mages. I had a great deal of fun writing this, though Julian did not find it so amusing at the time.
**************************
Chapter 22.3 Musical Beds
The slender Argonian stepped into the entrance hall from the left when I entered the Mages Guild chapterhouse. Clad in a simple blue mage’s robe, her orange eyes met my gaze as I reached the stone floor. “Hello, Associate,” she greeted me with the characteristic Argonian hiss. “Welcome to the Sskingrad Magess Guild. My name is Druja.”
“Hello,” I lowered my pack to the floor. “I’m Julian of Anvil. I’m an Associate in the Guild, gathering recommendations to enter the Arcane University.”
“And clossing Oblivion Gatess while you’re at it, too,” Druja nodded. “Thank you.” Her gaze flickered over my battered gear. “You musst be tired and weary.” She moved to a room that opened off the hall to the right. “Come thiss way, put your gear down and ssit. I’ll get you ssomething to eat.”
“No, thanks,” I stopped her, picking up my pack. “I’d much rather get some sleep first. I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep into the food!”
“Upsstairss, then,” Druja pointed toward the double staircase that marked the rear wall of the entry. “On the third floor. Take any open bed. We don’t sstand much on ownersship here.”
“Thanks, ma’am,” I gave Druja a nod before heading for the stairs.
The second floor turned out to be a large, open room with diamond-paned windows letting in a flood of moonlight that competed with the generous candlelight. The walls were lined with book shelves, and a large round table sat in the center of the space, surrounded by comfortable chairs. An elegant woman, her blond hair neatly pulled back in an intricate braided coif, did not look up from a book laying open on the table. Silently, I passed her and found the stairs leading to the third floor.
The third floor consisted of a simple passageway with three doors, two against the south wall, and the last adjacent to the door leading to the stairs. I approached the door directly opposite from the entry and knocked softly on it. Hearing no response, I opened it slowly.
A dark form lay on the double bed, illuminated only by the moonlight slanting in through the uncovered windows. I withdrew without disturbing the sleeper and softly closed the door.
The second room was empty, softly glowing candles revealing another wide bed. I set my gear down on the chest that sat against the wall next to the door. With quiet movements to avoid rousing the sleeper next door, I drew out my civilian garments and changed. My cuirass rolled into its sooty surcoat and my worn leathers folded next to it, I set the plain katana on top. I will see this Agnete the Pickled tomorrow and have this repaired. My two bows and Daedra Slayer, on the other hand, were still in good condition, for I had barely used them.
Finally I gave in to my exhaustion and collapsed into that inviting bed. The wide mattress welcomed me in its soft embrace, and I was soon asleep.
I found myself climbing the winding ramp that led to the top of the Kvatch Sigil Keep. Above me, the huge Dremora screeched his challenge at me, his mace lifting high. Neatly sidestepping his charge, I spun on my healed right leg and sliced the keen blade of my katana across the backs of his thighs. His mace spun at me as he fell to his knees, but I avoided it easily. I stabbed at his exposed throat, but he turned inside my reach and grabbed me around the waist. Before I could struggle free, he had staggered to his feet, lifting me off the floor in a bone-crunching bear hug.
My eyes flew open as I broke free and rolled out of the entangling coverlet, away from the arm that had encircled my waist. The hilt of the sheathed katana settled into my right palm as I spun to face the bed, my feet braced for any assault.
“Wha -?” The plump Nord blinked beady eyes at me, sitting up on the far side of the mattress. “Can’t we share a bed peacefully like?” He held his hands out, palms facing me, in a placating manner.
“Sh - share a bed?” I stammered, staring at him as my katana’s tip lowered to the floor. “I don’t share a bed with someone I’ve never met!”
“That’s easy to rectify, ma’am,” the Nord clambered out of the bed, rising to his full height. His knee-length nightshirt barely concealed his readiness for more than sleep. My sheathed weapon rose again as I struggled to keep my eyes on his face. “I am Vigge the Cautious, Conjurer in the Skingrad Chapter of the Mages Guild. And you must be the famous Julian of Anvil, Hero of Kvatch.” He bowed deeply with a flourish of his right arm. “Now that we’ve properly met, let’s to bed, shall we?”
I found myself shaking my head. “I don’t think so, sir,” I backed to the chest where my gear still lay. “You go back to bed, I’ll find someplace else to sleep.”
A snicker from the door whipped my head around. An Imperial man lounged, his left shoulder against the jamb, mischief sparking in his brown eyes. “You may have won the coin toss, Vigge, but you lost the bet, it seems!”
My eyes narrowed at his words. A bet? A bet on who sleeps with me? We’ll see about that! “Who are you?” I challenged the Imperial. He shifted his gaze to me and bowed.
“Sulinus Vassinus, Evoker,” he straightened his blue robe over his trim frame. “Perhaps you would like to sleep in my bed?” He shrugged. “I doubt you’d want to sleep with the chapter head, Adrienne Berene.” His brows rose quizzically. “Unless you bend that way -?”
“See, there isn’t a spare bed here,” Vigge volunteered from the far side of the bed. “So that means someone has to double up with someone.” He tipped his head at Vassinus. “Neither of us are fond of sleeping with Adrienne. That’s Erthor’s job, when he’s here.”
“I’ll find someplace else, then,” I turned and gathered my gear.
“Oh, come on, don’t be a prude!” Vigge’s voice took on a cajoling tone. “I promise I’ll be good, really good!” My gaze flickered downward briefly.
“I’m not so certain about your dagger,” I locked gazes with the Nord again. “I’ll pass.” Vassinus grinned as I passed him and stepped out into the hallway. “And I will politely decline your offer as well, sir,” I said to him before heading for the stairs.
It took all of my self control not to run away from the two lechers. I’m no prude, but I certainly won’t sleep with just anyone! What do they take me for? The memory of the singing Redguard pirate surfaced in my whirling thoughts as I descended to the second floor. He’s more tempting than these two mages!
The blond woman looked up from her book as I rounded the corner, irritation in her gaze. “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” I bowed to her and headed for the stairs leading to the ground floor.
Druja was nowhere to be seen when I reached the end of the staircase. I entered the dining hall and set my gear down next to the crackling fire. A large, cushioned chair proved to be comfortable, and I pulled up a stool for my feet. Leaning my head against the high back, I closed my eyes.
Footsteps drove away the sleep I sought so desperately. “Julian?” Druja’s voice reached me. “Couldn’t you find a place to ssleep?”
“This is fine,” I replied, rocking my shoulders against the upholstered back of the chair. “I don’t have to share it with anyone else.”
“Oh, I’m ssorry, ma’am,” Druja exclaimed softly. “But they outrank me, so there’ss not much I can do —“ She hesitated, and I opened my eyes to look at her. “Ssleep in my bed,” she said finally. “It’s a narrow one, they won’t be able to ssqueeze in with you! I’ll ssleep out here.”
“No thanks, Druja,” I shook my head. “Go back to bed. I’m used to roughing it. I’ve got the fire, a cushion under my behind, and a soft spot for my head. I’m fine.” I closed my eyes in tacit dismissal.
A moment later, I felt the soft embrace of a quilt draping over my body. I looked up into Druja’s face as she tucked the coverlet around my shoulders. She withdrew without a word, and I listened to her footsteps fading across the entrance hall. Why is it every single Argonian I meet treats me with such kindness? Tar-Meena. Jeelius. Sakeepa at Aleswell. Kud-Ei and Marz in Bravil. Deetsan in Cheydinhal. Now Druja? The Countess of Leyawiin needs to get out more. Fat chance of that ever happening, though!
This time, when I sought sleep, I caught it. And this time, I had no disturbing visions of grasping Dremora.
His knee-length nightshirt barely concealed his readiness for more than sleep. My sheathed weapon rose again as I struggled to keep my eyes on his face.
Nautee Hautee!!!
Looks like someone experienced the 'Big Vigge's Big Dig', eh! I still get goosebumps everytime I see that Nord! Sleeping with ...
(groans as a disturbing image no doubt sent by the new Daedric Lord Theen-Aged Hhor-Moans invaded his teenaged mind.)
I FINALLY caught up! Loved how you potray Awamus Philliwa, Count Marius and even the Big Vigge himself! Still ROFLing over here!
Well youn certainly make the Skingrad guildhall sound like a... welcoming place... As if Skingrad didn't already have enough crazy the guild has sent all the leches there to be together.
You pointed out a couple of peculiarities quite neatly too. The lack of beds is an odd one (though perhaps not so odd as the Cheydinhal beds in the living room thing), also all argonians seem to be rather friendly. The observations on the game help keep the fiction linked to it ratgher than running away on a course of better worldbuilding so improves on it. I certainly won't see the Skingrad guild in quite the same light again...
Don'cha just love it when you settle down for a nap in a public bed in-game and awaken with some creepy NPC staring at you because you took his spot? The moment I started this chapter, I began to wonder if that would happen to dear Julian... you never fail to disappoint, Haute.
