Glossing over the actual truding though the gate was definatly a wise move. However fun they are to close the running battles are very hard to get right when written and would have slowed the more important developments. The details you did give were effective for the forwarding of the story and also show that Julian is a LOT harder than she was. I couldn't see her hacking through a crowd of dremora surrounded by landmines then coming back in time for tea at Kvatch, but the change is subtle and that she had her old skills back - as well as new ones - needed highlighting.

I agree with the above that the conversation with the forester as great. I wonder what she'll make of Bravil - and if a mage will tell her what the stone does.

And SubRosa - how do you hit those things from a safe range with arrows I can't hit a barn door in game... from inside the barn - spells fly straight and are expendable (fire damage 1pt on target anyone?).

This post has been edited by Olen: Jul 19 2010, 08:38 PM

Its all in the reflexes... Oh wait, that is the Big Trouble in Little China answer. My first character was an archer, and it was difficult to get used to how bows worked when I started her, but after some practice my skillz became quite good. The zoom in ability you get at Marksman of 50 helps too. I usually save the iron arrows I pick off of bandits for things like this.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jul 19 2010, 09:31 PM

Spells fly straight, arrows fly in a parabolic curve. I always aim a little higher than my intended impact point. At early levels (i.e. in the tutorial dungeon), I hold the arrow 'at full tension' a little long to get a greater distance. It doesn't take long though, before you can fire off arrows at reasonable distances fairly quickly. Keep in mind the further your target is, the higher you have to aim the arrow.

Practice helps you develop a feel for your aim point.

I have to admit that marksmanship is one of the easier skills in the game for me. But then, my dad always called me Dead-eye . . .

I have often wondered about that forrester guy who seems to be working his butt off and getting nowhere. And with an Oblivion Gate right next door!! Now I know.
The dialogue between the two soldiers was spot on. Bravo!

Bravil! Yippee!!!

If only Julian had been Dunmer and Atronach The last few characters I've trudged through the gates were all Dunmer and Atronach so I didn't sipose of the mines but used them to charge magicka

Loved the last chapter. I wholeheartedly embrace the idea courage is not the abscence of fear. That's called stupidity.

@Acadian: Julian was very happy to find out her flare spell set those bouncing bettinas off from a relatively safe distance! Don’t worry, she will stop in at Faregyl Inn sometime!

@SubRosa: I’m not sure if Julian will encounter our favorite mystic archer in Bravil. We’ll have to see.

@Olen: Yes, Julian’s skills are returning along with her strength. She still isn’t back to full fighting trim, but that will develop over the next few chapters.

@Wolf: I am glad that you, as well as many others, enjoyed Julian’s encounter with Marsias. These foresters are so undervalued IMHO. These are the guys that keep the roads safe for merchants and other travelers.

@Remko: Courage is exactly that, the ability to act in the face of fear; absence of fear is stupidity, as you so aptly put it. So true!

Julian returns to what seems to be a favorite place for many forumers. We start to see what kind of memories she has of the place.

**************
Chapter 12.6 - Return to Bravil

The road to Bravil was mostly uneventful, with mostly deer sharing the path with Paint and I. A wolf, his ribs and spine showing through his thick fur, jumped us near a Wayshrine. Paint and my katana made quick work of the starving predator, however. I discovered the nearby altar was dedicated to Talos. With prayer a thanksgiving for his continued protection, I received healing and additional courage.

As the Green Road dropped down out of the hills towards the Niben River, the shabby walls of Bravil appeared through the trees in the distance. Where an old fort once stood just north of its gate, the sight of another Oblivion Gate obliterating its ruined keep stirred dismay in my throat.

The sun was just east of the zenith when I dismounted from Paint within the corral of the Bay Roan Stables. Antoine Branck, with a distrustful glance at me, moved to help remove Paint’s tack. “You’re back, ma’am,” he said flatly. I recalled that the last time he had seen me, I had been in sorry condition, indeed.

“Branck,” I said, dropping a couple of drakes into his hand, “I’d appreciate if you took good care of Paint. I’ve got work to do.”

“All right, ma’am,” he said, tone still flat, but his eyes were less tight. “I’ll do that, for certain.”

My quiver and bow at my shoulder, Daedra Slayer at my back, I walked out to the lone Bravil guard at the near end of the Quaking Bridge leading to Bravil’s city gates. “Hullo, Frederick,” I said to him. His eyes widened as he looked me up and down.

“Julian, is it you?” Tonius Frederick exclaimed. His gaze fell on the Wolf, resting on my left arm. “You! You’re the -”

“Hush, Frederick,” I interrupted him. Pointing at the Oblivion Gate standing about a hundred meters away from his post, “How long has that been open?”

“About eight days, I think,” Frederick answered. His eyes narrowed at me, taking in the Wolf a second time before moving to the katana at my left hip, the steel dagger at my right, the hilt of Daedra Slayer at my back, alongside my bow and quiver. “Are you going in there?”

“Are you remaining at your post, Frederick?” I asked in response. He straightened up under my steady regard.

