Into the breach once more! Your pacing of the battle was good here. Enough to keep it interesting, but dragged out so much that it became redundant either. I know I said it the first time, but it bears repeating, seeing the brief flashback of Julian's debilitating encounter with the goblins in the middle of the battle was an especially strong touch.

It is nice to see this sentiment:
These guys are younger, stronger than me. Let them be the heroes.
Usually in fiction, be it in print and especially on film, it is quite the opposite. Having an older and wiser protagonist is a breath of fresh air. Then again, maybe that is because I am past 40 myself...

On the subject of Matius' heinie, you might say "can" instead, or "fundament", or "bum", or "cheeks", or "asinus"

This is one of my favorite parts of the main questline - and you ROCKED it!!!

Oohhh I have now read through this and I must admit I just can't keep up with your ferocious posting, but my my what a great story this is...

Oh and since I'm a native Nord I naturally am very fond of Sigrid! Sigrid is a fine nordic name, it used to be rather common in both Sweden and Norway, in those very old days of course. Nowadays you do not see so many Sigrids here

Yes! That's our Julian! Well done again. I noticed you added some reconnoitering by Merendil this time - and realistically, he was unable to get too close to the castle.

“The churls are really big, and heavily armored. They carry maces. The only way I’ve been able to bring them down is to get my weapon, sword or arrow,” I glanced at Merandil, who nodded his comprehension, “between the pieces of their plate armor.” Shaking my head against the remembered bruises and broken ribs, I looked at each soldier. “Much easier said than done. Try to cripple them first - hamstring them from behind.”

After a moment’s thought, I rocked back onto my heels. “There’s another kind of dremora - a mage. He won’t be wearing armor, but I think he’s worse than the big churls.”

“Mages are squishy,” one of the guardsmen commented. “What’s so bad about them?”

“Summons,” I replied. “Summons, and drain health spells. Shock spells, and burden.” I shook my head again and met the guardsman’s gaze. “The summons are the worst. If you see a lot of scamps coming from the same place, chances are there’s a mage hiding back there, calling them as fast as you can kill them.” With a glance at Matius, then at each man in turn, I continued, “If you see a mage, ignore the little guys. Go for him first. Otherwise he’ll wear you down.”


Oh, how the warrior in me loves this part, even when I read it again!!!

Had to comment; your German is atrocious. so is D.Foxy's
I'll get back to reading now. I was kinda hoping to read about some stringy, red maned Bosmer in the library.

Was? Meinen Deuschlish is nicht gut, ya?

Hmmph! Ich sprache nicht DEUSTCH....Ich sprache der SCHWARTZEN Deustch... du Weisser Speisser!!!

I picked that up in three weeks in Berlin. I also picked up quite a lot of other ... things.... but I can't talk about them here.

I especially enjoyed Matius forming the battle-plan before they charged through the gates. As SubRosa said, Julian’s flashback to her encounter with the goblin shaman was terrific. I also liked the way that she saw an echo of herself in Tierra’s eagerness for battle, especially after showing her willingness to ‘let the younger men be the heroes.’ It seems that some old habits die easier than others. With age comes wisdom, indeed.

@SubRosa: Let me see . . . "pain in the can." Does Cyrodiil have cans? Haven't seen one, though some of the armor I've seen in the game comes close. "Pain in the fundament." Sounds like an over-educated scholar (like me). "Bum" refers to Julian's knee, not her behind, thank you very much. "Pain in the cheeks." Makes me want to slap him. "Pain in the asinus." Hmm. that's a thought, but again, sounds a bit over-educated for a soldier. Still, it gets the juices flowing, that's for certain! Oh, and those daedra at the upper levels are tough. It's even tougher keeping your friends alive!

@mALX1: thanks for the kudos!

@minque: Hey, welcome again! I'm glad you're still keeping up with this! I'm even more glad that you are enjoying this so far. As for Sigrid, she is a sweetheart, and I enjoy writing her. Bruma is one of my favorite cities in Cyrodiil, mainly because how can you not enjoy the company of people who know how to have a good time with drink, song, and stories by a warm fire while the cold north wind is howling outside? People like that make me want to sit back, put my feet up on the hob, and enjoy a mug of spiced hard cider or a foaming stein of dark ale.

@Acadian: I'm glad you noticed that I took bobg's advice this time around and made Merandil the scout. I had added an extra day to give him time to reconnoiter - those missions take a long time! It's good to have you back - you've been missed.

@Foxy (both times): I'm always happy to make the old warrior smile. As for the German, well, I never claimed to be fluent in it. After all, it's been nearly thirty years since my last German class! But Foxy, blank food? I'm sure you picked up more than gutter German while you were in Berlin, and of course you can't tell us, or you'd have to kill us all!

@Remko: Atrocious? Of course my German is atrocious! That's why I got straight A's in my German classes. It's American high school German! Now, let me see, where did I pack that German-English dictionary?

@Destri: I'm glad you noticed the change in Matius's battle plan. And I'm also glad that you and SubRosa picked up on Julian's brief flashback. After being pretty heavily shocked then, it feels natural to me that she would relive that time whenever she gets hit with a shock spell. And yes, Tierra's gung ho attitude reminds Julian of herself as a tyro.

Now let's finish this. Time to recover the Castle of Kvatch.

