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> Old Habits Die Hard Part Four, old habits really do die hard
haute ecole rider
post Oct 13 2010, 03:15 PM
Post #21


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From: The place where the Witchhorses play



@SubRosa: Alves will have to remain a mystery for now.

@mALX and D. Foxy: ROFL!! And mALX, it seems another cold shower is in order . . .

@Acadian: I don’t think Julian will ever be sitting down to dinner with the Count and Countess of Leyawiin anytime soon, as you will find out in upcoming segments. But Alves has given her a valuable lesson that will come in handy in the future.

@Destri: Hair is very important to many women, not just black women. It’s just that some of us don’t know how to deal with what Mara gave us, and others of us make poor choices in hair. Julian herself kept her own hair close-cropped while in the Legion, and it was allowed to grow so long only through neglect.

@trey: Julian knows too well that not everyone “fights honestly.” She won’t be setting foot inside a court except as a soldier any time soon.

Dagail’s faculties are restored, and Julian gets more than she bargained for from the chapter head.

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Chapter 19.3 - The Seer’s Stone

Around the small dinner table, Kalthar’s absence was noted with desultory comments. Glancing at Agata, I kept silent. His blood was being cleaned off my katana and armor at The Dividing Line. The careworn Nord caught my look, and returned it blandly.

The Leyawiin Mages Guild was much smaller than those at Bravil and Cheydinhal, indicative of the city’s relative newness. Leyawiin’s location at the end of the Niben, near Topal Bay, made it ideal to control trade up and down the river. While some of the smaller seagoing vessels, such as galleons and caravels, could pass up the river with little difficulty, the larger carracks and galleasses had deeper drafts that prevented them from passing the Niben Shallows near Fort Redman.

This simple fact made Leyawiin the natural port for such ocean-going vessels to stop and offload their cargo into smaller ships for transport up the Niben to the Imperial City. As Leyawiin was expected to grow, I expected the Leyawiin Chapter to grow as well, unlike Bruma’s, where the cold climate kept many people away.

These thoughts did not make Kalthar’s absence any less glaring tonight at dinner. Dagail remained silent throughout the meal, often pausing in her eating to gaze off into the maelstrom of voices only she heard. Agata said nothing of Kalthar’s absence other than the comment, “He’s free to go out on research.” Uvenim and S’drassa speculated on his absence perfunctorily with each other, but soon ran out of words.

The simple meal of grilled fish, wilted watercress and wild rice quickly became a memory, and the two junior mages left the table, heading for the alchemy laboratory. Only Dagail, Agata, and I remained.

Reaching into the pocket of my blue velvet dress, I drew out the Seer’s Stone. Agata inhaled sharply as I gently picked up Dagail’s right hand and set the large amethyst firmly in her palm. Her faded eyes drifted from nowhere to focus on me, her fingers closing over the amulet.

“Found it, have you,” she murmured, her gaze steady on mine, intelligence and awareness dawning in her expression. “Silenced the hands that betrayed, and took what was mine.” Her arthritic fingers fumbled at the chain as she raised the amulet to her neck. Agata moved to take the clasp and fasten the necklace around the old Bosmer’s neck. “Ah,” Dagail sighed as the amethyst came to rest on her breast, just above the bateau neckline of her black gown. “Thank you, that is much better.” Her hands moved from the amulet to take my left hand. “I see the words you seek. You have my -” her eyes unfocused momentarily, “- recommendation. But I have also seen your future. Things that may be, and things that will be. Life and death are such strange things, yet the fate of many will be in your hands.” She smiled sadly at me. “Your choices will influence so many lives, Julian.”

A horde of ants crawled up my spine at her words. Did she just tell me my fortune? “Thank you for the recommendation, ma’am,” I said finally.

Dagail released my hand, sitting back in her chair, her eyes still on mine. “Tell me what happened, Julian.” Her voice held quiet authority, something it had lacked before.

“I went to Fort Blueblood, after I learned that your father had died in service there ma’am,” I paused, averting my face to briefly consider the death of another soldier, however long ago it occurred. “It is a marauder’s nest now,” I continued after a moment. “The upper levels were full of them. I had to fight my way through to the lower level.”

“How did you manage by yourself, with just a katana?” Agata asked.

“I learned the Sunbird Dance when I was a recruit in the Legion,” I answered. “It was developed for light swords such as the katana, and makes the most of the weapon’s strengths. Footwork is essential, footwork and balance.” Now I smiled at them. “And it proves useful for spellcasters, ironically enough.”

“Ironic?” Agata repeated.

“Yes, it was developed by the Ra’Gada, who have little use for magicka such as the mer and Bretons use. It precludes the need for a shield. And yet -” I shook my head. “I found myself using life detection spells to locate enemies around corners, shield spells to protect myself from the heavier weapons of the marauders, and my Domina Incendia for distraction.” Looking down at my hands, I wondered how I had reached this point in my magicka use. Necessity. “Not having to carry a shield meant my left hand was free to cast spells. I also used my sneak skills to the utmost.” Though there had been times when the slithering of Matius’s mail cuirass gave me away.

“When I reached the crypt, I was surprised to find dead marauders. There was a troll, and a will-o-wisp roaming around.” I took a breath, relieving the moment of panic when I realized I had left Daedra Slayer behind, the only effective weapon I had against that ethereal being. Before the two creatures had detected me, I had recovered enough to summon Domina Incendia one more time. “My flame atronach took care of them before she dissipated.”

“Those summons are very useful against trolls and will-o-wisps,” Dagail agreed.

“I looked through the crypt,” I continued after a moment. “I recalled Agata saying that your father was buried there.” Again I looked down at my hands. “I hated to do it, but I had to open Manduin’s tomb. I found his amulet on his body.”

Dagail reached over and laid her hand on my wrist. “My dear, you did what you had to do, and you did it to help me. My father would not have wanted it any other way.”

“That’s what I was hoping, ma’am,” I looked up into her kind gaze. “That’s when Kalthar showed up.”

“Kalthar?” Agata exclaimed sharply. “What was he doing there?”

“He apparently had figured out I had been sent to recover Manduin’s amulet,” I responded. “He must have followed me there and waited until I had the stone. Then he confronted me.”

The black-haired Nord scowled at me. “Look, I - I - I just can’t let you take the amulet. You can’t leave with it. Give it to me right now.”

“The amulet rightfully belongs to Dagail,” I answered firmly. “It is her inheritance from her father. Since you took the other one -”

“Yes, I took it!” Kalthar interrupted me, stress evident in his voice. “I just wanted to get out of that place. All I wanted was for Dagail to get me transferred out of Leyawiin, or to step down. I would have given it back to her then!”