“The Count put the Guard on high alert, ma’am,” he reported crisply. “We’ll be ready if the daedra decide to attack, don’t worry!”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” I smiled at him. “I’m more worried about what’s inside that Gate.” I looked around. Branck had disappeared within the stables, leaving Frederick and I alone. “Tell no one about me, not until I come back, understood?”

“Understood!”

*******************
It was late the next morning when I returned to Nirn, yet another sigil stone clutched in my shield hand. This time, my limp had worsened, and I felt scorched - on the soles of my feet, on my face, on my bare hands. Even the tough leather of my cuirass still smoked from the fierce heat of the lava sea. Frederick was gone from his post, but another City guard stood there, staring slack-jawed as I hobbled toward him, silently cursing the Dremora mace that had slammed into my knee at the end.

The Deadlands on the other side of this Gate had been immense, bigger than the one at Kvatch. I had had to detour the island before I found entry into a smaller keep, which opened the war gates, giving me access to the sigil keep. The detour had involved quite a bit of lava jumping, climbing boulders, ducking fire towers and setting off mines before they took me by surprise.

Now I didn’t recognize the Guard standing before me. He looked young, and raw to his duties. “Good to see you, ma’am,” he managed to gather his wits about him. His dark gaze moved past me towards the old fort, where a faint red glow was all that was left of the Gate. I could see the incredulity in his eyes, and smiled to myself.

“Good to see you, too, sir,” I answered, my voice hoarse. “Will Frederick be back on duty here soon?”

“Oh, no, he’s posted inside today,” the Guard answered. “He won’t be back here until day after tomorrow.”

“All right,” I swallowed, trying to moisten my dry throat. “If you see him before I do, tell him Julian of Anvil is back, safe and sound.”

He cast a glance up and down my thin frame, his eyes clearly suggesting he thought otherwise. “Marz, in the Chapel, is an excellent healer,” he volunteered.

“Hmm,” I nodded, appreciative of the information. “I’ll make sure to see her, then.” Turning to look at the Bay Roan Stables, I saw Paint standing in the corral, his head over the rough board fence, watching me. “I’m going to check on my horse, then I’ll go see Marz,” I said to the Guard.

Paint walked over to the gate as I approached, waiting patiently for me to open the barrier. He gave me the once over, his nostrils fluttering at my injuries. Then he lifted his head and blew softly on my scorched cheek. With a fond pat on his neck, I looked around for his tack. Branck approached me, his eyes less hostile.

“If you’re looking for your gear, ma’am,” he said, “I brought it inside. Go see Isabeau.”

“Has Paint been good for you?” I asked Branck. His careworn face creased into a smile.

“Aye, he’s been a good one, all right,” he answered, patting the gelding on his shoulder. “Talk to Isabeau.”

“All right, I will, thanks.” I gave Paint a parting rub on his long nose, then turned for the gate. Branck held it open for me, then closed it and returned to his chores. I limped around to the door leading inside the weathered building.

Inside, a slim Breton woman rose from her meal as I entered. “Hello, Julian,” she greeted me, her voice cool in the dim interior. “Branck tells me you stabled that Wild Eye Paint with us yesterday.”

“Yes, ma’am, do I owe you anything?” I asked Isabeau Bienne. Her voice warmed a little bit at my question.

“Depends, how much longer are you staying?”

“Well,” I looked down ruefully at myself, the scorched leather cuirass, the dented and battered Kvatch Wolf, feeling new aches in my weary bones. “I’d like to rest and recover, and get these repaired,” Swallowing again, I pointed at my chest, including all of my armor and weapons. “Heal up this bum knee,” now I pointed at my face, “and these burns. I thought I’d go in and get things taken care of, leave tomorrow or the day after at the latest.”

“Well, your gold is good through tomorrow,” Bienne mused. “But if you stay another day, then it’ll be another drake.”

“Sounds good,” I responded. “I’ll come tomorrow then, and let you know.” I looked around, saw Paint’s tack and my pack neatly placed on a rack. “Branck said my tack and gear are in here?”

“Yes,” Bienne caught the direction of my gaze. “It’s all cleaned up and ready whenever you are.” She waved me towards the saddle rack. “I’m sure you’re looking for your pack, if you’re staying a while here in Bravil.” She held my gaze a few seconds longer. “You’ve changed, Julian,” she said quietly. I looked away, suddenly embarrassed at the reminder of my condition the last time I had been in Bravil.

“Thanks for taking care of the tack,” I changed the subject, moving to the saddle, dropping the quiver and unhooking my pack. Slipping the sigil stone carefully within, I slung the pack over my shoulder without thinking. The weight of the bag pressed the leather cuirass into my burned back, making me gasp and stagger from the pain. I put my hand on the wall, struggling for breath. Red light blanked my vision as fiery agony flared from beneath the pack. I made myself breathe deeply against the pain, waiting until my vision cleared.

Slowly I lowered the pack to the floor, still holding its strap, I looked up to see Bienne regarding me with concern in her gaze. She had stepped toward me, one hand out to catch me. I leaned away from her hand, shaking my head. “I’m burnt all over, it seems,” I muttered to her. “I’ll be fine, once I see Marz.”

