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Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 4 2011, 03:26 PM

It's now time to start a new thread for Julian of Anvil. Now that she returns to her hometown, it's rather appropriate to start a new thread to celebrate!

Thanks to all who have read and posted input on Julian's story.

For those coming in late, if you've got the time, here are links to the previous threads:

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4423
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4467
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4500
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4523

I hope you continue to enjoy this story as Julian works toward the inevitable conclusion!

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 4 2011, 03:41 PM

@Olen: It’s funny, but Skingrad seemed like a good place to recall where Julian was and how far she’s traveled in the past two months of the story. I really enjoyed Sinderion, I’ve had college professors like him. Fortunately my faculty advisor was a lot more practical than Sinderion!

@SubRosa: The mulled wine was for Fortran, rather than Julian. Akatosh knows Fortran has earned it! I figured he was more the beer type, but this is Skingrad!

@Acadian: I would melt in the Kitchen Stadium against the likes of Cat Cora and Bobby Flay! I’m glad you were able to identify those unnamed inn patrons. And I didn’t have Else attack Julian (as she does in-game) because of something Olen said waaaay back in Chapter 13.

Anvil has been the toughest town to write. Julian has so much history here - after all, she was born and raised in that old farm overlooking Anvil and the Strid River. Here she will meet old friends from her childhood, and renew old acquaintances, not all of them good. And here, we finally begin to see the shape of her past, and the reasons she didn’t stay in Anvil when she was discharged from the Legion four years ago.

Chapter 23.1 Return to Anvil

“Thanks for your help, ma’am,” the Legion soldier slumped onto a nearby boulder. “I’ve never seen so many daedra in my life!”

“There were a lot of them,” I agreed. More than I usually see around a Gate. What’s so special about this one? “At least you can get a break.” I was as tired as he was. From where we stood on the Gold Road, I could see the tiled roofs of Anvil down the steep slopes past the now closed Gate. The bay beyond lay smooth as glass in the predawn twilight.

The foggy weather had cleared while I was in the Gate, and an overcast sky blocked most of the stars from view. The vegetation around us was soggy with recent rain, and mud coated the worn cobblestones of the road.

I turned and looked at the black horse, prostrate on its side in the middle of the road. According to the Legion soldier, it and its Black Horse Courier rider were ambushed by daedra before he arrived to take up his post a couple of days ago. Only the carcass of the horse, bloated in the early stages of decay, remained of the struggle. Of the rider there was no sign, and the soldier feared she had been taken into the Gate. I feared he was right, and that her soul screamed along with countless others in the sigil stone I carried in my belt purse.

One thing I noticed about these sigil stones - the longer the Gates stood open, the stronger these stones seemed to be. The stone from the first Skingrad Gate, one that conferred fortify magicka effects, thrummed with greater energy than the one I had recovered from the second Gate in the cemetery. As a matter of fact, of all the stones I had recovered, the cemetery one felt the weakest of them all. Could it be those stones are fed by the souls of people taken into the portals and tortured, as Menien Goneld had been? The longer they stand open, the more souls they suck into themselves and the stronger they become?

Thoughtfully I fingered the hilt of Daedra Slayer. The sword, enchanted by a sigil stone much like the one I had recovered at Kvatch, rested quietly at my side. Unlike the sigil stones, it did not send a sinister song into the bones of my body. The only time I felt its enchantment was when it came into contact with enemies. Does enchanting with these stones set those trapped souls free? I hope so!

“Well.” The Legion soldier clapped his hands on his plated knees and rose to his feet, sheathing his sword. I noticed his gaze was on the dead horse. “I suppose I’d better get that carcass out of the road, now that there are no more daedra.”

“I’ll give you a hand,” I said, putting my weapons down beside my pack. First we stripped the tack from the animal, then together we grasped the horse’s forelegs and pulled him to the side of the road, where we rolled him over the edge to drop down the slope. “That’ll keep the wolves and the lions happy for a while,” I added.

“Aye, that it will,” the soldier gazed after the disappearing body. “It’s a damn shame, though. That was a fine animal.” He returned to the piled tack and gathered them, slinging the headstall over one shoulder and carrying the saddle at his hip by the high pommel. “I’m headed to Brina Cross Inn. They’ll handle the tack there.”

“I’ll walk with you,” I picked up my gear.

We walked the few kilometers to the inn. There, I said farewell to the soldier, declining his invitation to come in for a drink. I wanted to reach Anvil before stopping for the night. A certain smith would gladly repair the Kvatch Wolf for me - I hope.

Except for that Gate, it had been a mostly quiet walk from Skingrad. I had spent the night in the refugee camp at Kvatch, where I noticed signs of winter preparations. Many of the tents had been fortified with stone walls. A new well had been dug to provide a source of fresh water. An old mine just south of the camp, called Belletor’s Folly by the locals, had been cleared of creatures and was being used as a secure storehouse for foodstuffs they had been able to gather. Still Boldon confided in me his concerns for getting the fifty or so refugees through the winter. I advised him of Count Hassildor’s offer of aid, and suggested that he prepare a list of necessary supplies and services for when I returned along the Gold Road. Matius was up in the ruined city itself, leading the clean up. I didn’t have a chance to see him before I had to resume my journey. On my way back, I will stop in and look for him.

The sky cleared as I trudged along the road toward the ocean. The sun was well overhead when the Gold Road finally turned south to drop down to the harbor city where I was born and where I grew up.

I stopped and gazed west, at the ocean on my right. I could smell the salt on the westerly breeze that caused the tall grass to ripple like the waves on the water. Aloe vera plants lifted their heavy blossoms on tall spikes above the golden tufts, much like sailing ships on the ocean. White gulls hovered and swooped above the shoreline far below, mere splinters of argent against the western sky.

Slow hoofbeats alerted me to the approach of the Legion rider. He reined his horse beside me when I waved in greeting. “Hello, Hero of Kvatch!” His hearty greeting only served to emphasize my weariness. I didn’t even object to his salutation.

“How are things in Anvil?” I asked, shifting the pack at my shoulder.

“Not good,” the rider’s expression turned grim. “There is an Oblivion Gate open north of the city, west of the road, on top of Mara’s wayshrine. The guard’s been fighting the daedra for about a month or so.”

What, did all these Gates open on the same day? “I take it they haven’t gone in there to close it?”

“When they heard how the one at Kvatch was closed, they considered it. But daedra keep coming out of there, they haven’t had a chance to marshal their forces and send a few men inside.” The rider regarded me thoughtfully. “But if you’re headed that way, maybe you can help . . .” He turned his gaze eastward.

“The one by the road east of Brina Cross is closed,” I volunteered.

“Old Pollus managed to close it?” The rider’s gaze returned to me, and he studied my face closely. “Or did you?”

“We worked together on it,” I replied. He fulfilled the same purpose Mazoga did in Leyawiin. “He’s at the inn now, with the tack from that horse that was killed. We removed the carcass from the road before we left.”

“Good,” the rider slapped the neck of his bay. “Sticklegs here doesn’t like going by that dead horse. Damn shame about it and the rider, though. You didn’t see her, by any chance?”

I shook my head. “Nothing I could recognize as a Courier rider.”

“I’m Servius Veranius, by the way,” the rider offered. “I heard plenty about you from Berennus.” He grinned at me. “I’m certainly glad to see you at this end of the Gold Road!” Sticklegs pawed impatiently at the cobblestones. “Unfortunately I can’t chat long. Take care, Julian of Anvil!”

I watched the bay amble slowly away, then turned my face south. I couldn’t yet see the walls of Anvil yet, but there was a hint of Oblivion-generated thunderheads visible through the trees directly south, just to the right of where the road veered inland to run to Anvil’s Northgate. Ah well, here we go again.

The sunlight was slanting from the west when I reached the point in the road where the Horse Whisperer Stables first became visible, the walls of Anvil rising just beyond. To my right, I could hear the characteristic sound that indicated the Oblivion Gate. Beneath that crackling and hissing were shouts and clanging of metal. With a final glance at the town walls below, I turned and left the road, working my way around the immense boulders that rose out of the amber sea grass.

A smithy’s portable forge squatted at the base of one of the boulders, shielded by its bulk from the Gate. In its shade, I could see a Bosmer working the bellows. He looked up as I approached. At the sight of my white hair and Kvatch Wolf, his eyes widened. “Hail, Hero of Kvatch!” He straightened up, setting the hammer down on the nearby anvil. “Have you come to lend aid?”

“I have need of aid,” I answered softly. “I closed the Oblivion Gate up the mountain from here, near the Gold Road.”

“The one by Garlas Agaea?” he asked. “The Ayleid ruin just east of Brina Cross?”

“Yes, that one,” I answered. “I can repair my plain weapons, but my cuirass,” I tapped the Wolf, “is enchanted, and I’m not yet skilled enough.”

“And you’ll be needing resupply,” the handsome young Bosmer nodded. “I see you’re low on arrows, and likely you’ll need water, too.”

“Aye, you’re right,” I answered.

“Hand over that cuirass!” He gestured at me. I set my gear down and unbuckled the mailed armor. While I shrugged out of it, he gathered a handful of steel arrows and tucked them into my quiver. The padded tunic kept the breeze off my skin as I handed the cuirass over. “Name’s Enilroth, by the way,” the Bosmer laid the enchanted mail out, examining the links closely. “I’m apprentice to Varel Morvayn.”

My heart twinged at his words. If not for those goblins thirty years ago, the man standing before me repairing my cuirass would have been my brother. But if not for those goblins, I would never have joined the Legion. So my brother would not be repairing a cuirass for me. If not for the goblins, who would be following the path I have followed these past few months?

“Have a seat,” Enilroth waved me to a nearby stool. “Rest a spell. You must be exhausted. Once these guardsmen know you’re here, you’ll never get a moment’s peace!”

I took his advice and the seat gratefully, stretching out my legs. “How is Morvayn?” I asked. The Bosmer shot a glance at me.

“You know Morvayn?” At my nod, he continued, “He’s doing well. Still working hard these days. Matter of fact, you just missed him. We’ve been taking shifts out here, keeping the guardsmen in good repair.”

“And his wife Athesi Andala?” I wondered about the Dunmer woman who had been so kind to me following the deaths of my family.

Enilroth’s face fell. “She passed away ten years ago,” he said. “Varel still misses her, still mourns her.”

My heart sank. Is it true what they say? You can’t go home again? “She was a sweet woman,” I said softly. “Terribly kind.”

“Aye, that she was,” Enilroth nodded without pausing in his evaluation. Satisfied that his assessment was complete, he picked up the hammer and began working on the mail. “Listen, if you don’t mind the noise, take a nap under my shelter,” Enilroth jerked a thumb at a rough lean-to a few meters away. “This’ll take me a few hours, and I’ve got more weapons to repair as well, so I won’t be needing that bedroll for a while.”

Posted by: Grits Feb 4 2011, 05:32 PM

Julian has so much history here - after all, she was born and raised in that old farm overlooking Anvil and the Strid River.
Gwenden Farm? I love the atmosphere you give Anvil. The Gold Coast is my favorite landscape in the game, and I have been looking forward to Julian’s return home. More than she, I suspect. Her past is already coming alive, and she isn’t even through the gate yet!

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 4 2011, 06:34 PM

I think someone else mentioned it recently, but it bears repeating that you do very well at starting in the middle, and then recounting preceding events as the episode goes on. That can often be the best way, as it keeps you from becoming bogged down in little things. I always find it difficult to do myself though.

And a tantalizing piece of information about Julian's brother Cieran! As well as her own motivations in joining the legion. It seems goblins are Julian's arch-nemesis. Now I suspect that it was goblins that did in her mother as well.

Could it be those stones are fed by the souls of people taken into the portals and tortured, as Menien Goneld had been?
Now that is a chilling thought, and an excellent bit of world-building.

Aloe vera plants lifted their heavy blossoms on tall spikes above the golden tufts, much like sailing ships on the ocean.
I really liked your comparison of the plants to ships, given the proximity of the ocean.

I didn’t even object to his salutation.
Oh noes! Our poor Julian must really be out of it to not squirm at praise!

Posted by: Acadian Feb 5 2011, 01:17 AM

Congratulations on the new thread! Julian is like the Everready Bunny! Well, not exactly. I mean, we still need to find her a fella and all, but as far as crankin' out pages of goodness, woohoo!

I think it was probably me that has noted how effectively you can start a story in the middle then catch up, even as Julian moves ahead. As SubRosa said, another fine example of that here.

I was greatly saddened at the loss of a Sister of the Black Horse and her steed. There was no doubt that gate so close to the road had to be closed.

I'm with SubRosa again in enjoying Julian's thoughts about sigil stones. She certainly has handled enough of them to speak with authority!

“We worked together on it,” I replied. He fulfilled the same purpose Mazoga did in Leyawiin.'
Julian's inherent goodness and understated tack shines brilliantly. We know perfectly well why she left Mazoga and, just recently, the Legion soldier outside the gates.

'My heart twinged at his words. If not for those goblins thirty years ago, the man standing before me repairing my cuirass would have been my brother. But if not for those goblins, I would never have joined the Legion. So my brother would not be repairing a cuirass for me. If not for the goblins, who would be following the path I have followed these past few months?'
As I think it was Jauffre told Julian, something about the futility of coulda, woulda, shoulda. . . . How delicately you tease us with Julian's past in the latter portions of this episode.

Posted by: D.Foxy Feb 5 2011, 02:01 AM

Congrats on the New new new (counts on fingers)... er...new thread!

I see your writing is still as fine as ever!

Posted by: mALX Feb 5 2011, 06:09 AM

Congrats on thread five !!! WOO HOO !!

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 5 2011, 06:41 AM

Ah, I finally get caught up through the end of Part Four, only for you to start Part Five on me before I can adequately respond. I must say, I was missing an impressive amount, but at least I did get to read four full portions at my pace. Now that I'm caught up, it looks like that will end. Bittersweet enjoyment for me.

Your introduction to our favorite Anvil apprentice smith is incredibly well done, and in doing so you seamlessly explain what happened to Julian's beloved older brother. 3 Kudoi to you!

Julian's homecoming reminds me of one of my own, when I made a brief return to my old hometown for my grandfather's funeral. In the intervening years, some things changed immensely, and some didn't change at all. But my grandfather also told me that every time you leave home, you come back to a different place. After all, a determined person can always move all the furniture around in eight hours with enough effort. And if that happens, you have to memorize the new layout of the kitchen when trying to get a late-night snack.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 5 2011, 10:26 AM

Got a little behind there for a spell. Not for long, though. I'm back and up-to-date.

Just one pebble of what I'm sure will be mountains of backstory for our dear old Redguard here. I believe I will be enjoying this next section immensely.



Poor horsie. But you do what you have to do, and let Y'ffre do the rest.



Home is not a noun, Julian, at least not in the traditional sense. You may have history here in Anvil, but it has not been your home for such a long time. Dear old Count Umbranox has been absconded from history altogether and his wife given up on ever seeing him again, and now as we learn, a dear friend's wife has passed on. Your home is now at Martin's side in Cloud Ruler. So much has changed in Anvil that it may have become a different town from the one you remember... that is to say, the Anvil you once called home.

Home is not the walls in which you live. Home is familiarity, a feeling of belonging. If Julian has lost the feeling here in Anvil, how could she then still call it home? I will totally understand if this makes you feel empty inside, you have every right to feel that way. No one likes to be away from the one place they found shelter and solace for so many years, and then they come back and discover that sheltering feeling has disappeared. It's... well... it's sobering, to say the least.

Nevertheless, it is where you were born, so it will always hold a place in your heart. I'm sure whatever time you spend within the walls will be spent well.