“But in taking the amulet,” I responded smoothly, “you incapacitated her. She could not have you transferred. She may have been replaced, but you would still be stuck there.”

“But it would be with someone who really knows how to run a Guild chapterhouse!” Kalthar shot back. “Anyone would have been better than that senile old bat!” He stamped his foot, and in that moment gave me the impression of a spoiled brat deprived of his way. “But you had to go and spoil everything! Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” I answered levelly. Kalthar shouted a string of curses at me, taking a step back and raising his left hand. Magicka shimmered around his fist as he started incanting under his breath.

My magicka not as well developed as his, I knew I couldn’t let him cast any spells. Thanking Cirroc for the hundredth time that day, I leaped after Kalthar and swung my blade at his left arm. The katana bit into the muscles of his upper arm, and I twisted it to incur as much damage in that one stroke as I could. He shouted in pain and anger, his left arm falling uselessly to his side, yellow light fizzling away.

He tried to back up another step to cast right handed, but my blade sought the other arm, striking deep into the tendons of his right elbow. “Stop it,” I said to him, keeping my voice quiet out of respect for the dead soldiers buried here. “No more fighting. It’s over. Come back with me, Kalthar.”

He stared aghast at his useless limbs, then lifted his face to me, mouth opening wide and throat swelling. Inhaling deeply, he seemed to suck the air of the crypt into himself.

The thu’um! Vaguely remembering something about the Nordic magic, I knew he could kill me with the power of the Voice. Again I leaped toward him, the tip of my weapon slicing through his throat, its point skimming along the bones of his spine and nearly decapitating him.


My eyes closed, I saw again how his body crumpled to the stones of the crypt, blood fountaining over my weapon, my face and hair, my cuirass. “I had to kill him,” I said quietly. “I tried to disable him, keep him from casting any magic. But he apparently knew the thu’um, and I couldn’t take the chance to find out the hard way.”

Dagail’s hand, still on my wrist, squeezed harder until I opened my eyes to look at her. “My dear Julian, Kalthar was driven insane, as I have been. However, no amulet or enchanted jewelry was going to restore his sanity. I see what it cost you to kill a fellow mage. He placed himself outside the Mages Guild protection when he threatened you.” Taking a deep breath, she picked up my left hand and cupped it in her own wizened fingers, tracing the calluses and lines in my palm.

“I see the City in the Hand, and the Hand in the Stars. The Tower guards the Gate, but the Gate holds the Key. The King is the Key, and the Hand guards the King.” She looked up at me as the words hung heavy and cold in the air between us. “You have much work yet to do, and we can not keep you any more from it. The King needs you.”

Feeling the blood rush from my face, I was reminded again of Uriel Septim’s words to me - Sun’s Companion. Son’s Companion. “Yes, he does,” I admitted softly. “Thank you again, Dagail.”

“No, no,” the old woman shook her head. “It is I who must thank you.”

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Oct 13 2010, 03:16 PM


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mALX
post Oct 13 2010, 03:44 PM
Post #22


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From: Cyrodiil, the Wastelands, and BFE TN



I was surprised that after you return the amulet to Dagail, if you keep coming back to her and talking she will continue giving you insight into your future (probably based on what is in your journal of active quests) - it is one of those really cool details Bethesda threw in the game.

Awesome Write!!! Going back over the story in dialogue kept it from the repetative descriptions of actually going through the Fort, great call on that !!!

Your depiction of Dagail as you hand her the amulet and she becomes more lucid - HUGE - subtle descriptions that paint the visual so believably !!!


Sunbird Dance - I don't know if that is something really in the game - (hadn't heard of it) - but I absolutely loved that paragraph where Julian describes how it works - AWESOME !!!!


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Acadian
post Oct 13 2010, 04:00 PM
Post #23


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From: Las Vegas



Well done, Rider! I think you made excellent choices in what to present here and how to do it. You summarized the events in Fort Blueblood nicely. Very creative in disabling Kalthar's spellcasting in typical Julain fashion (blade!). What a delight to see tribute/mention to the Nordic Thu'um, and how revealing it is that Julian's wealth of travel and experience rendered her familiar with it.

Once again, you display how much Julian has grown and how well she integrates blade with magic (and being nimble of foot). tongue.gif


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SubRosa
post Oct 13 2010, 04:43 PM
Post #24


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His blood was being cleaned off my katana and armor at The Dividing Line.
I love this line!

I like how you started the episode back in Leyawiin, with the quest finished, and then recounted events for us. With so many dungeon-crawls in this story, a blow-by-blow account as it happens for every one would be very tedious. Very thoughtful way of Julian 'disarming' Kalthar. Likewise with him having the thu'um. I forget he is a Nord because of the black hair.

Likewise, a nice demonstration of Julian's own skillz once more. Even more appreciated is the background you provided in her explanation of the Sunbird, and the Redguard way of fighting, not to mention her adoption of magic use.



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Destri Melarg
post Oct 14 2010, 09:39 AM
Post #25


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From: Rihad, Hammerfell



SubRosa said everything I would have! I love the little details like Julian revealing the origin of the Sunbird Dance as a Redguard tradition, and the fact that they have little use for magic. And her time in Skyrim would naturally make her familiar with the thu’um (though how Kalthar learned it is beyond me). The bits of descriptive atmosphere (Dagail listening to a maelstrom of voices, and the horde of ants crawling up Julian’s spine) worked beautifully.

Next time, though, tell her to keep Daedra Slayer with her! nono.gif Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.


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treydog
post Oct 14 2010, 10:30 PM
Post #26


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From: The Smoky Mountains



Others have already mentioned much of what struck me about this one, but I will go on about some things anyway. tongue.gif

QUOTE
“Your choices will influence so many lives, Julian.”

A horde of ants crawled up my spine at her words.


QUOTE
Looking down at my hands, I wondered how I had reached this point in my magicka use. Necessity.


I applaud Julian’s efforts to bring Kalthar along quietly (if not peacefully). And adding a racial power to the rogue mage was inspired.

The prophecies from Dagail, along with Agata’s quiet care for the elderly Bosmer, add tremendous flavor to the story.


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haute ecole rider
post Oct 15 2010, 05:46 PM
Post #27


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From: The place where the Witchhorses play



@mALX: I think I have briefly mentioned the Sunbird Dance. It’s something original to OHDH - it is not found in the game nor is it found in the Lore. I felt that the world of Julian’s Nirn needed something along the lines of the martial arts disciplines found throughout Asian history, especially China, Korea and Japan.