Using the nightmare of the grasping Dremora to lead into Julian's encounter with the grasping Imperial was a good touch. I am still trying to figure out why they call him the "the Cautious" when he sleeps with everything that moves!
mischief sparking in his brown eyes
This is a wonderfully evocative passage!
“Neither of us are fond of sleeping with Adrienne. That’s Erthor’s job, when he’s here.”
I loved this!
Well, looks like Julian struck out again. 22 Chapters and she has still not gotten any action!
What a fun! I'm so glad you decided to grace us with a full story on the nocturnal quirks of the Skingrad guild!
Like SubRosa, I loved how you transitioned Julian from her dream to reality.
'It took all of my self control not to run away from the two lechers. I’m no prude, but I certainly won’t sleep with just anyone! What do they take me for? The memory of the singing Redguard pirate surfaced in my whirling thoughts as I descended to the second floor. He’s more tempting than these two mages!'
You go, girl!
'Why is it every single Argonian I meet treats me with such kindness? Tar-Meena. Jeelius. Sakeepa at Aleswell. Kud-Ei and Marz in Bravil. Deetsan in Cheydinhal. Now Druja? The Countess of Leyawiin needs to get out more. Fat chance of that ever happening, though!'
So very right, on both counts! Druja is a tiny bit cranky when you first meet her, but she warms right up. When Buffy goes somewhere new and hopes for a friendly face, she always looks first for an Argonian. And yes, it is such a shame that Alessia Caro will never understand that. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful observation, Julian! *contented sigh*
Buffy has also endured trying to find a safe place to sleep at the Skingrad guild of musical beds.
She has never had to do the walk of shame down to breakfast in the morning, but sometimes she has had to do this:
http://i668.photobucket.com/albums/vv43/Acadian6/ScreenShot557.jpg
Oh yes, the musical beds at the Skingrad Mages Guild - I did a take on them in my original story on the BGSF, lol. Great rendition of it, especially Vigge - ROFL !!! Lucky Julian didn't try to share Druja's bed - she was quite "active" as well, lol.
"Oh, I was busy with Servilia the Serpent."
“That’s easy to rectify, ma’am,” the Nord clambered out of the bed, rising to his full height.
And then he stood up.
I am so glad Vigge wears a nightshirt!
“Neither of us are fond of sleeping with Adrienne. That’s Erthor’s job, when he’s here.”
My most puzzling moment in the Skingrad MG apart from waking up with Vigge was playing around before bed on the empty third floor, so all of the doors were open. Along came Vigge and Adrienne, and they both went in and got in bed together. And they left the door open. Hmm. So I fooled around with my inventory some more, learned that the red velvet outfit is not a good look for a Nord, and about an hour game time later they both got up and went separately to the two other rooms and got into the beds. I thought, WTF, in someone else’s bed!? Maybe that was Erthor’s bed, and Vigge was just standing in for him.
I’m sure I enjoyed Julian’s late night adventure far more than she did! And someone would like to point out that a cushion under the behind is a handy thing to have in Skingrad.
@Foxy: The juxtaposition of those two sentences you quoted was very deliberate! Yes, I’m Nautee Hautee, and right damn proud of it!
@ureni: I’m glad you caught up and ended up ROFLing. That was my intent with the last chapter. Julian insists it wasn’t that funny at the time!
@Olen: Yes, it’s so welcoming at the Skingrad chapterhouse!
@TK: Thanks!
@SubRosa: I think the Nords have an underrated sense of irony when it comes to names, especially those that end in “the Something-or-the-other.” As for getting action, well . . .
@Acadian: I had to chuckle at your screenie of Buffy in the Mages Guild when she found out Vigge’s “cautious propensities!” For Julian it was a case of “my sword is bigger than your dagger.” That’s how Vigge lived up to the epithet “the Cautious!”
@mALX: Druja has the only single bed in the whole place. And I don’t blame Druja for not wanting to go upstairs. After all, the two men probably read “The Lusty Argonian Maid” before bed!
@Grits: I think Vigge was already up before he stood up!
After a night of bed-hopping, Julian learns what she has to do for yet another recommendation.
********************************
Chapter 22.4 The Missing Mage
The faint chiming of the Chapel bells through the leaded glass windows roused me in the morning. What time is it? The sky above the tall stone buildings across the street gleamed with the soft rose of dawn. Stiffly I rose from my makeshift bed, shaking out the quilted coverlet and folding it neatly.
The front door snicked softly, then the smell of fresh pastries and bread wafted into the dining hall ahead of Druja. She set the laden basket on the dining table and glanced at me. “Did you ssleep well?” she asked as she began unpacking.
“Yes, well enough,” I answered, ignoring the creaking of my joints as I joined her at the table. I watched, my mouth watering, as she set platters of sweet rolls and fresh baked bread onto the table, next to wedges of soft white cheese and bowls of fresh fruit. “Anything I can do to help?”
Druja glanced at me, her gaze mildly startled. “You can bring the klah pot from the fireplace,” she said, nodding at the hearth behind me. I turned and found the black kettle hanging off to one side of the massive stone structure. As I returned to the table with the pot in hand, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. I looked up in time to see Vigge, now dressed in a luxurious burgundy brocaded garment with black fur trim on the neckline, enter the dining hall with a yawn splitting his pudgy face. His gaze fell on me, and red ascended from his collar to the top of his bald head.
“Good morning, Vigge,” Druja greeted him, not looking up from her arranging. “I think you’ve met Julian of Anvil.”
“Ermm, yes, we have - met,” Vigge mumbled and averted his eyes from mine. “I apologize for the misunderstanding, ma’am.”
“Oh, there was no misunderstanding,” I kept my voice quiet. Druja shot a glance from me to Vigge. “The situation is quite understandable under the circumstances.”
Vigge met my gaze cautiously. “Then you’ll forgive and forget?”
“Oh, I suppose I’ll forgive - for now,” I shrugged. “But I won’t forget.” To soften my words, I poured a cup of klah and offered it to Vigge. His brows rose as the Nord mage accepted the mug.
“What will you do today?” Druja asked as Vigge sat down at the table. I took the chair across from him and helped myself to some of the soft cheese and fresh bread.
“I’ve got to get my weapons and armor repaired,” I replied. “I’m not good enough yet to repair enchanted armor.”
Vigge glanced up from spreading the cheese on a chunk of bread. “Armor?” he repeated. “You’re a battlemage?”
I smiled at the incredulity in his tone. “No,” I replied. “Legion for many years. I’m much more comfortable with plain weapons. But I’m learning the advantages magic can give you in combat.”
“Do you use destruction spells, then?” Vigge forgot his embarrassment. I nodded around a mouthful of cheese and bread. After I swallowed the delicious morsel, I reached for the bowl of grapes. “Which spells do you use?”
“The basic flare spell I’ve known since I was little,” I answered. “I’ve also started using a shock on touch spell. It helps with the big Dremoras and spares my katana. Ducking their magic spells is still tricky, though.”
“You want a drain magicka spell, then,” Vigge became enthusiastic. I caught Druja’s eyeroll as she handed me a cup of fresh klah. “Follow it up with a strong shock spell.”
“I’m not sure I have enough magicka for that,” I remarked.
“After you drop off your armor and weapons at Agnete’s,” Vigge said, “come back and I’ll give you some instruction.”
I shot him a look. Instruction in what?
“In destruction magic, of course,” he added hastily. “First I’ll evaluate your skills and your magicka, then we’ll study some new spells you can use in the Deadlands.”
“Anything to improve my odds of survival,” I remarked dryly, tilting my half-filled cup in his direction. His smile transformed Vigge’s face from that of a middle-aged lecher into one of a pleased boy.
“But that is not why you came here, iss it?” Druja sat next to me and began buttering a sweet roll. “You’re alsso looking for a recommendation from our chapter head, aren’t you?”
I popped the handful of grapes into my mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Yes, I’d like to study restoration and alchemy at the University.”
“Not destruction?” Vigge helped himself to his second sweet roll.
“No, I’m getting too old to keep fighting like this for much longer,” I answered. “My mother was an alchemist, and I’l like to learn what she knew.”
“I take it your mother has passed away, then?” Druja refilled my mug. Silently, I nodded. “I’m ssorry to hear that. But alchemy’ss an honorable profession, if ussed to help people.”
“That’s how my mother regarded it,” I nodded agreement. “And I’m getting tired of seeing my friends get hurt, while I’m unable to do anything about it.”
“Having some restoration skills can be invaluable when you’re out in the wilderness,” Vigge agreed, tipping his mug at me. “You can’t find mandrake just anywhere, you know. Cure poison and cure disease spells certainly come in handy when you’re far from a Chapel.”
“And I won’t have to carry those potions around so much, either,” I added. “Without a horse, the lighter I can travel, the better.”
“Then you’ll want to sspeak to Adrienne Berene about the recommendation,” Druja commented, nibbling on some strawberries. “But don’t be surprised if she acts annoyed. She doesn’t like being interrupted when she’s reading.”