Posted by: Olen Feb 5 2011, 03:42 PM

Thread five... this is long, very long, but it doesn't drag at all. You keep everything flowing well and the development is ongoing which makes the length less noticable, indeed it just means you have more stronger characters.

I enjoyed the bit of backstory, goblins seem to have it in for our Julian. It gives slightly more prespective on what she is now and what lead there. Her comment about home is an interesting one, it goes a long way into her psyche, not so much revealing anyhting but just confirming what was already developed.

So long ago I have no idea what it was... (nor can I find it).

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 6 2011, 07:48 PM

@Grits: You will see Gweden farm in an upcoming post. And yes, Anvil is my favorite area too, but I have a particular soft spot for Kvatch.

@SubRosa: You may recall in Chapter 15.6 Martin asking Julian what happened to her family, and Julian’s response:

@Acadian: Everready Bunny? More like Duracell! (And I speak from over forty years of experience - Duracell kicks butt every single time!) And yes, Julian will continue to leave potential followers behind, unless she is specifically asked to take one along with her to teach the ropes (as she did for Fortran). And Julian’s time in Anvil is the perfect opportunity for us to learn more of her past.

@Foxy and mALX: Thanks!

@Captain Hammer: Sorry to make you work so hard! I really appreciate you taking the time to read this magnum opus of mine in its bloated entirety. Who woulda thunk it would take so long? I really hope you will continue to enjoy it.

@TK: Julian knows well home is where the heart is. It’s just that she has so many memories, some good, others not so pleasant, tied up with Anvil, and she has been away so long, that all she can see when she thinks of the place are those memories. Reality is quite different and she is seeing how. It’s a bit of an pause for her. Heck, Corvus wasn’t even the Count when she left Anvil on her eighteenth birthday!

@Olen: I’m mistaken, you said it back in Chapter 10. Post #70 in Thread Two, about the Mythic Dawn agents’ propensity for reckless assaults on sight. As for the goblins, I think it’s more a matter of she has it in for them. And we will soon find out just why.

Now Julian gets a homecoming like nuttin' else. And she finally gets recognition for closing an OG.

*****************
Chapter 23.2 A Welcome Like No Other

I turned my back to the setting sun in time to be swarmed by giddy young guardsmen. Soot rose in black clouds from the charred ruins of the Gate at our feet as they gathered around, clapping my shoulders and back, hailing me by name. Before I could protest, they swept me off my feet and hoisted me above their shoulders, carrying me away from the destroyed wayshrine.

As we passed the portable forge, the ringing of a hammer on the anvil turned my head. I caught a glimpse of Enilroth banging away, his face lit by a wide grin. The aged Dunmer standing just behind him locked gazes with me, then he smiled and nodded at me before the guardsmen swept me onto the road.

People spilled out of Anvil’s main gate and filled the road from side to side before we reached the stables. I found myself transferred from guardsmen to civilians and carried within the city. They did not put me down until we reached the immense ancient ilex oak in the center of Guild Plaza. I found myself standing on a bench beneath its spreading branches, my head brushing the glossy green leaves, faces turned expectantly towards me.

One of the guardsmen fought his way to my side, leaping to stand beside me. “People of Anvil!” he roared, lifting his sword high. “The Hero of Kvatch!” The Imperial grinned at me as cheering washed over us, then he waved his sword for silence. As the voices faded away, he drew himself up in a vain attempt to match my height. “Our own hometown hero, three cheers for Julian of Anvil!” I felt the flush on my cheeks as he led the crowd in their hip-hip-hoorays.

Eagerly I scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Near the main gate, I could just make out Enilroth and Morvayn. Nearer to the tree, an elegant Altmer woman stood head and shoulders above the others, her assessing gaze cool on me. Carahil. She is still with the Mages Guild. I gave her a nod of recognition, but failed to identify anyone else in the sea of faces before me.

“Speech!” “Speech!” The rumbling grew louder as the guardsman turned to me with a question in his brown eyes. I swallowed the sudden walnut in my throat and nodded. My mind clicked frantically for the words the Anvilians needed most at this time.

“Thank you,” I began. Suddenly, the words I had spoken so long ago in the camp below the ruined city of Kvatch came back to me. “I know it’s been a scary time for you, with that Oblivion Gate open so close to the walls. I don’t doubt all of you know what happened at Kvatch.” The sudden murmuring gave me a chance to pause and marshal my thoughts. When the citizens fell silent at the guardsman’s brandished sword, I continued. “There may be more Gates opening near Anvil. When that happens -“ again mutterings rose again, but fell quickly before the soldier’s withering gaze. “When that happens, I want you to remember this. The daedra will try to destroy you, but as long as you live, Anvil will always live. Though you may live in fear, do not give up hope, for the day is coming when the minions of Mehrunes Dagon are banished forever.”

As the crowd cheered, again I met Morvayn’s gaze across the Plaza. At his side, Enilroth lifted an object I recognized as my pack. I nodded at them, and they began making their way toward Morvayn’s smithy, facing the square.

“Now it’s late,” I resumed when the cheering subsided. “It’s time for dinner, and time for celebration!”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” a brown-dressed Bosmer man shouted gleefully. “First round of drinks at the Flowing Bowl is free!”

“Same at the Count’s Arms!” A bald Redguard called from the edge of the gathering. Laughter and scattered cheers rippled through the plaza as people began scattering.

The guardsman turned to me. “That was a nice speech, ma’am,” he removed his helm to reveal close-cropped dark hair above olive skinned Nibenean features. “That was good work out there at the Gate, too. We really appreciate you coming along to help us out.” Tucking the helmet beneath his left arm, he stuck his right hand to me. “Name’s Galus Varus. I’m lieutenant to Captain Langley.”

“Thanks for the introduction,” I shook hands with him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so welcomed!”

“Well, no other city can claim you as their own homegrown hero, can they?” Varus grinned and clapped me on the shoulder. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Actually, I wanted to look up an old friend,” I jerked my thumb toward the red-tiled building to the side of the main gate. “Besides, I should be the one paying for drinks. After all, you and your comrades defended Anvil for over a month!”

“Ach, but you’ve been closing Gates all over Cyrodiil!” Varus countered. “Well, make sure that old friend treats you to a good meal and drink tonight!”

I stepped down from the bench and began weaving my way through the crowd. Carahil stopped me before I moved a few paces. “Julian, will you be coming to the chapterhouse?”

“Later, ma’am,” I answered. “First I need to leave my armor and weapons with Morvayn for repair.”

“Of course,” Carahil nodded, her violet gaze flickering toward the squat smithy. “I know you’re traveling for recommendations for the University. We have just the task for one possessing your skills. Stop in when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You can count on me, ma’am.”

My progress toward Morvayn’s was delayed by men shaking my hands and women hugging me before dispersing to their homes and inns. Night had fallen, but the city glowed with streetlamps and torches held by several citizens. By the time I reached the stoop of Morvayn’s Peacemakers, few people remained in the Guild Plaza.

“Julian!” The shout reached me as I placed my hand on the handle of the smithy’s front door. I paused and turned around to see a young Dunmer boy, dressed in fine linens of turquoise and white, run up to me. He stopped at the foot of the steps, panting for breath, his black hair flopping into his eyes. Impatiently he brushed it back and met my gaze. “The Countess of Anvil salutes you on your achievement, Hero of Kvatch.” He bowed perfunctorily and finally managed to take a deep breath. “She requests your presence at the County Hall in the morning.”

“What time?” I asked. Thank Akatosh! Looks like I won’t have any trouble seeking audience with Countess Umbranox. But will she send aid to Bruma?

“Seven bells,” he replied. Again he brushed that stubborn forelock out of his face. “Will you be there?”

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

He straightened up and puffed his chest out. “Midave Sendal, ma’am.”

“Midave Sendal, you can tell the Countess I will stand before her at seven bells in the morning.”

“Very well!” Sendal’s white teeth flashed in his dusky face, then he spun on his heel and ran off.

Enilroth met me within the smithy, holding his hands out for my weapons. “We’ll get your gear fixed right up, ma’am!” As I handed him the bows, he jerked his head toward the stairs at the rear of the shop. “Varel’s upstairs. Your pack’s there,” he indicated the changing alcove. “If you want to change out of your armor and leave it here too before you go upstairs.”

I did as he suggested and changed into my civilian clothing. Leaving my damaged armor beside the forge, where Enilroth was already evaluating my swords, I headed upstairs.

Morvayn looked up from setting a serving bowl on the table when I entered the large multipurpose room upstairs. The distinctive aroma of pasta alla norma caused me to inhale sharply, bittersweet memories rising to the surface of my weary mind. We looked at each other, unspeaking, for several long moments. Briefly I wondered if he felt the same swirl of emotions I was experiencing in that moment. He was just as I remembered him, lean and wiry, his eyes that wonderful ruby color, his hair only a little greyer than when I last saw him twenty-nine years ago.

Now that I stood before him, I couldn’t think of anything to say. Likely he has the same problem. I became aware of the absence of another. “Enilroth told me about Athesi Andala, ser.” I said finally. “I’m very sorry. I had hoped to see her again as well.”

Morvayn’s scarlet gaze flickered momentarily. “She was so proud of you when you became pilus prior.” He smiled wistfully. “Athesi bragged about you to everyone who would listen.”

I smiled back and moved to the table. Alongside the pasta dish, embellished with sauteed eggplant, chunky tomato sauce and fresh basil and topped by soft ricotta salata, fresh salad greens tossed with pear slices, grated pecorino, dried dates and sunflower seeds filled three small bowls.

“Join Enilroth and me for dinner, Julian,” Morvayn said quietly. I met his gaze again, and suddenly felt like crying. Without a second thought, I stepped to the other side of the table and threw my arms around his shoulders. He returned my hug firmly, his hands patting my back. “It’s good to have you back Julian.” His voice was suspiciously rough.

“It’s good to see you again, Morvayn.”

Posted by: mALX Feb 6 2011, 08:10 PM

GAAAH! Are we finally going to see Julian in a romance? WOO HOO !!!

I thought it was very fitting, the warm homecoming Hero welcome Anvil gave their Julian. Anvil is my favorite city too, it is great that it has been following the progress of their favorite daughter Julian !!!

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 6 2011, 10:56 PM

Wasn't duracell the one that Robert Conrad did the commercials for? "I dare you knock this off my shoulder!"

I caught a glimpse of Enilroth banging away
Was that on the forge, or on Heinrich Oaken-Hull's wife?

My Julian indeed get the hero's welcome! For a moment I thought she had won the Superbowl! It is about time she get the recognition she so well deserves for all her labor.

Followed up by another of haute ecole chef's superb dinners. Now I wish I had not eaten before reading this, because now I am hungry again! The tasty meal aside, it was a very strained, awkward, and emotional scene that you painted for us between Julian and Morvayn. He strikes me as being quite the father figure for our wayward Redguard.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 7 2011, 12:01 AM

I see you are serving Italian tonight! How about some Tiramisu with espresso Gelato for dessert? Perhaps you'll also be wanting Secondi, so perhaps Sea Bass with Fennel and Tarragon En Papillote with soft Polenta and roasted Butternut squash?

And I don't mean polenta like the watery gruel they served in the Legion, but real polenta, with milk and butter and a hint of Asiago

Thank you for helping me into my white jacket, I always love a good meal!

A hero's welcome back indeed. It was great to see Julian's reactions to re-uniting with her old friend Morvayn...



Again? Maybe... *starts counting fingers* tenth time's the charm? You never know! Better get the juices flowing before we hit thirteen, though, Naughty Haute, I'm not sure that would bode well for our dear veteran.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 7 2011, 01:57 AM

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” a brown-dressed Bosmer man shouted gleefully. “First round of drinks at the Flowing Bowl is free!”
“Same at the Count’s Arms!” A bald Redguard called from the edge of the gathering. Laughter and scattered cheers rippled through the plaza as people began scattering.'
Similar to what you did at the inn in Skingrad, you describe well-known NPCs and treat those who know the game well to indentify them - in this case Maenlorn and Wilbur. As in your Skingrad story that used this technique, I like it very much.

A well-deserved hometown hero's welcome. And gruff Julian gives a solid impromptu little speech. I like Carahil very much and hope she is kind and fair with dear Julian if time permits her to get that guild recommendation.

You knew I would be 'round based just on the lovely smell of Morvayn's cooking! Yum! Despite the emotional scene, I was surprised and delighted to see Julian actually hug someone. Morvayn must be special indeed.

Posted by: Olen Feb 7 2011, 07:56 PM

She certainly eats well, I might have to take up battling evil demons if poeple feed you that well . Pasta alla norma might be an option for tonight... pity i don't have any ricotta though...

I like how you showed people supporting the local hero that bit more than she got elsewhere, I also agree with Acadian that using well known NPCs really adds depth and connection to the world.

That is something I've always found odd, she's just saved the town against a daedric attack and that isn't gauged as enough, also who isn't going to recognise her - she's almost a legend now. Still it's a good quest and I can senseit might draw a strong reaction from her, when she gets round to it.

For just now I'm enjoying her meeting old friends, even if there aren't so many left.

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 7 2011, 08:23 PM

Ah, the hometown hero's triumphant return. Well done with the crowd-surfing scene, as well as her response and speech to the people of her town.

It was particularly touching in the reunion of Morvayn and Julian. Moreso, I think, than Julian's exchange with Carahil. Still, I get the feeling that they have at least some history together, if not as much as Julian and the town's smith.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 8 2011, 04:48 PM

@mALX: Time for that cold shower again! And yes, those Anvilians who knew Julian back then have following her progress.

@SubRosa: Nope, http://www.imdb.com/media/rm2356123648/nm0001066 that one. I agree, it’s high time Julian got the recognition she so richly deserves. And yes, you hit the nail on the head regarding Julian’s and Morvayn’s relationship. It will be clarified in Chapter 23.13. Yes, this is another long chapter like the Bravil ones. Sixteen segments plus a little extra treat.

@TK: Morvayn’s not that accomplished a cook, If his wife had been alive, we would have seen the full seven-course meal. And it’s actually Sicilian cuisine. To most people it would be the same thing, but not to us Italians/Sicilians! As for the romance, it won’t happen in Anvil, unless you count the one that happened thirty years ago . . .

@Acadian: I’m glad you enjoyed spotting our Anvilian innkeepers in the crowd. And oh yes, Morvayn is very, very special indeed, as are a couple of mages.

@Olen: You will see how that recommendation quest is handled in Chapter 23.8. I’m glad you enjoyed the meal! But I think the company’s better.

@Captain Hammer: You’ll see as this chapter unfolds the depth of Julian’s relationships with Morvayn, Carahil, and a couple others not yet mentioned.

Now we enjoy dinner and company, and catch up on the years that have passed since Julian left Anvil to join the Legion.

*********************
Chapter 23.3 Catching Up

“Do you want wine?” Morvayn held up the flagon. Taking the seat he had indicated, I shook my head.

“I’m an addict, Morvayn,” I answered. “I don’t touch the stuff anymore.”

“Lemonade, then?” The Dunmer was unfazed. I nodded, and he headed to the kitchen alcove. “I haven’t been able to make it quite the way Athesi used to make it,” he spoke over his shoulder while he poured into a tall glazed clay tumbler. I watched him slice a blood orange and perch it on the rim. “Here you go, Julian.”

“How long has Enilroth been your apprentice?” I asked.

“He was an orphan that Athesi took in about fifteen years ago,” Morvayn sat down and poured himself some wine. “It was rough in the beginning, as he came straight up from Valenwood and had much to learn about living in the city.”

I remembered something from my first Legion posting. “What about the Green Pact?”

