Old Habits Die Hard, Can an old dog learn new tricks? Options

[D.Foxy]

then she needs to learn how to ride him (be quiet, Foxy!). Stick around long enough, and she may work up the courage to do that!

ER...

If the stick's round and long enough...she works up the courage to do...WHAT???



Man THIS STORY IS GONNA BE MUCH HOTTER THAN THE OLD ONE!!!

*finds glasses, puts them on and reads*

GNAAAH!!! And here I was, thinking a whole new meaning into "Old Habits Die Hard"!!!


Just kidding....I love this chapter!! (No, not in that way)

[mALX]

then she needs to learn how to ride him (be quiet, Foxy!). Stick around long enough, and she may work up the courage to do that!

ER...

If the stick's round and long enough...she works up the courage to do...WHAT???



Man THIS STORY IS GONNA BE MUCH HOTTER THAN THE OLD ONE!!!

*finds glasses, puts them on and reads*

GNAAAH!!! And here I was, thinking a whole new meaning into "Old Habits Die Hard"!!!


Just kidding....I love this chapter!! (No, not in that way)

SPEW! * CHOKE * ROFL [gasp, gasp, choke] ROFL (re-reads) SPEW! * mALX died choking at Foxy's comment *

[SubRosa]

Yay, its Aelwin. I really liked how you gave him the Cockeny accent. Your version of him is much more lively than mine.

nits:
I was going back over some of the earlier chapters, and found this in 1.3b:
“honoured user!” I yelled, I rolling to my right.
I think the forum played a practical joke with your dialogue.

[Fiach]

I loved your decription of Paint and of course the depth that you wrote about her, I don't know anything really about horses which is why I would avoid writing about them in anything

Is it weird that I learned some things by reading it?

I'm really enjoying this story, especially the way you described that Akaviri katana at the start of it.

Now I just have top find this unamed forum that everybodies talking about

[haute ecole rider]

I'm working on screenies - hard to do when I'm on the XBox 360.

Anyways, here's one for all of you -

Julian, just out of the sewers, on her way to Weynon Priory

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Mar 29 2010, 03:50 AM

[SubRosa]

Looking good! She could rescue me any day! She has that classic heroic face, like she is the daughter of Kirk Douglas or Chuck Heston, and piercing eyes. Why the black and white though?

You got your code mixed up though, with a combination of a link code and inline image. Quote this post and copy the following for just the inline image:



Or this for the link:
Julian, just out of the sewers, on her way to Weynon Priory

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 29 2010, 03:16 AM

[haute ecole rider]

Okay, thanks! This is all new stuff to me. I'll have to watch for the IMG tags.

The black and white is because I hate the blotchy skin tone I get all the time. At least with the black and white you don't see the blue and green on her face. Ugh. I have tinkered with it a zillion times, and can't get rid of it.

I'll try to get a decent color version up, but I may have to tinker with it in my image application. Until then, you'll just have to settle for the B&W.

[SubRosa]

There is a little trick to get rid of the blotchiness. This is something gpstr discovered:

if you open the shape menu and choose forehead, then slide the tilt forward/back slider all the way over so that the forehead is tilted all the way forward, then back out to the main face menu and adjust the complexion or go into the tone menu and adjust pretty much anything, even just a single click, it'll "snap" all of the textures and smooth them out, then you can go back to the forehead tilt slider and move it back to where it was. I have absolutely no idea why that works, but it does.

[Destri Melarg]

Ahhh, it's Merowald and his accent! I still can't hear him speak without thinking about it. I think that this chapter just underscores what we all like about Julian. It is her effortless nobility, her unforced heroism that keeps us all coming back for more.

And now a screenshot! You know, that's almost exactly how I imagined her, even down to the hair. The eye color is a bit of a surprise, though.

if you open the shape menu and choose forehead, then slide the tilt forward/back slider all the way over so that the forehead is tilted all the way forward, then back out to the main face menu and adjust the complexion or go into the tone menu and adjust pretty much anything, even just a single click, it'll "snap" all of the textures and smooth them out, then you can go back to the forehead tilt slider and move it back to where it was. I have absolutely no idea why that works, but it does.