***************************
Chapter 4.6 Lifting the Siege

On the other side of the chapel, the battle was more evenly matched, with four scamps between us and the tall gates that led to the moat bridge and the castle beyond. There wasn’t much for me to do but follow the guardsmen past a large statue toward the castle moat.

Matius reached the gate, and tried it before turning away with a curse. “Locked! Of course, they would have locked it from the inside.” He turned to me, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a barrage of arrows from the castle parapets across the moat. The distinctive armor of dremora churls appeared and disappeared behind the walls.

Under cover in the shelter of the gate towers, Matius swore angrily. If there are dremora archers in the castle, then it may have fallen. Things are not looking good for the Count. “Julian,” he called me over. “Listen, go find Inian. He has the key to the north guardhouse. That will get you inside the walls and let you unlock the gate from the inside. Hurry!”

“Yes, sir!” I responded and hobbled back to the chapel as quickly as I could. Within, three Legion soldiers were speaking with Inian. On my entrance, he glanced at me, and said something to the soldiers. The Legion pilus, his rank indicated by the white scarf tied on his right arm, strode up to me.

“We saw the smoke and flames from the Gold Road, ma’am, and came up here to investigate. What can we do to help?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed, feeling relief at their offer. So this is how Matius felt when I agreed to help him. “Let me talk to Inian first, then I’ll fill you in.” The pilus nodded at me. Inian turned his brown gaze on me as I limped to him. “I’m Julian, from Anvil,” I offered. “Do you have the key to the north guardhouse?”

“Yes, I do,” he frowned at me. “Why?”

“Matius needs the bridge gate unlocked,” I answered. Inian’s face brightened in comprehension.

“Of course! Listen, the only way to the north guardhouse is through the chapel undercroft. If you’ll follow me, I’ll get you there.”

I nodded at the soldiers to follow us to the stairway leading down to the chapel quarters. “We need to unlock the bridge gate from the inside,” I tossed over my shoulder. “Inian will get us to the north guardhouse, he has the key for it.”

“Understood,” the pilus responded. “We’ve got your backs.”

Down in the crypt, we were swarmed by scamps. Fortunately, the columns gave us ample cover from their fireballs, and the heavily armored Legion soldiers dispatched the daedra easily. Inian led us to an exit door. Pausing with his hand on the handle, he looked at me.

“Listen, there are likely more daedra out there,” he said. “If I don’t make it, take the key and get to the north guardhouse. We must not fail Matius and the Count.”

“You’ll make it,” I said firmly. Think positive. Inian seemed to take greater courage from my tone and opened the door.

Before we had moved six meters from the chapel undercroft, we encountered eight more scamps among the burning ruins. The five of us spread out and took on the daedra as they came at us. While the others fended off the flares easily with their metal shields, I started to worry about the integrity of my own leather buckler.

Inian led us into narrow, twisting streets, through a ruined arena, and toward the tower set into the city wall beyond. Fifteen minutes of heavy fighting took their toll before we reached our goal. Inian mirrored my limp, and the pilus’s left arm dangled by his side, numbed by a scorching fireball. Fumbling out two of Sigrid’s healing potions, I gave one to Inian and the other to the pilus.

After gulping the potion down, Inian led us inside the guardhouse, located in the base of one of the towers supporting the city wall. At a trapdoor in the floor, he unlocked the latch and swung it back. As I sat on the edge of the floor, swinging my legs inside, he leaned to my ear. “The passageway at the bottom will take you inside the wall at the castle gate. You’ll find the lock wheel there.” He nodded at me in salute. “I’m going back to meet up with Matius. See you on the inside!”

“Thanks,” I said to his retreating back.

****************
At the county hall after heavy fighting, we were swarmed yet again by scamps and dremora churls. Merandil and the Imperial archer fired arrows as fast as they could into our opponents. The others split off into pairs and waded into combat, their blades flashing in the smoky air. One of the guardsmen fell, leaving his partner exposed, and I moved forward to take his place.

Two scamps wheeled into a nearby burning pile of rubble with a shove from my battered leather shield. I reached Inian’s back and beat back another scamp with the hilt of my sword, not wanting to hit the guardsman with my blade. “I’ve got you!” I shouted at him over the din of the combat. Inian didn’t answer, but his blade moved with more vigor and confidence.

My glance fell on the fallen guardsman. Rilian. I managed to tear my eyes away in time to block another assault by yet another scamp. Don’t think about it now. Mourn him later. We fought down the left side of the hall, toward the throne at the far end.

Matius shouted at me from the center of the hall. “Julian!” Taking a moment to stab an oncoming scamp, he gestured with his bloody sword towards the door at the top of the stairway. “Through there are the private quarters. Go on and find the Count, his suite is at the far end. Hurry!” He turned and yelled over his shoulder. “Merandil! Go with Julian! Show her the way!”

Without hesitation, I hobbled up the stairs and glanced back to see the pilus and the remaining Legion soldier, claymore ready, following me. Merandil brought up the rear, his face grim. He carried a bloodied war axe in his hand. Out of arrows. We entered the private quarters and found ourselves in a long, narrow chamber, furniture and books tumbled to the floor and burning. Several scamps assaulted us out of the billowing smoke, but the pilus and the Legion soldier blocked their flares from me. As the four of us battled through them en bloc, Merandil led us to a small corridor at the rear of the chamber.