“See Marz, then,” Bienne said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. I only nodded, limping for the door, carrying my pack in my hand.

Looks like our Redguard is a little redder than usual this segment. Both from embarrassment and from burns! So people in Bravil know Julian? Looks like from her time as a skooma addict. Perhaps she haunted the infamous Bravil skooma den?

The Quaking Bridge! That is an excellent name.



nits:
The road to Bravil was mostly uneventful, with mostly deer sharing the path with Paint and I.
You have mostly twice in the same sentence here.


The detour had involved quite a bit of lava jumping, climbing boulders, ducking fire towers and setting off mines before they took me by surprise.
It feels like there is something missing after this sentence. Before who took Julian by surprise? What happened?

Wonderful again, Rider!

You have painted Bravil nicely, before even entering the city proper. I love all the detail you lavished upon the stables and gate area - description, dialogue, Julian's thoughts, horse talk - all of it.

By the Nine Divines! What an impressively bristling image this creates!


Very smooth and efficient description of the gate closing. Just about right, I think, on your choices of where to lavish detail and where to summarize things.

Although painful for Julain, I 'liked' that you described in rather good detail the lingering effects of her burns. It reinforced the magnitude of the task she had just completed as well as her need to get some of that good Argonian healing from Marz.

I'm not sure how much time you intend to devote to Bravil here. Your choices about such things are always very good, so I know I will be happy whenever and wherever Julian leads. Let me just say that I am really enjoying this. I think it is wonderful that you appear to perhaps be linking Julian's history of substance abuse with the less than stellar reputation that the underbelly of Bravil is known for. My goodness, she has come so far! I feel pretty certain that not even Nordinor can sway Julian to fall off her wagon.

That was a very good part, probably my favourite of the most recent ones. The interactions were spot on and a joy to read, none seemed forced at all and the characters shone through them. I may be wrong but this reads as if Julian has started to 'write herself' so to speak allowing you to concentrate on other things.


Very Julian, it seems she somehow seperates the closing of gates as unpleasant jobs which must be done from the rest of things. It works well to gloss over the unimportant issue of what happened in the gate for interactions and consequences. I suspect (and hope) that we will see the inside of the gate at some point, and a certain heir whose stuck there...

And this Marz of great renoun, I wonder if the knee is damaged enough for resetting...

Chapter 12.4 - A New Habit

My comments here are less about the chapter itself and more about the comments that came after the chapter. I can understand why the others view the random Oblivion Gates as such a nuisance, but they do make sense in a round about kind of way. Remember, Dagon is not the only Daedric Prince to dwell in Oblivion; he is just the one who wants to destroy Nirn the most. With the Dragonfires out all of Oblivion has access to the mortal plane. Dagon’s Deadlands is just one of the many realms that spawn daedra. That could be why the random daedra that emerge from the gates are not only scamps, clannfear or Dremora. I have always imagined that the daedroth that emerge are coming from Molag Bal’s Coldharbour, and the spider daedra are coming from Mephala’s realm (whatever it’s called), or are they associated with Namira? I can never get the spider daedra straight. I also imagine that it ties into why Umaril has returned and why Aurorans are able to enter Nirn freely from Meridia’s Coloured Rooms.

I realize that when you enter any of the random gates you are immediately transported to the Deadlands, and that seizing the sigil stone from the Deadlands closes the gate. I admit that this is a glaring flaw in logic if the gate you entered was spawning spiders, flame/storm atronachs and Daedroth. I think that with some imagination and adequate description of more than just the Deadlands Julian can enter random gates that take her to Coldharbour, or to Quagmire. This would make the Oblivion Crisis a true Crisis and it would serve to explain the frequency in which these random gates keep forming.

Just my two cents.

Chapter 12.5 - Legion Brother

The whole conversation with Marsias was great. Julian continues to use the Kvatch Wolf to deflect any praise directed at her (which is kind of ironic when you think of it). I loved how Marsias pointed out the fact that the shield gives her away. Given her actions I can only imagine what she must have been like as a pilus back in the day. I would have been proud to serve under her (no pun intended ).


"This is Jack Burton in the Porkchop Express . . ." Oh my, 'Rosa, a Big Trouble in Little China reference. I bow down to you, madam!

Chapter 12.6 - Return to Bravil

Bienne is a piece of work! ‘Thanks for closing that Oblivion Gate that was threatening the whole city, but if you’re going to keep that Wild-Eye in my stable it’s going to cost you another drake!’ It's about time Julian went to see a good healer about that leg. I daresay that we begin to see the end of that particular nagging injury.

I was going to point out a nit:

I thought you meant ‘a prayer of thanksgiving’ here, though now, having re-read it again, I can see why you might just want to leave it alone.


I think that Julian was referring to the mines taking her by surprise.

Epic writing at the end Haute, I loved it!

The pain and burden of closing those gates, it really seems to be wearing her down. I felt every moment of her lingering burns at the conclusion.
If I open the front gate at Bravil tomorrow morning and find a Redguard face down on the bridge, I will not be surprised!