I can confirm that this trick works on both the 360 and the PS3.

[mALX]

Woo Hoo! Julian is a HOTTIE !!!!!

[haute ecole rider]

Hi all: Thanks for reading and commenting on the last chapter.

As for the screenshot, I tried gpstr's trick, and it looks quite a bit better, though not quite what I had in mind.

Kirk Douglas or Charleston Heston as Julian's father? Hmmm, not.

Everyone seems surprised by the eye color. I had mentioned it (if only in passing) in chapter 2.1:

Studying my careworn features in the water, I tried to see what the Emperor saw in my face to trust me with something so precious as the Amulet. Grey-green eyes, deep-set, complete with crows-feet. Thin lips with fine lines bracketing them. A slightly bumpy nose. A naturally dark complexion with the grey cast of illness.

Now I would prefer to tone the lightness down a bit, but the game does not let me tinker with it so much. And now, the more I look at it, the more I like it. It does show up in high contrast with the dark skin, though.

Destri, I'm glad the screenshot doesn't disappoint.

mALX, Julian is outmatched by the competition (Maxical, Shivani, and that sizzler of a black Khajiit)! Still, I'm glad you think so!

On to the next chapter in Julian's saga:

*****************
Chapter 3.4 The Refugee Camp

Paint paced nervously at my shoulder as I led him up the slope toward the campfires at the base of the mesa. His breath blew hard on my shoulder and cheek.

All the way from Chorrol, he had been an easy ride, ambling up and down twisting, curving paths, cantering easily on level ground. His ability to detect enemies was more sensitive than mine, and I had quickly learned to rely on him to warn me of opponents on the road ahead.

But as we had approached Kvatch after our overnight stay at a bandit camp outside Skingrad, Paint had become more and more jittery. Even joining a Legion rider for part of the way had not calmed him down. The roiling thunderstorm I could see above Kvatch’s walls had not helped matters, either. Though the sky was overcast, and a light rain drizzled down, that clot of blood-black clouds over blackened city walls had only increased our mutual feeling of dread.

When the panicked Altmer had run down the road toward us, waving his hands and screaming, “Run, run while you can!” - Paint had nearly jumped out of his skin. The Altmer had disappeared behind us by the time I dismounted the trembling horse.

Ahead, we approached a cluster of small campfires, some with tents around them, others showing only huddled bodies. The rain increased, until both Paint and I were soaked.

Three children, covered in soot and blood, watched me numbly as I passed them. One girl, an Imperial, had tears tracing white paths down her cheeks. A small Dunmer boy curled next to her, his head in her lap. A slightly older Altmer girl had her arms about the Imperial.

At the next campfire, an old man, a Breton by his slight frame, lay shaking on a rough bedroll, moaning. He held his shattered left arm, the ends of bone poking through a mess of flesh and skin, close to his ribs. His eyes stared unblinking at the sky above, heedless of the rain. A young Redguard woman covered him with a tattered blanket before looking up at me, despair in her dark eyes.

By Akatosh, what happened here? Who are all these people? Pausing in the center of the plateau, formerly a hayfield, I looked around, trying to find someone who was somewhat coherent. Seeing only fear, desperation, and shock in the faces around me, I limped on, following the road towards the mountain. Behind me, the moaning faded away. Looking back, I saw the young Redguard woman rise to her feet and wander away, her face turned to the ground at her feet.

“I lost everything,” the hoarse voice sounded at my left shoulder. Paint flinched and snorted as I stopped to look at the tall Nord woman. Covered in soot, her once-fine blue velvet dress dragging over the trampled grass, her hair straggling from a bun that was coming apart, she was still beautiful in her despair. “I’m just tired, really,” she said to me. “I can’t face it anymore. You picked a bad time to visit Kvatch, ma’am.”

“Who are all these people?” I asked, waving my hand at the campfires.

“What’s left of Kvatch,” the woman said bitterly. “Everyone else is dead.”

