Old Habits Die Hard Part Two, An old dog learns new tricks Options

[Remko]

Caught up on your new chapters and I love m. The part in Bruma was really good.

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: Of course a mountain lion can tear apart an atronach! They're quick, agile, and very bad-tempered, not to mention those powerful jaw and those nasty sharp claws. If a domestic house cat can flay the skin from his owner's arm with his dull back claws (something I've actually witnessed! ) then imagine the damage a cougar can do. Yikes! While Paint likes Wildeye Paint Stables, he likes Roliand at Cloud Ruler Temple more!

@Olen: As for Schrödinger's equation, there's always the Cat Who Walks Through Walls. Hey, that'll be a cool avatar for a science geek like me! Bruma is a place of contradictions for me - cold enough to see your breath, but cozy and warm at heart. Oh, and didn't you know that rumor travels faster than the speed of light? Of course, there's nicer, kinder, gentler agents than benzene (talk about the smell of death - benzene is worse). But I chose the ouroboros because it represents the Eureka! moment so well for me.

@ureniashtram: Thanks for the kudos! As for O.C., that was what Cornellians called it when I was there about twenty five years ago. Both science majors and non-science majors referred it to as orgasmic chem because of the block plan. We had to take a semester's worth of work in three and a half weeks. The final was on you before you had a chance to recover from the brutal mid-terms. Nine blocks through the school year. Oh, and it's not Cornell University in Ithaca, New York, it's Cornell College in Mt. Vernon, Iowa.

@D.Foxy: I think U beat you this time!

@Destri: I think you got it right - Julian is finding the cloak and dagger business pretty challenging. I guess that's why Jauffre had her go to Bruma - it's a fairly benign town to be learning that stuff in, compared to - say, Leyawiin, or Chorrol. As for Bravil, don't get me started! As for scenes edited out of Chapter 10.1, a lot has been removed, due to length. You're pretty good at picking up on that.

@Remko: Hey, good to see you again! I'm glad you're still enjoying this!

Next, Julian discovers my favorite place in all of Bruma - Olav's. Ahh, the hours I've spent in there, enjoying the drink and especially the company. I hope Julian enjoys it as much as I have (except for the drink, of course).

********************
Chapter 10.3 Local Gossip

Senarel showed me where the smithy lay, just east of the North Gate. He waited while I dickered with Fjotreid about the cost of sharpening my blade. Back outside, the lieutenant led me to Olav’s Tap and Tack before returning to his rounds.

Stepping inside the small inn, I found myself in a dimly lighted, smoky room. A few Nords looked me over, but their expressions lacked hostility. One of the men, still tall and unbent despite his advanced age, greeted me warmly. “Greetings Redguard,” he lowered the clay pipe from his mouth. “Ongar the World-Weary, they call me hereabouts. I’ve been everywhere, and done everything. Now I’m settled down for a good, long rest.”

“Here in Bruma, sir?” I asked, thinking of warmer climes for retirement.

“Aye,” Ongar tipped his head back, his blue eyes twinkling in the smoky air. “Bruma is the perfect town for a Nord man of leisure. Bracing mountain air, good food and drink, and lively Nord fellowship.” He gestured for me to sit across the table from him.

“I have to admit you make it sound appealing, sir,” I remarked, taking the indicated seat and lowering my pack to the floor. “But I prefer Anvil, myself. I’m Julian.”

Ongar pointed the stem of the pipe at me. “And yet here you are,” he said acerbically. I laughed quietly.

“You have a point, sir,” I said. “I’m new to Bruma, but not to Nord ways.”

“Really?” Ongar’s grey brows rose. “How so?”

“I spent some time in Skyrim,” I answered. “Pretty country, but a little cold for my taste.”

“Well, then this will be more your taste,” Ongar chuckled at me. “You’ve come a long way, traveler. I’m sure you are hungry and weary.”

“Hungry, certainly, sir,” I responded as my stomach growled softly.

“Olav!” Ongar shouted at another man near the fire. The innkeeper turned at the sound of his name. Handsome in a rugged way, he shot Ongar a glare. “Some hot food and spiced ale for my new friend Julian of Anvil!” Ongar ignored the other’s look.

The glare disappeared as Olav transferred his steady gaze to me. He moved to bring me a pitcher, but I held up a hand. “Water, or klah, if you have it, please,” I said.

“Of course, Julian,” Olav poured a mug from the klah pitcher hanging from a hook in the fireplace. “Food?”

“Whatever’s hot,” I said, reaching into my pouch. Olav set the mug in front of me, then returned to the fireplace. He glanced at me as he ladled some soup into a bowl.

“Cheese and potato dumpling soup,” he said proudly. Hmm, sounds good. Smells better.

“How much?” I asked.

“Three drakes,” Olav answered in a matter-of-fact manner. I laid three coins on the table. Setting the bowl before me, he picked up the coins and waited for me to take my first taste.

“Hmm, this is delicious,” I exclaimed. “Never had anything like this.”

“Not even in Anvil?” he asked. I shook my head.

“Too warm for soups and stews,” I answered. “Mostly roast meat, fish and vegetables.” I looked up in surprise as Olav set a chunk of bread next to my elbow.

The remaining Nord in the place, a beautiful woman with long blond hair framing her oval face, looked over at me from the adjacent table. “Hello,” she greeted me. “What news do you bring, Julian of Anvil?”

I thought fast. “The Dark Brotherhood isn’t responsible for the Emperor’s assassination,” I remarked. “At least, that’s what a Legion rider told me.”

“Really?” the woman commented.

“That’s Alga, bard and speechcraft trainer,” Ongar introduced her. “Honmund’s her partner.” His gaze on me was crafty. As I returned his gaze, I nearly missed Alga’s scowl.

“No offense,” she said to me, shooting Ongar a glare, “but I don’t want to hear about any ‘Mara Mother Mild’ and Chapel family business. Honmund and I live together in the old Nord way. Good enough for my Fa and Ma, good enough for me.”

I realized that she had heard enough from southerners about living with a man without the advantage of a Chapel wedding. Recalling that marriages in Skyrim were more a private agreement between the involved parties, I met Alga’s gaze squarely.

“If it’s good enough for you,” I said quietly, “it’s good enough for me.”

Alga nudged Ongar’s shoulder, making him scoot over on the bench a little. She sat down across from me, next to the old man. “You’re not like the others,” she remarked, her smile touching her brilliant blue eyes.

“What others?” I responded, spooning up more of the wonderful soup. The woman regarded me thoughtfully for several moments.

“Bruma’s a funny place,” she said finally, as I sopped up the last of the soup with the bread. “Half Cyrodiil, and half Skyrim.” She placed her left elbow on the table and propped her chin in her left palm. “Some of the southerners disapprove of us Nords,” she continued after a moment. “And some of the Nords think southerners are weaklings.”