@Acadian: I felt that Julian’s sojourn in Leyawiin was a perfect time to pause and take stock of how much she has learned to use magic in her combat. After years of fighting as part of a cohort, she has had to learn how to fight on her own, and it’s a whole different ball game.

@SubRosa: Thanks, Sage! I tried to bring up a little more of Julian’s training, both conventional and unconventional, here in this segment. It’s a challenge picking and choosing what to show and what to tell, especially with so many Oblivion Gates and dungeons. It all gets boring after the first couple or so . . .

@Destri: I wasn’t about to let Kalthar go down without a good fight, so I gave him the knowledge of the thu’um. As for Daedra Slayer, well, that’s further proof of what I call the umbrella theory!

@trey: Thanks! I’m glad you enjoyed the little extra power I gave Kalthar. It scared the crap out of Julian when she realized what he was trying to do. Imagine the power of that Voice in such cramped quarters!

Julian meets the wiliest Count evah. A shout out to our Paladin for crystallizing a certain female character for me. Forgive me, I borrowed heavily from your version because it fit my impression so well. And we also meet my favorite Orc.

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Chapter 19.4 The Master Negotiator

The next morning, I walked into the County Hall, dressed in my newly repaired armor. Tun-Zeeus had restored the luster to Matius’s mailed cuirass and the keen edge to my katana. No longer grumpy, I strode between the young guards in the antechamber, down to the main floor. The sight of more stairs rising to lead back into the County Hall proper did not strike dismay into my heart, as once they would have.

A tall female Orc turned from her study of the white horse emblem on the tapestries at the side of the hall to regard me. Clad in Orcish armor, she struck an imposing figure with her dark bronze round shield and her intimidating gaze. She watched me, her expression unreadable, as I followed the long green strip leading from the exterior to the steps at the rear of the entry hall.

The guards were easy to read, however, as they eyed my progress toward the throne room at the rear of the main Castle. Mostly young Imperial men, they regarded me with a mixture of scorn and contempt. Here my white hair and the Kvatch Wolf on my breast means nothing to them. I didn’t know whether to be relieved at their apparent ignorance of my status as the Hero of Kvatch, or be insulted by their overt disrespect. Oh well, we’ll see.

In the County Hall proper, I paused just within the entrance. Before me, clusters of dignitaries and officiates moved around the large chamber. Conversations murmured in hushed whispers. Something’s not right here - I studied the occupants intently. Mostly Imperials and Altmer. My gaze drifted upward to the balcony, where I spotted a female Argonian clad in plain linens watching the activity below. She caught my gaze and started for the stairs leading down to the main floor.

As I watched her glide down the steps, it struck me what had felt so wrong about the County Hall. No Khajiits or Argonians here. But Leyawiin is mostly Khajiits and Argonians! And no Dunmer, Bosmer, or Redguard here, either. And that Orsimer out in the entry hall -

“Welcome to County Leyawiin,” the Argonian greeted me when she reached my place near the door. “I am On-Sstaya Ssundew, Ssteward of Casstle Leyawiin.” She bowed low to me. “And Chief Advissor to Count Caro - in theory.” Her tone took on a slight edge of bitterness.

“In theory?” I repeated, meeting her orange gaze and lowering my tone to keep below the soft susurrus of conversation among the occupants.

On-Staya shrugged her slender shoulders. “Leyawiin hass alwayss been a melting pot of racess and culturess,” she answered softly. She moved to the side, leading me to a quiet corner away from everyone else, including the guards. “Of course, racial and cultural differencess produce inefficienciess and confussion.”

“Of course,” I responded. It’s the same in the Legion, until we learn to put the Legion first. “I need to speak with Count Caro,” I continued. “It’s a matter of urgency.”

“I fear Countess Leyawiin and Hlidara Mothril plan to push the minoritiess asside and establish a bland, Imperial-dominated culture here in Leyawiin,” On-Staya spoke solemnly. “For that reason, I warn you, be cautiouss when sspeaking to the Count.” Her eyes drifted toward the two thrones, where two Imperials sat, a tall brunette Altmer standing before them. “Milady has banned the beast folk from the County Hall. I am an exception only becausse I have sserved the Count’ss father before him.” She met my gaze again. “And she needss little excuse to ban otherss that don’t meet her white-bread sstandardss as well.”

I felt my jaw clench at the Argonian’s words. “Who is Hlidara Mothril?” I asked. The Argonian indicated the Altmer woman I had noticed standing near the Countess.

“Sshe is Milady’s advisor,” On-Staya answered, her tone becoming hard again.

Turning to face the Argonian, I held her orange gaze. “Will you announce me, please?”

“Of coursse,” On-Staya inclined her head gracefully. “How shall I announce you, ma’am?”

“I am Julian of Anvil,” I responded. “On a mission of some urgency.”

She regarded me a moment longer, then bowed. “Very well,” she said finally. “Follow me, and I shall do the besst I can.” Turning from me, she weaved her way through the Imperials and Altmer crowding the hall, leading me to the dais. They looked at her with gazes ranging from neutral curiosity to hostility. My spine straightened further under their assessing looks as I followed the graceful Argonian.

“My lord Count,” she paused at the foot of the dais. “Here iss Julian of Anvil, with an urgent message.” The murmuring voices fell into silence at her clear words. The Countess, a young Imperial with a haughty demeanor, looked at her with thinly veiled irritation, her nostrils flaring.

At her side, the balding Count laid a beringed hand on her arm, not taking his eyes from Sundew. His brown gaze moved from the Argonian to me. Marius Caro regarded me silently for several moments, taking in my appearance with calculation in his expression.

Will he listen to me? The atmosphere in the County Hall was chilly, with a cold that did not come from the damp stones. “My lord Count,” I began, searching for the words that would convince him of the urgency of my mission. “Oblivion Gates have been opening up across Cyrodiil. A Great Gate has led to the destruction of Kvatch, and there is evidence that the next Great Gate will be opened at Bruma.” A murmuring of voices drifted around the Hall, and the Count’s eyes dropped to the Wolf on my breast. Again silence fell when Caro raised his hand.

“A Great Gate?” he murmured, his voice falling like silken spider threads into the hush. “And the Gates that stand open outside our walls are not such?”

“You may want to thank Zenithar that they are not, sir,” I answered. “They are frightening, and dangerous enough on their own, but they are too small to let their siege engines through. They would need to open three such Gates in order to bring up a Great Gate.”

“There are two!” someone exclaimed behind me. “One more and we will be next, not Bruma!”