“He converted to the Nine when he turned eight years old,” Morvayn sipped at the wine, “and left the Green Pact behind.” He waved at the table. “He eats the same food as everyone else in Anvil.” The aged Dunmer met my gaze. “Don’t think less of him for that.”

I shook my head. “It would have been difficult for him to honor the Green Pact here in Anvil,” I answered.

“Help yourself,” Morvayn indicated the food. “Enilroth will be up shortly.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs just then, and the young Bosmer appeared, wiping the sweat from his face. “I’ve got the fire damped down for now,” he reported to Morvayn before turning to me. “I’ll get started on your armor after dinner, ma’am.” With economical movements Enilroth poured himself some lemonade before he seated himself in the third chair.

I served Morvayn first, then Enilroth, more out of habit and respect than anything else. As I filled my plate, Morvayn’s scarlet gaze flickered over my white hair. He said nothing, but waited until I sampled the pasta. “Hmm, this is good,” I smiled at him. “I take it the eggplants are still fresh this late in the year?”

“They’re from Whitmond Farm just north of the main gate,” Morvayn remarked, sampling his cooking before nodding in satisfaction. “The tomatoes too. Enilroth found the basil growing wild behind Horse Whisperer.” After another bite, he met my gaze. “But nothing is as good as the produce your mother grew in her garden.”

“Nothing is,” I agreed, “anywhere I’ve been.” The three of us focused on eating the savory meal for several moments.

“What happened?” Morvayn asked me. “Last I heard, you were posted in Skyrim with the Legio Six. Then nothing.” I noticed that Enilroth kept his eyes downcast.

“I took three centuries into a goblin stronghold,” I spoke slowly. “It was supposed to be a training run, for a couple of the other cohorts had had a run at them. But they never found the shaman, and apparently she rallied the remnants. They decimated my tironii, and took me captive.” I paused and allowed the memories to return for the first time in years. They lacked the power they once possessed to stir up the craving for drink.

Morvayn sat quietly, his gaze steady on me. Enilroth sipped at the lemonade. We ate a few more bites of the pasta dish before I resumed my narrative.

“I don’t know how long I was held prisoner and tortured,” I shook my head, taking another mouthful of the lemonade. “I had sustained injuries during the capture, injuries that left me unable to fight back. My optio, Titus Florio, led the other three centuries in, fought off the goblins, killed the shaman and found me. I was nearly dead, Florio said, but they carried me out anyway.”

“Good man,” Morvayn commented, taking a long gulp of the wine. His pained eyes avoided mine. Does he regret asking me about it already?

“One of the best,” I agreed. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the Legion healer that botched my injuries.” I pushed the empty plate away and fished the last bite of salad out of the bowl. “To be fair, he was a raw recruit, and not used to seeing those kinds of injuries. I’m told he vomited when he first saw my knee.”

Silently Enilroth rose and cleared away the dishes, stacking them in the bin with a soft clatter. He returned to the table with the pitcher of lemonade and refilled both our tumblers. Finally he looked at me. “Is that how your hair turned white?”

“That was from the goblins,” I answered. “Florio told me my hair was already turning white when they found me. Likely it was the multiple shock spells from the shaman.”

“How long ago was it?” Morvayn asked. I glanced up from swirling my lemonade.

“Over four years ago,” I replied. “It left me in constant pain and unable to stand for long, let alone walk.” I sipped at the sweet-tart liquid, then took the slice of blood orange and opened it to expose the flesh. “I was discharged out of the Legion and sent home.”

“You came back to Anvil?” Enilroth asked. “But I don’t remember you!”

“I didn’t stay long,” I paused to suck the pulp off the rind. “By the time the ship docked here, I was already a drunk. I tried stopping by the Chapel to pray for healing, but it didn’t work, so I left town. Drifted when I was relatively sober, which wasn’t often or very long.” I shook my head. “I don’t remember much of these last few years, and I’d rather not.”

“Understood,” Morvayn sent a glance in the Bosmer’s direction. Enilroth nodded tacit agreement. “And now you come back, fighting fit and with quite a reputation.”

“Reputation?” I repeated. “For what? Rescuing housecats?”

Both Morvayn and Enilroth chuckled. “Among other things,” Morvayn clarified. “And all of them good.” He shook his head. “Quite the far cry from the little hellion who wouldn’t leave her big brother alone.”

Again my heart twinged, but I mentally shook it off. “I always wondered if that’s why Cieran apprenticed with you, Morvayn.”

“He never said,” the Dunmer grinned sardonically at me. “But I always suspected that was why.” He turned to Enilroth. “Don’t get us wrong, youngster. Cieran loved Julian heartily. He had more patience with her than I did!”

“Yes, you used to chase me out of the smithy with your bellows,” I chuckled at the memory. “Shouting Dunmeri obscenities all the while. By the time I joined the Legion, I could outcuss my recruit pilus.” I leaned back in the chair, stretching my spine.

“How did you make a career of closing Oblivion Gates?” Enilroth wondered. “If I may ask, ma’am,” he added hastily after Morvayn sent him a scarlet glare.

“You may ask,” I smiled at him. “It started at Kvatch,” I sipped at the cool beverage. “That was the first one, and the scariest of them all, just because I had no idea what to expect.” I slapped my right knee for emphasis. “I was still limping, still in pain, but at least I was sober. Had been for several days by then. It was then I found out that old habits really die hard.”

“Felt good to hold a sword again, eh?” Morvayn commented. “Yes, I always pegged you as a blade fighter, not an archer like Cieran. You were never afraid of getting up close and personal.”

“I’m finding archery has its value,” I countered softly. “Especially now that I’m working alone more than not. And I’ve begun using spells more and more.”

“Spells?” Morvayn’s tilted brows rose. “What sort of spells?”

“Healing, convalescence, restore magicka on touch,” I paused and thought a moment. “A couple of different flare spells. Summonses - a skeleton and a flame atronach. Starlight, detect life. I just learned a shock on touch spell that really helps with those big dremora when they surprise me around a corner.”

“Really?” Morvayn’s brows rose again. “Was a time you could barely manage to heal your own scrapes!”

“When this is over,” I gestured toward the north wall of the building, indicating the defunct Oblivion Gate beyond the city walls, “I plan to enter the Arcane University and study restoration and alchemy. I’m getting too old for combat.”

“And after that?” Morvayn sipped at his wine.

“I really don’t know,” I replied. “Go where someone with my skills is most needed. Maybe Kvatch - the survivors there are determined to rebuild the city.”

“Bully for them!” Morvayn nodded emphatically. “Do they need anything?”

“Lots of things,” I replied. “Especially clothing, building materials, perishable foodstuffs.”

“Now that you’ve cleared the Gold Road of Oblivion Gates,” Morvayn remarked, “the authorities can take care of that rogue mage that’s been harassing merchants. That ought to be quick work, then we can see about sending vital supplies to Kvatch.” He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, exchanging glances with Enilroth. “How are they set for smithwork? Do you know?”

“Batul gra-Sharob survived,” I answered. “She’s really good.”

“Aye, that she is,” Morvayn agreed. “Does custom work like nobody’s business. Especially leather.”

“Those leather boots and greaves of yours,” Enilroth spoke up, “those are her work, aren’t they?”

“They were pieces I picked up elsewhere, but she customized them for me,” I nodded. “And yes, they’re wonderful. I had a cuirass to go with them, but that got shredded beyond repair in one of those Gates. Clannfear.”

“Nasty buggers, those,” Morvayn agreed. He met my gaze. “Any chance you’ll come back to Anvil to live?”

“I’m not certain,” I replied. “Has anyone moved into Mother’s old farm up on the bluff?”

“The old Gweden homestead?” Morvayn repeated. “Not that I know of. Folks don’t want to live where people died so horribly.” His gaze sharpened on me as I suppressed the tears in my throat. “You’re not thinking about -?”

I recalled the vision I had at Cloud Ruler Temple. “Yes, I am. Maybe I will speak to the Countess about it.” I shrugged. “I remember my mother was able to grow so many rare plants there. I’d like to give it a try sometime.”

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 8 2011, 05:23 PM

Interesting dinner conversation. Finding out that Gweden Farm's previous owner was Julian's family may make her time in Anvil all the more interesting. Particularly when it comes to tenant clearing.

Question: Does Julian appreciate showing a little skin? Because we've already established that there at least a few men that wouldn't mind seeing that.

nit:

Looks like the forum ate up a "There" there.

Posted by: mALX Feb 8 2011, 07:17 PM

GAAAAH!!! NO JULIAN !!!! Never mention egglpant to a man that is talking tomatoes!!! (unless you know in advance he is hung like a Daedroth!) Think ... carrots.

I loved this chapter - Morvayn is one of my fave characters anyway - seeing him when he has stepped out from behind that counter is Awesome! Great Write !!! WOO HOO!!! Er...where is that cold shower again? ROFL !!!

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 8 2011, 09:10 PM

Rescuing housecats?
I loved this, because in the game it often seems that every time a cat is trapped up a tree, only the player character is capable of saving it.

It was then I found out that old habits really die hard.
And how long have you been waiting for Julian to say that line, I wonder?

This episode gives us a nice little recap of not only Julian's past, but how far she has come since the beginning of the story. When she reels off all the spells she knows, she seems far less a fighter and much more a mage! Proof that her decision to join the Mages Guild was indeed the right one for her.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 9 2011, 02:32 AM

What a wonderful conversational segment - one of my favorite types of episodes. Especially when done with your level of skill. Here, we have three individuals and you deliver their personalities with crystal clarity on a pasta-filled platter. Oh, that reminds me, thanks for the chow. I never met a pasta I didn't like.

I quite respect your style of dialogue. You blend the actual dialogue with speech tags that render clarity and supportive natural actions that bring your characters fully to life. A real pleasure to read.

Based on the hint you dropped, it does indeed seem we may get to see that rogue mage who haunts the Gold Road. I look forward to that!

“The old Gweden homestead?” Morvayn repeated. “Not that I know of. Folks don’t want to live where people died so horribly.”
You continue to tease and tantalize with hints of Julian's past and future.

*

Let's talk about nits -

“Was a time you could barely manage to heal your own scrapes!”
While begging the Captain's forgiveness, I offer that in the eyes of this humble reader, the above passage seems perfectly fine for conversation - natural even.

'I paused and allowed the memories return for the first time in years'
I suspect you want a 'to' in betwixt memories and return?

“Go where someone with my skills are most needed.'
I ask you to consider whether 'is' suits this better than 'are'. I think the verb applies here to the singular someone, not the plural skills.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 9 2011, 06:50 AM

This was not a suggestion for the menu in your story, this was simply me with my recipe brain turned on. And I am very well aware that the romance was nonexistent, hence the exaggeration in the comment about it.

Now Sicilian, I do agree with you, is whole different world from mainstream Northern and Central Italian, though you do see heavy Sicilian influence in Southern Italian. Unfortunately for me, most of my expertise is in the former two, but I'll get there eventually.

I am, however, rather proficient at Japanese Fusion now. [/offtopic]


Anyways, another excellent character-building chapter. We finally get to learn a bit more about Julian, and we get a brief glimpse into what life was like for her before the legion, as well as a tantalizing hint as to what's next (possibly).

Posted by: Olen Feb 9 2011, 12:16 PM

Nice line, clever. Introduce what comes alter before and all that so good stuff.

And a good part generally, it consolidated her past well and the dialogue was very clean.

Posted by: Grits Feb 9 2011, 10:30 PM

I really enjoyed this quiet conversation over dinner. We learned so much about Julian’s past, and there’s so much coming up for us to anticipate! The subject matter was painful for both Julian and Morvayn, and I admire their calm restraint. Enilroth keeping a lid on his natural inquisitiveness (mostly) was fun to see. Now I can’t think of Enilroth without picturing him banging away with a wide grin on his face.

Posted by: mALX Feb 9 2011, 11:10 PM

Neither can Mrs. Oaken-Hull

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 10 2011, 03:09 PM

@ Cap’n Bam Bam: Yes, tenant clearing will be a little bit interesting. As for Morvayn’s dialogue, I elected to leave ‘there’ out since he is speaking very informally with Julian. As for showing skin, well, that’s reserved for that one special man.

@mALX: We have plenty of six-foot snowbanks around here for you to dive in. Feel free! See you in the spring.

@SubRosa: Julian and I just loved your comment way back when you said Julian just can’t resist helping a cat up in a tree (me neither!). I thought it was a good idea for our readers to have a clear idea of how Julian really got injured so badly, since up until now we only had bits and pieces. Morvayn and one other person that we will meet later in the chapter are the only people with whom Julian really feels comfortable about letting her vulnerabilities show. And yes, I have plans for her future that involves more magicka!

@Acadian: You’re welcome for the chow! You know I try to feed you at least once a chapter! As for Julian’s past and future, we’ll see quite a bit of her past, and a little bit of her future.

@TK: I knew you were kidding with your comment. But not everyone knows the difference between Italian and Sicilian, and being part Italian myself (Palermo region), I couldn’t resist the opportunity to - ah - enlighten those who may most benefit from it!

@Olen: Thanks for the vote of approval on the character building in this chapter.

@Grits: I really wanted to show Enilroth as more than just another annoying Bosmer (whew, narrowly escaped alliteration there!). And there will be more of Julian’s past revealed in upcoming segments.

After an evening of good fare and better conversation, Julian finally makes her way to the Mages Guild. As we will see, this place holds its own memories for her as well.

****************************
Chapter 23.4 Friendly Mages and a Tame Imp

The Chapel bells rang twelve times as I crossed the Guild Plaza from Morvayn’s smithy to the Anvil chapterhouse of the Mages Guild. My pack still weighed down my back, since I had collected several daedra hearts. If Felen Relas was still assigned to Anvil, I knew he would appreciate fresh samples of an otherwise hard-to-come-by ingredient.

The chapterhouse was quiet as I entered. Before me, the counter stood unattended. The room and its furnishings were unchanged from my childhood memories.

“What, little imp?” The brown-haired Breton mock-growled at me, looking down from his great height. He placed his hands on the countertop and peered over its edge at what I held. “Did you steal those from Mistress Thelas’s garden?”

“No, sir!” I piped up, lifting the bunch of purple-pink blossoms up for his perusal. “Mother picked these herself!” I could barely see over the top of the counter. “She said Master Relas needed more!”

“I believe Master Relas wanted the seeds, not the flowers,” the chapter head scowled at me. “Your mother wouldn’t make such a amateur mistake, Julian. I still think you stole them from Mistress Thelas’s backyard.”

“No, sir,” I jumped up and down. “I’m telling the truth, sir!” Again I held the fragrant bouquet up. “See, Mother tied them with a ribbon like she always does!”

The Breton’s brown eyes sparkled at me, but his expression remained skeptical. “How easy would it be for you to tie a stolen bunch of bergamot flowers with your very own ribbon?”

I stamped my foot. “It’s turquoise! That means it’s Mother’s. Mine are always green!”

“Oh, so you stole your mother’s ribbon, as well?” His left brow rose. I stared at that wayward feature, and tried hard to lift my right brow in imitation. I couldn’t quite do it.

“Stop teasing the child, Master-Wizard,” Felen Relas spoke from the doorway into his alchemical studio. “You’ll likely give her ideas for the next time. Her mother wouldn’t approve of it.”

“Neither would I!” the Breton exclaimed. His forbidding expression dissolved into an puckish grin as he waved me toward the waiting Dunmer alchemist. “Scoot, little imp!”

“Thank you, sir!” I bobbed a curtsy to him as my mother had taught me. The chapter head’s chuckle followed me as I skipped to Relas and thrust my fragrant burden towards his face. As Relas accepted the bouquet, I turned around and stuck my tongue out at the Breton. “I told you I didn’t steal them!”