Those uncaring souls at Bay Roan could have at least got Julian a cart. How insensitive are they?

yep, it were the Mines, as in the exploding kind.

@SubRosa: You are right on several counts - there are folks in Bravil who remember Julian, only not as the Hero of Kvatch. Settle in and enjoy the reminiscing, because Julian won’t!

@Acadian: Julian has less than stellar memories of Bravil, and that is due in large part to that less than stellar reputation of the city that you refer to. You will learn what does tempt Julian to fall off her wagon.

@Olen: Julian has always had a strong voice in my head, from the very beginning of the very first time I played Oblivion. Even when I played other characters, she was always there, looking over my shoulder. However, I now know her well enough to feel comfortable speaking for her. Or maybe she trusts me enough now. Don’t worry, there is a certain annoying person in Julian’s future (oh, about Chapter 18). Huzzah! As for the knee, Marz will play a significant role in returning Julian to soundness, but she is not the one to actually fix it.

@Destri: I’m not familiar enough with daedra in the Lore, and since Julian does not encounter Daedroth and spider daedra until the big battle at Bruma, I guess she is stuck being a frequent visitor to the Deadlands. Clannfear don’t even make an appearance until Chapter 15! Still, you have given me food for serious thought. As for Legion Brother, I’m glad you enjoyed the conversation with Marsias, and proud that you think Julian would have been quite the pilus back in the day. As for SubRosa’s comment about setting off mines, your interpretation is correct. That one sentence was a little difficult to write, and maybe I need to revisit it again.

@Wolf: Eh, those two Gates are nothing compared to what’s ahead! Bravil will be a bigger challenge!

@Fox: Yup, you’re right!

Julian meets a wonderful Healer who seems to know more about addiction than even Julian does herself. Marz is one of my favorite Healers in all of Cyrodiil (right up there with Cirroc and Oleta), and I visit her every time I’m in Bravil. Just can’t get enough of her. Makes her death in KotN even more devastating.

********************
Chapter 12.7 Healing

The lone guard at the end of the bridge kept his gaze on me as I stepped onto the quivering boards of the rope-suspended structure. The aptly named Quaking Bridge worsened the pain in my knee as the boards beneath my feet swayed at my steps. By the time I reached the tall wooden gates standing open at the far end, my right leg trembled with each step, that old pain shooting up my thigh again.

Ignoring the steady stares from the guards standing just within the archway, I paused to survey Gate Way dropping down from the gates towards the canal that divided the town into two. I recognized Frederick by his stride as he walked up the street towards me. He grinned when his eyes fell on me.

“Well met, ma’am!” he called as he approached. “I see you made it back, Julian!” He frowned at my face and stopped before me. “But you’re hurt!”

“Well, the Deadlands isn’t exactly a cakewalk, Frederick,” I answered hoarsely, too weary to match his energy. “What I need right now is healing, food and rest, sir.”

Frederick’s gaze slid past me to one of the guards at the gate. I caught the other man’s slight nod, then Frederick was reaching for my pack. “Let me take that for you, Julian,” he said quietly, “at least as far as the Chapel. I assume you’re going to see Marz?”

Grateful for his assistance, I shrugged the pack from my shoulder, trying to suppress the flinch as it scraped across my burned back and failing. “Your comrade on the Bridge said Marz is excellent, sir, so I’m off to give her a try.”

“I think you’ll find her better skilled than the last one, ma’am,” Frederick said, then winced at his inadvertent reminder of my previous stay in Bravil. With a smile to reassure him, I set off along Wall Street towards the Chapel, tucked in the northwest corner of the fortified town. Frederick fell into step easily beside me. “I’m sorry, Julian,” he continued after a moment, dodging a Khajiit female who gave him a dour look. “I just can’t get used to the change in you.”

“Change?” I glanced at him. “I guess the last time I was here,” I turned my face back to the Chapel, “I wasn’t at my best, sir.”

“Yes,” Frederick responded. “And people who aren’t at their best like that don’t just change for the better, they -”

“End up dead,” I finished. “I know, sir, I came pretty close to it myself.” Frederick glanced sidelong at me.

“So what happened,” he asked quietly, “to pull you back from the brink?”

I stopped, more to rest my damaged knee than in response to his question, though it had caught me off guard. With a deep breath, I looked up at the chinks of blue in the sky above, squinting at the noon sun peeking through clouds. “I found a new reason to live, I guess,” I answered. “A reason that put a stop to the pain I was in.”

“And now that you are in pain again?” Frederick’s question drew my sun-dazzled gaze back to him.

“I’m going to see Marz,” I answered firmly. “Then I intend to head over to the Mages Guild and lie up for a while.”

Frederick’s brows rose beneath his helm. “Mages Guild?” he repeated. “You've joined the Mages Guild?”

“It’s time for me to pursue a different path,” I started limping again towards the Chapel. “My mother was an alchemist, and taught me a little restoration spell when I was little. It’s come in handy recently, so I’d like to learn more.” I smiled at him. “Besides, someone told me my name means knowledge and wisdom, so I’d better start living up to it.”