“No,” I shook my head, not looking for the speaker. Keeping my eyes on Caro, I continued, “No, sir, Leyawiin will not be next. However, Leyawiin will fall eventually, if we do not stop the Oblivion assault at Bruma.”

“Then we will pray to the Nine that Bruma will stand against the daedra,” Caro’s gaze shifted beyond me, and I knew he was meeting eye contact with the other. “And we will hold fast here.”

“The Bruma Watch has learned how to close the Gates, and will do so as each gate opens.” I resumed speaking when the hall fell quiet again. “Yet there will be casualties, and eventually Bruma will fall. And when Bruma falls, so will the other cities, sir.” I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “Bruma asks the other cities for help reinforcing their garrison, sir. The longer they can hold out, the better the chances for beating the daedra in the end.”

The plain-faced Countess leaned sharply to Caro’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. Though I could not catch what she said, I could hear the venom in her tone. Mothril turned to me, looking down at me from her greater height.

“Pardon me, Julian of Anvil,” she said quietly, her voice and expression neutral. “Tell me, what experience do you have of closing Oblivion Gates?” My mind blanked. How many have I closed now? Eight? Nine?

“I taught the Bruma Watch how to close them,” I answered finally. The Altmer’s gaze dropped to the Wolf emblazoned on my surcoat.

“And you closed the Great Gate at Kvatch,” she added simply. With a nod to herself, she turned back to the thrones, where the Countess still whispered in Caro’s ear. His eyes were downcast, but his expression bore weary patience. “My lord Count,” Mothril’s soft voice ended the Countess’s whispered tirade. “I believe that Julian of Anvil knows too well what she speaks of.”

“And that is precisely what I am afraid of,” Caro responded, his eyes sharpening on me. “We have two Gates standing outside our east walls. If a third one opens, Leyawiin is lost.” He shook his head. “I simply can not spare the men at the moment.” Now those deceptively mild brown eyes hardened on me. “If we did not have those Gates, I would not hesitate to send aid to Bruma.”

My heart sank. In that moment, I knew what I had to do. Close two more Gates. The sigh stifled in my throat, I raised my right fist to my breast in the traditional Legion salute. “I understand, my lord Count,” I spoke quietly into the hush. “Farewell, sir, milady,” I nodded at the young Imperial. Turning sharply on my heel, I walked out of the Hall, the crowd parting before me.

As I entered the short passage connecting the County Hall with the entry hall, I heard the Count’s voice behind me. “I hope to see you again, Julian of Anvil!” My step faltered as I glanced back. He met my gaze across the Hall, still seated on his throne, the Countess staring at him. His bald pate shimmered as he inclined his head at me.

When I turned back to the entry hall, I saw the armored bulk of the Orsimer standing in the doorway, barred from further progress by the crossed halberds of the guards posted there. Her black eyes were on me, and I realized she had heard everything from the County Hall. She stepped back as I drew near, and the guards uncrossed their weapons to let me by.

“You’re the Hero of Kvatch, aren’t you?” the Orsimer said as I passed her. A sharp glance revealed that I didn’t need to answer. She fell into step beside me, her Orcish armor clattering as she matched my long stride. “You’re going to close those two Gates?”

“Looks that way,” I murmured. Her next words caught me off guard.

“If I help you close those Gates, will you help me?”

At the bottom of the steps leading out of the entry hall, I faced the green mer, tipping my head back to meet her gaze. “What is your name, ma’am?” I asked.

“Sir Mazoga,” she responded, becoming defensive. My brows rose at her as I considered the lack of a patronymic. “Yes, I’m Mazoga. I was born under a rock and have no parents, so I don’t need a last name,” she added, scowling. “I’m a knight, so that means you have to address me as such.”

“A knight, Sir Mazoga?” I repeated. “A knight of Leyawiin?”

“No!” Mazoga’s scowl blackened further. “I’m a free knight. I don’t have a lord. You got a problem with that?”

“What do you need my help with, Sir Mazoga?” I decided to humor her, at least for the time being. I needed all my strength for two Oblivion Gates.

“You got in to see the Count,” she said, her scowl lightening a little. “I’ve been standing here waiting for three days, and they won’t let me in!”

With manners like that, I’m not surprised. What may work in the Wrothgarians likely won’t get her far here. “And you need to speak to the Count?” I asked.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “So if I help you close those Gates, will you help me see the Count?”

This time, I did not stifle the sigh in my throat. “Can you sneak quietly?” I asked her.

“I can fight!” she drew herself up to her fullest, most formidable height. I had to admit that she looked very menacing just then. “I don’t need to sneak around!” She slapped the tall hilt of the Dwarven longsword at her hip.

“I don’t doubt you can fight well,” I countered, turning and heading up the steps. As I expected, she fell into step beside me. “But running into the Deadlands swinging and slashing that big blade of yours will only end badly.” As I pushed the right hand door open, I waved for Mazoga to exit ahead of me.

“I can fight with the best of them!” Mazoga was nothing if not stubborn.

“I’m sure you can,” I replied, glancing up at the drizzle falling around us. “But the best have tried that, and have paid the ultimate price for that.” I lowered my eyes to meet Mazoga’s gaze levelly. “I closed that Great Gate at Kvatch by sneaking around,” I continued quietly, stepping down the stairs. “I’ve only gotten better in my stealth skills since then. It’s the only way to get through the daedra.”

“But I want to help!” the big Orsimer would not give up. “I need your help!”

“Well, it’ll take me about a day for each Gate,” I mused, heading for the East Gate. “I can’t be certain daedra aren’t coming out of the Gates while I’m in the Deadlands. You can help me clear the area around each Gate, then watch for any daedra coming through while I’m in there.”

“I can do that!” Mazoga slammed her right fist into her left palm for emphasis, her gauntlets clashing loudly. Eyeing her gear, I met her gaze.

“Your equipment in good repair, Sir Mazoga?” I already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it.

“Yes!”

“Then let’s go.”


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Acadian
post Oct 15 2010, 06:30 PM
Post #28


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From: Las Vegas



I really loved this! Yes, I am humbled and delighted that you and I tend to see Count and Countess Leyawiin in similar fashion. I see him as in love with his Countess or henpecked, or perhaps both, but not inherantly a bad fellow. She is the problem, and I honestly don't know if she can be 'fixed' - evidence doesn't seem to suggest so, does it? *Sigh*

You portrayed On-Staya wonderfully - poor thing. I'm so pleased Hildara seemed to have a grasp of the bigger threat and that her influence carried some weight.

The brooding mysterious intrigue you wove into the castle was magnificent, and very immersive as tension almost dripped from the high ceilings.