He spiked his left hand toward the ceiling. Sulfurous magic swirled in front of the counter and coalesced into an imp. As the creature, leathery wings flapping, turned toward me, I scampered after Relas into the studio with a squeal.

The flapping of leathery wings brought me back to the present. I blinked, looking for the brown-haired Breton. Instead, a fluttering shadow from the right appeared in the doorway, followed by a male Bosmer. His brown gaze fell on me.

“So Sparky did hear someone come in!” he exclaimed as the imp hovered at his shoulder. I watched the creature warily, but the little beast did not make any threatening moves, only watched me with wide, curious eyes. “Hello, Julian of Anvil!” the wood elf continued. “Carahil mentioned that you would be coming by tonight. Welcome to the Anvil chapter! I’m Thaurron, Journeyman.”

I tore my gaze from the lesser demon to meet the Bosmer’s gaze. “That’s Sparky?” I gestured toward the imp.

“Yes,” Thaurron grinned. “I found him when he was just a fingerling, near death beside the road. I took him in and healed him right up, and he’s hung around with me ever since!” He turned and waved the imp off. “He’s a terrific watchdog here. No one ever has to wait long for service!”

“I see -.” But I didn’t. Why would someone want to heal an injured imp? They’re such nasty creatures, and frightfully aggressive with their targeted spells.

Somehow Thaurron sensed my skepticism. “Oh, I know, I know. What possessed me to do that? I really can’t tell you why I saved his life, but he’s been a great companion since. It’s like taking in a wolf cub because you feel sorry for it, even though it could grow up into a livestock killer.” He moved back to let me into the dining hall at the rear. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Yes, I had dinner at Morvayn’s,” I answered. Thaurron’s brows rose in surprise.

“The smith?” He shook his head. “Do you know him?”

“My brother apprenticed to him over thirty years ago,” I followed Thaurron toward the stairs.

“That’s before my time,” Thaurron opened the door at the top of the stairs. He led me through. “This is the library,” he murmured softly. “Carahil and Felen Relas have already turned in for the night. We do have a guest bed, but it’s upstairs.”

So Felen Relas is still alchemist here. But where is the chapter head? “Lead on, sir,” I nodded my willingness to follow. Thaurron smiled and did so.

At the top of the second flight we entered an attic room with three gables, one on either side and the third directly across from the door. Thaurron pointed at the wide bed in front of us. “That’s the guest bed, Julian,” he said. “Marc!”

A Breton seated off to the right lifted his head from a book. His brown eyes brightened when his gaze fell on me. “Welcome, Hero of Kvatch!” With a finger tucked between the pages to hold his place, he rose and held his right hand out to me. “I’m Marc Gulitte, Mages Guild Evoker, and advanced trainer in destruction.” His grip was firm and confident as we shook hands. He waved toward the double bed. “You can sleep there. I take it you were at Skingrad before coming here?”

I slid a glance at him before setting my pack down on the wide mattress. Gulitte grinned widely, exchanging an I-told-you-so look with Thaurron. “Yes, I was,” I confirmed him as Sparky fluttered lazily after me. I noticed the imp’s eyes were fixed on my pack. “Thaurron, what does he eat?”

“Oh, Sparky!” Thaurron tossed a mild spell at the imp. “No, no, no!” The creature returned to the Bosmer’s side, looking sheepish, if that were possible. “Anything we eat,” Thaurron continued. “He’s been taught to eat only what we give him.” He selected an apple from a bowl on a nearby desk. Sparky watched with intense anticipation as Thaurron cut the fruit into thin slices. He handed three to me. “Here, give him one at a time.”

Sparky remained fixated on the bulk of the apple, still resting on the desk. Thaurron smiled at me. “Just whistle. You do know how to whistle, don’t you?”

“Just put your lips together and blow,” I answered, and did so. Sparky’s head turned sharply toward me, and he looked into my face. When I held up the apple slice, he fluttered eagerly over and reached for it. His grasp was surprisingly gentle, and he waited until I released the apple before conveying it to his mouth. He held it in both hands and nibbled delicately on it. I watched, captivated in spite of myself, as his wings worked to keep him roughly eye level with me. He met my gaze when he finished the slice, licking the last of the juice from his lips.

“What was that spell you used on him?” I asked, handing another slice to the gentle imp.

“That was a very mild drain magicka spell,” Thaurron replied. “Lasts as long as it takes you to blink. It’s mostly to get his attention more than anything else. I made it at the University when I was trying to train him.” He tilted his head at me. “Do you have anything edible in your pack?”

“I have some daedra hearts in there, for the alchemist here,” I answered. “He probably smells them, even though I rinsed them off.”

“No wonder he was trying to investigate!” Thaurron moved to a trunk that sat at the foot of the bed. He cast an unlock spell at it, and swung the lid up. “Stow your gear in there, and I’ll spell-lock it right up.”

I noticed the trunk had a conventional lock as well. “If you have the key for it -“

“Oh, Sparky can pick the usual locks,” Thaurron picked up my pack and gave me a quizzical look. I nodded my acquiescence, and he set it within the trunk with a soft thump. Then he closed the lid and cast a second spell at it. “But Sparky can’t unlock magical locks. It’s the only way to keep things safe from him!”

“Even if he’s trained to leave food alone?” I asked, smiling to myself.

“Ach, it’s his streak for trouble that I don’t trust! What’s to stop him from picking the lock while we’re asleep?” Thaurron laughed heartily, his eyes on the imp. To my surprise, Sparky smiled and imitated his master, his laughter a tinkling counterpoint to Thaurron’s deeper tone.

“Felen Relas will be glad of those hearts,” Gulitte offered. “I’m certain he’ll pay you well for them, too.”

I whistled to bring Sparky back to me. “It will be good to see him again.” The imp took the last apple slice from me. I moved to the bed and sat down.

“You must be tired,” Gulitte remarked. Again his brown eyes twinkled as he smiled. “Don’t worry, there are no musical beds here like there is at Skingrad!”

“Good,” I couldn’t stop the flush that spread across my cheeks. “But tell me, who is the chapter head?”

“Carahil, of course!” Gulitte responded. “She inherited the chapter house from Traven when he was elected Arch Mage a few years ago. She runs a clean house, just like he did.”

I stared at the Breton. “Hannibal Traven is the Arch Mage now?” I asked.

The two mages stared at me. “You didn’t know?” Thaurron asked.

“I’ve only heard the other mages speak of the new Arch Mage, but never by his name,” I shrugged.

“Where were you four years ago when he was elected?” Thaurron couldn’t believe it. “No, almost five years ago! Under a rock?”

I couldn’t hide my wince. “Something like that,” I admitted.

“Hush, Thaurron,” Gulitte made a shushing motion with his hands. He turned back to me. “Since you’ve been closing Oblivion Gates all over Cyrodiil, I hope you’ve been wined and dined by the good folks of Anvil tonight.”

I shook my head with a smile. “Just Varel Morvayn,” I answered.

“And is your brother still living here in Anvil?” Thaurron asked. “You mentioned he was apprenticed to the smith.”

“He died several years ago.” I pulled the coverlet down. “If you don’t mind -“

“Not at all!” Gulitte put his book down and lowered the flame on his lamp. “I’m off to bed, myself. Keep quiet, Thaurron!”

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 10 2011, 06:35 PM

Cap’n Bam Bam? Sounds like somebody's been watching the Flintstones. Or pr0n!

So Julian ran afoul of the old curmudgeon Traven when she was a child. That was an excellent little piece, as it not only shows us that the MG hall is a place filled with memories, but also gives us yet another piece of her childhood. It seems that Julian has not been reading the Black Horse Courier while she was off the wagon, else she would have known about his promotion.

Am I the only one who always sees Marc Gillette rather than Gulitte?

Sparky was wonderful. It always seems so odd to see an imp for a pet. But you portray him in a very believable, realistic fashion. Sometimes I have considered adding a mascot for the Bravil FG, like a lion cub (ala the Lafayette Escadrille).

“Don’t worry, there are no musical beds here like there is at Skingrad!”
I was thinking that Gillette had the misfortune of spending a night at the Skingrad guild hall from his first mention of the city (when Julian was looking at the bed). Now it definitely appears to be so. I wonder how he reacted to Vigge climbing into bed with him!

All in all, a much more friendly, and less creepy, introduction to the Anvil MG than that of Skingrad. I know which one I would choose to stay at!

Posted by: Acadian Feb 11 2011, 01:37 AM

What a treat this delightful story was! Despite only a few apple slices to eat, it was fabulous.

'I stamped my foot. “It’s turquoise! That means it’s Mother’s. Mine are always green!”
“Oh, so you stole your mother’s ribbon, as well?” His left brow rose. I stared at that wayward feature, and tried hard to lift my right brow in imitation. I couldn’t quite do it.
AHAH! So there is, or at least used to be, a girlie girl in there. How fabulously cute she must have been.

He spiked his left hand toward the ceiling. Sulfurous magic swirled in front of the counter and coalesced into an imp. As the creature, leathery wings flapping, turned toward me, I scampered after Relas into the studio with a squeal.
The flapping of leathery wings brought me back to the present.
As you snapped me from the flashback to the present, I was stunned at the masterful manner in with which you did it. What a magnificent transition!

Sparky!!! Woohoo! I love him!

'Where were you four years ago when he was elected?” Thaurron couldn’t believe it. “No, almost five years ago! Under a rock?”
I couldn’t hide my wince. “Something like that,” I admitted.
Oh wow. I winced too as I conjured images of poor Julian at her addicted worst. I'm so proud of how far she's come!

Posted by: Grits Feb 11 2011, 03:20 AM

Alliteration!

Little girl Julian was utterly charming. I enjoyed the look into the Anvil Guild’s past with playful Master Traven. I knew he was the chapter head, but somehow I never pictured him there. I look forward to meeting Carahil.

“Just whistle. You do know how to whistle, don’t you?”

“Just put your lips together and blow,” I answered, and did so.

Delightful!! I expected Thaurron to call her Steve. Sparky the light-fingered imp, I love it! He comes to life as vividly as your non-demonic characters. What a thoroughly enjoyable evening in Anvil!

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 11 2011, 03:44 AM

Are we contradicting ourselves, now? (Sorry, couldn't resist.)


I liked this lore stab. Very agreeable with Morrowind, as Trebonius most likely stepped down (or lost the duel, whichever path you chose) early in 3E 428.


Sparky: ehehehehehe

Loved the little segue into Julian's childhood, too!

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 11 2011, 03:52 AM

Cap'n Bam Bam? While a fan of the Flinstones myself in my younger years, I think that's the first somebody's referenced my by that. And I definitely don't think he'd be found on a Lipizzaner any time soon.

I enjoyed the reference to Traven's previous position at Anvil. That was one of the parts of the game that always upset me the most. They make a huge deal in some of the in-game books, but you only really hear about it once or twice from the actual people. Even Lorgren Benirus seems to be more clued in with Anvil's guildhall happenings than the rest of Cyrodiil, and he's (un-)dead!

Good to see that this time, at least, Julian will be enjoying a more secure night's sleep.

Posted by: Olen Feb 11 2011, 07:07 PM

That was quite a bit of building... as said actually mentioning Traven as head of Anvil is a good touch, I could never really see him as a local master but it sort of brought it to life. Otehr than Carahil's objection to necromancy you wouldn't know in game really. Their little jab at the Skingrad guild was good too, it showed a bit of rivalry but also suggests that the Skingrad guild is widely looked down upon (and it would be).

The flashback went a long way in giving the guildhall a sense of history and backstory, it seems somewhat like home for Julian, whereas other places have been new. The change is an enjoyable one.

And I look forward to her meeting Carahil and Relas.

Is fingerling a word you invented? It's perfect for a baby imp...

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 12 2011, 06:20 AM

Nope, it's very much real. I know that because (surprise surprise) it gets used a lot in the culinary trade. (very small potatoes are called fingerlings).

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 12 2011, 05:01 PM

@SubRosa: I’m glad you enjoyed that little scene between little Julian and a much younger Traven. I wanted to show a lighter side of him than what we see in-game. And yes, until I started writing this, Marc had the same name as the disposable razor, then it was a d’oh! Moment. Sparky was fun to write. I wanted to make more of him than just a pair of flapping wings. And yes, Marc probably stopped the night at Skingrad on his way out to his posting at Anvil.

@Acadian: Julian’s mother was the girly one, Julian herself was more tomboyish. Still, she has her moments. I remember writing that transition - it was an all-too-rare moment of genius, so thanks for noticing.

@Grits: Yes, those two lines you quoted are a nod of respect to one of my favorite couples, Lauren and Humphrey. They were so hot together. And just as dogs love to steal things off the kitchen counter (especially the Sunday roast), Sparky the imp loves to explore other people’s belongings.

@TK: I missed that part of lore, but I’m glad it worked out so well. I knew he had to have become Arch Mage recently as people are still talking about it. And Sparky’s not just an imp, he’s an imp!

@Cap’n H: Yes, I figured Traven made a big impression on Julian when she was little, since he had to have been chapter head at the time. Carahil is older, but for some reason she didn’t get it. Goes to show how cleverly manipulative Traven can be, and I think the MG questline only bears that out.

@Olen: Thanks for picking up on the fact that Anvil is Julian’s old stomping grounds and that she has a lot of history here. Yes, it was her second home, as we will see. And fingerling, I think refers to an immature fish (as well as tiny potatoes, TK is right), but it works for a baby imp IMHO.

Of all the folks in Anvil, I like Morvayn, Felen Relas, and Carahil the best. I think Morvayn and Relas are my two favorite Dunmer men in all of Cyrodiil. And I never could shake the feeling that Carahil’s brisk, efficient manner hides a heart of gold.

***************************
Chapter 23.5 A Reunion with an Old Friend

Cup of steaming klah in hand, I wandered into the alchemy lab just off the lobby. It seemed little changed from my memories. I looked around, studying the furnishings and inhaling the mingled scents of the various ingredients.

Bergamot. Aloe vera. Thistle seeds. Horsetail kelp. Relas still keeps his shop organized the same way. I recognized the battered stool tucked away beneath the long work counter at the back of the room. Relas used to make me sit there, out of his way, while he worked at his alchemical equipment spread along the counter. I would read whatever book he gave me to occupy my time while I waited for him to finish his tasks.

From the time I could first walk down to Anvil with my mother, I had bonded with the aged Dunmer alchemist. Something about the way he regarded my questions with that air of seriousness always made me feel intelligent. While my mother traded her produce for essentials at the harborfront, Cieran and I would sit with Relas. Cieran always fidgeted, and eventually began spending time over in Morvayn’s smithy. But I adored Felen Relas with his quiet voice, his unflappable manner, and that pomaded brown hair that he sculpted into a peak like a conical hat.

“Hello, Master Relas!” I skipped into the workroom, a heavy volume in my arms. “Mother sent me to return this book,” I managed to lift it onto the counter. “She says thank you very much, it was very helpful!”

“Did you read it yourself, Julian?” Relas accepted the Fundaments of Alchemy and turned away to place it on his desk.

I toed the floor. “No, sir, I didn’t.” I bolted from the workroom, through the lobby into the sitting room on the other side. Master Wizard Traven’s puckish complaints about the sound of my little feet lent speed to my passing. I found the book Carahil had been reading resting on the side table. Making certain her ribbon still marked her place, I carried it back to Relas, sticking my tongue out at Traven as I passed him. “I want to read this!” I held the volume up to the alchemist.

“The Real Barenziah,” he read aloud. “I’m not certain your mother would want you reading that.”

“I want to read this one!” I insisted, clambering onto the stool next to the counter. I retrieved the book from him and opened it on the counter, leaning forward to look at the pages. “It’s about a princess and a king and a knight - Carahil told me!”