Once all the scamps were down, we headed to the rear, encountering a door that would not budge. The claymore-wielding soldier motioned me to stand aside, and rammed his shoulder against the panel. It flew open in smithereens, the soldier stumbling into the room beyond. Hot on his heels, I looked ahead to see a big scamp standing on a disheveled bed. He screeched at us and flung a fireball at me.

Without thinking, I blocked it with my leather shield. It disintegrated under the flames. The now-useless shield dropped off my arm as I leaped for the scamp, ignoring the agony in my right knee. My blade entered his abdomen, and I twisted it savagely. With a pained hiss, he clawed at my eyes, but I ducked back, catching the swipe on my right cheek. As he crumpled to the floor, I stabbed him in the neck to make certain he was dead.

Coughing from the smoky air, I scanned the room for more enemies. The pilus’s gaze snagged mine, his left arm useless again. Merandil stepped past him into the bedchamber, searching the room for the Count. The bloated body of a nobleman lay face down between the bed and the fireplace, the blood around it dry and peeling. Merandil stopped beside me, his gaze on the corpse. “My lord-?” his voice held despair.

My stiff knee made it hard to kneel beside the Count, but I managed to turn his body over. The sickly sweet smell of decomposition sent the two Legionaries reeling back. I swallowed hard and opened my mouth to breathe. Dead. Cacat! A couple days by the smell. I noted the dark lividity in his swollen face. Picking up the beringed right hand, I found a signet ring, marked with the Kvatch Wolf. Merandil exhaled sharply as he recognized the carving. Yes, the Count is dead. With some difficulty, I slipped the ring off and palmed it in my left hand. Using my iron blade as a support, I struggled to my feet and turned to face the other soldiers. The pilus shook his head, gripping my shoulder.

“We fought hard,” he said to me. “That’s all we can do.”

Back in the county hall, we found it cleared of scamps. I almost hid behind the big Legion soldier when Matius turned to face me, hope still in his eyes. “Did you find the Count, Julian?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I answered, holding the signet ring to him. “The Count is dead.” His face fell as his hand came up to take the ring.

“Damn!” he muttered, turning the ring in his fingers. “We took too long!”

I shook my head. “I think they killed him right away,” I turned aside from the grief in his face. “He’s been dead longer than a couple of days, sir.” I limped over to Rilian’s body and knelt beside him. I’m sorry, Rilian. You were a good fighter. My hand moved over his open eyes, lowering his eyelids. Nearby, the Imperial archer also lay dead, his face torn away by scamps. His quiver was empty, a steel shortsword near his out-flung right hand.

“It’s over,” Matius dropped his shield with a clatter, sheathing his sword and unfastening the sword belt. I struggled to my feet and hobbled back to him. The sword dropped next to the shield as he started unbuckling the mail cuirass. “I’m done, I’m tired of fighting,” he declared. The other guardsmen eyed him anxiously. Almost angrily, he stripped off the armor, shoving the cuirass and surcoat into my hands. “Take this, friend. I’m grateful to you for your unflinching aid. You deserve better, but this may be of some use in your travels.” He eyed my battered leathers. “Where is your shield?”

“Destroyed,” I answered. “Too many fireballs.”

Matius knelt and picked up his light iron shield and steel sword. He held them out to me. “These will serve better, Julian. Carry them, and remember Kvatch.” As he stood before me in linen shirt and leather breeches, Matius still carried the air of a soldier. Speechless for the moment, I looked down at the armor and longsword.

“Go on,” Matius smiled sadly at me, his anger gone. “You came looking for a priest named Martin, didn’t you?” He nodded when I looked back at his open face. “Tierra saw him safe to the camp, right, Tierra?”

The Redguard woman glanced at me. “Yes, sir, Martin’s safe at the camp.”

“Go, Julian, and blessings of Akatosh be with you,” Matius said wearily. “Thanks for all your help and assistance.”

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Apr 19 2010, 01:15 AM

Kvatch is retaken... Good change of atmosphere at the end there, you captured how they had been sitting on panic then that dissipating and leaving them tired. You also did the fight though Kvatch well, it came accross as long and arduous without becoming repetative.

I also like the continued development of Julian. Its very subtle, so much so that I dodn't notice it happening but Kvatch has changed her noticably, burying the characterisation like that with it still being effective is excellent.

One thing I think perhaps might have improved the fight scene would be the occasional close detail, like how she kills an individual scamp, or a slightly longer description of a place. It would give a brief change of perspective and make the next section of the fight seem fresh, though possibly at some cost to the continued feel of the fight. It's something to consider anyway.

Only one nit:

Dead. Cacat! No rigor mortis. But the blood has settled -- I read this to mean he was about and hour or two dead not two days, in that rigor mortis was yet to set in but the blood wasn't fresh. Changing 'but' to 'and' could sort this, and it might just be me misreading. You mention the lividity in his face, but 'livid' can mean pale or flushed so this didn't clear it up.

This post has been edited by Olen: Apr 13 2010, 04:33 PM

Thanks, Olen. I really appreciate your comments.

I reviewed my own notes on post-mortem changes after your comments. When I originally wrote this piece, the timeline between the opening of the Great Gate and the battle for Kvatch was much shorter. In this rewrite, I added an extra day for recuperation. That would mean the Count had been dead for a few days, had he been killed right away.