“Hmm,” I responded, taking a sip of my klah. “And what do you think, Alga?”

“Honestly?” Alga held my gaze. “I’m not as confident in my thinking as I used to be. Take Cirroc, for example.”

“Cirroc?” I repeated.

“The chapel healer,” Ongar said, his eyes twinkling. “Redguard, like you. Only you’d think he was a Nord, the way he acts.”

“How does he act?” I smiled at Ongar.

“Like a Nord,” Ongar returned, his chuckles making me laugh in response.

“Have you traveled far today?” Alga asked me, her gaze open and curious.

“Not as far as I did yesterday,” I responded. “But I’m glad to be here for the noon meal.” My gaze on Olav’s rugged face, I popped the last of the cooling bread into my mouth. “The food is absolutely delicious.” He grinned in pleasure at my compliment.

“And you’ll be moving on soon, I suppose,” Alga remarked casually. Sensing some deeper purpose in her comments, I met her gaze.

“Not right away, I don’t think,” I indicated the pack on the bench next to me. “I’ve picked up a few things in my travels, and would like to sell them. I prefer to travel light.”

“Well, Fjotreid at the Hammer and Axe, and Olfand at Nord Winds will buy and sell weapons and armor, and Skjorta, Olfand’s woman, will buy and sell clothes.” Alga paused, waiting for a response from me. Keeping my face neutral, I waited. “And Suurootan in Novaroma will barter everything else.”

“Is that all?” I responded when she did not continue further. “Just the three shops?”

“Bruma isn’t Imperial City, that’s for certain,” Alga’s gaze turned cool.

“Hmm, could have fooled me,” I answered, finishing the last of the klah. “It’s a pretty good sized city, and the only one for kilometers around.” I met Alga’s eyes again. “You must get a lot of strangers passing through here.”

“Hmm, not lately, right Olav?” Alga turned to look at the innkeeper over her shoulder.

“No, not many since the assassination.” Olav responded, swirling the ladle in the soup kettle.

“And now with these Oblivion Gates opening up all over the place,” Alga added, “people are staying home more.”

“Except for Jearl,” Ongar pointed out. “She just got back from a trip south. Didn’t have much to say, but seemed a little smug.” He met my gaze. “She’s a Redguard, but not like you. Or Cirroc.”

“How so?” I asked, tipping my head at him. “She doesn’t act like a Nord?”

“Ach, she acts like she’s better than every one else in Bruma,” Ongar’s eyes turned cold at the thought. “Doesn’t give the time of the day to anyone. Walks around in those raggedy clothes of hers as if they’re velvet.”

“She keeps to herself, mostly,” Alga added. “Though she works in the castle, cleaning the Great Hall, she doesn’t seem to do much else.”

“She’s been going out the North Gate in the late afternoon lately, though,” Ongar glanced sidelong at Alga. “Ever since she got back.” He rubbed his chin. “Stays out until the chapel bells strike ten, then comes back home. Don’t know what she does out there.”

Hanging around that runestone at the base of Cloud Ruler Mountain? “Is that odd behavior for anyone?” I asked.

“Well, my Honmund goes out in the mountains for days at a time,” Alga responded. “But he does prospecting. Jearl isn’t out long enough to do anything productive, if you ask me.”

“Then there’s that face in the window,” Ongar added, taking a sip of his ale.

“Face in the window?” Alga repeated, shooting a glance at him. The old man nodded.

“Yes, every day I see someone looking out the window of Jearl’s cabin. I know it isn’t her, because she’s at the castle working.” Ongar looked at me with that sly look again. There’s more to him than a retired old man enjoying the life of leisure. He sees more than he lets on. So much for the dumb Nord act. I always knew that was bullcrap.

“Hmm, maybe that’s the reason she’s been smug lately,” I remarked softly. Alga and Ongar stared at me, then the old Nord began guffawing heartily.

[SubRosa]

@SubRosa:then imagine the damage a cougar can do.

That will be another six or seven chapters further in the TF, when Teresa meets Nerussa again...

Probably too big to shrink down to avatar size, but I thought you would like it.

I sort of figured you left out a scene with Julian and Martin. But I was just assuming it was so incredibly X-Rated that none of it would pass the board's censor filter...

A few Nords looked me over, but their expressions lacked hostility.
Somehow this sort of felt like a letdown. Must be because of the last inn that Julian visited!

I liked the idea of the klah pitcher hanging over the fireplace. Since you added klah to Tamriel, have you ever thought of where it comes from? Black Marsh perhaps? Or maybe southern Elsewyr? The reason I bring it up is because IRL coffee beans are one of the most traded items on the planet. You might be able to do something with their value as a commodity in either OHDH, or a future storyline, even as a minor side note. Such as Julian encountering a klah caravan, or a person who got rich on trading klah, or maybe running illegal klah shipments (if it is taxed, then somebody's got to be smuggling it), etc...

Finally, well done with the conversation between Julian, Ongar, and Alga. You wove the in game dialogue into new material quite well. Most importantly you brought us to Julian, our international woman of mystery, getting a lead on a possible Mythic Dawn agent in a way that flowed very naturally from the talk.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jun 16 2010, 03:47 AM

[Remko]

I agree with Rosa. Loved how subtle you brought in her spy mission into the conversation.

[ureniashtram]

Second to agree with SubRosa. Staggeringly outstanding dialogue with the Bard, the World-Weary and the Proprietor.

And the conversation about Jearl and the face that comes out of the window of her house... made me grin.

Nice update and am waiting for more!!

[Acadian]

Caught up again. Thanks for the chow. First there was this:

...the laden plate, this time containing warm bread, sliced roast boar and aged yellow cheese in front of me..

Then just the thing to take the edge (brrrr) off Bruma - hot soup and bread.

I was so busy enjoying the grub that I barely noticed how beautifully and smoothly you worked Jearl into things. Wonderfully done as mentioned above.

You did a great job with Bruma. Buffy hates the cold so we zip in and out of there pretty quickly when we have to. I'm with Julian in that we prefer Anvil.

Oh, and yay! You finally got an avatar.

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: Think you this old soldier is just gonna hop in the sack with her superior?? She's a bit too professional for that! The missing scene is just a little conversation where Julian convinces Martin of the value of rest whenever and wherever you can get it, just like the old soldier she is. I wasn't happy with it so I edited it out. As for klah, well, coffee grows in mountain forests in tropical zones, so that would be Elseweyr or Valenwood. Black Marsh I believe is too low in altitude. Hammerfell and High Rock have the altitudes, but I believe they are too far north. The idea of klah smuggling is an interesting concept and something I'll think about for the next one!