“Now, Sigrid,” a man’s voice reached us. A Redguard joined us, standing between me and the Nord woman. “We don’t know that for certain.” He looked at me. “I’m Boldon, traveler, and this is Sigrid. She’s an alchemist.”

“I was,” she corrected. “Now I’m nothing. I lost all my equipment, my ingredients, up there.”

Where is Martin in all this? Whatever happened here, it didn’t kill him, did it? “I’m Julian, from Anvil. Can you tell me what happened here?”

“Something, a Gate to Oblivion, I think it’s called,” Boldon began, then faltered, uncertain eyes on me. Gaining courage from my nod, he continued, “it opened late last night while we were all asleep. They had a siege engine that came through the walls. It blasted us all with fire, burned the whole city. Most of us were killed, and the few that are left -” he waved his hand expressively at the campfires scattered across the hayfield.

“If you don’t believe him,” Sigrid spoke defensively, “go see for yourself!”

Thinking of the memories of blood and fire that had haunted me the past two nights, I met Sigrid’s blue gaze. “I believe Boldon, and you, too.” Glancing back at the refugees, I took a deep breath. “There’s the evidence right there.” Just like the aftermath on the battlefield. The blood, the smell of death and dying, the sounds of pain and agony. I looked back at the two survivors. “It looks bad from here.”

“You think that’s bad?” Sigrid’s tone became less angry, more weary. “It’s worse up there, believe me.”

“Savlian Matius is up there,” Boldon added. “With what’s left of the Guard. He’s holding the road, keeping the daedra from overrunning us here. But once the Guard gives way -”

“I came here for Martin,” I met Boldon’s gaze. “He is a priest of Akatosh. Did he survive this?”

“I’m not sure,” Boldon and Sigrid exchanged glances. He looked back at me, his expression guarded. “The last I saw of him, he was leading a few citizens into the Chapel. I don’t know if he is still alive. Savlian may know.”

Cacat! If he’s dead, who is left to re-light the Dragonfires? “He didn’t make it down here?” I asked, looking from Boldon to Sigrid. Again, they exchanged looks, then shook their heads.

I unslung my pack from my shoulder, hanging it over the cantle. Reaching in, I drew out the mutton and the vegetables I had scrounged from the bandit camp. I handed them to Boldon, along with the remaining food Jauffre had packed for me two days ago. “I know this isn’t much,” I said to him. “But you’ve got to get these people fed. They need food in a bad way.”

My fingers felt the mortar and pestle, caught at them. I handed them to Sigrid. “Here, you know how to use this better than I do.” Pressing my collection of ingredients at her, I caught the astounded looks on their faces. “I’ve got to go up there,” I continued, detaching the steel bow stave, a gift from a dead bandit, from the pack. Tucking the coiled bow strings into my belt pouch, I slung the quiver over my shoulder. “I cannot give up looking for Martin as long as there is a chance he is still alive.”

Boldon stopped me before I picked up Paint’s rein. “Don’t take your horse up there,” he warned me, his eyes grim. “What’s up there -” he shook his head, “your horse is jittery enough as it is.” He pointed out a small open area to the west of the camp. “I’ll put him there, make sure he has water. There’s grazing for him.”

Regarding him silently, I considered the options. These people are desperate. If they get hungry, what’s to keep them from slaughtering Paint? I had seen enough refugee camps to know the depths to which people could fall. On the other hand, it would be cruel to force him to go up there with me. Paint regarded me with wide brown eyes, his ears pointed at me. He’s scared enough as it is. He never asked to be in this situation.

“He’s not my horse, Boldon,” I said quietly, putting as much strength as possible into my voice. “He was entrusted to me, and as such, I’m responsible for his welfare.”

“I will care for him myself, until you return, Julian,” Boldon assured me. Regarding his open, honest expression, I made my decision. Patting Paint on his curved neck, I leaned to his ear.

“Go with Boldon, friend, and wait for me.” Handing the rein to Boldon, I let my hand move along Paint’s body as he followed Boldon away.