My original thoughts was that he had been dead just long enough for rigor mortis to pass, which is what I meant by the lividity (settled blood) persisting past the RM phase. But in reviewing my notes (thanks for calling my attention to that bit of gory detail), I realized that not only would rigor mortis had passed, but decomp would be already fairly advanced.

And my research notes are quite a bit more scientific than CSI . . . (a popular TV show about crime scene investigators here in the US).

I have gone back and edited that scene to more accurately reflect the post mortem changes in the Count's body. Ugh.

Another change of pace, slowing down again after the intensity of the battle for Kvatch.

*******************
Chapter 4.7 The Hero of Kvatch

Walking back to the camp, I felt weary and empty. All the frenetic activity of the past twelve hours seemed futile. With the Count dead, what will happen to Kvatch? Who will replace him? At least Martin is still alive. Now I need to find him and get him back to Jauffre.

I stopped by the meadow to check on Paint. He seemed happy, and whickered at me. Bits of dried hay clung to his back and mane. Brushing his coat smooth with my hand, I looked around for my gear. Boldon came up to me, pack in hand.

“Here, I kept it aside for you,” he said, handing me the pack. “Let me know when, and I’ll have Paint ready for you.”

Squinting at the westering sun, I considered the fatigue I felt in my bones. “Tomorrow morning, I think, sir,” I answered, slinging the pack over my shoulder. “Thanks for keeping an eye on Paint for me.”

“It was my pleasure, Julian,” Boldon smiled at me. As I turned from him and limped through the camp, I saw again the grief and despair on the people’s faces. Yet, on this beautiful late summer evening, I glimpsed something new. Hope. The three children I had spotted on my arrival, and the two youngsters who had shared breakfast with Matius and me, wordlessly surrounded me. As I trudged on, they fell into step alongside me. A tiny hand crept into my right palm, and I looked down at the Bosmer girl. She kept her face averted, and I closed my fingers gently around hers.

We reached gra-Sharob’s fire, and the children hung back. The Orsimer smith glanced at them, then waved for them to sit by the fire. The air was cooling rapidly with the sinking sun, and the children had only thin night-clothes. They huddled together, their eyes on us.

Silently I handed the steel sword, the mailed cuirass, and the light iron shield to gra-Sharob. She looked at them, then at me, her eyes wide. “These belong to Savlian Matius,” she exclaimed. “What happened?”

“Kvatch is cleared, ma’am,” I said, unbuckling the iron longsword and dropping it to the ground. Sitting heavily on a nearby stool, I reached into my pack. My fingers found the sigil stone, warm within the scrap of red wool. “All the daedra are gone. The Count is dead. Jesan Rilian is dead. The Legion archer who lent us aid is dead.” I held the stone in my cold hands, seeking its warmth in spite of the screaming of souls I still could feel in it. “Matius is finished with fighting. He gave me those,” I nodded at the gear.

“Do you know what he gave you?” gra-Sharob asked, raising the mail cuirass between us. “This is enchanted. It gives you extra strength and endurance.”

So that’s how he managed to keep going for such a long time. "Then that is an even greater gift than I thought,” my voice cracked. “I need to find Martin, talk to him.”

“The priest?” gra-Sharob asked. She pointed to a pavilion across the road. “He’s exhausted, poor soul. He’s sleeping in there.” The Orc picked up her hammer. “Give me a few hours, and I’ll have your gear repaired.”

The stone still in my left hand, I reached down and drew out the iron longsword. As the dark blade cleared the sheath, the sigil stone slipped out of my grip and struck the weapon. The metal sang discordantly, making all of us gathered around the fire jump. The orb disappeared in a brilliant flash of red. The blade glowed briefly, then went dark again.

“What was that?” gra-Sharob demanded, her hammer poised in mid-air. “You enchanted the old iron sword?”

“I- I did?” I stammered, looking vainly for the orb. “I only dropped the stone on it, now the stone’s gone -”

Setting her hammer down, gra-Sharob stepped over to the blade and picked it up, evaluating it thoughtfully. She turned and tested it on a scrawny weed fighting for survival between the tents. The plant flared into fire, and burned rapidly away. “Hmm, fire damage,” she mused. “Very effective against undead and will-o-wisps.” Again, she eyed the blade. “It’s damaged. I’ll repair it for you, as well.”

Sigrid walked over from her campfire. She had washed up, and tidied her hair. “Hello, Julian,” she greeted me. “You look tired again. Let gra-Sharob tend to your gear, and come join me for dinner.” She frowned slightly, a crease appearing between her fine eyebrows. “Such as it is.” Catching my glance at the children, still huddled near gra-Sharob’s fire, she turned to them. “You little ragamuffins, too. You’ll only be in Batul’s way if you keep your arses on her fire.”

When they hesitated, gra-Sharob mock-growled at them. Her sparkling glare motivated them to leap to their feet and join me as I followed Sigrid. Once again, the Bosmer girl took my hand, and when I sat down on the bench, she snuggled next to me without a word.

My pack placed beneath the bench, I looked at the other children. They returned my gaze shyly, shifting their weight from side to side. “Come on, sit down,” I said quietly to them. “Unlike Batul, I won’t bite.”