Frederick snorted. “As long as you don’t turn into a Blind Moth Priest on me,” he joshed. I shook my head.

“Serving Akatosh is too ingrained in me,” I responded. “I don’t think I could spend my days studying the Elder Scrolls.”

It was Frederick’s turn to stop. “You’re Legion?” he exclaimed softly, staring at me. With a backwards glance, I slowed down without stopping, and nodded. “I knew it!” he half-ran a few steps to catch up to me. “I knew you had to be Legion, the way you came up to me yesterday.” He shook his head. “I almost didn’t recognize you, you know.”

“And I almost wish you hadn’t,” I answered dryly. “But I haven’t been in the Legion for four years now.”

“Ah, but you know what the old-timers say, you can take the legionary out of the Legion, but you can’t take the Legion out of the legionary.”

“I certainly tried,” I did not look at Frederick. “But it didn’t work. And something happened to remind me that I can’t just turn my back on half a lifetime.”

Frederick did not respond as we started up the stone steps leading to the Chapel doors. He opened one of the big wooden panels for me and waved me inside. “What ever happened to you,” he whispered in the echoing interior, closing the door behind us, “I’m glad to get to know you like this, Julian of Anvil. I’d like us to be friends.”

I paused, shooting a startled glance at the Bravil guard, but his face was turned away from me, scanning the interior. “Thanks, Frederick,” I murmured finally. “That means a lot to me.”

His grin gleamed at me in the dimness, then he jerked his chin forward. “I see Marz,” he said. “Follow me.”

The exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours heavy in my bones, I slowly trailed Frederick as he led me towards the pews nearest the altar. He stopped at the front bench on the right, setting my pack on the wooden seat next to a scaled figure. I paused beside him as the Argonian looked at the pack, then at Frederick. She hissed as her gaze fell on my burned visage.

“Marz,” Frederick was saying, “this is my friend Julian of Anvil. She’s injured and in need of your skills.”

“It would sseem sso,” Marz slid along the pew and waving me to sit next to my pack. Gratefully, I set my weapons atop the pack and lowered myself carefully to the bench. “Where are you hurt, Julian?”

“Marz will take good care of you, Julian,” Frederick said quietly. “I’ve got to go relieve Metternach.”

“Thanks, Frederick,” I held out my right hand to him. He clasped it gently, out of consideration of the burned calluses in my palm. As his booted footfalls receded towards the door, I turned back to Marz.

“How did you get burned sso badly?” Marz asked, her orange eyes steady on mine. Her graceful fingers moved lightly over my face.

“I have spent the last day in the Deadlands,” I answered quietly. “Surrounded by fire, breathing fire, seeing nothing but fire and,” I swallowed again, “blood.” Marz’s hands drew away.

“You went into that Oblivion Gate!” Marz hissed, her voice incredulous. “And you ssurvived?”

“Barely, as you can see,” I replied. “Please tell me you can take the pain away.”

“Give me your handss,” Marz commanded, lowering her hands to her lap, palms up. I obeyed, placing my own burned hands on top of hers. Mercifully, she did not close her fingers, instead letting my hands rest on hers. “Ahh,” she sighed, closing her eyes, and I felt some of the weariness and pain shift from me into her hands.

“You are in great pain, indeed, and weary,” she murmured. “And your right knee, it hurtss terribly! Like it did when you were -” her voice trailed off and her eyes opened to look into mine, “- drinking cheap wine and taking sskooma to kill the pain and to forget.” I could see the sadness in her gaze as she regarded me. “You sstopped, but the pain perssistss.”

“No, it went away for a while,” I protested. “Until yesterday -” I stopped when she shook her head.

“Not the pain in your knee, your left sside, your face,” Marz corrected me. “The pain in your heart. And now there is more pain there, newer pain.”

I swallowed and looked down. “I doubt even you can take that pain away,” I murmured. Now I felt a healing surge in my hands, as Marz circled her thumbs over my palms, wiping away the burns and leaving healed skin.

“Hussh,” she whispered, her orange eyes closing again. “Let me ssee -” again her voice faded away. I sat quietly, letting her energy course over my scorched skin, leaving behind cool healing. It swirled through my burned throat like cool mint, slipping into my parched lungs like ice water. Finally I could take a deep breath without breathing fire. It made me cough, and I gasped as a faint swirl of black smoke escaped from my mouth.

Marz’s healing energy swirled over my body, seeking pain and demolishing it, until it gathered in my right knee. There, the pain diminished only a little before Marz gasped, her magic fading away. Her eyes opened, and I realized that she had drained her own Magicka on me. The knee still throbbed horribly, but now the pain did not shoot up my thigh as much. “I am ssorry,” Marz said, her hands shaking under mine. I gripped her hands in gratitude.

“No, don’t be,” I answered, my voice much smoother with the healed throat. “You’ve made me feel much, much better.”

“But your knee sstill hurtss!” Marz exclaimed softly. I sat back in the pew and looked toward the altar.

“Well, it’s a very old injury,” I commented quietly. “And I’ve lived with it for a very long time. It’s only recently that it’s started to hurt less.”