“But there are no pictures in this one,” Relas closed the book firmly, but not before I had a chance to be dismayed by the mass of text that filled the first page. “Would you prefer I tell you the story myself?”

“Would you, sir?” I clapped my hands.

“Once there was a beautiful princess named Barenziah -“ his voice took on a melodic quality as he told the story of a Dunmer princess who was orphaned at an early age, raised as a poor relation far from home in the far north of Skyrim, and eventually returned to Morrowind and reclaimed her inheritance as Queen. I listened, cheeks propped in my palms, with my eyes following him around the workroom as he continued his tasks beneath the story.

“Looking for Felen?” Carahil’s voice roused me out of my reverie. I turned to look at the beautiful Altmer. She was another member of the Anvil chapter that I considered my friend. She was the one who taught me the basic flare spell, though she once despaired of ever succeeding.

“Yes, I wanted to say hello to him,” I waved my hand around the empty room. “I have to be at the castle by seven bells, but I was hoping to catch him before I left.”

“You missed him,” Carahil shook her head regretfully. “He left at dawn this morning. His supplies have become low, since it has been too dangerous to venture out of the city with that Oblivion Gate. Felen is anxious to restock his shelves, but he hopes to see you when he gets back.”

“I understand,” I nodded. Carahil motioned for me to follow her. “Belated congratulations on your promotion, ma’am.”

“Come, Julian. Let’s sit a bit before it’s time for you to leave for your audience.”

We seated ourselves in the sitting room across the lobby from the alchemy shop. As I settled back in the comfortable chair, Carahil regarded me. “You know, Julian, I was surprised to learn that you had joined the Mages Guild, and furthermore, you were traveling for recommendations.”

“Who would have thought?” I asked, thinking of those days when I struggled to even generate a spark from my fingers. “But my years of training in the Legion has prepared me well for the discipline that mages require, it seems.”

“Tell me, what do you know?” Carahil steepled her fingers before her ageless face.

I started off with the spells I had learned since leaving the prison sewers. I told Carahil of my experimentation with the alchemy equipment in my humble Waterfront shack. Then I described how I had integrated magicka usage with my combat techniques. She seemed very interested in what I had learned of the Deadlands and of the strengths and weaknesses of the various daedra I had encountered.

When I mentioned my thoughts about the sigil stones and their varying strengths, she leaned forward with intense interest. “Really? The stone from the one you closed immediately after it opened felt the weakest of them all?”

I nodded. “When I think about it, there weren’t as many corpses in there, either. But Skingrad and Anvil were the worst ones for the butchery I saw in there.”

“The one here has been open for a month,” Carahil mused. After a moment’s thought, her eyes brightened suddenly. “Something just occurred to me. Excuse me a moment, I’ll go check something in the library.”

As she disappeared upstairs, I leaned back and enjoyed the klah. Breakfast had been a do-it-yourself affair, but I had easily satisfied my early morning pangs with a bowl of mixed fruit, a few thick slices of cheese and a chunk of bread. Too bad there aren’t any bakers like Salmo here in Anvil. Those sweet rolls are outrageous! Again I saw Vigge the Cautious in his strained finery. Then again, maybe it’s a good thing. That’s a temptation I don’t want to struggle with.

I set my mug down on the small table next to my chair. My gaze fell onto a somewhat familiar green covered book. The Lusty Argonian Maid? Sounds like nighttime reading. Idly I picked it up and flipped through the pages. A phrase caught my eye: Here, polish my spear.

“Julian! What book is that?” The tall Altmer swept across the library in a swirl of burgundy and gold fabric and bent down to me. Before I could meet her gaze she had plucked the book out of my hands. “Oh, dear! If your mother were to find out -“ She turned from me and placed the volume with the green cover on the highest shelf of the bookcase behind me - impossibly high for me to reach. She turned back to me and took a deep breath, smoothing back her strawberry-blond bangs. “My dear child,” she knelt down beside my chair. “There are some books you must not read. That’s one of them. If your mother finds out you were reading such books here, she will forbid you to come here ever again. Is that understood?”

“You mean, never to see Master Relas again?” I asked. “Or Master Traven? Or -“ I swallowed, holding her green eyes with my own, “- you ever again?”

Solemnly Carahil nodded. “Yes, your mother has the right. At least until you turn eighteen, that is.” Her eyes sparkled with sudden humor. “By then, it won’t matter if you get caught reading that book anyway!”

I frowned, puzzled. Carahil patted my small hand. “Don’t worry about it, Julian. By the time you’re eighteen, you’ll understand.”

“But that’s -“ I paused to count on my fingers. I had to count the fingers of my left hand twice. “- that’s twelve years away!”

“Only twelve years?” Carahil repeated. “Posh! You’ll be eighteen before you know it!”

“But I don’t understand why I can’t read that book,” I would not give up. “All it’s about is a girl polishing some old man’s spear!”

Carahil’s golden skin suffused a startling color as she choked, coughed and spluttered into a long-fingered hand. Finally she was able to take another deep breath, fanning herself with her other hand. “Julian, dear, you are still too young to understand the real meaning of that book.” She sighed. “But the day will come when you will understand all too well.”

Laughter spilled through my nose before I could stop myself. Yes, I understand all too well now.

“What is so funny, Julian?” Carahil asked, returning with a thick volume in her hands. I showed her the green book. Her eyes widened as she read the title.

“I completely forgot about this book,” I explained between chuckles. “I’d say I’ve understood it for thirty years at least, but I’d completely forgotten about the book!”

Carahil’s eyes brightened, and her chuckle told me she had recalled the same conversation I had. “So now you know about spear polishing, do you understand why I was so scandalized to catch you with that book? All of six years old and you were reading smut!”

I laughed. “Only I didn’t know it was smut!” I defended myself. “And by the time I reached eighteen, I had forgotten about it.”

“Of course, by the time you were eighteen -“ Carahil’s smile faded. “You had other things on your mind,” she finished sadly.

My mother. My brother. Jared. I nodded silently.

Carahil held up the book in her hands. “You may be on to something, Julian. Have you ever read this book?”

I squinted at the title. “Spirit of the Daedra?” I considered it for a moment, then shook my head. “No, Carahil, that was one of the books you kept on the top shelf in the library. The same shelf as this,” I held up The Lusty Argonian Maid.

“Ah, yes, it was not considered suitable material for a six-year old child,” Carahil nodded at the memory. “Anyway, in this book, it discusses how the daedra are not truly killed when you destroy their physical manifestation.”

“Really?” I leaned forward as Carahil sat down in the chair she had previously occupied.

“Hmm hmm. ‘We do not die. We do not fear death. Destroy the Body, and the Animus is cast into The Darkness. But the Animus returns.’” She met my gaze. “It makes me wonder if mortal souls travel the same path, but are somehow trapped in these sigil stones to provide the magical energy needed to keep the portals open.”

“Kind of like soul gems?” I asked.

“Maybe,” Carahil shrugged. “There are so much we don’t understand about Oblivion. But these observations of yours are very interesting.”

“Thanks, Carahil,” I drained the last of the klah. “I need to leave for the Countess’s audience. But I’ll be back afterwards to discuss the recommendation with you.” I looked down at the simple linens I wore. “Are these suitable for meeting the Countess?”

“Oh, Julian!” Carahil smiled as she took my empty cup from me. “Countess Umbranox is very practical. She won’t expect you to be dressed in gaudy silks!” She waved me away. “Now shoo!”

Posted by: mALX Feb 12 2011, 05:50 PM

The memories are thick in Anvil, my fave:

Julian as a child wanting to read "The Real Barenziah" and Relas telling it in story form - leaving out the R & X rated parts - that was cute.

Another part I liked: Julian wanders about with her cup of coffee (klah) - gee, why does that sound so familiar? ROFL !!

Great Chapter !!

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 12 2011, 08:17 PM

I carried it back to Relas, sticking my tongue out at Traven as I passed him.
I love this! Little Julian is so adorable!

Again I saw Vigge the Cautious in his strained finery
Now there is something I would rather not see!

that’s twelve years away!
Longer than the First Age! I love this. It is a wonderful example of how when we are children, becoming a grown-up seems like an impossibly long time away.

This was my favorite of the coming home chapters so far. Julian's stroll down memory lane is positively delightful. From racing through the guild hall, to hearing the story of the not quite so real Barenziah from Felen Relas (am I the only one who thinks of an ice cream cone when they see that hairstyle?), and finally to Carahil, one of the coolest chicks in Cyrodiil.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 13 2011, 03:13 AM

This had a wonderful natural flow to it and was a real pleasure to read. Little Julian is indeed adorable!

I'm so glad you like Carahil. I very much do as well. Hers would certainly be our second favorite guild hall to hail from.

It was nice to follow up some on Julian's observations that the power of a sigil stone may be related to how long the gate it held open remained open. I can see why Carahil would be interested.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 13 2011, 04:26 AM

Carahil as I remember her in the game was very stiff and by the book. I'm liking this new version of her, she much warmer, and has so much significance to Julian. I can foresee her not being too thrilled about assigning Julian the rogue mage task... and who knows? Maybe she won't?

That line brought little Julian all the way up to the level of Princess for me! It was just that charming.

As for the Sigil Stones, you are getting quite insightful into them... many of the points you bring up I have a feeling will make it into my own personal canon (and I mean in general, not the fan-fic).

Great fun to read!

Posted by: Olen Feb 13 2011, 09:34 PM

The referances to in game books were great, and made me chuckle. Young children have an uncanny ability to find anything they shouldn't... I'm enjoying the flashbacks too, and re-meeting old characters from her past.

So this Jared was around when she was young before the legion, and was from Anvil... I'm wondering when we'll find out more.

And next the countess, I suspect Julian might get on with her better than the other counts.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 14 2011, 03:04 PM

@mALX: I really enjoyed writing Julian as a child, especially with the books. Here we see how she came by her way of speaking, and her vocabulary - she was a bookworm like me! Only now, with both of us losing our eyesight to old age, has it become more of a chore . . .

@SubRosa: Like I told mALX, I really enjoyed writing Julian’s flashbacks. Her interactions with Traven as a child just made me chuckle as I was writing them. And yes, Carahil is one of the coolest chicks evah!

@Acadian: The thoughts about the sigil stones came about as Julian was telling me her story. It was one of those ‘hmmmm’ moments.

@TK: Carahil is still pretty much by the book, it’s just tempered with compassion and kindness. So Little Julian is now a Princess for you? She’s blushing!

@Olen: It’s surprising how much things went over my head when I was little, but when I revisit them, it’s facepalm time! And don’t worry, you’ll learn more about Jared eventually (like about the eleventh segment).

The Countess of Anvil, though she doesn’t have much to say in-game, always struck me as a kind, gentle soul. She is the kind of woman that founds orphanages and widow’s homes for the people of Anvil.

******************************
Chapter 23.6: Meeting with the Countess of Anvil

“Good morning, ma’am.” The two guardsmen greeted me warmly with smiles barely visible in the fog as I stepped through Chapelgate. The odors of the salt flats hit me before I saw the smooth water of the inlet separating the castle from Anvil’s walls. I murmured a response to the guardsmen before I started across the narrow stone bridge leading to the castle gate.

A Dunmer boy stood in the tall portal leading to the castle courtyard and peered through the thick fog. “Good morning, Midave Sendal,” I greeted him as soon as I recognized his slight figure. He jumped slightly at my voice and straightened his thin shoulders. “Is it seven bells already?”

“No, ma’am,” he brushed that wayward lock from his ruby eyes and bowed with a little more deliberation than he had yesterday. “You’re early.”

“Are you waiting for someone else, then?” I paused beside him, locking gazes with him. Sendal looked away and shifted his feet.

“No, I was waitin’ for you, ma’am,” he responded. “I thought you might be early.”

“You thought right,” I smiled at him. “Lead on, Sendal.”

“Have you had breakfast yet?” The boy glanced back over his shoulder at me as he took the lead.

“Yes, I did, thanks.”

Sendal and I passed through the courtyard, filled with blooming orange and lemon trees, forsythia bushes, and roses. Jasmine vines twined up trellises that flanked the main entrance into the keep. Sendal kept glancing back at me, as if making certain he hadn’t lost me. He paused when we reached the double doors that led into the county hall, seeming to work up some courage. “Is it true you’re from here?”

“Yes, it’s true.” I pointed beyond the eastern castle walls. “I grew up on that old farm on the bluff overlooking the mouth of the Strid River.”

“That old Gweden place?” Sendal’s eyes grew wide. “But that place’s haunted!”

“Haunted?” I repeated, pushing away the old grief. “It wasn’t haunted when I lived there.”

“No one wants to claim it,” Sendal volunteered, placing his hand on the huge iron ring of the left hand panel. “It’s been empty all these years.” He tugged at the door, leaning his weight back on his heels. The door began to swing slowly. I reached forward and laid my hand beside his, but he shouldered me away. “I got it, ma’am,” he said. I heard the fierce pride in his voice and smiled to myself.

Not one to let your small size get in the way, are you? I rather liked Sendal’s determination to pull his own weight, but wondered how much of it had been forged by teasing about his height. I hadn’t forgotten how cruel children could be to each other. “You’re stronger than you seem,” I remarked as the door finally groaned open. “I apologize for thinking otherwise.”

Apparently I hit the right note with Sendal, for his somber face brightened in that brilliant white smile. “’Tis all right!” He bowed low and waved for me to precede him, as if I was a court lady dressed all in velvet instead than the old soldier in simple linens. I waited inside the brightly lit entrance hall while he dragged the heavy door closed, shutting out the dampness of the sea mist.

Braziers kept the air within dry and warm. The hall was bright with hangings made, not of heavy tapestry as I expected, but rather of delicate Valenwood hand-knotted lace. The lightweight material swayed like spider webs in the thermal drafts created by the braziers. That lace must cost a fortune. There’s a lot of it.

“If you would follow me, please,” once again Sendal took the lead. We moved at a quiet but efficient pace through the antechamber into the county hall beyond. Ahead, two thrones of white ash stood empty, and their turquoise cushions glimmered brilliantly. In the high ceiling above, clerestory windows at the base of a dome admitted the grey daylight. I looked around, but the hall was empty.

“Where is the Countess, Sendal?” I asked when he moved toward the stairs leading up to the mezzanine across the back of the hall. He glanced back at me.

“Milady’s at breakfast, ma’am. She asks that you join her, even if it’s just for a cup of klah.”

My strides faltered slightly. A private audience? First Count Skingrad, now Countess Anvil? Is this the beginning of a trend? “Very well, Sendal,” I hid my surprise. “Lead on.”

He brought me through a passage that ran directly toward private chambers located at the seaward side of the castle. We entered a suite consisting of two large rooms, airy thanks to the large floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the south wall. More of that hand-knotted lace draped between the windows, and shutters were neatly folded back against the walls.

Sendal led me past the sleeping alcove and the four-poster bed of white ash and creamy silks. I saw little more than an impression of white with turquoise accents before Sendal led me through a doorway onto a balcony. Beyond, the thinning fog drifted past the balustrade.

I stepped onto the sky-blue and white tiled floor of the balcony and paused. Sendal stepped to my right and bowed to the Countess seated at the table. “Milady, Julian of Anvil.”

“Come, have a seat,” Millona Umbranox waved across the round surface. “Did you have breakfast yet?”

“Yes, I did, ma’am,” I inclined my head to her before obeying her tacit command.

“Then have some klah, at least,” she poured some of the black fluid into a fine bone china cup without waiting for a response. “It’s still a bit chilly out here.”