“And she’s always reading!” Vigge waved the butter knife before spreading it on yet another sweet roll. No wonder he’s a bit on the heavy side. He must be addicted to those things. I decided to try it myself and began tearing one into bite-sized pieces. “So you can’t help but interrupt her. But don’t mind it, don’t mind it at all. She’s like that with all of us.” Then he winked at me. “Except maybe Erthor.”
“Sspeaking of which,” Druja turned to him. “Have you sseen Erthor lately?”
“Can’t recall if I have,” Vigge’s eyes grew thoughtful. He shook his head before popping the last of the sweet roll into his mouth. “Nope, it’s been a while.”
I remained silent, savoring the sweet roll I had claimed for myself. Druja caught the look on my face as I tasted the rich cinnamon flavoring of the soft dough. “Thosse are Ssalmo’ss ssweet rollss. He’ss quite famouss for them. I get them from hiss bakery every morning, otherwisse I’d never hear the end of it from Vigge!”
“And he’d better leave some for the rest of us!” The sharp voice drew my attention to the elegant Breton woman I had seen last night. She took a seat next to the Nord, her slight frame dwarfed by his bulk, and slapped his hand away from the remaining sweet rolls. “And you must be Julian of Anvil,” she said to me. “There can’t be too many Redguard women with long white hair running about Tamriel.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I nodded, finishing the last of the sweet roll. I resisted the temptation to help myself to another by filling my palm with strawberries instead.
“I’m Adrienne Berene,” the Breton woman spread some of the cheese on a piece of bread. “I’m the head of the Skingrad chapter, but I don’t like to be bothered with guild details. I’d rather study than administer to a bunch of childish mages.”
“I see,” I murmured, averting my gaze from her. “I’m here for a recommendation to the Arcane University.”
“I haven’t considered anything for you, Julian of Anvil,” Berene took a bite of her bread and chewed it thoughtfully. “I’ve been too busy with other matters. But come to think of it, I have a small problem concerning Erthor. He’s one of the mages here. Do you think you can do something about it?”
Vigge hid his grin behind his klah, and Druja rose to her feet and left the table. As she disappeared into the entry hall, I met Berene’s gaze. Another hunt for a missing mage? Am I going to have to bust someone for playing practical jokes? “What can I do, ma’am?”
“Excellent!” Berene leaned back in her chair. “I just don’t have the time to search for him again. I need to consult with him concerning some research notes he borrowed from me. If you ask around with the other mages, they might tell you where to find him. I’ll write your recommendation as soon as I speak to him again.”
“Erthor?” I repeated. “I understand the others haven’t seen him for some time.”
“Yes, yes,” she waved her hand impatiently. “He’s - well, he’s an interesting fellow. Sulinus Vassinus can tell you more about Erthor, if you wish to know. He’s around here somewhere.”
I glanced at Vigge, who shrugged. “I don’t know where Erthor is,” he waved his hands defensively, then tried to sneak another sweet roll. I rose to my feet.
“You might get lucky in bed if you cut back on those sweet rolls, sir,” I said quietly as Berene slapped his hand soundly. Again the big Nord colored brightly and averted his gaze sheepishly. “I’ll see what I can do about Erthor, ma’am,” I added as I left the table. Berene waved me away with an imperious gesture, not looking up from her plate.
The problem with sweet rolls is that they interfere with sweet rolls..
...
...
...in the hay.
The sky above the tall stone buildings across the street gleamed with the soft rose of dawn
This was a wonderful passage, especially the "soft rose" description.
A tasty breakfast and discussion. Once again you have made the Skingrad MG a lively place. I see Vigge is being a bit more - reasonable - after the previous night's escapades. What I really honed in on was Julian's admission that she is getting too old to go around saving the world every day. Many people have a hard time admitting that. That she is looking to the future - after being a fighter - shows a great deal of wisdom.
Hmmm.... I might have to try to make sweetrolls... mmmm...
I enjoyed Julian's handling of Vigge, not as harsh as I would have suspected. Though her thinking negatively of him as middle-aged is a bit rich. It does sort of highlight how she isn't really middle aged at heart, even if she knows she's getting older she still goes closing gates like a young thing.
Nice introduction of the quest, though whatever's going on between Adrianne and Erthor certainly passed me by...
Strawberries and sweet rolls! Yum!!! Breakfast is the most important meal of the morning!
I looked up in time to see Vigge, now dressed in a luxurious burgundy brocaded garment with black fur trim on the neckline, enter the dining hall with a yawn splitting his pudgy face. His gaze fell on me, and red ascended from his collar to the top of his bald head.
A wonderful - and efficient - description of the Cautious one with the sweet roll addiction.
“And I won’t have to carry those potions around so much, either,” I added.
Just think Julian! That will leave more room in your pack for dresses (with matching shoes, of course). Oh, wait. . . .
The sharp voice drew my attention to the elegant Breton woman I had seen last night. She took a seat next to the Nord, her slight frame dwarfed by his bulk, and slapped his hand away from the remaining sweet rolls.
Berene waved me away with an imperious gesture, not looking up from her plate.
These two passages capture Adrienne very well. I can't help but like her in game, but she is indeed acutely aware of her position - and wants you to be aware of it too.
Interesting and fun twist you provide by indicating some hanky panky potential betwixt Ms Blue Velvet and her missing mage.
@Foxy: You might be right!
@SubRosa: I would say that Julian is suffering a bit of a mid-life crisis. Will she go out and buy herself a sports car? We’ll see!
@TK: I suppose my fondness for fresh baked cinnamon rolls is very evident in this chapter segment!
@Olen: Julian is no prude, and after twenty plus years in the Legion, surrounded by horny men, she knows it’s inevitable at times. She would have come down harder on Vigge had he pressed the matter further than he did. As for the relationship between Adrienne and Erthor, one time when I was playing the MG questline, and I brought Erthor home late that night, he went right up to her room and got into bed with her! I was like WTF?? Then I just laughed myself silly!
@Acadian: I thought the most important meal of the day is the next one? I knew you would enjoy breakfast!
Julian meets yet another charming male member of the Skingrad Mages chapter.
***********************
Chapter 22.5 Erthor
As the seventh zombie lay dismembered at my feet, I leaned against the wall to catch my breath. A quick cast of my detect life spell indicated yet another life-form down a short passage. As I watched it, waiting for the movements that would give its identity away, I found myself wondering about the zombies in the cave.
“There was that awful scamp incident last year,” Vassinus’s voice echoed in my mind. I had spoken to him yesterday when I returned from dropping my armor and weapons off at Agnete’s forge. “That’s when Adrienne told him to practice somewhere else. Meaning somewhere far away from the chapterhouse. So he set up his laboratory in Bleak Flats Cave. Comes back once or twice a week to check in with Adrienne.” His grin reminded me uncomfortably of our first encounter the night before. “But I can’t remember where it is. So sorry.”
This morning, after I retrieved my repaired armor from Agnete, I had asked Druja about Bleak Flats Cave. “Bleak Flatss Cave? Oh, yess, that’ss where Adrienne told Erthor to go to conduct his conjuration sstudiess. It’ss jusst northwesst of here. You might want to remind Adrienne of her idea.”
This time, I had to dig Berene’s nose out of a book to ask her about the cave. Once she got over her irritation, she had become thoughtful. “Oh, I recall telling him to set up there. Well, I suppose we’ll have to do something about that. By we, I mean you, of course. I’ll be here when you get back with Erthor. Good luck!”
This is turning into a little more dangerous mage hunt than the one for J’skar. I hope it won’t have the same outcome as the search for Vidkun and that blasted ring of Falcar’s. The pink glow had remained motionless while it lasted, so I still had no clue what waited for me beyond that short passage. As the spell faded, I looked down at my katana, dripping with slime and mold from the rotting bodies. Green sparks flickered along its slender blade as the disgusting material fled from my fingers and the refresh spell blooming from them.
My sword still ready, I took a deep breath against the lingering nausea and started into that dark way. Ahead, a warm, flickering glow brightened the end of the tunnel. I began to catch glimpses of mundane things - a trunk with clothes folded tidily on top of it, a small bookcase with writing materials and books on its shelves, even a green and gold Mages Guild banner draped across the rock wall.
The slight figure turned at my approach, backing up to the wall beside a narrow cot. The Bosmer and I stared at each other for several moments.
“Erthor?” I asked, sheathing my sword once I was certain he was unarmed.
“Yes!” His exclamation held a Nirn’s worth of relief at the sound of a mortal’s voice. “Are all those zombies gone? I can leave the cave?”
“I’ve dispatched seven of them so far,” I replied. “The way back is clear, unless there’s more to this cave than I’ve seen.”
“Well,” he pointed at a short passage that led off the rocky chamber off to my right. “There’s the shortcut back to the entrance.”
“All right, let me check it out,” I said. His shy voice stopped me before I entered the hallway.
“You’ll let me know if they’re all gone, right?” I glanced back at him. Now that he stood next to the candelabra, I could see the worried brown eyes in the handsome face watching me.