They came and settled around me, the Dunmer boy against my other side, and the older children on the ground in front of me, their backs to the fire. Sigrid handed me a large plate heaped high with polenta and chopped vegetables, then handed the three on the ground a similar serving. She passed spoons all around, indicating that we should share. Pouring a cup of klah, she handed it to me, then provided the children with water.

“How are you for provisions, ma’am?” I asked Sigrid, recognizing peppers, onions, and edible mushrooms in the polenta. She shrugged, her face shadowed in the gathering dusk.

“It would be good to have some meat,” she replied. “But I’ve been gathering as much edible plants as I can, as well as medicinal herbs and fungi. That daedra heart you gave me is going to be so useful.” She looked up as an older Redguard woman joined her beside the fire. I recognized the newcomer as one of the refugees from the church.

“Thank you for rescuing Oleta and the others from the chapel,” Sigrid continued, serving the other woman. “I’m glad to have her healing skills again.”

“I hear you closed the Oblivion Gate,” Oleta addressed me after thanking Sigrid. “That was very brave of you.”

My mouth full, I shook my head, aware of the children’s eyes on me. With a swallow of the grub, I looked at the Redguard boy. “What is your name?”

“Avik,” he answered, looking down at the plate in his lap. The two girls on either side of him paused in their spooning.

“How old are you, Avik?” I had noticed that the two smaller children had stopped eating from my dish.

“Thirteen,” he answered. “Boldon’s my pa.”

“He’s the only one of the children to still have family living,” Sigrid volunteered from the other side of the fire. “His mother and sister died -” her voice trailed off.

“I’m sorry, Avik,” I said. “I know what it’s like to lose family like this. It’s hard, but I’ve noticed you taking care of this little girl here,” I nodded at the little Bosmer. “That’s a brave thing to do.” I looked down at her. “Isn’t it, little one?” The girl’s head moved against my side as she nodded, looking down at her spoon.

“Pa says we have to look out for each other now,” Avik drew himself up, pulling his shoulders back.

“And your pa’s right,” I said firmly. The Altmer girl met my gaze from Avik’s left side, and I smiled at her. “And you, what’s your name, and how old are you?”

“Irinwe,” she answered shyly, looking down at her hands. “I’m eighteen.”

Typical Altmer. You look all of ten. That difference will only become greater as you gain years. “I saw you with these two,” I pointed at the Imperial girl sitting at Avik’s right side, then at the Dunmer boy at my own left side. “You were looking out for them, too. That makes you brave, as well.” A faint blush crept over the young girl’s golden cheeks as she kept her eyes downcast.

The Imperial girl sat up. Her dark red hair waved around her pixie face, and she brushed it back impatiently. “I’m Melissada Veta, and I’m nine,” she declared. Pointing at the Dunmer boy, she said, “He’s Dalen Llenim, and he’s six.” A little overbearing, this one, but protective.

“You have a good heart, Melissada Veta,” I said to her. “Dalen, what do you think?” I handed my platter to Avik and put my arms around the two children. The Dunmer boy nodded.

“She’s just like my big sister -” his voice trailed off. I bent down to him.

“You mean, bossy?” I whispered to him, just loud enough for the red-headed girl to hear. Dalen looked at her mock scowl, then giggled.

I turned to the Bosmer girl. “And you, what is your name?”

“Falisia,” she whispered, finally meeting my gaze. “And I’m -” she paused, holding up her right hand, thumb folded into her palm, “four years old.” Her green eyes held mine. “And how old are you?”

I stifled a chuckle at the direct question, at the horrified gazes from Irinwe and Melissada. “Old,” I answered. “I’m Julian, from Anvil. Any of you know where Anvil is?”

Nods from the three older children, negative shakes from the two young’uns at my side. “Anvil,” I said for their benefit, “is a small city on the coast south of here,” I pointed in that general direction. “I’ve come a long way, but I’m glad I’m here, with you.”

“Can I ask you something?” Dalen looked up at me, his red eyes curious. Not sure what to expect, I nodded.

“What does it feel like to be a hero?”

“Who’s saying I’m a hero?” I exclaimed, startled.

“Why, everyone is,” Melissada piped up. “All the grownups are calling you the Hero of Kvatch!”

“Hero of Kvatch?” I repeated. “Me?” I looked up at Sigrid, then realized that several people had gathered around while I was talking to the children.

“You closed the Oblivion Gate!” Avik exclaimed. “That’s what a hero does!”

“No,” I shook my head, lowering my gaze and pitching my voice to be heard. “No, that’s what a soldier does. A real hero is someone who does not give up just because bad things happen.” Against the abrupt return of the weariness I had felt, I glanced around at the circle of faces visible in the firelight. “The daedra set out to destroy Kvatch, and they failed. What’s up there is just a bunch of ruined and burning buildings. That’s not Kvatch. You,” I looked at each half-shadowed face, “are Kvatch, and in you, Kvatch still lives.” Rumpling Falisia’s black hair, I looked at each child again. “That makes you heroes, not me.”

I finally have time to get back to reading again.

“Yes!” I exclaimed, feeling relief at their offer.
I felt the same way. Seeing those guys always makes my heart leap. "Yes, the Army of Light has arrived!"

You handled the ending of 4.6 well, where Matius gives Julian his cuirass and shield. It always felt strange in the game, but you made it seem a natural culmination of events. I wonder, will we see Matius again in OHDH?