@Remko: I'm glad you thought the whole spy thing was subtle enough to be believable. I enjoyed watching Julian struggle with the concept of undercover work.

@ureniashtram: That last comment of Julian's about the reason for Jearl's recent smugness just escaped her mouth, and I just left it in. I'm glad you enjoyed the conversation in Olav's. I always enjoy sitting there for a few hours and listening in on the NPC's there.

@Acadian: Thanks for reading and enjoying! If Buffy goes to Bruma again, tell her to duck into Olav's and tell him Julian sent her! It's the warmest spot in all of Bruma, I guarantee it!

Now Julian finds out if Jauffre is right.

*****************
Chapter 10.4 - Spies, Really

The residences changed from sturdy log houses along the east side to ramshackle board-and-batten structures along the west side as I limped along the narrow cobblestoned path running around the chapel. People, mostly Nords, greeted me as they passed me, or as I passed them.

As I rounded the southwestern corner of the immense chapel and started back toward the square, I heard a door open behind me. I glanced back as a Redguard woman stepped onto her dilapidated porch. Her black eyes locked with mine and she gasped, her left hand flying upwards.

“You cannot escape the Master’s vigilance!” she shouted, as yellow smoke swirled around her, obscuring her face and figure in daedric armor. The sound of another summoning spell reached my ears as another horrifying figure appeared in the doorway behind her. “For Lord Dagon!” She leaped off the porch toward me.

My right hand reaching to my empty left hip, I cursed myself for not bringing a backup blade, and turned to run. The dark green wool tangled around my ankles, and I slipped on an icy patch, but I managed to keep my footing. My bum knee stabbed as I slid sideways into the stone wall of the chapel to my right.

With a shove of my right hand, I pushed myself off the wall and gathered the skirts up in my left hand, running. Booted footfalls pounded behind me, drawing nearer. A glance over my shoulder indicated the first of the two assassins was only a couple of paces behind me and gaining, her horned mace rising for the blow.

Pain spread through my knee joint and shot up my thigh as I put on another burst of speed. Ahead, I spotted the yellow surcoats of two Guardsmen, already turning at the commotion behind me. They sized up the situation efficiently and unshouldered their bows, shouting for reinforcements.

Reaching the steps of the chapel, I ducked to my right. Arrows whiffed past me toward the two assassins while I scrambled across the granite pavers. As I headed for the East Gate, I avoided the additional guards running up the broad avenue.

Again my foot landed on another patch of ice, and I fell to my knees. A cry escaped me at the sharp stabbing now reaching my right hip. I turned in time to see the nearer assassin go down under the assault of multiple arrows. They didn’t even try to arrest her!

Running up from the East Gate, Senarel positioned himself between me and the remaining Mythic Dawn assassin, his war axe ready. With shouted commands to the four guards, he braced himself for her attack. Four bowstrings twanged nearly simultaneously, and the assailant dropped less than two meters from Senarel and myself. The armor and weapon disappeared in sulfurous smoke, leaving behind the corpse of a Dunmer woman.

One of the guardsmen called the all clear, and they shouldered their bows. Another walked up to the Redguard woman and tipped her body over with a booted foot to see her face. He shot a glance at Senarel, “It’s Jearl, sir,” he reported.

His war axe shouldered, Senarel turned to look at me, his eyes scanning my frame. “Are you hurt, ma’am?” he asked. Still gasping from the pain, I shook my head, gulping down deep breaths of the cold air.

“I’m fine, sir,” I struggled for breath, “thanks to your men.” Senarel took a step toward me and held his hand out. Gratefully I accepted his offer of assistance and regained my feet, shaking out the skirts. Once he was certain I had my balance, Senarel released my hand and stomped to the Dunmer woman, kneeling beside her to look at her face. With a stifled groan at the stabbing in my right leg, I followed him and looked over his shoulder.

“I don’t recognize her,” he muttered under his breath.

“A stranger in town?” I asked. He shot me a glare. “I’m sorry, sir,” I hastened to assure him. “I didn’t mean to imply anything, sir. Ongar said he saw someone looking out the window of Jearl’s cabin. If she stayed inside the entire time -” my voice trailed off.

“Must have,” he growled, searching the woman’s body. Recovering three drakes and a key from the woman’s belt pouch, he handed them to me. “Keep the gold, she won’t be needing it any more. You may want to find out if that key fits somewhere in Jearl’s house.”

Surprised at his words, I took the coins and the key from Senarel. Suddenly overcome by the need to see the face of the woman that had just tried to kill me, I limped over to the Redguard. Her face was young, her black hair pulled back in tight braids along her scalp.

Kneeling awkwardly beside her, I searched her body. Like the other, I found only a few coins and a similar key. I glanced up at Senarel, holding out the items.

“Help yourself,” he said, his tone easing a little. Again he offered me his hand. “Are you certain you aren’t hurt?” His grip was strong and steady as he drew me effortlessly to my feet. “You’re limping pretty badly, ma’am.”

As I brushed the snow and dirt off my skirts, I shook my head at him. “No, sir,” I answered, meeting his dark gaze. “That’s an old injury that never quite healed.” With a sigh, I looked back down at Jearl’s body. “I’m not used to running, sir, especially from danger.”

His eyebrows shot up as Senarel considered me. “Really?” I could see him revising his opinion of me. “What do you usually do with danger, then, ma’am?”

“Usually I stand and face it,” I replied. “Sometimes I’ve gone looking for it.”

“Adventurer?” Senarel’s eyes narrowed at me.

“Half a lifetime in the Legion,” I answered. I could see my estimation soar in Senarel’s eyes. He rocked back on his heels, his eyes steady on me.

“Well, then,” he turned his dark gaze back to Jearl. “Take those keys and go through Jearl’s house, see what you find. I expect a full report from you when you’re done.”

“Certainly, sir,” I agreed. Well, he’s entitled to find out why these two attacked me. Oblivion, I’m entitled to that, too. With a healing spell cast, I turned back to the narrow street leading south. I looked at the keys in my hand, the iron cold in the mountain air.

Reaching Jearl’s house, I stepped through the open door. Within, I found myself in a single room, with an alcove toward the back. A plain bed stood within the small area. A search of the cupboards turned up only food, and a rusty iron cuirass. Pausing with my back to the fire, I looked around the room again. Not many hiding places here. That bed only sleeps one. How did Jearl have a guest?

My eye fell on the rug, laid crookedly under the table. The light from the fire illuminated a square outline beneath the worn fabric. My toe slid beneath the edge of the rug and I flipped it back, exposing a trap door.