“I’ll come back and let you know, sir,” I assured him. Turning away from him, I cast another detect life spell and progressed down the passage. A few steps within, I encountered a dead end. Shortcut? I looked around, and spotted a handle in the dimness. It turned with some groaning that brought a squeak from behind me, then the rock wall before me rumbled down into the floor. I found myself in the initial cavern, a rotting corpse of a zombie laying where I had left it. Almost back to the entrance. I turned around and returned to the chamber Erthor had converted to his living quarters.
“Really?” He stepped forward when I nodded. “Oh, thank you!” Erthor hesitated. I could see he was still badly shaken by his recent experience.
“What’s the deal with these zombies?” I asked him, keeping my voice soft in the echoing chamber. “Have you been practicing necromancy?”
“No, no!” Erthor protested, his hands coming up in a warding gesture. “I’ve been studying summons - their nature, what sets them apart from natural life forms.” His gaze grew thoughtful. “Although, I’m not sure if zombies count as life forms, but you understand what I mean, don’t you?”
“And these summons turned on you?” I asked, frowning. What happens if Domina Incendia turns on me? Would she?
“I - I’m not sure how that happened,” Erthor shook his head. “I was testing calming spells on them, and they started acting hostile toward me. I ran back here, and they’ve been keeping me from leaving!”
“Have they tried entering this place?” I looked around, trying to find something that would repel zombies. What could repel the most repellent creatures that ever walked Nirn?
Erthor shook his head. “You know, they never did. Do you think maybe they were trying to keep me here? But why?”
“They attacked me,” I responded. “Obviously they thought I was a threat. A threat to them, or maybe -“ I inhaled at a sudden memory of Glenroy and Baurus with the Emperor. “Maybe they were protecting you. From what, only they know.”
“You mean, they were acting as my guardians?” Erthor rubbed at his chin, dark with an incipient beard. “Maybe you’re right!” He clapped his hands. “There’s some resources at the Guild library that can help!”
“I’m supposed to take you back to Berene to get my recommendation for the University,” I offered.
“You are?” Erthor’s face glowed with a wide grin. “Then you’ll let me come with you back to Skingrad? I’m still a little jumpy, see -“
“Of course,” I answered. “Are you ready? I’d like to be back before dark.”
“Yes, ready whenever you are!” Erthor exclaimed, taking a step toward me. “Let’s go!”
Outside the cave, the countryside lay quiet in the afternoon sun. As we struck southward toward Skingrad, we approached a tall stone surrounded by smaller menhirs. Its carved runes glowed softly in the bright daylight. I studied it as we walked by.
“Ah, you noticed the Aetherius Stone, did you?” Erthor had followed my gaze. “It’s a Heaven Stone. Supposedly if you pray before it at night, and have certain qualities, it will grant you a greater power that you can call on once a day. It’s like the adrenaline rush you Redguards have.”
“What do you mean, certain qualities?” I glanced at him as we left the mysterious stone behind.
“No one’s really certain,” Erthor responded as I shortened my stride to match his. “There are those at the University who feel that the stones no longer hold any magicka. But at least one lecturer thinks it will still become active for certain people” His brown eyes drifted to me. “I think you will succeed, Julian of Anvil, if you were to come back at night and pray before the Aetherius Stone.”
I realized with a lurch of my heart that I had not introduced myself to Erthor. Yet he knows who I am. As did Vigge and Vassinus the other night. I suppose there are not that many white-haired Redguard women traveling around Cyrodiil closing gates and rescuing housecats. “Would it be worth it for a Redguard to do that?” I asked.
Erthor apparently caught my reference to the common understanding of the Redguard’s aversion to magic and the limited magicka available to those of that race. “Yes, it would be!” His voice became enthused. “It doesn’t matter what magical skills you have, or how much magicka you possess. The greater power is invaluable to have, as I’m certain you are aware of, with your adrenaline rush.”
“It’s more dangerous than it’s helpful,” I grumbled, recalling the last few times I had used it. Fortunately Jeelius had been beside me the last time I had used it, or I would have collapsed and given up once the spell wore off. His presence had given me the motivation I needed to keep going in the face of extreme exhaustion.
“Ah, yes, the crash that follows.” Erthor nodded knowingly. “That’s a natural response to the fight-or-flight reaction every living thing has. When you use the adrenaline rush power, it exaggerates that reaction to supermortal levels. The resulting crash is correspondingly greater.” He turned and glanced back at the great stone, now barely visible through the thick branches of the Weald forest. “But not all greater powers are like that.”
He continued chattering about little-known arcane facts about the Heaven stones, then moved on to the Birthsign stones. I listened with half of my attention, the other half constantly scanning the countryside around us for hostile creatures. The westering sun was low in the sky by the time we reached the western gates to Skingrad. The guardsmen standing duty outside the gates greeted us, Erthor with familiar coolness, and me more warmly.
Once we were inside the city walls, Erthor turned to me. “It’s nice talking to you, Julian,” he said wistfully. “Most people don’t seem as interested in what I have to say, but you listen well.” He smiled up at me. “I get the sense that you don’t find Bosmeri irritating.”
“Oh, well,” I shrugged and smiled back. “I spent my first Legion posting in Valenwood. Learned a lot about Bosmeri and Bosmer culture there.” At the sparkle in his brown eyes, I added, “And I learned that Bosmeri usually have something to say. It may not be immediately relevant, but the things I’ve learned from Bosmeri have come in handy over the years. I’m certain the things you’ve told me about the doom stones will be useful sometime in the future.”
What could repel the most repellent creatures that ever walked Nirn?
Vigge the Cautious?
I like the extra depth you put into the explanation for the zombies being in the cave to begin with. That is something the game just ignores. An especially good touch was that the zombies were trying to guard Erthor.
Erthor was a fun fellow, with just the right amount of "eeep!" in him that a person trapped by zombies ought to have. His going on and on about the Doom Stones really got across the fact that he is a mage, as he showed that knowledge.
And Doom Stones too I see? I always ignore those in the game, as I hate once a day powers. I never use them, as I am always saving them for that one really important event. But of course you only know what that was after the fact. Fiction is a little different though, as you (the writer), have a much better idea of what is going on than when you are playing the game. I plan to eventually use one in the TF as well.
What could repel the most repellent creatures that ever walked Nirn?
My cooking?
I too enjoyed your portreyal of Erthor, he was fairly well done in game but you added a bit to him. He seemed alarmed enough but also was 'mageish' enough that once out of immediate danger he started talking about magic. Also it introduces what I suspect might become a section.
The zombies made more sense too, I always wondered how they got there but with the scamp referance I suppose summons make sense. Julian's worry about her flame atronach was a good touch too, mages always seem to be losing control of their creatures.
What a lovely job with this nice little quest! Let me echo the compliments on the thought you put into why the zombies were there.
I liked very much how you started the story in-progress after the zombies had been killed, then caught us up and continued. Nicely done!
You portrayed Erthor as a perfect Bosmer mage.
Regarding those Doom Stones, Buffy sure likes her Cobra's Dance from the Serpent Stone.
“And I learned that Bosmeri usually have something to say. It may not be immediately relevant, but the things I’ve learned from Bosmeri have come in handy over the years.
Awww. Thank you on behalf of all the little wood elves. Even if some of them do like to prattle on a bit.
@Sage Rose: Heh heh. As for the zombies, I always wondered about them. What did they really have to do with Erthor? I figured it had to be one of his backfired experiments. Thanks for your kind words concerning the short charmer.
@Olen: I think the mages are a great resource for the esoteric things that baffle Julian and me. Doomstones are one of those things I used to avoid, until I learned about them on the UESP wiki. Even so, I still don’t use their greater powers all that much. Someday . . .
@Acadian: Combat in this story is a lot like closing Oblivion Gates. One after another gets downright tedious. I prefer to highlight just a few critical events and focus instead on characters. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the characters like Burd, the Cautious, Erthor, and yes, Kud-Ei that are worth developing because they help move Julian forward. As for Hassildor, will he be one of those characters? I’m not sure yet, it isn’t apparent in this visit. But a few are coming up that will play a big role in Julian’s story.
And my friend, in spite of what most people say, Bosmer are mostly nice people. It’s just a few bad apples that paint the whole race in such a undeservedly negative light. Yes, that means you, Adoring Fan, and you, Glarthir!
What is it about Skingrad that brings out the musings in Julian? Just a little stream-of-consciousness here.
***********************
Chapter 22.6 The Aetherius Stone
I sat before the tall tumulus, surrounded by alkanet, peony and columbine blooms. How does one pray at these stones? To the Nine? Or just one of the Nine? One of the daedric lords? No, I won’t pray to one of those things ever. Certainly not Sheogorath!
Above me, the stars twinkled into being as the last of the daylight disappeared from the sky. The stone took on a soft glow, the red runes on it brightening in the twilight. I considered Erthor’s words from this afternoon. Do I have the requisite qualities? He seems to think so.