This I loved:
“You mean, bossy?” I whispered to him, just loud enough for the red-headed girl to hear. Dalen looked at her mock scowl, then giggled.
It really highlights the scene of bonding between Julian and the surviving children. I liked that entire thread, as imho it was very important. It illustrates exactly what Julian and the others were fighting for, and what their victory really was. Not to take back a bunch of broken stones, but to protect the remaining people of Kvatch, and through them, the future. As Julian says herself, Kvatch is not a bunch of buildings, but the people in the encampment.


nits:
4.6
[i]Yes, the Count is dead.
You have some errant bbcode here.

That last paragraph is so powerful! Sorry I was so late getting here, my PC was crashed most of this week.

This post has been edited by mALX: Apr 16 2010, 07:31 PM

Chapter 4.6:

I really enjoyed this chapter. Your decision to use Julian’s narration to describe the battle through the streets of Kvatch to the north gatehouse was inspired. You told us all we needed to know in an entertaining way without getting bogged down in the details of each engagement. I like the fact that Julian gave Inian and the pilus healing potions from her own pack . . . would that we could do that in the game. (Are you listening Bethesda?)

The assault on the castle was equally exciting. It’s always the little details that bring a story to life. Merandil runs out of arrows and has to use a war axe. One of the Legion soldiers falls and Julian only notices it when two instead of three join her.

A few things that struck me:


There is an awkward repetition of the word ‘follow’ in this sentence. I know how much you want to avoid beginning every sentence with the letter ‘I’, but perhaps if you streamlined it a bit:

There wasn’t much for me to do but follow the guardsmen past a large statue toward the castle moat.


I wanted to quote this sentence because this is one of the many times that your phrasing is just perfect.


Coming from a family of medical professionals myself I realize that you guys just can't help yourselves, can you?

Chapter 4.7:

I said his to you the first time I read this chapter, but it bears repeating. I love the way Julian discovers the enchanting properties of sigil stones. Too bad she had to drop the thing on the iron longsword and not the steel one.

Something that will never cease to amaze me is how much you can tell about a person by the way that children behave around them. From your description we can see that Julian is a natural protector, something that I’m sure will be tested by the trials to come.

One problem that I have with this chapter is Julian’s speech at the end. It was heart-wrenching, inspiring, and beautifully written . . . that’s not the problem. No, the problem is that Julian seems to suffer from the same malady as SubRosa’s Teresa. I ask myself, would it kill haute to let Julian sit back, take a sip of klah, and let people gush over her for a change? I’d say that she’s earned it!

@SubRosa: Again you have picked out the importance of Julian's interactions with the children. I had intended this as a quiet interlude before Julian hits the road again, but this has turned into quite a revealing window into her character, as her sense of herself re-emerges again after years of addiction. And yes, Matius is a recurring character, more so than in the game. I already have a whole back story for him, and hope to bring it out in later chapters.

@mALX: So sorry to hear about your PC problems. You're cursed, you know that? First your XBox, now your PC! What's next? Your TV? I'm glad to see you back - you've been missed.

@Destri: Your rewrite of that troublesome sentence is much better. I'll dutifully go back and fix it. Thanks for the input in that. As for the gross stuff, no, I simply can not resist. Having worked in necropsy through three years in vet school, I have no problems eating lunch while working on a bloated cow. To be honest, the smell isn't so bad when it's coming from a dead animal, but when said animal is still alive . . . ugh. Not good.

No, it wouldn't kill me to sit back and enjoy the gushing, but it would kill Julian! She's not accustomed to it, and won't be for a while. Eventually, she does learn to accept the inevitable, but you'll see she draws the line somewhere!

Julian finally catches up to the purpose of her whole trip to Kvatch: Martin.

*****************
Chapter 4.8 Martin

The children shared breakfast with me, mostly quiet and subdued. Afterwards, they trailed behind me to gra-Sharob’s fire. The big Orsimer was working on a mail cuirass. She grinned at me when I paused.

“Good morning, Julian!” she said heartily, shooting a mock glare at the kids. Grouped behind me, they responded with giggles. “I’ve got your weapons here,” she nodded at the two swords stacked against the tent flap. “How do you find your armor today?” As she had before, gra-Sharob had left the leathers and mail cuirass folded just inside the pavilion where I had spent the night.

“They’re fine,” I answered, shrugging the leather cuirass over my shoulders. “I appreciate the work, ma’am.”

“Good!” gra-Sharob put the hammer down and stepped to the tent. Picking up the shield, she held it out to me so I could see the Kvatch Wolf. “Good as new. You’ll find it more durable than that leather thing.”

“I think I will, ma’am,” I took the round disc, hefting it thoughtfully. There was a flat hook on the back of it, that would allow me to attach it to a loop on the outside of my pack. Taking the iron longsword, I noticed that gra-Sharob had made a new sheath for it. Black leather capped with a dark iron ferrule, it had fancy script on one side. Daedra Slayer. I smiled. A good name for this weapon - it has killed a fair number of those creatures. Pulling the sword partway out of the scabbard, I evaluated the blade in the morning light. Its keen edge caught the roseate sunlight, tossed it back with a slight red shimmer.

“This is beautiful, gra-Sharob,” I commented, putting it next to my pack. “It will be useful as a backup weapon.”