Kneeling beside it, I tugged on the iron ring set into the door. Locked. The first key I tried didn’t fit, but the other key did. The trapdoor swung back to reveal a crate below the opening, the musty air typical of cellars rising to my nose. I groaned to myself at the lack of rungs or ladder to ease my aching knee.

I sat at the edge of the trapdoor and lowered myself to the crate, taking as much of my weight on my left leg as I could. A quick look around showed an alcove set off to the side, with another bed in it, behind a cupboard. On top of it, I recognized one of the purple-bound Commentaries. A table placed against the left-hand wall, beneath a guttering torch, drew my attention. Another purple volume rested on it, on top of an open scroll.

Jauffre was right, they were spies. Picking up the scroll, I tilted it to read by the torch light.

Jearl,

The Master was pleased to hear of your activities outside of Chorrol. The more gates that we open the nearer we are to the Glorious Cleansing.

The Master has chosen you and Saveri Faram for a most crucial mission, a sign of your achievement through the ranks of the Chosen. We have learned that the Septim heir has gone to ground at Cloud Ruler Temple, the lair of the cursed Blades. The Master has made its destruction the top priority of the Order, and Lord Dagon has committed whatever resources are required.

Pending your report on the Septim’s activities at Cloud Ruler Temple and your assessment of Temple defenses and possible routes of escape, we plan to open a Great Gate on the open ground before Bruma as soon as possible.

Remember the first three Lesser Gates represent only the preliminary stages of Great Gate deployment. Do not in any way compromise your cover in defense of these gates. New ones can be quickly and easily reopened. And once the Great Gate is opened, the fall of Bruma is assured. Cloud Ruler Temple cannot stand long after this, and the Septim will be caught like a rat in a trap.

We would appreciate any further details you can offer concerning the Imperial agent who rescued Martin from Kvatch, but again we caution you, do not risk a confrontation. This individual is not to be trifled with.

Dawn is breaking.

Ruma Camoran.

Suddenly breathless, I looked up into the flickering torch light. —Not to be trifled with, am I? Obviously, Jearl thought otherwise. My eyes widened at a sudden thought. Ruma knew about me before I went into those caverns. No wonder she recognized me. My hand rose to my hair. People are talking about a white-haired Redguard closing the Kvatch Gate. How many white-haired Redguard women are there?

Recalling Matius’s description of that horrifying night, I considered the spies’ orders. They are to open three smaller gates so a Great Gate can open. Once that Great Gate is open, they can send that siege engine through. If that happens here - I inhaled sharply at the memory of the devastation I had witnessed at Kvatch followed by the thought of the same happening to cold, snowy, warm, friendly Bruma.

Not if I can help it. Re-reading the opening paragraph, my mind caught on another detail. Chorrol? What was Jearl doing at Chorrol? Weynon Priory! She stole the Amulet! That’s why Mankar Camoran was so pleased with her! Suddenly I didn’t regret her death. They killed Prior Maborel.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Jun 19 2010, 06:19 PM

[SubRosa]

Well, Hephaestion was a member of the most professional army of his time, and it did not stop him from sleeping with the boss! (I just love the saying: Alexander was never conquered, except by Hephaestion's thighs...) If Julian does not show an interest in someone soon, the rest of us are going to have to start writing Julian slash to make up for it (hmmm, starts thinking about Julian and Jena...).

I suspect that Julian will never wear a skirt again! That was a very exciting chase. I like that fact that Julian is not the one to kill the two Mythic Dawn agents, but rather the guards that come to her rescue. Most fan-fics would have the opposite. Well done!

Ruma's note warning Jearl not to attack Julian rang true to my ears. After how Julian had laid waste to the Arrius Caverns, she is not someone I would be sending anyone but my best after. Perhaps Jearl figured that bagging Julian would insure her promotion?

It was also a nice touch in tying Jearl to the theft of the Amulet of Kings. When I read Chorrol, that was the first thing that came to my mind.

Oh, and since you are using klah, that means you might want to use phrases like "Not worth a hill of beans!" or "You're full of beans!" sometime.


nits:
Ahead, I spotted the yellow surcoats of two Guardsmen ahead, already turning at the commotion behind me.
You have ahead twice here. I think can just delete the second instance.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jun 18 2010, 04:38 PM

[Remko]

Very nice! I always this like this part of the MQ. I loved your conclusion Jearl must have been one of the thieves that took the Amulet and had a hand in the death of Maborel.

Not sure if you perhaps meant Redguard here:

We would appreciate any further details you can offer concerning the Imperial agent who rescued Martin from Kvatch

After all, she is working for Imperials.

This post has been edited by Remko: Jun 18 2010, 11:19 AM

[Olen]

Woo I've caught up and an exciting catch up it was, I like the pace and range of this piece. Her sitting with the nords getting information was great for character then you plop in the excitment of the last section which caught the tension built in previous parts very well.

I agree with SubRosa about the note telling Jearl not to attack, it rings very true. I never quite understood why they always attacked in game, given what happens in the caverns, and that they are surrounded by guards, and that it will blow their cover... Still they are meant to be nutters.

Having her run to the guards was sensible and worked vastly better than having her do something verging on uber, it works perfectly with the character.

Good stuff.

[Destri Melarg]

I like Julian’s self reflection (How many white-haired Redguard women are there, indeed?), it goes a long way towards explaining why Jearl chooses to attack. Unfortunately, it doesn’t explain why Jearl would choose to wait until the moment that she has finally gained the master’s notice and favor to suddenly start disobeying orders. That is a flaw in the games story, not in yours. I am enjoying this foray through Bruma immensely. Part of me would love to see Julian join the Thieves Guild if for no other reason than that she gets Ongar as a fence.

For the first time since Kvatch it seems like Julian has stumbled into a situation in which she finds herself in over her head. Allow me to echo the praise already heaped upon you for your handling of the first assassination attempt against her.

[Acadian]

Oh Rider, there is so much to love in this chapter!

Your ambient descriptions (cold, ice, chapel, house structures. . . ) are, as always, wonderfully immersive.

You portray the guards in the same professional, even noble way that I see them.

You do wonderful justice to the power of bows here.

It is so easy to love Julian when you allow her vulnerability to shine through as you did here. Skirt, no sword, good decisions. Yet, you temper it when she shows her steely determination to the guards after the fight.

What I didn't love was the pain that Julian felt from her knee. You brought that to life so well that I am rubbing my own knee in sympathy now.

Would Julian ever be up to learning how to summon her own dagger for such emergencies? Is she too old to learn that new trick? I just worry about her.

This post has been edited by Acadian: Jun 19 2010, 03:10 AM

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: Have patience! The old libido takes a while to rear its head after being sick and addicted for so long! Besides, Julian has already met the love of her life (or so she thought), and it turned out badly. She's been gunshy ever since. But in this story, she has already met the one she's going to fall in love with. More I can not say . . .