“How?” Marz asked, curious.

“I started practicing my healing spell,” I answered, shrugging, the movement no longer causing me pain. “It’s a little one, and I can only cast it three times before I run out of Magicka, but I’ve been using it morning and night, when I get up, and before I go to sleep.”

Rising and slowly limping to the altar, I placed my hand on its rim. Akatosh, Talos, Julianos, help me. A flash of white healing swirled around me, and the pain in my knee diminished further. I returned to Marz. “Also the wayshrines have helped, too,” I finished, smiling at Marz. “I never thought I’d start praying as much as I have these past few weeks!”

“I will need to resst,” Marz smiled toothily at me, her eyes warm in the dim interior. “But come back tomorrow, and we will try again.”

“Thank you, Marz,” I said. “I don’t remember you when I was last here two years ago.”

“Ah, I’ve only been here a year and a half,” Marz responded. “I came to Bravil becausse Mara called me. My home iss not here. I miss Black Marsh, but I shall sserve here, sso long as Bravil needss me.”

With an intent regard of the Argonian woman, I took a breath. “So how did you know that I was addicted to drink and skooma?”

“Ah, it leavess tracess in your body and your ssoul,” Marz responded. “Faint tracess, but traces nonethelesss.” She reached out and traced my right eyebrow lightly. “Be careful,” she warned. “Do not give in to temptation, for you will fall back into missery should you take sskooma again.” Her fingertips patted my cheek lightly. “Remember, you are sstill an addict, though you have not taken any for ssome time.”

With a sigh I leaned back, turning my gaze away from Marz’s intent scrutiny. “How can I stop being an addict?”

“You never will,” Marz’s tone matched mine. “Oh, it getss eassier with time, but if ssomething bad were to happen, if you were to be in much pain again, or your heart broken once more, the urge to usse will come back. You musst ressisst it, or be losst anew.”

Picking up my pack, I looked at Marz again. “Thanks for the advice, ma’am,” I said quietly. “I’m not proud of it, and I wish never to go through it again. I won’t forget your words.”

Marz nodded, but there was sadness in her gaze. “We’ll ssee,” she hissed softly.

Hmm, did I detect Frederick flirting with our Julian? Wishful thinking or imagination perhaps.

Oooh! I loved the healing session with Marz. The Argonian told us more about Julian than Julian herself has. Very, very well done! I see that like TF and BF, you treat healing as a wonderfully different school of magic.

It must be wonderful to be a healer in real life, and then blend that with the magical possibilities of TES!

I'm so glad to see Julian lingering in Bravil.

The healing was well handled, it adds a lot that it's more than just casting a spell, I agree with Acadian that using insight from healing to reveal more about Julian was a good method and shows us more which Julian wouldn't reveal without reverting to flashbacks or other flow breakers.

And I definitly detected Frederick flirting, along with Marz's prophetic warning it makes me wonder.

I too am glad to see she will be in Bravil, it should lead to interesting interactions and I can't wait to see how you describe the place.

Frederick? He is not from Hollywood by chance?

At least he showed a bit of decency, helping a wounded person to the chapel. He is the first person we have seen in Bravil so far who could be bothered. I cannot say I noticed him flirting. But then being a lesbian, it is not something I really look for from a guy either.

Like the others, I very much enjoyed your depiction of Marz. Your description of how she healed Julian was very vivid and powerful, and adds a depth to the entire setting. Likewise, Marz's being able to see the traces of Julian's alcohol and skooma abuse.

Your regard for Marz is readily apparent in this chapter. I admire the combination of strength and fragility that you have infused within her. On the one hand she has the strength to take on Julian’s pain without flinching. Yet the act leaves her so drained that she needs a full day to recover enough to try again, which she is perfectly willing to do. I also like the fact that she doesn’t succeed in curing all of Julian’s injuries. There should be a limit to what even a talented healer can do.

I hope in the next chapter when Julian leaves Mara’s Temple Frederick will have had the time to spread the news about Julian’s foray into the Deadlands. It seems a shame that no one in Bravil seems to care that the Oblivion Gate that spawned not a hundred yards from the Quaking Bridge has been closed.

The use of thoughts and dialogue to interfuse the healing scene was a delight to read. Wow!
Very neat idea to have the healer more injured and tired after the healing process than the recipient, that was very tasty indeed!

Julian did stare at Frederick with a startled glance, so the Redguard herself certainly suspected that the warrior was up to something. No pun intended.

Slighty OT, I detect a new playfulness in our Rosa...could she be in love by any chance...


Bact OT: this revelation by Marz is so true. I have seen many friends and some relatives succumb to various kinds of addiction, and it is true that there is no such thing as a completely recovered addict. You are always going to hear that whisper deep in the darkest corners of your heart.

@Acadian: Frederick? Hmm, we’ll have to see how that plays out, huh? I’m glad you liked the healing with Marz. Yes, the fact that I do sort of the same thing IRL helps!

@Olen: Yes, I figured Marz was just the person to tell us more about Julian. I hope you enjoy Julian’s stay in this darling disreputable town.