Checking to make sure my longsword was secured on my belt, I strung the bow, then started for the road switchbacking up the mountain. Sigrid turned to watch me go. “I hope you find Martin, Julian,” she called after me.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Mar 31 2010, 02:19 AM

[Olen]

You describe the camp well. It always seemed to clean and clinical in game, not nearly as desperate as such a place would be. I like how you add the emotion and realism which is often absent while playing into your writing.

I like this piece and look forward to reading the next part.

[SubRosa]

I always liked the people running down the path when you first come to Kvatch (when you take the road at least).

Like Olen, I enjoyed your description of the camp, especially the shock and despair of the survivors. Having read OHDH before, I now paid more attention to the three children Julian sees when she first rides in.

I think this was your first use of this lovely word to bypass swear filters:
Cacat!
I always liked that inventiveness. It not only fixes the problem of censors, but also adds flavor to the story at the same time.



nits:
This line makes it sound more like Julian is there to kill Martin then rescue him:
“I have to be sure Martin is dead before I can give up.”
Perhaps saying something like:
“I cannot give up as long as there is a chance Martin is alive.”

[Winter Wolf]

Awesome writing in this chapter.

Paint regarded me with wide brown eyes, his ears pointed at me.

You are breaking my heart with that one Hauty.

And when Hirtel scared him on the road leading up to Kvatch I was ready to chase that low-life down the road. How dare he scare my lovable Paint.

[mALX]

SOMEBODY (no names mentioned, COUGH, COUGH) seems to think my comments are annoying and tactless!

That aside, I love the job you did on this and the upcoming segments in Kvatch - although I am not going to use a seven letter word that starts with A as I have been told it is the adolescent poundings of a...

*

This post has been edited by mALX: Mar 30 2010, 07:16 AM

[D.Foxy]

But EYE can do it, since I have now preventerd HER (no names COUgH CoUgH, SHALL BE MENTIONED, AHEM mALX) from doing so...


A.W.E.S.O.M.E!!!

DOUBLE

[Destri Melarg]

The tension in this chapter has been drawn out almost as much as mALX’s resentment over being called tactless and annoying (nobody really thinks you are, mALX, despite your best efforts! ).

The ‘blood black clouds’ really serve to set the mood for the refugee camp, and act as an apt (five ‘a’ words in a row = alliteration) metaphor for what Julian is about to face.

Paint continues to be one of the most vivid characters dreamed up in any fan-fic. His reaction when Hirtel came running out of the camp was just great. The only thing missing was for him to turn that giant head of his, look at Julian, and say,

Cacat!

[Remko]

Have you changed things? I have the distinct impression you made some changes or added somethings to the first chapter (that's as far as I got today)
Anyway; I dropped in to say I loved it, whether or not is's been changed from what I read in that other forum

Yay Julian!

[haute ecole rider]

@Olen: I've read waaaay too many war stories to not mention the grisly side of combat and the effects on the noncombatants. I agree that this gets glossed over too much in the game, but since it's PG-13, unfortunately it's necessary. Those of us who know better can fill in the blanks.

@SubRosa: Part of the fun of posting on a PG-13 forum, as I was saying to a friend at work this morning, is that I have to think up creative swearing. It is actually quite interesting to see what passes the filters and what doesn't. Doesn't always make sense, but there you have it. And I fixed your nit - good point about semantics.

@Winter Wolf: It's nice to know that Paint has his own adoring fan. Horses are actually very sensitive to the emotions of people around them - it's one of the things that make them amazing animals. They are highly social, so that helps.

@mALX: I never said you were annoying, just the poetry written by certain people! But then, I'm not a big fan of poetry. Some I like, and some I'm just

@D.Foxy: Does that mean you're an adolescent pounding . . . I'll let you fill in the blank.

@Destri: My old mare liked to pretend she was a spooky girl. She did jump out of her skin once and bolted on me when a deer came out of the trees behind us. To this day I still don't understand how I managed to stay in the saddle! Paint has a lot of her characteristics - she was my first horse and took care of me in many ways. I still miss her. Writing Paint is my way of honoring her memory.