@Remko: Good point about the Imperial agent. I took it into consideration, but decided to leave it be, since she was working for the Blades at the time, and still is, so that makes her an agent of the Empire, such as it is without a recognized Emperor.

@Olen: Welcome back! I'm glad you enjoyed catching up, instead of regarding it as a chore. Yes, that was one of those situations where Julian is in over her head. As for the Mythic Dawn agents, I think you slammed the nail on the head pretty hard. Yes, they are nutters! After all, they are cultist fanatics. I think that is what the game designers were trying to convey with their senseless attacks. After all, they're not Dark Brotherhood.

@Destri: You'll be disappointed anyway, so let's get it over with - Julian never joins the Thieves' Guild. But that doesn't mean she doesn't enjoy a visit with Ongar the World-Weary in Olav's Tap and Tack from time to time. After all, the old man knows everything that goes on in town!

@Acadian: How wonderful to see you again! Julian will learn that not all city guards are as professional as Burd's men, and not all of them treat Julian with courtesy or respect. And I'm touched that you worry so about Julian's knee. It will hold her back for a while longer, but in Chapter Fifteen that will be the end of it, so don't worry! As for learning a summon weapon spell, that's on her to-do list after this!

After that close call, Julian isn't looking forward to hiking all the way back to Cloud Ruler Temple. So she decides to finish up in town and look for a place to sleep.

*******************
Chapter 10.5 - Merchant’s Row

As I entered the dark confines of Nord Winds, I shivered when the warm air hit my cold skin. The Nord woman at the counter scowled at me as I stamped the snow off my feet on the rug just inside the door. She stood as tall and majestic as Sigrid, but her face was less pretty, marred by a frown.

“Skjorta,” she introduced herself curtly. “Nord Winds. We sell clothing and armor. And I’ve got a headache, so keep your voice down.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologized, keeping my voice very low. My foot-stamping must have been unbearably loud. Still, she winced. “You’re not sick, I hope?” I whispered.

“No, no,” she answered, her scowl easing. “I was at Olav’s last night.”

The reason for her headache dawned on me. “Ah, yes, I know how that is,” I commented a little ruefully. Skjorta smiled tightly at me.

“We drink because we’re happy,” she averred. “We’re Nords. It’s just the thick tongue and the fat head the day after that makes us unhappy.”

“Oh, I hear you,” I put as much feeling as I could into my whisper. “Have you tried the chapel healer?”

“Cirroc?” Skjorta scoffed. “And have him scold me for having a little drink and fun? You won’t get me inside any chapel!”

Feeling sorry for her, I dug into my pack, pulling out a couple of weak healing potions. “How much will you give me for these?” I asked, holding the vials out on the palm of my left hand. Her eyes gleamed as she read the script.

“I don’t sell potions,” she said, “but I’ll buy these off of you for seven drakes each.”

“Only seven apiece?” I asked. “I think they’re worth more like ten.” Actually, I’ve seen them priced as high as twenty-seven, but let’s face it, I know all too well what she’s feeling right now.

“Oh, that’s so much,” Skjorta sighed, but she counted out two ten-drake pieces from the lectern. “Practically highway robbery.”

I set the vials on the counter and collected the coins, tucking them into my belt pouch. “Thanks, Skjorta,” I whispered. “I hope you feel better soon.” Beyond her, a male Nord, which I assumed to be Olfand, looked up from his leather-working and met my gaze, a glint in his dark eyes. As I limped for the door, I gave him a nod before leaving.

Next door, the two Altmeri within Novaroma did not seem hungover, to my relief. The auburn-haired woman greeted me in a friendly manner, and the tall male with the slicked-back red hair hailed me heartily. “I’m Suurootan, proud owner of Novaroma, a little slice of Heartland Empire here in the lofty Jeralls!”

“Hello,” I replied. “I’m Julian, from Anvil.”

“Anvil!” Suurootan exclaimed. “You’re a mighty long way from home! What brings you to such a remote corner of the Empire?”

“How can it be so remote with a place like Novaroma?” I responded, pleased to see his face light up even more.

“I see you have a full pack, Julian,” he said. “Have you items you would like to barter?”

“Mostly spell scrolls, potions, and some jewelry,” I answered. As we haggled and bickered our way through the contents of my pack, I was glad I had taken only those items I had no need for. By the time my pack was emptied, except for the message and books from Jearl’s house, my belt pouch was just over five hundred drakes heavier.

“Where are you staying, traveler?” Suurootan asked, as his wife Karinarre started placing the items on display around the store. I considered his question. It was already getting late, the sun had set, and the air growing very chilly. I dreaded the walk back up the mountain, especially with my knee hurting so badly from the running earlier in the afternoon.

“I thought I’d spend the night at Olav’s” I replied.

“Aye, Olav’s is good,” Suurootan said, then crooked a finger conspiratorially at me. When I leaned closer, he whispered, “but a word of advice, if you do much traveling. Join one of the guilds, and have a free bed in practically every town!”

“You mean the Fighters Guild?” I asked. Suurootan leaned back to look at me up and down, sizing up my skinny frame.

“Or the Mages Guild,” he said. “If you carry no weapons, then powerful spells will be your best friends on the road. You can learn new spells, and practice them.” He considered me a moment. “Though you may be a Redguard, you have the potential to build up a pretty decent collection of spells in different schools. Out on the roads, restoration and destruction spells would be very, very useful.”

“Oh, well, I’ve always left the magic up to the battlemages,” I remarked. “But I’m on my own now, so maybe that’s what I’ll have to start working on.”

Suurootan considered me quizzically, frowning at my words. I met his gaze squarely. “The Legion, Suurootan,” I said quietly. The Altmer’s face brightened in comprehension.

“Ah, well, then, the Fighters Guild may have need of your skills,” he said. He frowned again at my silence. “But you’re tired of fighting,” he mused.

“More like all fought out,” I answered. “Lost my youth, my health, and my skills along with it.” Might be a good time to start learning new ones. Maybe I’ll follow in my mother’s footsteps after all. Swinging the empty pack to my shoulder, I tipped my head up at him. “Where can I find the Mages Guild?”

“Next terrace down, on Guild Row,” Suurootan said. “Out the door, turn right toward the Chapel, walk down around Honmund’s house just below us, then back north past the Fighters Guild. You’ll recognize the Mages Guild by the green banners. It’s almost all the way to the Hammer and Axe.”

“Thanks, Suurootan,” I turned for the door.

“Good bye, Hero of Kvatch!” the Altmer said behind me. My hand on the door handle, I paused to glance back at him. He only grinned wider at the expression on my face. My breath soughed visibly in a long sigh as I stepped out into the cold.