I had to agree. The steaming liquid smelled wonderful. I declined the offer of cream and sweetener and took a sip. It tasted as rich and smooth as it smelled, with none of the bitterness typical of the brew. “This is quite delicious, ma’am,” I murmured.

“It’s from the mountains of Southern Valenwood, near Greenheart,” Umbranox met my gaze. Elegant blue silk trimmed with white lace on the cuffs, bodice and skirt hem covered a still-youthful figure. Light brown hair parted in the middle framed an unlined face and swept back into an elegant bun at the nape of her neck. Light brown eyes regarded me with a calm steadiness that inspired confidence. “I understand you were posted there for a while?”

“Near Arenthia,” I took another sip of the klah. “It’s a beautiful region.”

“I’ve never been,” Countess Umbranox gazed into the depths of her cup. “You are so lucky to have seen so much of Tamriel!”

“Lucky?” I repeated. “Aye, the Legion recruiters tell you you can see all of Nirn when you sign up, but truth be told, you’re too busy soldiering to see much of the local sights.”

Umbranox smiled, and now the first hints of her true age appeared at the corners of her eyes. “I believe it!” She leaned back in her chair. “My father served as legate in the Legion, and he was gone more than not!” Her gaze sharpened on me. “Perhaps you knew him? Milonius Silvanus?”

I thought for a moment, then shook my head at the unfamiliar name. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I served in Legio Six for most of my career.”

“Well,” Umbranox spooned up some berry compote. “It was a thought.” I remained silent and waited. After a moment, she dabbed at her lips with a lace napkin and met my gaze again with those steady brown eyes. “I want to express my gratitude to you for closing that Oblivion Gate outside Anvil,” she began. Her gaze turned out to sea, now visible with the mist burned away. “I understand you’ve been seeking aid for Countess Narina Carvain of Bruma.”

Mildly startled, I nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I have.”

Umbranox smiled at my surprise. “Count Cheydinhal sent me a message. He suggested that I do not refuse your request.”

My gaze drifted to the Dunmer boy standing just past Umbranox’s shoulder. He returned my gaze expressionlessly, but there was a flicker in his red eyes. He’s from Cheydinhal? Or House Hlaalu in Morrowind?

“Ah, yes, my page is Indarys’s nephew,” Umbranox added. I blinked at her uncanny perception. “And one of my young cousins serve in his court. That is as close as I want to get to Count Indarys.”

“Sendal seems to be doing well as your page, ma’am,” I nodded at the boy. Now the Countess’s eyes saddened slightly.

“He is coping well, so far from home and family,” she responded. “With his parents and aunt dead, it’s been, ah, difficult. But it is Indarys’s hope that by serving here so far from Cheydinhal, young Midave will find his place in Cyrodiil. I intend to see that happen, if only for the boy’s sake.”

Again I glanced at Sendal. His eyes were downcast, and his skin had the purple tinge that characterized the Dunmer blush. “He’s not the sort to accept pity,” I aimed my words at him. “And I like what I’ve seen of his determination. He’ll do well, with or without your help, ma’am.” The ruby flash preceded the insouciant smile, then Sendal’s face was impassive again, befitting that of a page. I turned my gaze back to Umbranox. “So Count Indarys asked that you grant the request I make on behalf of Countess Carvain, ma’am?”

“Yes, and I’m inclined to do so,” Umbranox responded. “I can not spare a full century as he did, but I shall send eight contubernii. I hope that will be sufficient.”

“Yes, eight contubernii is most generous of you, ma’am,” I agreed.

“But what of you, Julian?” Umbranox refilled her cup before folding her hands around its warmth. “What would be reward enough for you?”

I turned my head and gazed out at the ocean, now blue in the morning sun. The fog had completely disappeared during our conversation, and the sun sparkled off the whitecapped waves below.

“That farm east of here, on the bluff -“ my voice faltered. I took a deep breath. “I understand it’s been empty these many years.”

Umbranox’s silence drew my eyes back to her. Dark brows drawn together, her face had a look of concerned bemusement. “The old Gweden homestead?” she asked. “Are you certain, Julian? I know what -“ she stopped herself. “Are you certain you want to go back there?”

I thought about it for a moment. Do I want to relive that day I found what was left of my mother and my brother? Do I want to see their blood again on the walls and floor? Do I want to smell that goblin stench again? “It’s time to put those ghosts to rest,” I spoke slowly, my eyes on the Dunmer boy. “Time to return the farm to happier times, to restore the beauty of the place.”

Umbranox regarded me for several moments more. Then she lifted a hand in a signal to Sendal. He disappeared through the door into the Countess’s quarters. “Normally I would require that you pay the back taxes on the property before I deed it to you,” she said quietly. “But no one can put a value on the service you provided us in closing that Oblivion Gate. If you are certain you want to move back to Anvil, if you are certain that you can make it a productive and happy place once more, those back taxes will be waived and the deed shall be yours.”

Sendal reappeared, a rosewood box in his hands. He set it on the table between us with a bow. As he stepped back, Umbranox opened the wide casket, drew out a parchment and laid it on the table near me. While I picked it up, she set a blue silk purse beside my cup with a soft jingle of coins.

“When you were discharged from the Legion four years ago,” Umbranox spoke softly, “apparently you left instructions that your pension payments were to be sent here. Unfortunately, you never came for them. I’ve been holding them all these years for you, in hopes that someday you would return to Anvil.” I stared at the purse. “You’ll find the amount matches that of the Legion records down to the last drake.”

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 14 2011, 06:51 PM

Okay, two posts to comment on, with very different tones.

Julian's misadventures with Carahil's more...personal...book collection had me in snickering while reading. It reminded me of the shocked reaction my father had when I first tried reading through his collection of the Casca books, at the tender age of 9. He caught me before I even made it past the first page.

Secondly, Julian's meeting with the Countess of Anvil: in it, you write an excellent account of Millona Umbranox's character, as well as some more insight into the politics of Cyrodiil. Her relationship with Count Indarys is well depicted, and her governance of Anvil shows through.

Though I must say, I think Julian's time in the Deadlands has made her something other than fully human. She's now avoided two things that somebody can always count on: Death and Taxes.

Posted by: ghastley Feb 14 2011, 08:44 PM

The "two thrones of white ash" struck me as wrong until I went and poked around in the wiki. There I found that the second throne is relocated from a storeroom to the main hall after Corvus is "revealed" so I'm assuming that's happened, but someone else is the new Grey Fox. It made sense to me that Milona would be making the point that Corvus may not be around, but nobody else is taking his place, by not leaving an empty throne next to her. She also doesn't move the one remaining to the middle, but leaves the space vacant, to imply that she does expect him back.

But if Corvus is back, wouldn't Julian then be talking to the two of them?

Incidentally I've never done the Allies quest after becoming the Grey Fox myself. Either the thief character didn't do the MQ, or they were done MQ before TG, so I've no real idea how it plays with Corvus back.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 14 2011, 10:39 PM

First, I'm not playing quite true to game. If you look at the throne in Anvil (in-game), it doesn't match the description in my FF. Corvus is not present in my story, and at this point I'm undecided whether he does come back or not (Julian does not do the TG ever). As for Corvus in the game, when he returns, he never quite gets his power back. I suppose Millona has held the reins too long to give them back, and likely she doesn't trust him not to pull another disappearing act like he did the last time. So she continues running Anvil as she always did, and Corvus is stuck being decoration. He doesn't even get to share the bed with her!

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 14 2011, 11:06 PM

Homecoming indeed! I see a future very fitting of a former soldier and Champion of Cyrodiil... who wouldn't want a quiet life of farming after saving the world? I perceive Julian will be sick and tired of her celebrity status after a week when all this is over, the novelty of being fawned over wears off quite fast, especially for the unlikely hero types like our angelic-haired Redguard.

Besides, there's also horses.

I can certainly agree with you axing Corvus from your canon, Countess Umbranox really does seem to do just fine on her own.

So Julian really is going home again.... I do hope she can put to rest whatever ails her of the loss of her family. Let's just hope a certain Trio of bumbling Sirens don't realize there hidey-hole is under new management, or Julian might end up polishing her spear sharpening her sword

ARG!! DIRTY! DIRTY!! BEGONE, YOU IMPS!!!

Well, you know what I mean.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to give Sparky a scolding...

Posted by: mALX Feb 14 2011, 11:25 PM

GAAAAH! I didn't know that, I've only broken into their bedroom once after he returned, and he was in there - but neither of them were laying in the bed. Where does he sleep? (or is he like he was in the "Abandoned house" awake 24/7 ???)

I have done the main quest after being a thief (most of my games, actually) and he is sitting there beside her, but you speak to her.

For some reason I found it impossible to raise Corvus's opinion of my characters over 70%, whether he was the gray fox or at the throne - after all you do for him !!! Has anyone gotten him to 100% ???

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 15 2011, 12:32 AM

I always brought Corvus back before getting Allies for Bruma, but the reason you talk to Millona above all else is the fact that the scripting would probably be too buggy to get the Count Umbranox to send aid to Bruma.

As for getting him to 100% disposition, I've done it, but then I also had a high personality after power-leveling my character for maxed out stats.

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 15 2011, 12:52 AM

you’ll learn more about Jared eventually
What, that he went on to become the http://www.monitordown.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/jareth.jpg (okay, so that was Jareth...)

So Julian's old house is haunted? By Sirens I suspect! Seriously, that was a good touch. IRL, no one wants to buy a house where someone was murdered. I doubt ES would be any different. It also leaves you a nice little thread for the future, as Julian could move back there some day. And now that I have finished the episode, I see that is exactly what you have in mind.

I love the descriptions of Castle Anvil, from the trees and flower trellises, to the lace swaying in the breeze. It definitely shows a woman's touch.

The Countess has some very interesting opinions on the Count of Cheydinhal. Such as that perhaps he murdered his wife perhaps? In any case, I loved how you tied the page Sendal into that situation.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 15 2011, 01:52 AM

Anvil is beautiful and you present it well! The descriptions approaching and inside the castle were wonderful.

'Not one to let your small size get in the way, are you? I rather liked Sendal’s determination to pull his own weight, but wondered how much of it had been forged by teasing about his height. I hadn’t forgotten how cruel children could be to each other. “You’re stronger than you seem,” I remarked as the door finally groaned open. “I apologize for thinking otherwise.”
This says much about Julian's perceptions and what she does with them - all of it good.

I very much liked your Countess and see her very similarly!

And more glimpses into the tragedy of Julian's homestead.

I find myself wondering how long Julian will allow herself to linger in Anvil. There is so much holding her here, yet there is as much or more pulling her away. I know she will make the right choices for her.

Posted by: ghastley Feb 15 2011, 02:07 AM

I don't know about this version of Milona Umbranox's opinion of Count Indarys, but the same throne symbolism leads me to think that Indarys had nothing to do with his wife's death. He has not removed her throne, like Countess Valga, or Regulus Terentius, who have both centered theirs as if their spouse never existed, but he's blocked it from use with a bouquet of flowers on the seat.

Posted by: Grits Feb 15 2011, 03:24 AM

Chapter 23.5:
Again I saw Vigge the Cautious in his strained finery.
You got me to spit out my tea and throw out my donut with this line!!
I too am delighted with your vision of Carahil. She is a star!

Chapter 23.6:
The castle courtyard garden and Countess Umbranox’s airy balcony by the sea, how lovely!
Julian gets her home back with four years’ worth of back pay for a housewarming gift – it’s going to be hard to leave Anvil!!

Posted by: Olen Feb 15 2011, 12:57 PM

You show Umbranox in an interesting light, quite believeable in her slight hypocracy. While she knows Julian (and so, I would imagine many of her citazens and their doings) and seems to care beyond that Julian just closed the gate as shown by the pension. Equally she certainly knows how to live well and spend their taxes on herself.

Still it seems Julian has just come across quite a bit of money and another house. She'll be a property tycoon soon enough.

Her reactions on going back to her old home will be powerful I suspect. But once she's cleared it out (and possibly found someone to look after it?) there's a rouge mage to take care of... and of course the world to save. She's got quite a lot on her plate.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 16 2011, 04:02 PM

@Cap’n H: Thanks for the kind words. And not to worry, Julian still isn’t exempt from property tax! As for death, that’ll come, but not in this story!

@ghastley: Thanks for the thoughts. I decided to leave things the way they are. Like Julian, I try not to read too much between the lines. So the two thrones really don’t have that much symbolism, other than the fact that Millona doesn’t believe her husband is dead. If he had died, and she had seen his body, then yes, she would have had the second throne removed.

@TK: We all know how it goes for old soldiers trying to retire - after a while the farm life starts to pall. And yes, there’s always horses!

@mALX: He he he.

@SubRosa: The haunting actually refers to Julian’s family, not the Sirens. Those women wouldn’t know a wraith if one bit them in the tush! But I wanted to show how the deaths of her family still has a lingering impact on the town of Anvil. What we saw here about the relationship between Umbranox and Indarys is but the groundwork for what comes after the MQ.

@Acadian: Sendal is one of those urchins that just wormed his way into my heart. I just couldn’t ignore his charm, and I’m glad you picked up on that. Julian thinks he’s quite the troublemaker, but in a good way. As for your sense that she is torn about staying in Anvil versus carrying out her duties, you’re quite right there. At this point, the feeling that time is running out is stronger than ever.

@Grits: Julian is like that, all serious, then throws out a poker-faced comment that just bites you in the tush!

@Olen: I think you hit the nail on the head. I don’t think Julian will be obtaining any more houses, though. The one in the Waterfront is just a handy place to stow her gear while she is traipsing all over Cyrodiil. Even though I’m playing on a console, I’m roleplaying that Gweden Farm actually becomes Julian’s farm. As for the order of events, you’re slightly backwards.

In the last chapter, Julian gets more aid for Bruma from the Countess. Now she learns of her next task for entrance into the University; this is followed by a fateful meeting.

*******************************
Chapter 23.7: Carahil and Blanco

Carahil looked up from her studying at my arrival. She smiled at me, then her green eyes sharpened at the look on my face. “Did things go well with the Countess?”

“Very well, ma’am,” I managed to keep my voice even. I still held the packet containing the deed to Gweden farm and the purse full of my pension in my hand. “Better than I expected, actually.”

“Then why the long face?” Her question brought home to me how observant the older Altmer really was. I could never tell a lie in front of her. Carahil stepped out from behind the counter and led me into the small parlor off to the right. As we sat in the comfortable chairs, I held out the deed to her.

Her slender hand brushed the long strawberry-blond bangs from her eyes as she read the script. Her tilted brows rose high, then she met my gaze. “The Countess gave you your mother’s old place?” She shook her head. “But why would you want to go back -?”

I leaned back against the cushioned back of the chair. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told her - it’s time to put those old ghosts to rest. It’s not like I have anything to fear from these particular spirits.”

“Are you certain?” Carahil handed the parchment back to me. Carefully I folded it and tucked it away into the leather packet.

Again that vision of my mother and my brother coalesced in front of my eyes before I shook it away. “Let’s just say that Akatosh sent me a message.” I hefted the blue silk purse. “And the Countess has held my pension for me all these years.”

“How much do you have there?” Carahil asked.

“About forty-five septims,” I drew a slow breath. Never in my life had I held so much gold. The look in Carahil’s wide eyes mirrored my own feelings, still stunned by the Countess’s revelation.

“That’s almost enough to buy the old Benirus manor from young Velwyn!” she exclaimed. “He’s been trying to sell it for the past year!”

“Why?” I asked, recalling the dilapidated old ruin I had passed on my way to Chapelgate this morning. I had been shocked at how rundown it now seemed.

“He wants to live in the Imperial City with his parents, it seems,” Carahil responded, her gaze growing thoughtful. “They made him responsible for selling the place first before he could leave Anvil.”