@Remko: I've polished up a few things here and there, but little really in the way of drastic rewrites. I'm glad you liked this so far. I'm enjoying your own two stories myself!

I'm sure those of you who have read this before are hopping to get into action. For all of you, here it comes.

******************
Chapter 3.5 Matius and the Great Gate

The rain turned heavier as I hiked up the steep road. Above, the sky grew darker, more forbidding. Beneath the thunder, I started hearing an unholy shrieking, like a horde of tortured souls screaming their agony to Nirn. My breath started puffing in the cooling air as I trudged higher, higher, up that escarpment.

Finally I saw something ahead, something other than bare rocks and scorched tree trunks. A rough barricade was thrown across the road at the top of the slope, where it leveled out onto the top of the mesa. A scattering of soldiers stood along it, once-white surcoats smudged with soot, blood, and other things. Their shoulders were slumped, and a couple of them swayed on their feet.

Now I could hear something else beneath the thunder and the screaming of souls. A crackling, buzzing sound set my teeth on edge, and made the small hairs on my neck stand up beneath my soggy ponytail. As my head reached the level of the mesa, the sight that met my eyes bought me to a stunned halt.

A hot wind blew in my face, causing the rain to disappear into steam. On the mesa, Kvatch’s broken, burned walls rose behind an ovate lens of fire and sizzling energy. Black, blood-stained tusks rose around it, some propping the flames up, others serving as grounding rods for the red lightning that flew off the Gate at irregular intervals. It seemed to suck the life out of its surroundings.

Creatures began appearing out of that inferno, naked male creatures with stringy muscles, monkey-like faces and pointed ears. Scamps! Damn! As the bare-headed soldier shouted orders, the men sprang to action, some slower than others. Two archers started firing arrows, while the others ran through the barricades to tackle the scamps.

Drawing my longsword, I shouldered my bow, its string loosened, and limped forward as fast as I could. Pausing behind the archers, I counted swiftly. Eight scamps against four swordsmen. The daedra were forming fireballs and flinging them with deadly accuracy at the mailed soldiers. As I moved through the barricade, I could hear bowstrings twanging madly. Hobbling toward the nearest scamp, I came up behind him and struck him in the side. His screech, too high pitched to hear, nevertheless drowned out the roaring of the Gate for a brief moment. He turned for me, but the guardsman he had been attacking swooped in and stabbed the scamp in the lower back.

As the scamp slid off the other’s blade, the guardsman shot a puzzled look at me, then ran to take on another scamp. Following as quickly as I could, I came under fire from another of the daedra. I dodged the fireballs and turned for him. He tossed another fireball at me, then came running. Ducking the fiery missile, I shoved my shield into him, knocking him off balance. Closing with the staggering creature, I shoved the tip of my sword into his upper abdomen, twisting the blade as I did so, before stepping to my left and tearing the blade out his side. Intestines and blood trailed the tip of my blade as the scamp fell away.

Turning back to the melee, I found that while the numbers of scamps had decreased to three, so had the number of guardsmen, from four to three. The soldiers had drawn together into a defensive knot, their backs to each other, and faced the remaining scamps. Not a good idea. They can’t duck those fireballs. For the moment, the scamps were focused on the three guardsmen. As I had done before, I hobbled behind the nearest one and stabbed him in the kidney. Now the odds are better. The men separated, going after the remaining two scamps. In a flurry of steel, almost too fast for my eye to follow, the three succeeded in finishing off the last of the daedra.

The bare-headed soldier, apparently the commander, spotted me, and said something to the guardsman I had assisted earlier. He shrugged in response, and knelt beside the fallen man. Shaking his head at the commander, he waved the other swordsman to help him carry the body to the barricades. The commander stalked up to me, sheathing his sword when I put mine away.

“Who in Oblivion are you?” he demanded once he was within earshot. His square face, which would have been boyish if not for the exhaustion and pain, scowled at me.

“I’m Julian, from Anvil,” I answered. “I came here -”

“You don’t belong here,” he cut me off. His brown eyes were cold on mine. “I don’t care if you carry a frickin’ daedric claymore, you’re not one of us!” He jabbed a gauntleted finger at the barricades. “Get back there, now!”