@Sage Rosa: It’s about time someone acknowledged Julian’s risk, huh? IRL; doctors can detect traces of past abuse in their patients as well, so Marz being able to do that with Julian isn’t all that unrealistic.

@Destri: In an upcoming chapter, we will hear what people think about Julian’s actions in closing the Gate.

@Wolf: Well, the startled glance Julian sent Frederick has more to do with the incongruity of his comment in the face of their shared history than anything else. Besides, did Frederick mean anything more than just ‘friends?’

@Fox: You are absolutely right - once an addict, always an addict. My scientific reading even indicates that many factors figure into addiction, including neurology and neuroendocrinology. We’ll see that dark whisper in Julian’s ear some time in the near future.

Julian is asked to play the hero again, and once more finds herself unable to refuse. She also encounters more embarrassing reminders of her previous stay.

*******************
Chapter 12.8 Memories of Shame

I limped away from Marz towards the doors. An aged Breton woman, frail in a worn, shabby dress, rose from a rear pew as I passed, her hand plucking at my leathered arm. “Excuse me, my lady,” she murmured timidly.

Pausing to look at her, I saw the sadness and worry in her gaze. “I’m no lady, ma’am, only Julian of Anvil,” I said softly. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“I’m Ursanne Loche,” the Breton responded, still timid. “I’m so sorry to impose upon you like this, but I’m in need of assistance, and I don’t know what to do! My husband, Aleron is missing.”

“Missing?” I repeated. Missing because he wanted to disappear? Or missing because he was made to disappear? The emotions in her gaze pulled at my heart, and I set my pack and weapons on the pew in front of her, motioning her to sit back in her place. As she did so, I leaned my right hip against the pew back in front of her, easing some of the strain on my throbbing knee, and leaned slightly towards her, shifting my weight to my good left leg. “And you are worried about him?”

As Ursanne sat down, she nodded. “It all started when Aleron became foolish and began gambling. He’d visit the Arena every week, and spend our hard-earned money on bets.” Her arched brows drew down in wifely anger. “I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. He was certain he could win us a fortune and move us somewhere nicer, like the Imperial City.” She took a shaky breath, looking down at her hands twisting around each other in her lap. “It didn’t take long for Aleron to start losing. He resorted to borrowing money from an usurer to cover his losses and place new bets.” Now she met my gaze again. “As you can imagine, it didn’t pay off. He ended up owing around five hundred gold. We could never have that kind of money to pay back the usurer -” Her voice ended on a sob barely stifled.

I touched her stooped shoulder gently. “What happened to Aleron?” I asked, keeping my voice quiet.

“Yesterday, the usurer, Kurdan gro-Dragol, sent for my husband to meet him at the Lonely Suitor Lodge. He hasn’t returned since!” Ursanne wiped at the tear that trickled from her right eye, and clutched at my hand on her shoulder. “I fear for his life. Kurdan isn’t known for his patience. Please,” she begged, her voice achingly plaintive, “I’m not wealthy, oh no,” she shook her head, keeping her eyes on me, “but I’d give anything to see my Aleron again!”

Kurdan gro-Dragol? I seem to remember that name. My eyes sought the shadows in the vaulted ceiling above. More than just an usurer, that much is certain. “All right,” I said, determinedly putting my quest for a Daedric artifact out of my mind, “I’ll help you.”

“You,” Ursanne gasped, “you will? Oh, thank you!” She took my hand in both of hers, clasping it to her thin chest. “Oh, do be careful, please. I don’t want any harm to befall you, either.”

“I’ll be careful,” I answered, squeezing her frail hands gently in mine. “I’ll find out what happened to Aleron.”

Finally Ursanne released me, sitting back. “I do miss him so,” she murmured. Now she frowned again. “And when he gets back, I’m going to kill him for making me worry so!”

I stifled a smile at the classic wifely threat. “I will see you again, Ursanne,” I promised, rising and gathering my gear. “Stay safe, ma’am.”

“Farewell, and do be careful,” Ursanne pleaded as I stepped away from the pew. “Kurdan is not to be trusted.”

I gave Ursanne a final reassuring smile and left the Chapel. The skies had opened while I was inside and a heavy rain transformed the dusty streets into mud. At the bottom of the steps I looked around, trying to remember the location of the Mages Guild. I spotted the ramshackle wooden building, one of the tallest in town at three stories, just south of the Chapel past an overgrown garden. Get my armor and weapons repaired, rest at the Guild, then find Kurdan and see what’s going on with Aleron Loche.

I found the Archer’s Paradox across the river from the Mages Guild. Seeking shelter from the rain that had developed while I was inside the Chapel, I saw a Bosmer shopkeeper inside, the feathers of steel arrows in a quiver at his back giving him height. He grinned at me. “Welcome to the Archer’s Paradox. Because a perfect arrow flies forever!”

“But that’s impossible,” I countered, shaking off the rain and setting my weapons on the counter before him. He laughed.

“And there lies the paradox!” he responded. He eyed the weapons. “I’m Daenlin. What can I do for you?”