Thinking of Erthor drew my thoughts to the events of this evening. On our return to the chapterhouse, the Bosmer had immediately sought out Berene.
“Adrienne! I’m back! I’ve been rescued!”
Seated at the library table, Berene looked up from her book. “So I see,” she remarked with her customary irritation. “You seem all right to me.”
“Well,” Erthor toed the rug sheepishly. “Just that my pride’s been wounded -“
“Oh, please spare me,” Adrienne waved him away impatiently. “You should be glad that I needed to speak to you about some notes you borrowed. Otherwise I would have never sent someone to fetch you back!”
“Erm, well,” Erthor shifted his feet, then bent down and smooched Berene soundly on the cheek. “But thanks for sending Julian of Anvil for me!”
“Erthor!” she exclaimed, her face suffusing as she brushed him off. “Scoot!” As he skipped away, he winked gleefully at me. When he had disappeared up the stairs to the third floor, Berene met my gaze, her face composed again. “I see you have completed your task, Julian.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered. “About that recommendation -”
“Yes, yes,” she waved her hand impatiently. “I’ll write it when I have time. You can see how terribly busy I am. But I assure you, I’ll get it off to the University - eventually.”
I looked up at the Aetherius Stone. To whom do I pray? Does it really matter? It’s called Aetherius for a reason. My mind still blank, I looked up at the stars in a sky now gone black. The double moons hadn’t risen yet. Well, here goes nothing. I rose to my feet and approached the stone. Taking a deep breath and gazing up at the sky again, I touched the glowing runes with the fingers of my left hand.
Ta’vias pa’toluku. It was barely a whisper in my mind. “Ta’vias pa’toluku?” I repeated. Instantly I felt a warm glow in the core of my being, and magic surged through my fingers. I closed my eyes and returned to the meditative state I had used when restoring Paint’s magicka. The glow that represented my magicka seemed brighter, stronger than before. As I watched, the sense of increased potential appeared in the light of my core. What does this mean? I sighed and stepped back from the stone. Will I feel as depleted as I do after summoning the adrenaline rush?
My mind back on my surroundings, I sat back down beside the stone. It’s been so long since I could watch the stars. The cold breeze, a harbinger of snow, only served to make the stars feel more crystalline. The Weald lay quiet around me, with an occasional hooting of an owl to break the silence. With my elbows on my upraised knees, I considered how far I had come in my journey.
Has it been two months since the Emperor was assassinated? More than that. It felt like a lifetime ago, almost as long ago as my days in the Legion. Mentally I counted the days. It’s the second of Sun’s Dusk. Two months ago, I helped Savlian take back the city and castle of Kvatch. I wonder how he is doing now? And the refugees in the camp, how far have they been able to recover? Will they be ready for winter? Kvatch’s heights would be cold, exposed to the winds that spilled off the Imperial Reserve to the north. Will this crisis be resolved in time to help those people? Or will they receive help from some of the other counties? I considered the thought for some time. Skingrad and Kvatch have been allies at times in the past. And Countess Umbranox in Anvil is a kind-hearted soul. Perhaps they will lend aid. They certainly can act quicker than the Legion or the Elder Council.
Why is it that some folks become so selfish when confronted by a crisis that involves all of Tamriel? Maybe it’s a good thing that Kvatch has the history with Skingrad that it does. Maybe it’s good that its other neighbor Anvil is ruled by a wise and kind woman. If Count Leyawiin ruled in either county, be certain he wouldn’t lend aid! Neither would Count Bravil - he’d be too busy counting the profits from the skooma and black market trades to look outside his own walls.
I sighed and lowered my hands to the ground behind me, leaning back on my braced arms. And Countess Chorrol, what is she like? Is she like her daughter Countess Alessia Caro? Or does she have more wisdom fitting her years? I knew she had taken over the reins of the highland county after her husband the Count passed away several years ago. I also knew how different mothers and daughters could be. Look at me and my mother. She was kind and patient. I was hot-tempered and reckless by comparison. I shouldn’t have lived so long in the Legion, let alone made it through recruit training. But my first pilus, Carius, had tempered my anger and self-destructive behavior and taught me to be cautious and to keep a cool head in times of crisis. Thanks to him, I not only survived my first posting to Valenwood, but rose through the ranks until I became pilus prior of the Ninth Cohort in the Sixth.
“- you think I don’t know what the Ninth Cohort is in any Legion?” Martin Septim’s voice snaked back to me on the cold northern breeze. “Good only for arrow fodder? Any soldier who found himself or herself in your cohort didn’t stay there long, and more importantly, most of them lived to move into more prestigious cohorts.”
Martin Septim. The next Emperor. The target of the Mythic Dawn. Can he find the secret to Mankar Camoran’s Paradise in the Xarxes? Can he even study that infernal book without becoming corrupted by its power? Jauffre’s concern over Martin’s study of the Xarxes came back to me. I recalled how I had brushed it off, expressing my faith in Martin’s ability to withstand the temptations of the daedric manuscript. But was I right to have so much trust in him?
The slow increase in the ambient light made me aware that the double moons now stood high above the eastern ridge that separated the Great Forest from the West Weald. It’s getting late, time to head back to town. I should leave in the morning for Anvil. Some part of me dreaded returning to the city of my childhood. But I have to do it. For the sake of the guardsmen at Bruma. I didn’t put so much effort into teaching them how to close Oblivion Gates to abandon them because of my own ancient nightmares.
My thoughts continued skipping around during the long walk back to Skingrad. I avoided thinking of the path that still lay ahead, the Oblivion Gates that doubtlessly awaited me outside Anvil and Chorrol, not to mention those along the roads. Instead, I wondered about the Mages Guild chapters in these two cities. Are they like the ones at Bruma and Skingrad - loosely run with little restraint? Or are they oppressive like Cheydinhal’s chapter under Falcar? I recalled that I had sensed an easing of a tension I had not noticed, once the overbearing Altmer disappeared. But hopefully Deetsan is in charge there now, and she’ll be much kinder and more supportive of her colleagues than Falcar ever was. And Leyawiin - has Dagail resumed her role as chapter head? Or is she still having trouble maintaining her focus in view of her voices? I remembered her reading of my palm, and shivered again at her words.
A sudden weakness surged through me. I paused, wondering at it. It’s as if I cast several spells in a row. Am I out of magicka? I looked within, as Marz had taught me. The core of flame that represented my magicka had returned to its former size. Ah, no, that blessing from the Aetherius Stone has worn off. No major crash this time. I didn’t feel shaky or frail. That weakness is relative compared to what the new spell does for me. Increase my magicka? I recalled that a couple of healers sold fortify magicka spells. Whew, that lasted a long time! It might be worth something against those daedra mages.
I turned my thoughts back to the different chapter heads. I like Kud-Ei in Bravil the best so far, I thought as my feet hit the cobblestones of the northern road that skirted Skingrad. Turning west to follow it to the gates, I considered the Argonian chapter head. She takes good care of her mages, but expects a certain standard of behavior from them. It’s funny, but the women live in the chapterhouse, while the men have their own residences in the town. Did Kud-Ei arrange things that way, or did it just work out like that? I thought again of Carandial. I didn’t see him the last time I was in Bravil. He must have been out studying the ruin at Anutwyll. I wasn’t certain if I was disappointed at not seeing him, or relieved. I’m not ready to get involved with someone again. I may never be ready, not after what happened with Jared.
“Hello, Julian of Anvil!” the guardsman at the gates, a different one from the afternoon, greeted me as I approached the closed portal. “Turning in for the night?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, as he knocked on the heavy timbers. With a grating of the bolt and a grinding of the iron hinges, the left panel swung open far enough for me to slip inside. I helped the second guardsman close and secure the gates, then turned for the Mages Guild.
I think I will sleep by the fire again tonight.
A nice little flashback with the self-important Adrienne and the bubbly Erthor.
The rest is a thoughtful well, rest, by Julian. It is good to see her take a moment to just sit back and take stock of her life. How she turned out so differently from her mother, her early years in the Legion, plus even a handy nod at the irl legions, whose 9th Cohort was for the newest and weakest troops.
I may never be ready, not after what happened with Jared.
And what, pray tell, did happen with Jared?
Well, it looks like Julian is finally headed into the fire of her own past. Perhaps soon we shall see some light cast upon her mysterious past, and learn what happened to her mother, brother, and this mystery man http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1JdFBjQxG1E/TNooUGKco9I/AAAAAAAABhk/iuB7FXk8sJ0/s1600/jared_leto.jpg or is it http://www1.pictures.zimbio.com/mp/Ytyc7PItApIl.jpg?
nits:
Skingrad and Kvatch has been allies at times in the past.
has sounds odd here. Perhaps have or had instead?
I admire the way you sometimes start in the middle of things. It’s something about your writing that I find myself going back to study. I really enjoyed Erthor, his bubbly mannerisms conveyed as much about him as his speech. I guess with Erthor and Adrienne, opposites attract? Or did he just draw the short straw?