“Well, then, I think you’ll like this for your primary sword,” gra-Sharob handed across the steel longsword Matius had given me. The plain brown scabbard, with the small Kvatch Wolf insignia, gleamed with fresh cleaning. Heavier and wider than the iron blade, its hilt snugged into my hand as if coming home.

It has been a long time since I held one of these, I thought to myself. As the sword moved through the air in a figure-eight, the rising sun flashed off the tapered blade. Good balance, solid weight. When the sword slid back into its sheath, I noticed silver script gleaming on the leather. Hero of Kvatch. Frowning, I looked up at gra-Sharob.

“Savlian was standing behind you last night, when you were, ah, educating the kids,” the Orsimer smith said. She shrugged. “He told me to add the name to the sheath. I wasn’t about to argue with a real hero.”

Neither would I. Shaking my head, I buckled the sword belt over the leather cuirass. “Thanks for all your work, gra-Sharob,” I said. “How much do I owe you?”

“You closed the Gate,” gra-Sharob picked up the mailed cuirass she had been working on. “You helped Savlian clear the city and drive the daedra out. It’s more a question of what we owe you.”

“It doesn’t feel right, ma’am,” I insisted, “taking advantage of your skills without fair recompense. It’s going to be difficult for you, all of you, with so much loss. You need as much income as you can get in the days to come.”

“I was poor once,” gra-Sharob grunted. “It’s not so scary, once you know what you can live without.”

Her implacable expression told me further argument would be futile. “Well, this one time, then,” I said finally. “Thanks, again.” Picking up my pack, I turned to leave. “Have you seen Martin?”

“Yes, I think I saw him walking towards the meadow, where your horse is,” gra-Sharob returned to her hammering. The children jumped up.

I can’t have them following me. With a shake of my head to them, I met Avik’s gaze. “Why don’t you stay and tend the fire for gra-Sharob?” I suggested to him. He stared, wide-eyed, from me to the Orsimer, who had shot me a glance.

“And I was just thinking it would be nice to have an apprentice -” her growl trailed off, her black eyes sliding over to the young Redguard. After a moment, he nodded. While the smith pointed him to the bellows over the fire, I looked at the other children.

“Irinwe, Melissada, why don’t you go look for wood for the fires,” I added. “And Dalen, Falisia,” I led them to Sigrid’s campfire, where the Nord woman sat tending her retort. “let’s help Sigrid gather ingredients. She can show you which ones to pick.” The woman glanced up at me in surprise, then regarded the youngest pair.

“Well, I suppose these ragamuffins can be of some use,” she admitted mock-grudgingly. With an exaggerated sigh she rose to her feet and showed them a pair of empty sacks. Turning to me, she stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Julian, I know you’re leaving,” she said quietly. “There are many of us who would like you to stay,” she shook her head. From a pocket of her skirt, she drew out a small volume. “Take this, you’ll find it of value in the days to come, I’m sure.”

The Pocket Guide to Cyrodiilic Flora. I met Sigrid’s gaze. “Thanks, Sigrid. I think it will be very helpful.”

As gra-Sharob had said, I found Martin with Boldon in the meadow, stroking Paint’s neck as the gelding nuzzled his shoulder. Boldon cinched up the saddle, then gave the horse a final pat on the rump. He turned to me when I reached them.

“Hullo, Julian,” the Redguard greeted me. “I’ve got Paint ready for you, as you asked.”

“Thanks, Boldon,” I responded. “I really appreciate it. But it seems,” I looked down, toeing the shorn grass of the hayfield, “I may just have apprenticed your son to gra-Sharob.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” Boldon responded, his tone warming. Hesitantly I looked up at his smiling eyes. “I’ve been trying to think up ways to keep that boy busy,” he continued. “But what about Falisia? He’s kind of taken her on as his responsibility.”

“I sent her and Dalen to Sigrid,” I admitted. “Where I’m going, I can’t have the children following me, sir. I’ve got Irinwe and Melissada gathering wood for the campfires.”

“Good, keep them all busy,” Boldon nodded in approval. “Better than dwelling on -” his eyes darkened. “- losing their families.” I looked away from the grief in his eyes. He’s doing the same thing for himself, too. With a shake of his rounded shoulders, he turned to the priest standing quietly next to Paint’s head. “Martin, this is Julian of Anvil. Julian,” he glanced at me, “Martin.”

Matching Martin’s silent regard, I found him to be about my age. His dark brown hair framed a high-browed face, his hazel eyes an echo of the Emperor’s own. Yes, he is indeed the Emperor’s son. He has the same eyes. Already tired and weary. “Hello, Martin,” I greeted him, as Boldon walked away.

“Hello, Julian,” he responded. Gods! His voice is so like the Emperor’s. “I hear you’ve come looking for me,” he continued while I struggled for my breath. He frowned, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes deepening. “Why?”

In an attempt to recover my composure, I turned to Paint and hung my pack from his cantle. How to tell this priest that he is the Emperor’s son? He just survived three very scary nights in a destroyed town. He waited patiently as I settled my weapons and the buckler on the saddle, securing them to the rings attached to the cantle. When the tears that threatened to emerge in my eyes and voice faded away, I turned back to Martin.