Nearly instantly, my teeth started chattering. A bitter wind swirled between the buildings, numbing my cheeks and sending shivers down my spine. Overhead, the sky was dark with sunset and overcast. Large flakes of snow began drifting down.

Tempted to turn back into Novaroma if only for the warmth, I hunched my shoulders against the cold and started limping toward the Chapel. My hip twinged with every step, and my knee complained about the cold.

At the Septim statue, I decided to keep trudging south and seek some healing in the chapel. Though my bum knee had been steadily improving, the new pain warned me that all the healing of the past few days had been undone in that frantic run from the assassins.

Entering the chapel, I breathed deeply of the warmer air. The structure was much like the chapels in Kvatch and Skingrad, large, imposing, with stained glass windows of the Divines around the nave. My limping footsteps echoed faintly in the mostly empty chapel as I approached the altar.

My hand on the stone rim, I inhaled deeply of the healing energy as it coursed through me. The throbbing in my hip subsided, and my bum knee grew quieter. Feeling better, I turned to see an aged Imperial man seated in one of the pews, watching me silently.

Dressed in a green brocade doublet topping silvery-green silk breeches, he smiled at me. “Hello, ma’am,” he greeted me, his voice soft in the stillness of the chapel. “Did you receive the healing you seek?”

“Yes, sir, I did,” I answered. He frowned at me as I started down the aisle.

“Yet you still limp, ma’am,” he murmured. Pausing, I met his gaze.

“It is an old wound,” I shifted my weight onto my left foot. “It never healed right. I can only hope to ease the pain, sir.”

His eyes grew somber. “Only hope?” he repeated. “The Divines have the power to do so much more; all you need is faith, and your prayers will be answered.”

I knelt beside Dibella’s altar, sobbing from the pain and despair. Though I had prayed to the Divine of my childhood, to the Divine I had been named after, and to the Divine I had served for so many years, they remained silent. The pain hammered in my head, in my knee, in my left hip.

Drawing on my memories of chapel-school, I screamed the name of each Divine in turn, pleading for relief. None came. The chapel remained silent and dark. The healer hovered over me, her face blanched, her hands useless.

Finally I pushed them all away, and staggered out into the rain. I made my way to the dockside inn and sought refuge in drink. Only there did I find some kind of relief from the pain, though not from my despair.

“I suppose I’m not faithful enough, sir,” I responded, hearing the bitterness in my tone. “It may be why they didn’t answer my prayers.” When I did pray, I added silently.

He regarded me thoughtfully. “Your heart must be humble, your mind clear,” he said quietly into the dark chapel, so like the one in my memory. “Only when you are most open will the Divines respond to your prayers.”

I shook my head and started down the aisle. His feet scuffled on the stone floor, the pew creaking as he rose to his feet.

“Julian of Anvil, do not give up on the Divines!” he called after me. Halting, I spun on my left leg to gaze back at him.

“How did you know my name?” I demanded.

“News gets around town very quickly,” he said dryly, walking toward me. He stopped an arm’s length away. “A white-haired Redguard woman, with a limp, who introduces herself as being from Anvil, though we all know she is the Hero of Kvatch.”

Staring at him, I couldn’t think of a response to his words. He smiled at me. “You do not like being called a hero, I see,” he commented. “My name is Arentus Falvius, Primate of the Chapel of Talos,” he gestured at the stone walls around us. “Should you need to discuss the purpose of the Divines and the nature of faith further, come find me.”

If you ever want to learn more about Talos, I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have. Prior Maborel’s kind voice echoed in my memory. With a swallow against the lump that knotted my throat, I turned my face away so Fulvius couldn’t see the tears. “Thank you, sir,” I managed to mutter without my voice breaking.

The primate remained in the main aisle as I limped away, toward the doors leading outside. He did not speak again, and I escaped into the cold night.

[SubRosa]

But in this story, she has already met the one she's going to fall in love with. More I can not say . . .
Ooo, now we can guess which one it is. Valen Dreth?

But what is this about the chapel of Dibella? Very neat. Is that from after being discharged from the legion I suspect? Or from the broken heart you alluded to in your comment? More of that please!

[Olen]

Good part and a nice development of Bruma and more of Julian. Makes me wonder which (if either) guild she'll join, and how much magic she'll be doing soon, certainly she's drastically different that she was at the start so full marks on development.

Good stuff with her bitterness at the world and the gods too, fits her character well and developed it naturally.

My breath soughed visibly in a long sigh as I stepped out into the cold.

Brilliant line, with that one sentence you brought to life the cold of Bruma and realised it making the setting come off the page for me, great little observation, and it fitted her reaction well. The idea of visible soughing works well too, synaesthesia I believe is the term for the technique.

all you need is faith, and your prayers will be answered.

Looks like the mythic dawn might not be the only crazies in Bruma.

[Destri Melarg]

After the encounter with the assassins this quiet interlude of a chapter is exactly what was needed. I like how you allowed Julian’s dialogue with Suurootan to continue before making it known that he (and everyone else in Bruma, it seems) knows who Julian is. So much for undercover, eh?!

The scene in the chapel was just great. I have always had the sense of an abiding sadness that covers Julian like a grey cloak. With all that has happened to her since she woke up in prison the times that we see her melancholy have been rare. I thought that her failure at prayer combined with the memory of Prior Maborel effectively dramatized her sadness in this quiet moment that precedes the next storm. I look forward to more subtle insight into her character as the story continues.

[Acadian]

Julian will learn that not all city guards are as professional as Burd's men, and not all of them treat Julian with courtesy or respect. And I'm touched that you worry so about Julian's knee. It will hold her back for a while longer, but in Chapter Fifteen that will be the end of it, so don't worry! As for learning a summon weapon spell, that's on her to-do list after this!

I'm just so pleased you present guards and soldiers as multidimensional real people. Of course, like any people, there are good ones and not so good ones. Yay! Julian's knee will get better soon. Similarly, I think it's wonderful that Julian looks like she might be learning some more magic!

Ok, this new chapter was great. Three parts:
1. Nord Winds. Simply magnificent interface with Skjorta. I loved the reference to our friend and only remaining survivor or the Kvatch guild of mages, Sigrid.
2. Novarama. Also well done. Begins to show how hard it is for Julian to remain low key, despite her humility.
3. The Chapel of Talos. Oooh, this was so poignant. And mysterious. It makes us want to know more about Julian's past.

You continue to cause Buffy and I to shiver while reading of Julian in Bruma. Yup, glad we don't get there too often. We thank Julian for sharing it with us while we stay warm though. You effectively keep the chill going there, with just the right touch.