A wonderful pause to take stock of things. What a perfect balance you have here between what Julian is thinking, reviewing Erthor's return to the guild and the physical setting around Julian as she waits for dark, then touches the stone.
'I sighed and lowered my hands to the ground behind me, leaning back on my braced arms. And Countess Chorrol, what is she like?'
What a magical stream of natural flow from subject to subject this began: Countess Chorrol to her daughter Alissia to Julian's own mother to the Ninth Corhort to Martin Septim. Magnificently done!
I turned my thoughts back to the different chapter heads. I like Kud-Ei in Bravil the best so far, I thought as my feet hit the cobblestones of the northern road that skirted Skingrad. Turning west to follow it to the gates, I considered the Argonian chapter head. She takes good care of her mages, but expects a certain standard of behavior from them. It’s funny, but the women live in the chapterhouse, while the men have their own residences in the town.
I agree that Kud-Ei is wonderful. I so hope Julian likes and gets on with Carahil in Anvil.
That section was different but I suspect it will serve as a good introduction to whatever events of Julian's past we meet in Anvil. Her thinking back was good too, it works well to reinforce things as well as showing her thinking about her life which brings her to life even more. Not sure I agree with her on the chapter heads, but it certainly is the way she would see it.
@SubRosa: What happened with Jared stays with Jared.
Actually, we’ll start getting hints in the next couple of chapters. Thanks for catching the nit. It’s been fixed.
@Grits: Who will ever understand the situation between Erthor and Adrienne? Some things are better left alone!
@Acadian: It was quite the stream-of-consciousness, wasn’t it?
@Olen: Kvatch will be in the future as well, once Anvil is out of the way. But it is always on Julian’s mind!
Julian is not quite done with Skingrad, as she soon finds out.
Chapter 22.7 Another Oblivion Gate
As I fumbled in my belt purse for the chapterhouse key, soft footsteps approached me on the cobblestones. “Julian!” Dion’s voice caught me. I glanced around to see the slight figure in the red Skingrad surcoat approaching me.
“Yes, Captain?” I wondered why he was seeking me out. I thought we already talked about the number of men to send to Bruma? “What can I do for you, sir?”
“The Count is asking for both of us,” Dion stopped in front of the stone porch. “I know it’s late, but it must be important if he has sent for both of us.”
“Of course,” I responded. After all, vampires like to keep late hours. Does Dion know of the Count’s true nature? “Let’s go, then.” I stepped off the porch and joined Dion as he stalked back the way he had come, toward High Street.
“Are you leaving Skingrad soon?” Dion asked as we walked through the chilly night. “I imagine you have a few more places to visit.”
“Yes, I do,” I replied. “Then it’s back to Bruma to see what’s next.”
“Do you have any idea how to end this crisis?” As we passed Agnete’s shop the glow of the forge spilling through the windows momentarily turned Dion’s serious face amber.
“Not really,” I shrugged. “Daedric magic is something I never bothered to study. If they had a lecture on that in the Legion, I must have played hooky that day.”
Dion laughed shortly. “Me too,” he added. “Best left up to wizards and mages, if you ask me.” His grin faded in the shadows between streetlamps. “Are we doomed to be closing Gates forever?”
“No, not forever,” I shook my head as we neared the High Gate that led to the Castle. The guards saluted Dion and swung the portal open for us. “No new gates opened near Bravil since I closed the last one over a month ago. But that’s not the problem, really.” I glanced at the City Guard captain. “Things will escalate and come to a head in the foreseeable future. But we’ll beat Mehrunes Dagon.”
“Think so?” Dion’s voice expressed the doubt I avoided facing.
“We have to,” I could hear the fatality in my voice. I fell back to let Dion lead the way across the narrow bridge to the bluff where the Castle stood.
Dion did not speak again until we left the bridge behind and started up the rocky path toward the Castle. “Will we all live to see that day?”
“The day we beat Dagon?” I barely saw his nod in the darkness. “I’d like to think we will. After all -“
A red flash turned the world around us blood-red, and the very air sizzled and crackled. The energy coursing through our bodies forced both Dion and I to the ground. The fine hairs on my arms and nape stood up as scarlet lightning popped overhead, followed almost immediately by loud rolling thunder.
As we struggled upright, I could barely hear Dion cursing fluently. A glance at the sky showed the familiar red-and-black thunderheads to the north. I staggered to the rocky slope next of the path and clambered over the boulders to the top. Where the bluff dropped into a thin ridge pointing north, I could make out the focus of the daedric weather, just out of sight beyond.
“Escalating, you said?” Dion shouted in my ear above the thunder. He passed me and worked his way to the top of the ridge, following its line north. I fell in behind him, cautiously feeling my way through the red darkness. We stopped at the end of the ridge, looking down at the new Oblivion Gate. I recognized the old graveyard that lay just north of the Gold Road where it bent to pass around Skingrad. Its central monument lay obliterated by the oblate lens of fire that marked the portal into Dagon’s Deadlands.
“Why here? Why now?” Dion groaned. I clasped his shoulder.
“Let’s go see the Count, then we’ll worry about that,” I said.
“I have to get men down there to set up barricades!” Dion shouted. I shook him.
“The Count may have orders for us! Your men can figure this out themselves!” I hauled him back to the path, away from the screaming of the Gate. “After all, they’ve done it once, they can do it again!”
“But we can’t hold them off another month!” Dion shouted back, breaking my grip on his arm. He turned for the bridge and Skingrad beyond.
“I didn’t say you need to hold them off that long!” I caught him again, pulled him around to face me. “By the time they get down there and the barricades up, I’m certain the Count will be done with us. Come on, let’s not keep him waiting!”
Fortunately Dion must have been a very sensible man, for he wordlessly turned back for the Castle. We ran up the steep path to the foregate, where a shaken Castle guardsman gaped at the red sky in dismay. Dion grasped his shoulder. “Man!” he shook the younger soldier. “Run down to the High Gate and tell the guard there to send a contingent out to the graveyard and get some barricades up! I’ll be joining them shortly!” When the guardsman drew breath to protest, Dion shoved him away. “Run! Don’t waste time arguing! Go and deliver my message, then get back here on the double! I’ll talk to Artellian!”
That convinced the guardsman. “Sir!” He ran off into the red gloaming. Dion and I continued pell-mell across the high bridge that led directly to the castle. I pounded on the gates with the hilt of my katana.
“Open the door!” Dion shouted up at the watch turrets overhead. “It’s Dion and Julian! Open the door!”
A moment later Artellian greeted us as we burst through the cracked portal. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
“A new Gate opened in the cemetery,” Dion reported without faltering his stride toward the County Hall. “I sent your man at the foregate down to the City to tell my men to head there straightaway. He’ll be back at his post in a jiffy.”
“That’s my Guard!” Artellian hollered at Dion’s departing back as we reached the County Hall doors. “You have no jurisdiction -!”
“Stuff it, Artellian!” Dion shouted back while I swung the door open. “My men are taking the first watch!” He strode after me into the Hall.
Hal-Liurz greeted us with wide eyes and wringing hands. “I will take you to the Count immediately,” she hissed, turning for the stairs.
“Quickly, please,” I said, lengthening my stride after her. “We’ve little time to lose.”
To her credit, the voluptuous Argonian set a rapid pace through the maze to the tower room where I had previously met the Count. As Dion and I emerged from the stairs, we looked around for Hassildor. He stood at the northern parapet, his hands clenched at his sides.
“Where?” was all he said between gritted teeth.
“The old graveyard north of the Gold Road, sir,” Dion answered. We moved around to join Hassildor. “I’ve already ordered a contingent of my men to sally down there and set up barricades.”
From the tower room, all we could see was the red glow beyond the bulk of the bluff. But the clot of blood-colored thunderheads in the sky above left no doubt of the existence of the Gate.
Count Hassildor turned to me. “I was about to ask if the number of men Dion is proposing to send to Bruma will be adequate, but with this -“
“I’m not leaving Skingrad until it is closed, sir,” I answered. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Are you certain?” Dion asked me. “You’ve just closed one a couple of days ago!”
I turned to Dion. “I’ll tell you what I told Sir Mazoga outside Leyawiin. Hold the line outside that Gate, and let me worry about the Deadlands inside.”
“I’m with Dion, I hate to ask you to go in there again,” Count Hassildor said quietly. “But you know I can’t let him send men to Bruma as long as a Gate stands open so close to us.”
“There are two Legion Riders that patrol that stretch of the Road,” I countered. “I can’t leave that Gate open for them to deal with, either. The goblins at Derelict Mine are enough work for the two of them.”
“Will you take one of my men in there with you,” Dion spoke into the silence, “show him how to close the Gate like you did at Bruma?”
“If you have one that can sneak like a Dark Brotherhood assassin and snipe like the best marksman,” I said. “Yes, I’ll be glad to show him how.”
Dion glanced at Count Hassildor. “If one of us knows how to do it, I think we can spare the men for Bruma and still deal with any new Gates that may open after this one.” He shrugged. “After all, they’re doing it at Bruma.”