“I came looking for Martin the priest, sir,” I said quietly, looking around the hayfield. Except for Paint, whose discretion could be counted on, we were alone.

“Have you need of a priest, ma’am?” Martin was skeptical. “I’m not sure what good I would be to you.” He shrugged, his eyes turning dark and his voice bitter. “I’m not much good as a priest.”

“The Emperor sent me to find you, sir,” I said finally. Here it comes. He’s not going to believe me, Jauffre. Martin’s level brows, so much like Uriel Septim’s, rose in surprise.

“Find me?” Martin repeated. “Why? The Emperor is dead, ma’am.”

“I was with him when he -” I faltered momentarily, “died. He gave me a final task in his last few moments, sir.” Now I locked gazes with Martin. “Find his last surviving son.”

“Surviving son?” Martin stared at me. “But all three of the princes were assassinated, too -” his eyes unfocused as he caught his breath. “An illegitimate son, ma’am?” He turned from me, stepping two paces away. “I never heard anything about the Emperor having an illicit affair -”

At Paint’s head, I rubbed his long nose while Martin muttered under his breath. He turned back to me. “But the Emperor would need to be very discreet about such affairs, no?” he asked me. I nodded silently. He considered me for a few moments more. “Then why are you looking for me, ma’am? I know of no such son. How am I supposed to help you find him?”

With a level gaze, I shrugged. “I already found him, sir,” I replied. “Now I need to get him to Brother Jauffre at Weynon Priory.”

“Oh, you found him then?” Martin returned to Paint’s side, rubbing his hand along the gelding’s shoulder. “Where is he?”

I only waited, watching Martin. He met my gaze after a few moments, puzzled by my reticence. Then his eyes widened, and his face paled. “Me? I’m the illegitimate son?” He took a step back, raising his hands in a warding motion. “No, no, there’s been a mistake, ma’am. My father’s not the Emperor, he’s just a simple farmer.”

“I wouldn’t believe it, either, sir,” I said quietly, turning my gaze to Paint’s bridle. Checking the fit of the headstall as I had been taught, I continued, “But I’ve met the Emperor, and I see him in you, Martin.” Again, I rubbed the gelding’s nose, tucking his forelock beneath the browband. “You have his eyes, his nose, his - “ I swallowed the lump in my throat, “voice. There’s no mistake.”

His stunned gaze remained on me, his hands dropping to his sides. “Somehow,” he frowned at me, “I believe you, ma’am. But my place -” He looked past me, at the camp beyond.

“Come with me to Weynon Priory, sir,” I said. “Brother Jauffre can explain things better than I.” I could see the conflict between the obligation to stay and help his fellow refugees here at ruined Kvatch, the people he had known for most of his life, and my request to accompany me to Weynon Priory where his destiny waited.

“Well,” Martin’s tone took on a quiet determination. “You destroyed the Oblivion Gate. You helped the guard drive the daedra back. You helped us.” His hazel eyes returned to mine. “You didn’t come here to do all this, and yet you did, ma’am. I’ll come with you, and hear what this Brother Jauffre has to say.”

You handled Martin well there, his slowness to realise what was being said made the whole thing more believeable. It also goes some way to show the sort of character he'll become (which I'm most interested to see given how full a character Julian is).

I'm looking forward to see how she deals with the fame, I don't think we've seen the end of that...

Nice piece.

ARGH! Bite your tongue!!!!! Actually, my XBox 360 is working well, even the new Oblivion game I started is playing (so far) on it - it was just that one game that glitched for some reason. - now I can't swear it wasn't the disk itself because we have two 360 disks, one is my sons - and since he never plays it anymore...I may have inadvertently switched disks with him. (If he ever decides to play again I am sure he knows where to find it, but I have twice pulled it from a pile of vids he was selling to the used vid store - and have been thanking my stars that I did with this happening to my game, lol).

Your after battle scenes are always so well done! They convey the exhaustion and numbness so well !! Julian's way with children is amazing, and the rapore with Martin - (insert the A word here) !!!

This post has been edited by mALX: Apr 18 2010, 09:08 PM

The big Orsimer was working on a mail cuirass.
Seeing the proper term for mail armor does my anal British Boat good.

It seems that since it would indeed kill Julian to bask in the recognition of her deeds (as I fully expected it would, you have done a excellent job at portraying her) gra-Shelob Sharob has taken it upon herself to make sure that she receives it, with the names she has placed on Julian's gear. I reminds me of when Mace Windu said to Anakin: "Hand me my lightstaber, its the one that says bad-**** mother***"

Once again, I love the way you wrote Julian's explanation of who Martin is, the way she tells him without telling him. I also found her having to stall for time in order to get her voice back when she thinks about Uriel. It is an excellent way of showing us that her grief for the Emperor is still fresh and clear in her mind.



nits:
In the game Uriel and Martin have blue eyes (which is eyeDefault in the editor). I do not know if you are making them hazel by design, or if you just goofed, so thought I should point it out.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Apr 18 2010, 09:18 PM

Ahhh nice conversation with Martin! I so like when writers enhance the conversations and make them more lively! Very good work!

Or when he held Palpatine at bay and said:



I do love the way that you drew out the reveal of Martin’s identity. Even while reading it I had the image of Julian bonking him over the head with the Kvatch Wolf to help increase his speed on the uptake. On to Weynon Priory!