Sir Mazoga! Gosh, my respect for Julian grows with every chapter. What a combination of consideration for Mazoga's feelings and a reality check that Julian so gracefully sidelined Mazoga, yet made the big green knight feel good while so doing! 'Zoga is a loose cannon, and Julian's choice here to have her 'guard' the outside of the gate was brilliant. Hmmm. . . yet it is that very same 'loose cannon-ness' that makes me anxious to see if Mazoga can/will follow the simple instructions she has agreed to. tongue.gif

Wonderful, Rider!


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Destri Melarg
post Oct 16 2010, 10:22 AM
Post #29


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From: Rihad, Hammerfell



I was sooo hoping that Julian would agree to take Mazoga with her! But I can certainly understand why she didn’t. Nothing says ‘intruder’ louder than the sight of a six-and-a-half-foot female orc stomping through the Deadlands with a sword in her hand! laugh.gif

Your depiction of the audience chamber made me want to strangle Countess Alessia and all of her lickspittles! Talk about immersive! Marius Caro may well be a wise and wily ruler, but he is incredibly weak where his wife is concerned. I imagine that the day she packed up her dowry and her bodyguard and ventured down to Leyawiin is still remembered as a day of thanks-giving in Chorrol! I especially liked the idea that the only voices of reason in the entire castle came from an Altmer, an Argonian, and strangely enough, an Orc.

Once (twice) more into the breach, Julian!


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mALX
post Oct 16 2010, 06:58 PM
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From: Cyrodiil, the Wastelands, and BFE TN



It always surprises me to read Julian has been in the Legion so long, but doesn't repair her own weapons and armor. Is there a story behind that?

Mazoga is at her best in this chapter, Awesome job you did on her!!!!



QUOTE(Destri Melarg @ Oct 16 2010, 05:22 AM) *


Your depiction of the audience chamber made me want to strangle Countess Alessia and all of her lickspittles!



Er...I won't tell you what I thought you said here, suffice it to say it appeared to be...dherty innuendo on first glance. On cleaning my glasses I realized my error. OOPS !!!

This post has been edited by mALX: Oct 16 2010, 07:06 PM


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SubRosa
post Oct 16 2010, 08:19 PM
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The sight of more stairs rising to lead back into the County Hall proper did not strike dismay into my heart,
This was a good touch. It was the first thing I thought too, when I saw the part about more stairs.

I like the way you described the County Hall. All of them seem so empty and lifeless in the game. The way you threw in a pack of courtiers and conversations made it feel like a real, lively place.

Yay for Sir Mazoga! I see she gets to fill in for Pappy and guard the gate behind Julian. wink.gif I wonder if she will stay on the Nirn side of the gates however...

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Oct 16 2010, 08:19 PM


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treydog
post Oct 16 2010, 09:18 PM
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From: The Smoky Mountains



QUOTE
Mostly young Imperial men, they regarded me with a mixture of scorn and contempt. Here my white hair and the Kvatch Wolf on my breast means nothing to them. I didn’t know whether to be relieved at their apparent ignorance of my status as the Hero of Kvatch, or be insulted by their overt disrespect. Oh well, we’ll see.


An interesting touch- Julian has become used to commanding respect again, just as she once would have expected young troopers to straighten up in the presence of their pilus prior.

QUOTE
The atmosphere in the County Hall was chilly, with a cold that did not come from the damp stones.

...his voice falling like silken spider threads into the hush.


I pulled those two as excellent examples of the environment you so skillfully create. Castle Leyawiin is NOT a happy place.

QUOTE
“Can you sneak quietly?” I asked her.

“I can fight!” she drew herself up to her fullest, most formidable height. I had to admit that she looked very menacing just then. “I don’t need to sneak around!”


Reminds me of the sergeant who was yelling at a young recruit:

"Boy, where did you learn to run?"

The recruit replied:

"Where I came from, we stood and fought."

A wonderful portrayal of Castle Leyawiin and of Julian's developing diplomatic skills.


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haute ecole rider
post Oct 17 2010, 01:52 PM
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@Acadian: I don’t quite see the Count as weak, but more as a manipulative fellow. He goes along with the Countess for now because it’s less work at the moment . . . Not to mention that her mother the Countess Valga is not one you want to anger. I’m glad you got the subtleties I was trying to convey in the Leyawiin court - all is not happy and sunshine there.

@Destri: Your perception about the voice of reason in the Leyawiin Court is spot on! I was trying to bring on the irony of the situation that Julian found herself in.

@mALX: Well, we found out fairly early in the story that Julian’s brother apprenticed to Morvayn the Anvil smith. Then we find out he was killed in a very gruesome manner. I’ll let you put the pieces together. As for Mazoga, I think you’ll like her better in later chapters. I truly love her character in the vanilla Oblivion, and merely buffed her personality for this retelling.

@SubRosa: I thought you would notice the lack of dismay over all the stairs in Leyawiin County Hall!

@Trey: You happened to have picked out those lines I’m most proud of! Loved the little anecdote!

Mazoga kept her end of the deal, now it’s time for Julian to hold up hers.

*******************
Chapter 19.5 Sir Mazoga

After the brief moment of vertigo that always followed the translocation, I spotted Mazoga battling a clannfear. Her Dwarven longsword smashed heavily through the creature’s neck, effectively paralyzing it. Behind her, a flame atronach set her feet to start casting fireballs at the big Orsimer.

“Sir Mazoga!” I shouted, already using the last of my depleted magicka to cast Domina Incendia. “Behind you!”

She spun to her left, raising her huge shield to cover her left side in time to deflect the flare from the daedra. The movement indicated years of training, hard training from real experts. Shaking the blood off her blade, she ran for the daedra as Domina Incendia cast flares at her counterpart.

Domina Incendia danced to one side to keep a clear line of fire as I approached the atronach from the opposite side as Mazoga. My summons kept firing her spells when we drew near. The voluptuous atronach hissed at us as our blades flashed in the afternoon sun. Domina Incendia fizzled into thin air when we demolished our common enemy. Mazoga stared at me, panting hard, then spun toward the smoking Gate.

“Where’s that other fire-lady?” she shouted angrily.

“That one’s mine,” I scanned the area for more enemies and finding none. “I summoned her.” Mazoga’s head whipped around at me, her black eyes stunned.

“You’re a conjurer?” she exclaimed.

“Hardly,” I wiped the blood off my blade with my fingers before sheathing it. “I can cast a flame atronach, or a skeleton, but that’s about it.” My breaths came shakily as I gulped humid air into my lungs. The breeze from the Niben River dried the sweat from my face. Damn, that feels good! I knelt on the bank to wash the blood off my fingers.