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: Valen Dreth??!! Now that I'm done laughing, let me catch my breath and say - Guess Again! Yes, that flashback to the Chapel of Dibella goes back to Julian's return to Anvil after being discharged from the Legion. I wanted to show the depths of despair she felt during those dark days, when she turned to drink (and eventually skooma two years later). That first love turned sour is much earlier. We'll learn a little more about that as the story grinds on . . .

@Olen: Thanks for picking up on the dark undercurrent running through Julian's personality. Yes, she is bitter, but she tries to hide it. And yes, she'll continue growing and developing. There's so much she'll learn to do! Fortunately, you won't have to wait long to learn which guild Julian joins.

@Destri: Again you show an uncanny knack at picking up the essence of Julian's character just by reading between the lines. Yes, melancholy is always with Julian. I do plan to show more of it as we progress through the Main Quest.

@Acadian: I loved the in-game dialogue with Skjorta. The fact that she runs around town drunk from 10 pm until 3 am before going to bed is one of the most, well, amusing NPC's behavioral characteristics I've ever seen. The way they gossip about her around town too adds flavor to Bruma. Poor Olfand! Once, with my thief character, I sat in their house and watched him pace around the house waiting for Skjorta to come home. It was pathetic and very sad. I'm glad the interlude in the Chapel of Talos left you wanting more. That was not part of the original drafts, but after writing Chapter Fifteen, I felt I needed to develop that aspect of Julian's character a little more, so I went back and worked this segment a little more. The scene in the Chapel just felt right at this point, and it felt like a good time to introduce the reason for Julian's disillusionment with the Divines. I'm glad you and Buffy are enjoying Bruma vicariously!

Now Julian decides to join a guild so she can have a warm bed to sleep in before hiking all the way back to Cloud Ruler Temple. Only thing is, she finds herself in yet another situation! P.S. Here is another NPC I had lots of fun writing!

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Chapter 10.6 - Joining the Mages Guild

Thoroughly chilled by the time I entered the Mages Guild, I was glad of the warmth within. A small Breton woman behind the counter glanced over as I paused on the entrance rug to look around the well-lit hall. Shelves lined the walls to either side, filled with books and alchemical equipment.

“Hello there!” she greeted me, her right hand lifting up in summons. A scamp appeared in front of me, making me jump. My hands moved for the sword hilt that wasn’t there. The creature ignored me however, and stood in place for several seconds, until it dissolved into sulfurous smoke. “I’m Jeanne Frasoric, head of the Bruma Mages Guild Chapter,” the woman smiled at me brightly. “Are you here to join the Mages Guild?” her voice turned faintly condescending in its light tone.

“I don’t know,” I answered, moving closer to Frasoric. “Should I?”

“Well,” she considered me thoughtfully, pug-nosed and flushed. She smoothed back her braided strawberry-blond hair, “the Mages Guild lost quite a few members when the practice of necromancy was banned. If you’re interested in studying magic and gaining knowledge, and as long as you don’t practice necromancy, we’d love to have you!”

I took the plunge. “Then yes, I’d like to join.”

“The Guild is always looking for new members, and you seem capable enough!” the woman chirped. How can she tell? I wondered to myself. She hasn’t asked me what spells I know! She must have sensed my hesitation, for she frowned slightly at me. “Are you certain you want to join?”

“Yes, I’m certain,” I replied. Am I? Do I really have what it takes to be a mage? But I want to get better at healing, so I can cast convalescence spells on Paint if he gets hurt, or on my friends. I want to learn more about alchemy. I want to get better with my flares.

“Very good!” the small woman bounced on her toes. “You are now an Associate of the Mages Guild. What a wonderful opportunity for you!” She handed me a key and a small volume. The Mages Guild Charter, I read the gold script on the spine. Great. More reading material.

“Now,” she continued, drawing my attention back to her, “please remember, if you wish to enter the Arcane University, you’ll need recommendations from every Guild Chapter in Cyrodiil.” I blinked. Enter the Arcane University? Why?

“Why would I want to enter the Arcane University?” I repeated my question out loud. Remembering Raminus Polus, I considered how polite and welcoming he had been when he spoke to me in the lobby of the Mages Tower.

Frasoric’s eyebrows lifted, as did her heels. “Why, all the important people in the guild are there!” she declared. “Arch-Mage Traven lives there, in the tower - it’s such a fabulous place - you really should see it some day. I’ve been there many times myself,” her tone became braggart. “The Imperial City wouldn’t be the same without it. Maybe some day, if you know the right people -” her tone implied that she was one of those right people, “you might get a chance to see it.”

Now she straightened her spine and stood as tall as she could, lifting her chin. The top of her head barely reached my nose. “I dare say that my opinion may carry more weight than others, if you take my meaning.” I kept my face as straight as I could. Yes, I do. Her type was all too familiar to me from my years of soldiering. “Still,” she continued, “all are necessary to proceed. Good luck to you!” Her heels came down with a thump on the floorboards.

“So what can I do if I can enter the Arcane University?” I pressed. What is so special about the University that I can’t learn in the chapter houses?

“Oh, Guild members who have access to the University can craft their own spells, not to mention chat with the most important members in the Guild,” again that snooty tone crept into Frasoric’s voice, again she rose on her toes. I was beginning to get a sense of the measure of her self-esteem.

“Not like here, in Bruma?” I commented, deciding not to tell her that I had spoken with Polus himself, had been in the tower she spoke so excitedly about. Her heels might hit the floorboards so hard to break them.

Frasoric dropped her heels. “Oh, you know, it’s like anyplace else,” she said with a shrug. “Make lots of friends, look busy, same as always.” She turned partially away from me, raising her left hand again. I braced myself for her summons, but only a faint green tingle sank from her hand. “Oh, pooh,” she pouted. I bit my lip.

This is the chapter head? I asked myself. Even an old soldier like me can tell she has no aptitude for magic, let alone skill. Clearing my throat, I hoped that my face did not reflect my own incredulous thoughts. “About that recommendation -”

“A recommendation?” Frasoric turned back to me, growing a few centimeters taller again, humility dripping from her voice. “From me? Well, of course Raminus would naturally want my opinion, wouldn’t he?” she thought for a moment. “Hmm, this is a situation we both can benefit from, Associate. You do me a small favor, and I’ll happily send along a glowing recommendation. If you can find J’skar, I’ll write it immediately.”

“J’skar?” I repeated. Frasoric returned to her natural height.

“He’s disappeared,” she pouted. “I mean, really disappeared. No one here has seen him in days. Volanaro thinks maybe a spell backfired.” She huffed in an exaggerated manner. “If someone from the Guild was to stop by and find him gone, it’ll look bad for me. I can’t have that.”