“I’m Julian of Anvil,” I answered. “And I’d like my weapons and armor repaired.”

“Of course!” he waved me toward an alcove, screened off by a curtain. “Change in there, while I look at your weapons. I’ll give you a total after I’ve seen the armor, too.”

“Thanks,” I limped to the changing alcove. From my pack, I pulled out the tan skirt and the green shirt. I managed to strip out of the battered leathers without falling down from exhaustion and my painful knee. Returning to Daenlin, I handed him the leathers.

“You’ve got a fine katana,” Daenlin nodded at the slim blade. “But it’s been used quite heavily lately. The bow,” he caressed the stave lovingly, “and Daedra Slayer are in better condition. Now, let’s see the armor . . . “ He muttered to himself, examining the rents and dents in the leathers.

“The shield,” he pointed at the Kvatch Wolf, “is as badly beat up as the katana, but both of them are repairable.” He ran his hand over the scratched paint. “I can’t do anything about the design, though, I’m no artist.” He held up the cuirass and the greaves, setting the boots on the counter. “These are nice work, custom class,” he approved. “Mostly scorch marks, that’ll buff out quite nicely.”

“How much for the lot?” I asked him. He cast another eye at the gear, muttering under his breath.

“Thirty drakes,” he glanced sidelong at me. I counted out the gold from my belt purse. “Excellent! I’ll have it all ready for you by tomorrow morning!”

I nodded, aware of how much work was ahead of Daenlin. “Think you can get it all done by then?” I asked, raising one eyebrow.

As I expected, the Bosmer rose to my challenge. “Be here at the start of business tomorrow!”

I smiled at him. “Very well, sir, tomorrow morning.” Good, that gives me time to rest up. My stomach growled at the thought of the Mages Guild.

As I returned across the bridge over the canal, I spotted a familiar figure ahead in the pouring rain. Lean, trim in her Bravil surcoat, brown hair trimmed as short as I remembered, Viera Lerus had her back to me, but turned at the limping sound of my leather shoes on the Quivering Bridge. “Hello, I hear you’re back in town,” she remarked to me, her voice cold.

“Get up,” a cold voice snapped at me, where I lay in the middle of the muddy street. I opened bleary eyes to see a lean woman, in a threadbare but clean Watch surcoat, looking down at me, disgust in her green eyes. I tried to obey her, but my body defied my instructions, and her orders. Instead, I rolled over onto my right shoulder and vomited, foul fluid splashing into the mud and splattering on her boots. I heard her sharp intake, the whisper of a sword being drawn, and managed to roll the other way, away from her.

“S- s- sorry, ma’-” I gasped, my voice slurring. “Don’ mean no dishrepek -” Expectant of the bite from her blade, I held my hands out and looked up at her. Clearing the bile in my throat, I managed to struggle to my knees, but my left side screamed at the movement, pulling me back down into the mud, panting from the pain.

“Frederick,” the Watch Captain’s voice remained colder than the pouring rain, “get this filth out of the street.”

“Aye, Captain,” the guard with her said, reaching down for me. I recoiled from his grasp, but was too slow and weak to resist as he pulled me up, and half dragged, half frog-walked me to the nearby alley. He dropped me there and walked back to the captain. Together, they turned and walked away from me without a backward glance.

I felt like cringing at the unwanted memory, one of many fragments about this town that I possessed. It was here that I had discovered skooma, had become addicted, and where my downward spiral had become an out of control free fall. I had already become disreputable before my arrival here, thanks to my incessant drinking, but the skooma had sunk me even lower. Though I had been wallowing in self-pity then, some part of me had been shamed by Viera Lerus calling me filth, for I knew she had spoken true.

My spine straightened under her level stare, and I stepped off the bridge, stopping before Lerus and meeting her gaze. “Yes, Captain, I’m back in town,” I answered, hoping that she would see me as I stood now, rather than groveling in the mud two years ago.

“I’ve just been informed that you’ve closed that Oblivion Gate outside of town,” she continued, still cold towards me. “That doesn’t fit with the Julian of Anvil I remember.” Now her gaze traveled up and down my form, taking in my feminine garb. “Nor does the woman standing in front of me now.”

“I left my gear with Daenlin to get repaired, ma’am,” I replied, avoiding the subject of Oblivion Gates. “I’m going over to the Mages Guild now. I’m tired and hungry, ma’am.”

“And quite sober, I see,” Lerus added, nodding to herself. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with you later, after you’ve eaten and rested.” It was not a request, but more an order.

“Of course, ma’am,” I restrained myself from saluting her. “Where and when?”

“I’ll be about the rest of the day,” Lerus responded. “But after dinner time, I’ll be in the Castle barracks.”

“After dinner, then, ma’am,” I agreed, ducking my head respectfully instead of the salute my right arm itched to give. Though her eyes remained glacial, I saw the left corner of Lerus’s mouth twitch as she turned away towards the harbor. When her lean form disappeared into the rain, I let my breath out in a sigh. Whew. Still as cold as I remember her. Yet I preferred how this encounter ended better than the last time.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Jul 27 2010, 12:34 AM