I stood my ground, my need to find Martin warring with my natural inclination to obey a commanding officer. “Sir, are you Savlian Matius?”

“Yes, I am!” he growled, but I saw he was swaying on his feet. Younger than I expected, the strain around his eyes belied the weight on his wide shoulders.

“Then maybe you can help me, sir,” I said, turning for the barricades. Now is not the time for a pissing contest.

“Help you?” Matius returned, his voice quieter now. “What makes you think I can help you? I can’t even help my own people!” he stabbed his hand at the Gate behind us.

“I’m looking for someone, I’m hoping he’s one of the survivors, sir,” I said when we reached the barricades.

“Did you look down in the camp?” Matius shot a glare at the Gate.

“I talked to Boldon, he said Martin might be in the Chapel. He told me you would know.”

Matius turned to look at me, and now I could see the despair he refused to show his men. “Know? Me?” he shook his head. “I know nothing.” Regarding him thoughtfully, I considered what approach to take with him.

“You know something, sir,” I said finally. “What do you know?”

“What do I know?” Matius’s anger flared up again. “I know we failed to protect the city. It was too much, too damned fast. We couldn’t get everyone out in time -” he stopped suddenly, straightening up and turning away from me, staring at the slice of Oblivion crackling before the smashed gates of Kvatch.

I stepped close behind him, so I could speak into his ear without the men overhearing me. “Sir, you’ve never seen anything like this before. By Akatosh, I’ve never seen anything like this, and I’ve been around the provinces. What could you do, what can you do?”

“The only thing we can,” he answered grimly. “Hold these barricades as long as we can.”

“And when the last one of you falls, what then?” I asked. His head snapped around at me.

“Do you think I don’t want to do something about that?” he snarled, punching his fist at the Gate. “My damn home is in flames, and I can’t do anything about it! But we can’t leave the barricades until that damned Gate is closed!”

“And how do you close it?” I asked him. He shook his head, turning to face me.

“It’s some kind of portal to Oblivion. The daedra are using it to attack the city. I’m not sure how it can be closed. There were three smaller Gates that opened just before this one,” he jerked his head backwards at the Gate. “They closed once the Great Gate was open, so I assume this can be closed the same way.” His eyes shifted. “I sent six men in there several hours ago, but they haven’t come back. And I can’t spare any more -” he waved at the four men standing behind the barricades. “I’ve got ten men down in the encampment, badly wounded, maybe dead by now.”

Stepping past Matius, I studied the Gate. “Your men went in there?” I said. If they went in there, then they should be coming out. But if they close that Gate, can they come back out?

“I fear the worst for them,” Matius was saying. Tears were in his eyes when I glanced back over my shoulder at him.

Ach, what else is there to do? If Martin’s still alive, as a priest, he probably won’t leave his flock, as long as this thing is open. What to do? Eliminate the source. How? Something shifted in my gut, just below my breastbone. Close shut the jaws of Oblivion.

“I will go in there,” I found my mouth saying, before my mind could stop it. Me? In there? Am I crazy? But it has to be done. It needs to be done.

“You?” Matius stepped in front of me, blocking my way. “It can mean your death if you go in there.”

Holding his steady gaze for a few moments, I looked away and stepped past him, through the barricades, and started limping toward that ovate fire.

“Julian!” Matius called after me. “Good luck to you! It’s a brave thing you’re doing!”

Brave? Me? I’m all jelly inside. I straightened my back and kept limping.

[SubRosa]

I have read it before, but I was not hopping to get into the action. That is just me though, I am weird.

I liked your truly horrific description of the gate and its surroundings. The shrieking, lightning, hot wind, etc... It really sets the mood.

This I liked too. The serpent in Julian's gut speaking:
Something shifted in my gut, just below my breastbone. Close shut the jaws of Oblivion.

But especially this:
Brave? Me? I’m all jelly inside. I straightened my back and kept limping.
Nothing like honesty.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Apr 1 2010, 01:00 AM