“Well, that’s two Gates closed,” Mazoga finally sheathed her own Dwarven longsword after cleaning it on the dead clannfear. “I held up my end of the deal, Julian.”

“So you did, Sir Mazoga,” I responded. My eyes were drawn again to the water. My skin, scorched and dried by the heat of the Deadlands, itched beneath my cuirass. Gods, a bath would be nice. A swim even better. But I knew that I had to see the Count as I stood, in bloodied surcoat and sooty face. The impact would be greater. Turning back to Mazoga, I noted the blood trickling down the left side of her face from a wound on her scalp, the way she wavered on her feet.

As my magicka replenished and my trembling subsided, I stepped forward and touched Mazoga on her cheek. Her eyes widened and she nearly flinched away as white energy surged from my fingertips to heal the scalp wound. Her soreness and fatigue added to mine. “You’ve fought hard, Mazoga,” I said quietly as the bleeding stopped, the red fluid drying on her green skin. “Let’s go.”

She fell into step beside me. “I thought Redguards didn’t practice magic,” she remarked casually. Without breaking my stride, I shot her a glance.

“I didn’t, not until recently.” I answered. “Being old, sick and worn out, I’ve had to learn how to use magic to survive.” With a shrug, I rubbed at the back of my neck, where the sweat still trickled down from my scalp. “I’ve become somewhat better with practice.”

“Sick and worn out?” Mazoga scoffed. “You look fit!”

This time my strides did falter. Yes, she’s right. I’m almost back to my old fighting trim. This mail cuirass no longer feels as heavy as it did. Wonder if I can wear that Blades armor without staggering now? “Well, I’ve been healing myself every night, and old injuries have finally healed,” I resumed our slow trek back to Leyawiin.

“Well, magic is fine and dandy,” Mazoga remarked, her eyes on the river to our right. “But I prefer solid weapons and armor.” She slapped the tall hilt of her Dwarven sword for emphasis.

I chuckled silently, too tired to give voice to my amusement. “Used to be a time I felt the same way,” I murmured quietly. “You fight well, Mazoga,” I raised my voice a little as we passed the Coast Guard station. “You’ve been trained by someone good.”

“Thanks,” she responded. “Yeah, I learned from one of the best.”

“Anybody I know?” I asked her as we stepped onto the dusty road that led to the East Gate.

“Naspia Cosma,” Mazoga glanced at me. “Steward at Castle Cheydinhal. She’d be better off competing in the Arena.”

With a nod, I recalled the Imperial woman’s square face and quiet demeanor. “I’ve met her.” I glanced at the tall Orsimer next to me. “I can’t speak to her blade skills, but if she trained you, then she’s good.” Mazoga grinned and puffed her chest at my words. “Thanks for holding the line at the Gates while I was in the Deadlands.”

We entered the city, the young guards eyeing us with a mixture of suspicion and respect. As we trudged down Castle Road toward the County Hall, I made eye contact with a bare-headed Imperial woman. Brown hair pulled back into a bun, brown eyes with a level gaze, she paused and turned to face us as we drew near. Recognizing the Leyawiin green on her surcoat, I nodded to her in greeting.

“Hello, Julian of Anvil!” she returned, her smile not touching her hard eyes. “The Count always said Leyawiin stands alone, but you proved him wrong. Well done!”

I paused and turned toward her. “I didn’t do it alone, ma’am,” I glanced pointedly at Mazoga. “Sir Mazoga here helped keep daedra from attacking travelers on the road and the river until the Gates were closed.”

“Yes,” the woman’s gaze flickered over the big Orsimer. “I saw.” She turned her gaze back to me. “Are you going to report to the Count?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” I nodded in affirmation.

“Good, he will be glad to hear your news.” She turned and walked away from us. Mazoga glowered after the woman, then met my gaze.

“That’s Caelia Draconis,” she grumbled. “Captain of the Guard here. Wouldn’t let me into the County Hall to speak to the Count.”

I regarded the Orsimer for several moments. “Well,” I said finally, “I have no authority here, but I can ask Count Caro if he’ll grant you an audience.”

“To tell you the truth, Julian,” Mazoga met my gaze. “I doubt you’ll be successful. But I’d appreciate it if you would try.”

The sky above us darkened imperceptibly with the setting sun as I gazed at the taller mer. She offered to help me, though she does not expect my efforts on her behalf to succeed? She is more a knight than she realizes. She is more a true paladin.

“Tell me, what is it you wish to speak to the Count about?” I said finally. “It would help me argue your case if I knew what is it you seek from him.”

She scowled, and I wondered momentarily if I had crossed some unseen line. Still, I kept my eyes steady on hers, and forced myself to keep breathing slowly and deeply. “That is a personal matter,” she growled at me.

It’s not worth it to push the matter further. “Very well, then,” I answered, starting for the County Hall. “I’ll do the best I can, Mazoga.”

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Oct 17 2010, 01:53 PM


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mALX
post Oct 17 2010, 02:01 PM
Post #34


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From: Cyrodiil, the Wastelands, and BFE TN



You have so captured Mazoga in this, Awesome Write !!!


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treydog
post Oct 17 2010, 03:24 PM
Post #35


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From: The Smoky Mountains



QUOTE
But I knew that I had to see the Count as I stood, in bloodied surcoat and sooty face. The impact would be greater.


Diplomacy requires many weapons; Julian obviously recognizes that fact.

QUOTE
The sky above us darkened imperceptibly with the setting sun as I gazed at the taller mer.


A nice bit of environmental atmosphere as Julian contemplates the psychic darkness that hangs over Leyawiin.

The scenes with Julian and Sir Mazoga fighting side-by-side- and the conversation after- were beautifully drawn. We get an excellent sense of both characters from their words, without any excess narration. Wonderful.


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Acadian
post Oct 17 2010, 05:25 PM
Post #36


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From: Las Vegas



I agree. This was wonderfully done. I see that you also find Mazoga best comes to life through her actions. I am so very fond of the big green mer and delighted at how you are presenting her. I quite like the alterations you seem to be making to questing with Mazoga. I wonder if Julian will become a Knight of the White Stallion, but understand if her duties to the Empire must take priority.