“Do you have such a man?” Hassildor asked the captain.
“That’ll be Pell Fortran,” Dion stated flatly. “He’ll go with Julian.” He turned to me. “I think you’ll find him a good man to have at your side. He was a Legion forester before he settled in Skingrad.”
I thought of Kaeso Marsias. “Sounds perfect,” I nodded at Dion.
“All right, Captain,” Hassildor turned to Dion. “See to it.”
“Sir!” Dion saluted the tall Imperial smartly and headed for the stairs. I turned to follow him, but Hassildor held a beringed hand out to me. When I glanced quizzically at him, he turned his head away.
“Julian, Kvatch’s been on my mind for the past couple of months. Are you familiar with the situation there?”
“The survivors are few, and have set up a camp at the base of the mesa,” I replied. “They have very little by way of resources, only what they can glean off the land. But that was two months ago. I don’t know how they are faring now.”
“Whom of the Counts and Countesses do you have left to see?” Hassildor faced me.
“Anvil, and Chorrol, sir,” I answered. “Cheydinhal sent a century, Leyawiin sent five contubernii, and Bravil three.”
“And Dion thinks he can spare five contubernii as well, as long -“ Hassildor’s gaze turned toward that red glow.
“I’ll make certain he can spare the men, sir,” I kept my voice even.
“I believe you,” Hassildor said quietly, “that Bruma is the target. But new Gates are constantly opening around Cyrodiil. How easy will it be for Dagon to switch his focus to another city?”
“Technically, it’s very easy, I think,” I thought I knew the source of Hassildor’s concern. “But from a strategic standpoint, I really believe Bruma will be next, and these other gates are meant to be a distraction, sir.”
“It doesn’t make this Gate any less deadly,” Hassildor turned his gaze back to me.
“No, it doesn’t, sir,” I agreed. “That’s why I’m not leaving until it’s closed.”
“Back to the original purpose of this visit,” Hassildor straightened his shoulders. For a moment I found myself looking up at him, then our gazes were level again. “Will you come back this way after Anvil?” I nodded silently. “Do you plan to stop in at Kvatch?”
“Yes, I do, sir,” I answered. “I have a couple of friends there I’d like to check up on.”
“Find out what they need, and report to me.” Hassildor’s voice resumed its usual smooth authority. “We have had a very good summer here, and have plenty of provisions to spare. And if they need help rebuilding, we can provide what aid we can.”
I stared at Hassildor. “Is there a catch, sir?”
“Kvatch and Skingrad has a long history of helping each other, Julian,” he responded. “I’m only honoring that history. Besides, who knows when I may have need of their aid?” He shook his head. “Count Goldwine was a strong neighbor to have on my right hand. His passing, and the devastation of Kvatch, is a blow to us, both politically and economically.”
“I will stop on my way back and let you know, sir,” I bowed. Hassildor returned the bow.
“Go, Julian, and do what you have to do.” He remained in place while I headed for the stairs. As I started down the steps, his voice followed me. “And may Akatosh be with you.”
An exciting episode, as the Daedra do indeed continue to up the stakes in the Crisis. A wonderful description of the creation of an Oblivion Gate! Or should I say eruption? That it was not immediately seen by Julian and Dion, but rather felt and heard, made it all the more powerful.
“And may Akatosh be with you.”
This sounds so strange coming from the lips of a vampire. Yet your depiction of the Count makes it all seem so unsurprising as well. I like how you portray Hassildor. He does indeed seem to be a descendant of Rislav the Righteous.
A good touch, I was expecting Kvatch to make an appearence in the last meeting. A new gate and Hassilfor asking works well, and I agree that the gate's opening was quite spectacular.
This was electrifying! Literally, I could not escape the red sky and crackling urgency once that gate opened. Between your descriptions and pacing, you really excelled here!
I love how you are portraying the Count. I'm even more impressed that he seems up for helping his neighbor city of Kvatch. And that he is willing to lend assist to Bruma as well.
It looks like Julian will have a helper and someone to help disseminate her experience with this gate.
GAAAAH! I love the new avatar !!
OH Hautee!!! I LOVE YOUR POSSE!!!
er...
well...
YOU know what I mean
@SubRosa: I always felt that Hassildor can’t be like your typical self-serving vampire and survive as long as he did as Count of Skingrad. The people regard him with too much respect for the typical Vlad image to fit him. And though he revealed his secret to Julian, he continues to treat her as an almost equal, out of respect for her lifetime of service in the Legion, and her selflessness when it comes to Oblivion Gates.
@Olen: The name Pell Fortran just popped into my head. I thought it sounded Colovian enough to use here, with just the right amount of masculinity. I do know it’s a computer language, but who cares? The sound of it is just too cool! You know, I struggled with that sentence you pointed out, and I appreciate your input. I’ve gone back and fixed it.
@Acadian: Ever been outside during a lightning storm? I had one break almost right overhead. Luckily I was under cover, but boy, that was close! I just imagined the opening of an OG as being like hit by lightning, only a thousand times more powerful and redder!
@mALX: Thanks! The avatar is actually Schrödinger’s cat, the quantum physics paradox that I love so much.
@Foxy: Of course, I know whut you mean!
In game, this gate was actually quite mundane (and Julian actually says so). But she feels better leaving Skingrad in the hands of a capable person like Pell Fortran. And this is the last segment of the Skingrad chapter.
Chapter 22.8 Ending One Task, Beginning Another
The sound of heavy, cold rain replaced the screaming of the sigil keep. My hand on his shoulder kept Pell Fortran from collapsing to his knees. He groaned at the sudden translocation and gagged momentarily. Crouched over the sigil stone in his hand, the tall Breton met my gaze.
“By Akatosh!” His voice croaked beneath the hissing of the rain on our heated armor. “Is it always like that?”
“Disorienting?” My own voice mirrored his. “Yes, though you can get used to it after a couple of times.”
We looked around ourselves. A crater filled the center of the graveyard where the Gate once stood, surrounded by broken grave markers and shattered coffins. The smell of decaying flesh mingled with the characteristic sulfurous odor of scorched earth. The bulk of Skingrad’s walls towered through the gloom to our right.
Once we clambered out of the crater, we could see the guardsmen approaching us cautiously through the remnants of the cemetery. “Hail, the Guard!” Fortran waved his left arm at them. Their weapons lowered and several of the younger men ran up to us.
“You did it!” “You closed it!” “Hurrah for Fortran and Julian!” Their voices surrounded us before the men did. Fortran shot me a glance as we were buffeted by hearty claps on our backs and shoulders.
“Back off!” Dion’s stentorian bellow drove the guardsmen away before we were overwhelmed. They gave way to their Captain as the slight figure strode up to us. “Welcome back, Fortran, Julian,” he greeted us, meeting our gazes. “I know you’re exhausted, so let’s head back to town and get out of this rain!” He turned and led us out of the cemetery toward the Low Gate. The rest of the young men fell in behind us as we followed.
When we reached the road, Fortran turned to me and held out the buzzing stone. “Here, you take this. I don’t want to hold it anymore!” I accepted it and slipped it into my belt pouch with a smile. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it, either,” Fortran added. “I’m not much for daedric magic.”
“Neither am I,” I answered. “But they have their uses. I’ll leave it with the Skingrad Mages Guild chapter. Maybe it’ll keep them out of trouble while they study it.”
Fortran guffawed. Apparently the mages of Skingrad have a certain reputation for finding trouble. “You would hope!”
“Listen,” Dion spoke over his shoulder as we passed through the Low Gate. “I know both of you are tired, but I’d like you to brief the Guard on your time in the Deadlands. Julian has to leave as soon as she is rested, and all of the Guard is on alert in the barracks, so now’s as good a time as any.” He turned and walked backwards a few steps, meeting our gazes. “I’ll make certain you get food and drink.”
“Make it water for me,” I advised. “And one of Salmo’s sweet rolls would be good.”
Dion glanced at the sky behind us before turning forward again. “He’ll be starting his baking just about now, so I’ll make sure to send a sentry along with some as soon as the first batch is done.”
“What time is it?” Fortran asked.
“Just past three bells in the morning,” Dion answered. “You’ve been in there twenty hours.” He glanced at the older guard over his shoulder yet again. “I don’t have to tell you that you get a couple days off after your briefing.”
“Yes sir!” Fortran managed to put some energy into his parched voice.
Less than an hour later, we were seated in front of the fireplace at the Guard barracks. Fortran took a long drink of his hot spiced Surilie wine and set the goblet down with a sigh. “Ahh, that hits the spot!” he exclaimed.
“Certain that water is fine for you, Julian?” Dion asked. “I can get you something hot.”
“The fireplace is hot enough,” I answered. “No, the water is perfect.” Just then, one of the sentries entered, a shallow linen-covered basket in his hands. The cinnamon aroma gave away the contents of the basket as the sentry set it down on the table, already groaning with hot soups, crusty day-old bread slices, sliced roast mutton, soft sheep’s cheese and butter.