I was beginning to sense the nature of the issue. “So you want me to find out what happened,” I stated, just to make things clear.

“Talk to the mages here and see what you can find out,” Frasoric rose and dropped down on her feet in a single breath. “If you can make J’skar reappear, you’ll have your recommendation.” Again she turned away, raising her hand for another summons. Again the spell fizzled ineffectively from her fist. I watched her try, and try again, intense concentration on her face. She’s trying too hard.

I had to bite my tongue to refrain from giving her advice I myself was ill-equipped to give. Have to give her credit, she’s not giving up, I admitted to myself as she kept trying. Turning away, I went to one of the side rooms, which led to a stair hall leading down to the lower level.

The basement was stone-walled, wood-floored, and cozy. A central hall ran from one side of the building to the other, with two doors leading off on each side of the passage. Voices emanated from an open doorway, drawing me to a dining room. A young Altmer, handsome with wavy red hair and a green silk outfit, looked up from setting the table. Her back to me, an older Imperial woman caught his glance and turned around to see me. She wore a lovely blue velvet dress that complemented her womanly curves, and dark hair waving in a short bob framed her oval face.

“Welcome,” the Altmer said after a moment. “I’m Volanaro, at your service. Need a spell? Need an item recharged? Need a witty practical joke played on someone? I can handle it all.”

Practical joke? I bet that’s what’s going on with J’skar. “Hello,” I returned. “I’m Julian. I just joined the Mages Guild. I’m learning my way around.”

“Oh, welcome!” the woman exclaimed. “I’m Selena Orania, Journeyman.” Her smile was warm and genuine, her tone truly welcoming. “Have a seat, join us for dinner.”

“Thanks, I will,” I took a seat at the table, across from Volanaro. Orania passed me a platter of roasted vegetables. Taking a healthy portion of them, I poured myself a tumbler of water. “How do you do here in Bruma?”

“Oh, it’s a little too rugged up here for me,” Volanaro said fastidiously. “Add a couple of hairs to a Nord and you’ve got a bear.” I spluttered violently at his words, then apologized fervently to Orania for spitting water on her lovely velvet gown.

“Oh, it’s quite all right,” she assured me, shooting a fierce look at the Altmer that made it clear who she blamed for the ruin of her dress. “Volanaro tends to have that effect on people, especially those meeting him for the first time.” Volanaro only grinned back at her, mischief in his dark eyes. “As for me,” Orania continued, “sometimes I feel we’re not welcome here. The Nords don’t like Heartlanders very much.” She waved her hand at Volanaro. “And in case you haven’t noticed, Volanaro has a twisted sense of humor. But he does have a few nice spells up his sleeves. If you want a bound sword, talk to him.”

I could have used that this afternoon. “Maybe I will,” I swallowed my mouthful first. “But I have a feeling that spell is beyond my capabilities.”

“Oh, you’ll grow your magicka quickly enough,” Volanaro assured me. “Just practice the lesser spells until you can do it without thinking.” I heard the snicker in his voice, and thought of poor Frasoric, trying so hard with her summon spell upstairs. Orania had a more difficult time keeping the frown from her face than I did.

“By the way, I understand there is another Guild member here, J’skar?” I remarked casually. I did not miss the glare Orania shot Volanaro.

“Look, I like you and all,” she said to me, her voice holding suppressed disapproval, “but I really don’t want to get in the middle of this. If Volanaro and J’skar want to have their fun, fine. I’m not going to participate, and I’m not saying another word about it. Take it up with them.” Setting her chair back with a bang, she rose from the table and left the dining room.

Looking at Volanaro, I raised my eyebrows at him. He matched my look, his own bushy brows climbing his narrow forehead.

“It’s a shame Selena doesn’t participate in our fun,” he commented by way of explanation. “But you’d be hard pressed to find a better alchemist. She takes her role here very seriously. If you need supplies, she’s the one you want to see.”

“And J’skar?” I pressed.

“You want to find J’skar?” he countered.

“Well, I’d like to meet him,” I answered.

“All right,” Volanaro rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His dark eyes sparked. “I can help you with that. But you have to agree to do something for me first. And whatever it is, you can’t tell Jeanne about it, all right?”

My eyes narrowed at him. It felt all too familiar, the direction this conversation was headed. Some of my comrades in my second Legion posting had played a prank on a despised lieutenant. Jelin, our pilus prior, had caught them out. They had been flogged, the ringleader kicked out of the Legion in disgrace, and the other three participants posted to the remotest Legion outposts. It was a lesson I had taken to heart.

“What is it?” I asked, putting as much suspicion as I could muster into my voice.

Volanaro was either too dense to sense my wariness, or chose to ignore it. “That’s the spirit!” he exclaimed softly. “You help me pull off a little prank, and I’ll help you find J’skar.”

“What prank are you thinking of?” I regarded him with distaste.

“Ha!” Volanaro laughed. “You’re really going to love this! I’ll teach you a spell to unlock things. What you need to do is get into Jeanne’s desk, and bring me her Manual of Spellcraft, okay?” He winked at me. “Her room is upstairs, on the second level. Make sure no one sees you. You do that, and I’ll make sure you can find J’skar.”

“That doesn’t sound very respectful of our chapter head,” I commented, holding Volanaro’s gaze with what I hoped was my coldest stare. He shifted uncomfortably.

“With all due respect to our esteemed leader,” he scowled, indicating he had anything but due respect, “she couldn’t cast her way out of a paper sack. It’s insulting working here for her when she knows nothing. She’s managed to butter up the right people just enough to keep her position, and there’s nothing we can do about it.” A demonic glint moved through his eyes. “But we have our ways of coping with the situation.”

“I’m certain you do,” I could hear the acid in my voice, and judging by the look in Volanaro’s eyes, he didn’t miss it, either. “As long as the right people don’t find out about your propensity for disrespect.” Still, I need his help to locate J’skar. I don’t know how to cast a detect life spell. I rose from the bench. “Keep your spell,” I said, thinking of the lockpicks in my belt pouch. “I have my own ways.”

[Remko]

Jeanne Frasoric... annoying wench.... I just know I'm gonna love this

This post has been edited by Remko: Jun 21 2010, 05:07 PM

[SubRosa]

Hmmm, well if Valen Dreth is out, then let me venture another guess. Luther Broad!

So it was the Mages Guild after all. I was guessing that was where she was leaning rather than the FG, given her thoughts about following in her mother's footsteps.

You really did Jeanne Frasoric extraordinarily well, capturing her lack of magical aptitude, conceit, and social climbing. They way you intalicized specific words to highlight her inflections on them spoke volumes of the air within her head. All style, absolutely no substance. Goddess did I run into tons of girls like that in high school!