Like trey, I loved Julian's calculation to appear before the Count obviously fresh from the fight. Appearances matter. If we could just get Julian some more pretty dresses - with matching shoes, of course. . . alas, no doubt wishfull thinking on my part. Our hero has more important things to worry about. tongue.gif


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SubRosa
post Oct 17 2010, 05:39 PM
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It was so good to see Mazoga in action again. As Acadian already said, she really shows who she is through her actions, rather than in her brusque speech. Just like Vols in fact. I think you portrayed her wonderfully. I especially like how you filled in some of Sir Mazoga's background with Naspia Cosma being her teacher. That is one of those things they ignore in the game.

But I knew that I had to see the Count as I stood, in bloodied surcoat and sooty face. The impact would be greater.
And Julian says she does not know how to deal with Counts and other nobles!

“Yes,” the woman’s gaze flickered over the big Orsimer. “I saw.”
Nice of you to just sit and watch while other people do all the work!


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haute ecole rider
post Oct 19 2010, 03:22 PM
Post #38


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From: The place where the Witchhorses play



@mALX: Thanks!

@trey: I’m glad you liked the interaction between Julian and Sir Mazoga. She was a difficult character for me to write - I wanted to keep her rough edges and her likability without making her into a cartoon character.

@Acadian: Julian will be associating with Mazoga long enough to find herself a Knight of the White Stallion. But you’re right, her commitment to Martin Septim takes precedence over some Count’s flight of fancy. As for the pretty dresses, well, that’ll happen again but we’ll have to wait a long time for it!

@SubRosa: We will see more of Mazoga’s history in upcoming segments. I’m not surprised to see you pounce on Caelia Draconis’s inaction. You’re not alone in that!

*******************
Chapter 19.6 - Mazoga’s Mission

The Orsimer’s face fell when I shook my head at her. “I’m sorry, Sir Mazoga,” I left the audience hall behind and waved her to follow me to the tall entrance at the other side of the entry chamber. “Count Caro wouldn’t grant you an audience.” He didn’t grant my request for assistance for Bruma, not yet anyway. “He did ask that I find out what you need, then report back to him.” As she fell into step beside me, I noted the fatigue in her face. “Where are you staying?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been here since I arrived.” She avoided the look I shot her as we headed back out into Leyawiin’s damp climate. It’s raining again, I noted with a small part of my mind.

“All right,” I made my decision. “I’m tired, hungry, and my armor needs repairing. It would be a good time now to tend to these things, and you can tell me what it is you seek the Count’s assistance with.” We turned up Castle Road toward North Way, the street that led to Westgate. Mazoga scowled, but matched my shorter stride.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I thought Five Claws Lodge would be a good place to get some grub,” I answered. “The Dividing Line is on the way, and I intend to drop off my armor and weapons there.” Again I regarded the tall Orsimer next to me. “First I’m going to the Mages Guild, to change into my street clothes, then I’ll drop my gear with Tun-Zeeus. I’ll meet you at the Five Claws in say, about thirty minutes?”

“All right,” Mazoga sighed reluctantly, still scowling. “Thirty minutes, then.”

“Listen,” I put my hand on her left shoulder, “I still owe you for your help. Dinner’s on me.” Her scowl faded, and she flashed a gap-toothed grin at me.

We parted ways near the Chapel, where Chapelstreet ran south from North Way. While the Orsimer trudged toward the Five Claws, I passed the immense stone structure and made my way to the Mages Guild. The rain poured itself into torrents by the time I reached the covered stoop to the chapterhouse.

Again Uvenim discovered me dripping on the stone floor and scolded me for not taking a rain cloak. I shook my head and smiled as I headed upstairs to my room. She turned back into her alchemy lab, still muttering about me catching bloodlung and worse.

Once I was dried off and in my street clothes, a knock on my door followed by Uvenim’s soft voice distracted me momentarily from my hunger. “Come in,” I called, already rolling up the mail cuirass.

“Here, Julian,” Uvenim entered, her hands full of potion vials. “I’ve got some healing potions for you. Looks like you can use them.” Her eyes widened at my burned skin, the traces of bruises evident beneath the collar and below the sleeves of my green shirt. “Where on Nirn have you been?” I smiled at her exclamation. Though I had used Carandial’s refresh spell to clean the blood and gore off of myself, it had depleted my magicka yet again.

“Not on Nirn, ma’am” I replied, taking one of the vials and drinking it down. My face pulled into a grimace, but the healing effect was strong, and my skin felt immediately better. “In the Deadlands,” I finished. “Thanks for the potion.” I returned the empty vial back to Uvenim. She set the remaining doses on top of the dresser where my pack rested.

“You closed those two Oblivion Gates?” she exclaimed. “I saw that Orc near them, but I had no idea - !”

“That Orc is Sir Mazoga, ma’am” I responded, wrapping up my weapons and bundling them together with the cuirass. “I asked her to keep an eye out for daedra entering Nirn through those gates while I was in the Deadlands.”

“She is fierce!” Uvenim’s eyes grew wide. “I watched her hold her ground against three flame atronaches!” She shook her head in wonder. “I’d be afraid to talk to her!”

“Ach, she’s not so bad,” I responded. Unable to resist the sudden urge to tease the Dunmer, I added, “as long as you’re not a flame atronach yourself, ma’am.”

“Stop it!” Uvenim put her fists on her hips in mock indignation. She laughed at my stifled chuckle. “Are you joining us for dinner, Julian?”

“No, ma’am, I’m meeting Mazoga at the Five Claws,” I answered. The Dunmer’s brows rose high over her ruby gaze.

“Well, be careful over there,” she advised me, her expression turning serious. “Witseidutsei keeps a very clean lodge, and gets quite upset when customers mess up the place.”

Straightening up, with my bundled armor and weapons in my arms, I nodded. “I’ll be careful, ma’am.”

“I’ve seen how you eat, Julian,” Uvenim shook her head. “You’ll be fine. It’s that Orc you’re meeting that’s the problem. Dirty, stinky creatures . . .”

“You’ll be dirty and stinky, too, ma’am,” I countered, my own brows rising, “if you had to defend against daedra for two days.” I smiled to take the sting out of my words. “What better place to clean up than the cleanest place in town?”

“Well, I suppose -” the slight Dunmer’s voice trailed off. She turned from me and went to the wardrobe. “If you’re going back out in that weather, for Zenithar’s sake take this,” she drew out a dark grey cloak. “It’s been enchanted to dispel water and keep you dry.” She stood on tiptoe to toss the heavy woven linen around my shoulders, securing the silver clasp at my left shoulder. I studied the wide border of silvery grey vines woven along the edges of the cloak.

“Thanks, I appreciate the loan,” I began, but Uvenim shook her head.

“It’s yours - long enough for your height.” Her mouth quirked at my surprise. “I inherited much from my grandmother. Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit her height.”