“He doesn’t live in the house?” I asked.

Carahil shook her head. “He’s staying at the Count’s Arms,” she answered. Her eyes sharpened on me. “Are you thinking of buying it?”

“Why would I buy it when I have an equally dilapidated farm to restore?” I retorted mildly, smiling to take the sting out of my words. “Besides, the view is so much better from the homestead!”

“So you’re moving back to Anvil?” Carahil asked.

“I’m thinking about it,” I tucked the packet and coins into my belt purse. “But first I have to get into the University and study alchemy and restoration. Before I can do that, I have to finish my task for the Countess of Bruma.”

“So you finally decided to follow in your mother’s footsteps?” Carahil smiled at me. “Just when you’re becoming quite the battlemage, from what I hear!”

“I find myself wanting to help people heal and recover more than harm them,” I spoke slowly. “I’ve spent the past several weeks casting convalescence and restore magicka on a sick horse, and I’ve learned more about alchemy in that time than I have in my entire life before that.” I looked down at my hands, seeing again the fine scars left by the bloodgrass. “It hurt to see the people of Kvatch after that night,” I continued. “I found myself wishing I could do more for them.”

“As a battlemage you can heal as well as fight,” Carahil mused.

“As a battlemage I may be called to apply torture in interrogations,” I countered. “I’m not certain that’s something I’d want to do.”

“I see,” Carahil nodded to herself. “Well, are you ready for your recommendation?”

I blinked at the sudden change of conversation. “Yes, I am, ma’am.”

“Unlike some of the other tasks you have had to complete,” her tone became mildly censorious, and I briefly wondered which tasks she referred to, “there is nothing frivolous about this one. There is a rogue mage that has been attacking merchants along the Gold Road between Lord Drad’s estate and Gottshaw Inn.” She locked gazes with me, and I saw again the intimidating battlemage she had been in her younger days. “The attacks stopped for a while with the two Oblivion Gates, but now that you’ve closed them, the mage will be attacking again. Why, one of the first merchants to leave town was found dead by Veranius just this morning. This situation has become intolerable and will not be tolerated any longer.”

I recalled Morvayn’s words last night: “- the authorities can take care of that rogue mage that’s been harassing merchants. That ought to be quick work, then we can see about sending vital supplies to Kvatch.” “What do you know about the mage?” I asked.

“The attacks started over the summer. Victims were found with frost burns on their bodies. Simple robbery seems to be the motive,” Carahil steepled her fingers before her face. “The one common link between these deaths, other than that the victims are all merchants, is Brina Cross Inn. I sent two battlemages, Arielle Jurard and Roliand Hanus, there over a month ago, but we’ve lost touch with them when the Oblivion Gate opened here. If you can contact them on your arrival at Brina Cross, they can fill you in on what they’ve found so far.”

“Frost burns?” I considered her words. “I’ll have to be careful, then.”

Carahil rose and moved to a nearby cabinet. She opened the doors and examined the ranks of scrolls within. Selecting three, she drew them out and brought them to me. “These are frost shell spells,” she explained. “They should provide sufficient resistance to frost magic, if and when you encounter this rogue mage.”

I rose to my feet and considered my options. “I’ll take Daedra Slayer,” I mused aloud, fingering the scrolls. “It has fire damage. But I’m not certain if Morvayn is finished with my armor.”

“Then you will have need of these,” Carahil indicated the spells in my hand. “Do not let your guard down. He may have a few extra tricks up his sleeve. I don’t know if the inn’s staff is involved somehow in this.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I’ll leave right away.”

Carahil smiled at me, crinkles appearing at the corners of her green eyes. “I knew you would not hesitate, Julian. You fit in well with us, unlike some mages who do not abide by the principles of the guild.”

************************
Morvayn met me near the sales counter. “I’m sorry, Julian, but your cuirass took a lot of damage. We’re still working on it.” He indicated my weapons racked behind the counter. “But the bows and Daedra Slayer are fully repaired and ready to go.”

“I’ll take just Daedra Slayer,” I answered. “It should do, ser.”

Morvayn regarded me a moment longer. “You’ve got that look in your eye, Julian. Off to rescue another cat?”

I chuckled shortly. “In a manner of speaking,” I answered, buckling the enchanted katana at my waist, over my linen skirt. I paused a moment, then dug into my belt purse. “Would you mind holding this for me, please?”

Morvayn looked at the packet and coin sack I held out to him. “Certainly,” he nodded. He fingered the leather. “Got the farm?”

“As a reward for closing the Oblivion Gate,” I nodded. “And my back pension, too. Four years’ worth.”

Morvayn whistled softly, hefting the sack in his hand. “Enough here to buy one of Clesa’s horses, if you want to ride rather than walk.”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “I’m walking today.” I nodded farewell at him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

************************
The sun shone brightly overhead, warming the countryside as I stepped through Northgate. I nodded my greetings to the two guardsmen standing outside the portal. To the left, nestled in the curve of the Gold Road as it turned northwestward, the stables showed signs of bustling activity, with a golden-red horse standing within the open-sided shelter. Muscular and huge-boned, he towered above the smaller white horses as he munched at a pile of hay nearly as massive as himself.

In the courtyard, a male Redguard was grumpily stripping a lathered white stallion of his tack. The horse, beautifully proportioned with a graceful, arching neck and black eyes, tipped his small ears at me, then playfully nipped at the groom’s shirt. Busy with the girth, Ernest grunted and nudged the horse’s nose away with his elbow. As he pulled the saddle off the stallion’s round back, the white equine snorted loudly, splattering Ernest’s shirt and arms with mucus.

Ernest scowled at the horse’s mischievous gaze and snarled wordlessly before stumping away with the tack. As he disappeared within the stable office, the stallion turned his gaze back to me. I found myself leaning on the fence, watching him. There’s something about that horse. He’s different from the other white horses Clesa breeds here. I couldn’t quite pin it down. He’s the same size, same color. I glanced at one of the other horses tethered within the shed, and began comparing the two. The gelding holds his head lower. His skin is pink, and his eyes are light. His back is longer. I turned my gaze back the stallion, who still watched me.

This one is more close-coupled, more rounded and muscular. Dark skin that shows around the eyes and muzzle. His nose is straight, not bowed out like the other one’s. He carries his head high, and that neck is so beautifully arched. Suddenly the stallion moved, his compact body turning gracefully until he faced me. Slowly he walked toward the fence and me. I realized I had stopped breathing when his warm breath brushed my crossed forearms.

“Hello Julian,” Clesa’s voice reached me from beyond the stallion’s rump. The horse swung his head in her direction, waggled his ears, then turned back to me. His soft muzzle found its way to my right ear. I scrunched my shoulder as his breath tickled the side of my neck. “I see Blanco’s introduced himself to you.”

“Blanco?” I repeated. “He’s beautiful, Clesa. I’ve been trying to figure out why he’s so different from your other white horses.”

“He’s High Rock bred,” Clesa answered, running her hand affectionately along the stallion’s arched neck. “I brought him down to improve my bloodlines.”

I noticed that Clesa herself was dressed for riding, in leather breeches and high-topped boots. Drying sand was splattered along her calves, matching the same on Blanco’s belly. “I’m sorry, you were riding him just now?”

“I have to,” Clesa responded. “He’s highly trained, and needs to be ridden nearly every day. I take him down to the beach and put him through the movements. He loves it, and it gives him a chance to blow off excess energy.”

“Excess energy!” Ernest grumped as he returned to Blanco, brush and curry in hand. He met my gaze and grinned. “Hello, Julian!”

“You have to admit that he doesn’t just stare dumbly at you, Ernest,” I teased him. The scowl returned and he growled at Blanco. The stallion flipped his head as if agreeing with me. Again he nudged my arms with his muzzle. Finally I dared to pet him, rubbing his chiseled nose the way I always did with Paint. “I’m sorry, Blanco, if I’d known you would come up to me, I would have come with an apple for you. Next time,” I promised him.

“I heard you had a Wildeye paint,” Clesa said to me. “So you finally got yourself a horse?”

“He was on loan,” I responded, as Ernest vigorously rubbed the curry in circular motions along Blanco’s side. “But we encountered a will o’wisp in Blackwood, and he became very ill.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that!” Clesa exclaimed sympathetically. “Of course you can’t ride him anymore, correct?”

“He’s getting stronger,” I answered, “but I had to leave him behind near the Imperial City.”

“Not with gra-Bura!” Clesa exclaimed.

“Why not?” Ernest grumbled under his breath. “She understands the real value of horses!”

“Oh, shush, Ernest!” Clesa retorted. I laughed softly. Blanco tipped his ears at me, his black eyes sparkling. I swear he’s laughing too.

“No, I left him with Aelwin Merowald, a fisherman in Weye.” I rubbed Blanco’s nose again. “They love each other, and Merowald promised me he would get Paint better. But I think Paint’s days of wandering Cyrodiil are over.”

“That’s too bad,” Clesa’s eyes sobered. “At least he’s happy, isn’t he?”

I thought again of Paint gazing after me as I walked away from him. I managed to swallow the sadness choking my throat. “I hope so, ma’am.”

“Well,” I gave Blanco a final pat and moved back. He stepped forward and put his head over the fence. “I must be going, Clesa, Ernest. Next time I’ll stop by with an apple for Blanco if that’s all right with you.”

“Certainly!” Clesa smiled at me, a calculating light in her eyes. I turned away and started up the Gold Road.

****************
A/N While the horses in-game are quite well rendered for video games, and very realistic in their gaits and scripted actions, my vision of Blanco is more - well, vivid. So to give you an idea of his personality and his energy, I found images taken of a real-life Lippizzaner stallion that is a dead ringer for http://www.lynnrphoto.com/lipizzanstallion2.htm.

Posted by: Olen Feb 16 2011, 07:14 PM

Another character, and Blanco certainly is one. You managed to give him a real personality in quite a short space, are we seeing her next horse? If he's there to improve bloodlines it seems unlikely but maybe... Can't say I know much about horses so I'll assume all the description were desirable properties in a horse.

Most of them? Other than Skingrad and possibly Leyawin they're all covering someone's incompetance.

Now I suspect things are about to go badly for a certain rouge mage...

A nit?
Carahil looked up from her studying at my arrival. - a small thing but seeing as it's the first sentence 'study' might be smoother as the noun here, unless it's a dialect thing.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 16 2011, 09:24 PM

Well, Carahil is indeed putting Julian's skills to good use. That blasted battlemage won't be giving anyone the cold shoulder for much longer (bad joke intended).

As does a certain Khajiit whom you've quoted, dear Hautee.

Now that is one beautiful stallion! I'm envious of Julian now, I want to meet him!

Nit?

This sentence came off as clunky to me. Perhaps it would flow a bit better if you dropped one of the conjugations of "tolerate?"

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 16 2011, 09:38 PM

I only meant the Sirens as a joke, as that farm is where they meet you.

“That’s almost enough to buy the old Benirus manor from young Velwyn!” she exclaimed. “He’s been trying to sell it for the past year!”
Speaking of old ghosts...

“She understands the real value of horses!”
Horseburgers!

So Julian is at her latest fetch and carry mission for the Mages Guild. Or this time, a fetch and kill mission.

As Olen said, you breathed quite a bit of life into the playful stallion. Although it seems unlikely that Julian will wind up buying him, as Clesa said that she brought him all the way from Vienna, Austria High Rock to breed her stock. So it is doubtful she would part with him.

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 17 2011, 01:38 AM

Ah, dealing with ye' olde rogue mages. Giving run-of-the-mill mages a bad name since the First Era!

I particularly liked how Julian was steered towards the acquisition of Benirus Manor with her earnings, instead of taking up residence in Gweden Farm on account of the "haunting" and spirits that seem to be there. Everybody knows Benirus Manor is a far better choice for those looking to avoid performing an Exorcism. By Fire!

Hm, I wonder if I can trademark that. "Exorcisms By Fire! Guaranteed to leave you free of any possibility of a haunting for a given structure!" 'Course, my rates would depend on fuel and napalm costs...

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 17 2011, 02:10 AM

Now you are making me think of Ghostbusters:
"Let's split up."
"Yeah, we can do more damage that way."

Posted by: Acadian Feb 17 2011, 02:56 AM

Another great episode with Carahil. I think she is right. This is a recommendation quest that really does matter and mean something. I think she chose wisely in asking Julian to help. Another of my very favorite mages is Arielle Jurard. I look forward to meeting her.

Yay! We meet Blanco! I'm betting I can guess where Julian's pension is gonna go.

Posted by: Grits Feb 17 2011, 04:34 PM

“Why would I buy it when I have an equally dilapidated farm to restore?” I retorted mildly, smiling to take the sting out of my words. “Besides, the view is so much better from the homestead!”
I was so disappointed in the game to find I couldn’t go back into that farmhouse!! May the restorations go smoothly.

Blanco, wow!
Clesa smiled at me, a calculating light in her eyes.
A time share horse?

Posted by: mALX Feb 18 2011, 07:05 AM

Unless he suddenly went sterile. Julian, (being good at alchemy) could tiptoe out in the night and slip some Salt Peter in his oats. Then, after Clesa sells Blanco to Julian ... Julian stops doing it. The stud is back, and Julian can sell his "services" to fund her adventuring after the Oblivion Crisis is over ... Later on she can buy a mare and sell the foals .... Oh! Er ... did I say that?

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 18 2011, 04:56 PM

@Olen: Yes, I assure you, all the conformation traits Julian spotted in Blanco are desirable, especially in a saddle horse. As for ‘study’ vs. ‘studying’, it may be a Midwestern dialect here. We often complain that we’ve ‘got so much studying to do to pass this course!’ So that’s what I went with.

@TK: I would normally not write a sentence like the one you pointed out, but as many people in conversation don’t edit themselves, and this is part of Carahil’s dialogue, I decided to leave it be. And I’m a bit envious of Clesa too. That Blanco is something else! I actually modeled his behavior after a Morgan stallion I knew that was full of mischief.

@SubRosa: I’m not really certain that Gweden Farm is actually haunted the way Benirus Manor is. I think it’s called ‘haunted’ mainly because of the deaths that occurred there thirty years ago. I’m glad you enjoyed Blanco too.

@Cap’n H: Why do I have Robert Duvall taking a deep breath and exclaiming “God! I love the smell of napalm in the morning!” going through my head since reading your comment? As for Benirus Manor, it’s just not Julian’s style.

@Acadian: I agree that this recommendation is the only one with the Guild’s welfare in mind, not the personal tush of the chapter head involved. And you might win that bet!

@Grits: I stand with you in your disappointment in being unable to go back into that house. That alone is one reason I’m considering installing a second hard drive in my Intel Mac, putting Windows 7 on it, and buying the PC version of the game. I’d love to be able to tinker with Gweden Farm and make it Julian’s farm! Restorations will have to wait, though. Julian’s got to save Nirn and get an education, in that order, first! As for Blanco, I don’t think you’re so far off the mark there --

@mALX: Ah, no.

I really struggled with this quest. After all, according to the script, success hinges on the PC being anonymous to other members of the Mages Guild. Yet Julian has quite the reputation by now. How can she maintain anonymity with that white hair, height and grey-green eyes? I ended up borrowing a little from Robert Ludlum, John LeCarre, et. al.

******************************
Chapter 23.8: Brina Cross Inn

“Hail, Hero of Kvatch!” The barkeep greeted me when I entered. I nodded sheepishly at him and scanned the common room. A Breton woman and an Imperial man sat together at a table near the counter, murmuring softly between themselves. An aged Altmer woman, resplendent in blue velvet, turned from holding her hands over the fire to regard me. Next to her, I recognized Pollus seated by the fire and nursing a tankard of ale.