It took another fifteen minutes before the gathered guardsmen filled their plates. One of his comrades brought a heavily laden plate to Fortran, but Dion served me himself. Once everyone had settled down and the sound of smacking lips and chewing filled the common room, Dion glanced at us, then rose to his feet, wiping his mouth.
“Listen up, everyone!” his voice, though quiet, carried well through the large space. “Some of you will be leaving for Bruma in twenty-four hours, while the rest of you will remain behind. But there’s no question, each of us will have a chance to go into the Deadlands. We all know what happened at Kvatch, and what nearly happened at Cheydinhal. Is it agreed that 'tis better we know what lies ahead of us, rather than going in blind?”
“Agreed!” The chorus rippled around the room.
“Now, Julian of Anvil here has closed -“ he turned to me and bent forward conspiratorially, “- how many, fifteen Gates?” I nodded silently. “Fifteen Gates,” Dion turned back to the room. “There’s no question who in this room has the most experience, is there?”
“No!” Again the voices spoke nearly simultaneously.
“And now Pell Fortran has been in there, as well.” Dion was in full stride now. “Obviously he’ll be staying here in Skingrad, in case more Gates open around here. Those of you heading up to Bruma will have the benefit of the experience of Burd’s men, but I want you to know what you’re getting into before you head out.” He turned to me. “Julian?”
“Like the Captain said,” I leaned back in the chair and stretched my legs in front of me, “I’ve closed several Gates. While it’s still pretty scary in there, the Deadlands are becoming mundane to me. So I’ll have Fortran tell you about it, since everything is still new to him. If he misses something important, I’ll fill in. But you’ll more than likely get a more comprehensive overview from him.”
The Breton slid a sideways glance at me. He knows what I’m doing - making him do all the work. Ah well, seniority does have its perks. He sighed melodramatically. “I’m certain all of you know that you’ve got to touch the damned thing to get through to the Deadlands -“
I listened to his narrative, as I had at Bruma. Again, as I had done with Bor and Soren, I interjected details or clarified details occasionally. When Fortran finished with our return to the cemetery, the guardsmen were silent for several moments, half-finished food mostly forgotten on their plates.
I cast my gaze around the gathered men. Mostly Imperials and Bretons, it seems. “Any Nords here?” A couple of hands rose tentatively into the air. I recalled Burd’s experience. “If you grew up on Skyrim tales of Aetherius and Oblivion, you may find the place cold, rather than hot.” I caught the flicker of interest among the men. “It seems each of us bring our own Oblivion into the Deadlands.” I nodded at Fortran. “For both of us, it was hot, and we risked burning and scalding. But for Captain Burd and one of his Nord guardsmen, Bor, it was freezing cold. They suffered frostbite, in spite of their innate resistance to frost.”
“So we’ll want to bundle up, then?” The Nord accent marked one of the few upraised hands. “Hopefully we’ll be done with this business before summer comes ‘round again. I’d hate to wear winter gear on the barricades!”
***********************
After dropping my weapons and armor off at Agnete’s for repair, I dug out the strange plant I had found in the countryside on my way to the Aetherius Stone. Time to see this Sinderion as Ardaline suggested. Let’s see what this plant does. Then I’ll come back to the chapterhouse and get some sleep.
I entered the West Weald Inn and paused a moment to shake the drizzle from my skirt. Already at this hour of the morning there were quite a few patrons. A sour-faced Bosmer in full iron plate stood at the bar, tankard in hand, holding forth to a bored-seeming Nord woman. A nattily dressed Orsimer, brown hair neatly parted to one side, shared a table with another Bosmer, this one outfitted in plain homespun.
A blonde Imperial woman, quite attractive with her upswept hair and elegant green silks in spite of the fine lines that belied her age, met my gaze from behind the bar. “Hello!” she greeted me warmly. “I’m Erina Jeranus, proprietor of the West Weald Inn. How may I help you on this fine morning?”
At her words, the Nord woman turned away from the filibustering Bosmer and stared at me. She did not move, however, but glared at me as I approached Jeranus.
“Don’t mind Else God-hater,” the older woman assured me. “She’s got a chip on her shoulder about the Nine Divines. Don’t bring up the church with her, or she’ll use her sword on you!”
I glanced at the taller woman, taking in her steel shortsword. “Thanks for the warning, ma’am,” I turned my attention back to Jeranus. “I’m actually looking for Sinderion. I’m told he lives here?”
“Yes, in the basement,” Jeranus pointed out the heavy wooden door off to the side. “Just head down the stairs and you’ll find him among my wines.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I responded with a nod. Warily I skirted Else God-Hater and moved to the door. Once I was on the stairs with the heavy panel closed behind me, I sighed. Something about that Nord really sets off my alarm bells. For some reason I have the feeling that she’ll stab me in the back if she thought she could get away with it. I made a silent resolution to always carry one of my katanas with me whenever I spent time in Skingrad. At least there are plenty of other people here, she won’t try anything. I think . . .
At the bottom of the stairs, a grey-haired Altmer stood next to a wine barrel, tapping its side with a wooden mallet and listening. I realized he was determining the level of the liquid inside when he marked the front with a piece of chalk. He glanced up as I drew near.
“Hello, what can I do for you, ma’am?” His eyes crinkled above a wide smile.
“I’m looking for Sinderion,” I answered. “Are you him by any chance, sir?”
“Yes, I am, indeed!” Sinderion bowed low with a flourish of his left arm. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Julian of Anvil,” I answered. “Ardaline at the Bravil Mages chapter suggested I see you about a strange plant I found.” I pulled the object from my belt purse and held it out to him. He took it and examined it with growing delight.
“Ah! A nirnroot!” His voice brightened even further. “Quite a good quality sample, in fact. Say, this gives me an idea. Since you already know what they look like, are you interested in obtaining more samples for me?”
“More nirnroot?” I felt my brows rise at his words. “I haven’t seen too many of them around. But I’ll keep my eyes open. I have a few more samples at home in the Imperial City, I’ll bring them sometime.”
“Excellent!” Sinderion clapped his hands enthusiastically. “You’re going to need to learn a bit more about nirnroot, though. Otherwise you’ll be wasting a lot of your time.” He paused. “A few years ago, I was able to obtain a musty old tome containing alchemical formulae. Most of them were worthless, of course, but one of the moldy pages contained a recipe for something called the elixir of exploration.” He rubbed his hands. “Apparently it’s a sort of ultimate dungeon delver’s brew. It looked sound, but it required an extremely rare ingredient -“ his voice trailed off as his eyes regarded me with anticipation.
“Nirnroot?” My guess was rewarded by another of his warm smiles.
“Exactly!” He shook his finger in the air. “But unfortunately, I had a lot of delicate experiments going on at the time that required all of my attention. I had to put the book aside since I haven’t had time to go plant hunting. So if you bring me ten samples of nirnroot, I’ll be able to make the weakest magnitude of the elixir.” He moved to a tall shelving unit tucked in a corner of the cellar. “Hmm, where did I put it?” he scanned its contents, which ranged from books to piles of paper to various alchemical equipment. “Ah, here it is! I wrote a missive about nirnroot and the elixir of exploration for the Imperial Alchemy Institute,” he drew out a thin bound sheaf of parchment and handed it to me. “It contains everything I’ve been able to find out about nirnroot. It should be useful in your search. Good luck!”
I liked the contrast between Julian's experience and Fortran's greenness to the deadlands, it goes further to show how Julian's developed and also how her experience has made her almost confortable with the deadland compared to Fortran's shock. Having him recount it is very Julian, she's still got a lot of the legion in her even if she's more freelance now.
And then Sinderion, one of my favourite characters.
I liked how you showed him, definately a bit of the mad professior there but also likeable enough and not totally up in the clouds. The 'Imperial Alchemy Institude' cracked me up too, it stands to reason they'd have journals...
Maybe it’ll keep them out of trouble while they study it.
I would not count on it!
Once again you serve a fine board. Mulled wine, mutton, cheese, and cinnamon rolls. Does any character eat better than Julian?
He knows what I’m doing - making him do all the work. Ah well, seniority does have its perks.
The voice of experience!
“Just head down the stairs and you’ll find him among my wines.”
Now I see why he works down there! Good thing it is Sinderion, and not Reynald Jemane!
Yet again, you present another Oblivion Gate closing in a unique and interesting manner! I love how you handled this by starting as they finished, then back filling us - in this case, not by rumination, but by dialogue and actions. And of course, over another wonderful meal from Iron Chef Oblivion, our own Haute Cuisine Rider!
A wonderful description of the familiar faces in the inn. A treat for us who know them well and could readily identify those you did not name.
I could feel Julian's spider sense tingling over Else God-Hater.
Good instincts, girl!
And dear Sinderian. I just loved how you portrayed him, for I see him the same way! Gallant but awkward. Brilliant but absent-minded. Buffy was quite taken by his charm.
Thanks to everyone who has been reading this looong story. It has now become quite the epic.
For Julian's return to her hometown of Anvil, please find http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4625
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