*********************
After dropping off my gear at The Dividing Line, I stepped gratefully within the warm and dry environs of the Five Claws. A careworn Argonian woman looked up from her pewter steins as I started past the bar toward the common room at the rear.

“Hello, Redguard,” she said quietly, her hissing accent barely audible. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m supposed to meet an Orc named Mazoga here, ma’am,” I responded, scanning the common room. I almost missed the woman’s frown.

“She’s freshening up in one of my roomss,” her tone held distaste. My glance at her may have been sharper than I intended, for she drew herself up almost defensively. “I have enough cleaning to do as it iss!” she exclaimed.

I shook my head. “Did she take a room for the night, ma’am?”

“She could barely afford a bath!” Witseidutsei countered. I managed to hide my wince at the Orsimer’s obvious poverty. Spent all her coin on that armor, most likely. I had seen the cuirass on Tun-Zeeus’s forge.

“How much for the night, ma’am?” I asked the Argonian, unfastening my belt pouch.

“Ten drakes for the night,” the publican responded. I laid two ten-drake pieces on the counter.

“Ten for one night,” I advised her, “plus extra for the bath and food. Whatever she needs, she gets.” She reached for the coins, but I covered them with my hand. Witseidutsei met my gaze, her eyes widening at me. “Mazoga spent the last two days keeping daedra from the walls of Leyawiin. She deserves some respect for that, at least.”

“Oh, very well!” Witseidutsei huffed. I heard the door to one of the rooms open behind me, and turned to see Mazoga, dressed in a plain linen shirt and scuffed leather pants, step out.

“Let’s eat, Sir Mazoga,” I said, gesturing her to move ahead into the common room. As she passed me, I turned back to Witseidutsei. “Water for both of us, and whatever you have that’s hot to eat, please.” I smiled at the Argonian. “We’re both quite hungry, ma’am.”

Mazoga picked a nearby empty table, ignoring the glances from the other patrons as I joined her. Witseidutsei placed a pitcher and pewter tumblers in front of us, then returned to the ovens near the bar. The smell of hot meat pies drifted out into the common room as she opened one of the ovens and drew out two of the delectable dishes. The Argonian brought the pies and a loaf of warm bread and laid them out on the table. “Careful, the pies are hot.”

“I believe it, ma’am,” I responded. I could hear the juices bubbling away inside the pastries. Mazoga watched as I poked at the top crust with a fork, letting steam and savory smells out through the small holes and cracks. She mimicked my actions with her pie as I filled the tumblers with cool water from the pitcher. “All right, Sir Mazoga,” I said to her. “Dive in. Fill our stomachs first, then we’ll talk.”

Working our way through the hot pies took some time, as we had to blow on each forkful to avoid scalding our mouths. Mazoga finished hers first, and sopped up the last of the juices with a chunk of bread. I wasn’t too far behind her though. Two days of fighting was more than enough to work up an appetite.

“What was it you wanted to see the Count about?” I decided to be direct with the Orsimer. Her blunt approach, while not suitable for the Leyawiin court, was fine with me.

“I need to find someone to take me to Fisherman’s Rock,” Mazoga looked down at her place. “A woodsman named Weebam-Na. I hear he knows the forest around here.”

I regarded her silently for a few moments. “Why did you want to see the Count about that, sir?”

“He’s the Count, isn’t he?” Mazoga countered. “He knows everyone that lives here!”

“I think we can find him without the Count’s assistance,” I leaned back in my chair, twirling the tumbler on the table. “Let me ask around, sir.” I might get further with the locals than Mazoga. As Witseidutsei returned to the table to clear away the empty dishes, I caught her gaze. “That was mighty delicious, Witseidutsei. Far better than Legion food, ma’am.”

“Oh, thank you!” Witseidutsei smiled toothily as Mazoga grunted her agreement. “Do you need anything else?”

“Do you have any fresh fruit?” I asked. I wanted something light to fill the last few empty nooks and crannies in my stomach. Witseidutsei nodded with a glance at Mazoga.

“I’ll have some, too,” the Orsimer answered the unspoken question.

When the Argonian innkeeper returned with a platter of apples, pears and strawberries, I stopped her with a gesture. “Do you happen to know of a man named Weebam-Na, ma’am?”

“Of course! Everybody knows Weebam-Na!” Witseidutsei’s response was quite emphatic. “He lives here in town, on Water Street. His house is the little one on the lake, right next to Ahdarji’s house, the big red one on the corner of Water Street and Southcastle Avenue.”

I met Mazoga’s gaze. “We’ll go see him tomorrow morning,” I said quietly. She drew breath to protest, but I shook my head emphatically. “It’s late, and we’re both tired. I’ll meet you here after breakfast.”


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SubRosa
post Oct 19 2010, 04:43 PM
Post #39


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This was a nice episode with a steady pace, showing Julian just being Julian. I vastly prefer these over the bashing monster ones, as they show Julian our Redguard for who she really is.


Dirty, stinky creatures . . .
Well, la, de, da! Miss high and mighty! I wonder if it is actual racism on Alves' part, or perhaps jealousy? She certainly is paying a lot of attention to Julian! wink.gif


“Why did you want to see the Count about that, sir?”
So the player character would notice her and thusly begin a side-quest? wink.gif There really is no good reason for Mazoga to be talking to the Count when she wants to talk to Weebles-Wobble. However, I love the naivete you injected within her with, that she actually thinks the Count knows every resident in his city. Or perhaps it is simple unfamiliarity with Cyrodiil? If she is from the Wrothgarians, the local leaders there may well indeed be personally acquainted with all the constituents.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Oct 19 2010, 04:44 PM


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Acadian
post Oct 19 2010, 06:37 PM
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I really enjoyed this. You are doing a great job bringing Leyawiin to life!
QUOTE
“Listen,” I put my hand on her left shoulder, “I still owe you for your help. Dinner’s on me.” Her scowl faded, and she flashed a gap-toothed grin at me.
Julian's wisdom continues to impress. She knows the way to an orc's heart!
QUOTE
The Dunmer’s brows rose high over her ruby gaze.
Oooh! I'll have to remember this - great phrasing for a Dunmer!

I'm pleased to see Julian garner a rain cloak. How clever to give it a touch of magical water repelling.

Thanks for the fine chow, or as Julian would say, 'grub'.

I am so tickled to see Julian developing a protective aspect regarding the rough and wonderful orc. As odd as that sounds, I fully understand it, and love Julian all the more for it. Julian shows her heart - with her words, deeds and coin. People do pick on Mazoga inside the town, albeit not to her face.


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