The Breton woman looked up from her conversation, then nodded at her companion. She stood up and approached me. “Hello, friend!” she greeted me. Though her voice was light and airy, and her youthful face seemed welcoming enough, I caught the hard look of a warrior in her brown eyes. Arielle Jurard? “I take it you are Julian of Anvil?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” I responded. She leaned slightly toward me and whispered, “Carahil sent you, didn’t she?” She saw something in my gaze and straightened up. “I’m glad you’re here, Julian!” She resumed her normal voice. “We’ve been in need of an escort. Are you headed east along the road by any chance?”

Arielle Jurard. She’s trying to tell me something. I decided to play along. “Yes, ma’am.”

“We’d like to pay you to accompany us as far as Skingrad,” the Breton woman continued, as the Imperial man joined her to stand before me. “I’m Arielle Jurard, and this is my partner Roliand Hanus. We’re merchants with gems intended for the Skingrad court.”

“We’re prepared to pay you five septims for your work,” Hanus volunteered.

“When do you wish to leave?” I asked, still playing along. Undercover? As myself? Unless I change my hair color, it’s now impossible to go unrecognized.

“In the morning, an hour past dawn,” Jurard responded. “Will you escort us?”

“Yes, I will,” I answered. Jurard smiled brightly, but that hard edge still remained in her eyes.

“Excellent! Rent a room from Christophe tonight, get some rest! We’ll pay for your dinner and drinks if you’ll join us!”

“Let me get the room first,” I said. “I’ll be with you in a moment.” As the pair returned to their seats, I caught the assessing regard from the Altmer woman. Pollus regarded me thoughtfully over his tankard. I nodded once at him in greeting, surreptitiously sending the military signal to hold position. His eyes returned to his ale in acknowledgement.

Christophe smiled at me when I approached the bar. “What will you have, friend? Food? Drink? A bed for the night?”

“Whatever’s on the fire for dinner,” I answered, “anything hot to drink that’s not alcoholic, and a bed.”

“That’ll be thirteen drakes,” Christophe said. I counted out the coins and laid them on the counter between us.

He swept them off into his hand and pocketed the money. “Terrific!” he turned for the big soup pot simmering behind him. “It’s ham stew with peas and carrots,” he continued over his shoulder as he ladled something steaming into a wooden bowl. “And would hot spiced cider be good for you? Otherwise I’ve got klah.”

“Cider’s fine,” I accepted the bowl and pewter spoon from Christophe. He wiped a pewter tumbler with a towel and set it on the counter before me.

“You’re going to escort those two merchants?” he asked as he poured the cider. I nodded. “We used to get a lot of merchants through here, but that was before the deaths started occurring. And when those two Oblivion Gates opened, I’ve hardly had any business at all!”

“Deaths?” I repeated when he set the pitcher down.

Christophe straightened up. “I don’t like to talk about them, it’s bad for business.” He placed a key next to the bowl. “Here’s your room key. It’s upstairs, last door on the right.”

“Thank you, sir,” I pocketed the key and collected the meal. The Altmer woman slowly and gingerly approached the table as I joined my new comrades.

“Did I hear you’re merchants?” she asked Jurard. “On the way to Skingrad?”

“Now we are!” Jurard’s voice took on a brittle brightness. “Now that we have a proper escort!” I glanced at her as I took the first mouthful of stew. I’m a proper escort? Why do I get the feeling that it’s going to be you protecting me, rather than the other way around?

“Aren’t you worried?” the Altmer asked, sliding a cool glance at me. My right hand twitched with longing to reach for Daedra Slayer at my hip, but I kept it on the table. Easy Julian, she’s just an old woman. “I’d be scared, if I were you,” she continued, her gaze flickering at Hanus before returning to Jurard. “What with all the recent deaths lately, I’ve been too terrified to leave the inn!”

“That’s why we waited for an escort,” Jurard nodded pleasantly at me. “I’m certain the Hero of Kvatch will be more than a match for what awaits us down the road!”

The stooping woman turned to me. “Do you know magic, Hero of Kvatch?”

“Julian of Anvil, and I know little restoration,” I chose to ignore the sarcasm I could hear in her voice. “I’ve always relied on my Legion training. It’s gotten me this far, ma’am.”

“Well, let’s hope it continues to serve you well, Hero!” the Altmer’s concern rang false. “I hear those killings have not been by blade or bow, but rather by magic!”

“Like half the daedra I’ve faced in the Deadlands,” I mumbled to myself. The Altmer drew in her breath sharply, then smiled broadly, her deeply lined face crinkling further.

“You’re right, of course! Well, it’s late, and I’m off to bed. Take care, all of you,” she included Jurard and Hanus in her well-wishes. “I’d hate to hear of more senseless deaths!” She turned and walked with care toward the stairs that led past the entry to the second floor.

“That’s Caminalda,” Jurard said to me. “She’s been staying here for the last several weeks. Typical stuck up Altmer.”

“I’ve met more nice Altmeri than stuck up ones,” I remarked, glancing over my shoulder to see the last vestige of blue velvet disappear around the corner. “But Caminalda certainly fits the stereotype.”

Hanus chuckled into his tumbler. “You got that right, ma’am,” he mumbled.

“Did you get the room?” Jurard asked. I nodded silently. She laid a few coins on the table and pushed them across to me. “That’s for the food and drink, as well as the room. Do you have a map?” Now she lowered her voice. “When Carahil sent a message that she had someone coming to aid us, someone new to the guild, we thought we could have that person masquerade as a merchant, and we would ambush the mage. But since it’s you -“

“You’re too recognizable,” Hanus added softly as I drew my map from my belt pouch. “No one would believe it if you claimed to be a merchant.”

“I’m sorry,” we put our heads together over the map in an appearance of consulting on the route for the morrow. “But it seems to me that you made a rather effective change of plans. Any idea who the mage might be?”

Jurard shook her head. “It could be anyone from that Legion soldier,” she nodded at Pollus still nursing his ale next to the fire, “to Christophe, even the stableboy!” She regarded me thoughtfully. “But with you as escort, we can still ambush him.”

“You might be escorting me instead of the other way around!” I whispered softly into my stew. Jurard chuckled, that hard edge in her eyes softening a little.

“You didn’t join the Mages Guild for a joke, I don’t think,” she responded softly. “I’ve heard stories of your summons. I believe you can now call up a flame atronach?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I matched her quiet tone. “She’s saved my keister more than a few times.” I shook my head. “But I’m still slow to cast spells. It’s not second nature to me yet, not like my blade is.”

“Then it should be good practice for you tomorrow,” Jurard smiled at me. “And I believe that’s a fire enchantment on that blade of yours?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is,” I nodded. “It should give me the slightest edge against that mage.”

“Don’t underestimate the effectiveness of an enchanted weapon,” Hanus advised me.

“Well, that’s it for now,” Jurard leaned back, resuming a normal tone. “We’ll start out an hour after dawn tomorrow. Till then, sleep well!”

“Thanks,” I replied as the pair rose from the table and headed away. As they disappeared upstairs, Pollus rose ponderously from his seat and walked over to me with a soft clanking of his plate.

“Hello, Julian,” he greeted me quietly. “I see you’re working.”

“A job for the Mages Guild,” I answered. “More than that I can’t say. Sorry.” I waved at the seat just vacated by Hanus. “But I thought you were going to return to your patrol?”

“Soon,” he nodded. “My captain wants me to hang around until that rogue mage has been caught.” His gaze sharpened on me. “I presume it’s not you, Julian.”

I smiled and shook my head. “I’m certain it’s not you, either, Pollus.”

Posted by: Olen Feb 18 2011, 07:55 PM

Clever, I always thought sending a hero to be disguised as a merchant was silly, but this works. Though Caminalda would still be a bit of an idiot knowing that someone who shut so many oblivion gates is accompanying the merchants, but then she is fairly arrogant.

The parting lines with Pollus were good, more tying the world together and making the whole setting a single entity.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 18 2011, 08:49 PM

Very clever flip-flop on that quest, and quite logical, too!

Caminalda has got a very rough day ahead of her tomorrow, perhaps even her last. If she had any sense about what she was getting into (knowing that the Hero of Kvatch, Anvil, Skingrad, The Inn of Ill Omen, etc.) it would probably be in her best interest to scoot her overlarge ego out that door and never return. But considering she is a "typical stuck up Altmer" going against a Redguard (whom most consider magic to be a sign of weakness), that is highly doubtful.

Give her soul to Oblivion, Julian! Let that ice queen never harm another soul again!

Posted by: ghastley Feb 18 2011, 08:53 PM

I'm left a bit confused as to how you're going to explain what Arielle and Roliand were posing as before they revealed themselves as merchants. One assumes it's a new idea, or they could have just tried it on their own before. Hopefully they'll tell us after the next day's events have taken place.

Caminalda's inquiry about Julian's magic skills is a nice touch, especially with the answer implying that she has little defense against frost, (fire and shock being the choices of the Deadlands foes).

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 18 2011, 10:34 PM

Undercover? As myself?
Brilliant!

Julian of Anvil, and I know little restoration,
Not to mention a bit of everything else as well! I think our rogue mage is going to be a little surprised when the mule she thinks she's attacking turns out to be a battle-mage!

I smiled and shook my head. “I’m certain it’s not you, either, Pollus.”
This was just a perfect way to end the scene!

Posted by: Acadian Feb 19 2011, 01:28 AM

Hmm, I see Arielle's dilemma. Expecting some newbie and the Hero of Kvatch walks in! Very quick thinking by Arielle in adjusting her plan. I hadn't really thought about it before, but I can see the challenge this quest created for you. Fine job adjusting it to fit!

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 19 2011, 04:50 AM

Because Napalm is like an applied version of Wizard's Fury, for those less gifted in the magical arts. It's my second favorite spell in the game (right after the Supreme Magicka mod's version of Finger of the Mountain).

And yes, Wizard's Fury does smell like victory. Particularly since it can kill a maxed-level Storm Atronach, who happens to be immune to my awesome lightning spells. Annoying buggers. They don't even have the loot drops that you can get off a Valkynaz...

Where was I? Oh, right, your installment. Ahem.

<Insert Generic Praise Words Here> for your handling of Julian's fame. Add my remarks to <Insert Other Applicable Board Member> that thought it was a good idea. <Paraphrase Another, Better-Written Comment Stream About Appropriate Change in Story to Account for Mediocre Game-Mechanics in This Space>.


Well duh, she has an alibi.


Julian, as a retired pilus prior should know by now that when you "assume", you make an "@**" outta "u" and "me." Pollus has not given us his alibi. I'd like to have that noted for the record.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 20 2011, 07:59 PM

@Olen: Yes, I wanted to highlight the fact that Caminalda actually fits the Altmer stereotype. If our friend Destri is reading this, he would have picked up on the racism - Redguards are ineffective mages. And why shouldn’t Julian see Pollus again, especially as in game he’s always there!

@TK: That quest only makes sense if it’s the very first thing you do right out of the sewers with no fame points at all.

@ghastley: You raise a good point about what the two battlemages were doing before Julian's arrival at the inn. Hopefully the next segment will address that to your satisfaction.

@SubRosa: The undercover comment you pointed out is something I learned from reading too many spy novels. A famous person attracts more attention than your average Joe Blow. That can be used to advantage, as we will see.

@Acadian: Yes, that Arielle thinks really fast on her feet.

@Cap’n H: Well, Pollus does have an alibi - up until a few days before, he had been with his legion cohort elsewhere, and Julian knows this. The rogue mage has been a problem since the summer. The time line just doesn’t fit.

The one thing that drove me batty about this quest is that damned legionary standing watch next to the dead horse. He always butts in. He always ends up killing Arielle and Roliand. Always. Then I figured out to lure Caminalda off the road into the brush before letting her talk to me. But this is fan fic, so it’s a little different.

***************************************
Chapter 23.9: The Rogue Mage

We said little to each other as we gathered in the commons. Other than Jurard, Hanus and myself, only Christophe was present. Sleepily he fed us a cold breakfast of bread, cheese and fruit, along with generous portions of hot klah. We made quick work of his labors and headed out.

The sun gleamed ruby through a misty sky as we stepped through the gate onto the path. I walked in the lead, befitting an escort on the road. The two battlemages trailed behind. All of us scanned the brush and rocks tumbled along the sides of the road, Jurard and Hanus more covertly than I. I kept my right hand on the hilt of Daedra Slayer, ready to draw. In my left I cupped one of Carahil’s frost shield scrolls in my palm.

Reaching the Gold Road, I paused and glanced up and down the way. There were no sign of any one else, not even a skittish deer. Larks sang overhead, their lilting melody punctuated by the rough caw of a raven somewhere in the trees ahead. I turned and walked east. Around us, the light grew brighter and less roseate. The mist drew away, until it covered only the distant sea far to the south.

The sun warmed the night chill out of the air and dried the heavy dew from the foliage lining the cobblestones of the road. Jurard and Hanus slowed their pace until they were several strides behind me. I glanced back once, and they nodded at me, walking shoulder to shoulder like good merchants.

I could see the torn up cobblestones ahead where Pollus and I had dragged the dead horse off the road. A rustling in the forsythia to my left alerted me and I stopped. Daedra Slayer’s blade flickered in the sun as I drew the weapon.

Caminalda appeared from the brush, walking unhurriedly toward me. The strong morning sunlight shone unforgiving on the deep wrinkles in her face, yet her movements were strong and steady, not hesitant and frail as they had been last night. Caminalda’s the rogue? She is certainly not moving like an old woman anymore. I kept my eyes on her face as I lowered the tip of my sword slightly toward the cobblestones.

In the corner of my eye, I saw Jurard and Hanus halt a couple of strides away. I clutched the scroll tighter in my left hand while Caminalda stopped before me. Her gaze moved over me scornfully, then glanced at the pair of disguised battlemages. “I’m afraid your journey ends here, travelers,” her left hand darted toward me. I dodged the green spell she tossed at me and struck her with the flat of Daedra Slayer. Her eyes widened as fire licked along her hip and wrapped around her slender waist.

I backed away and shook out the scroll, lifting it up to read the words on it. “Ha’la su’jat’a!” White energy consumed the scroll and swirled around me just as Caminalda flung a gold-tinged spell at me. I staggered and fell to one knee, Daedra Slayer dragging my right arm down, the weight of the immense sky above pressing me into the hard cobblestones. With tremendous effort that hurt my neck I looked up in time to see her step toward me, triumph on her face as she raised her hand for the killing spell.

A Dremora lord materialized from sulfurous smoke behind her, mace rising high. Footsteps to my left alerted me to the running approach of Jurard, a short sword in hand. Some part of me wondered how she had hidden the weapon beneath her civilian clothing. Caminalda spun to face the Breton battlemage in time to duck the falling mace from the Dremora. Her eyes widened in the realization that she had been entrapped, then she scowled and summoned a flame atronach.

Paralyzed by the weight of being, I could only watch as the two battlemages furiously traded spells with the aged Altmer. In spite of her advanced years, or perhaps because of them, Caminalda proved to be formidable against the two. Still Jurard and Hanus managed to drive her away from me.

A shout drew my attention west just as the burden spell wore off. Clattering plate warned me of a legionary’s approach, and I staggered to my feet. Pollus ran past me and charged Hanus, the nearer of the two battlemages. The Legion sword bounced off Hanus’s magical shields, but the force of the strike staggered the mage. I darted forward and seized Pollus by the pauldron, barely managing to yank him back before he could strike the Imperial again.

“They’re attacking an unarmed woman!” Pollus shouted at me, breaking free of my grip. I ran around to block his advance, locking gazes with him.

“Caminalda’s the rogue mage!” I matched his battle tone, placing my left hand flat on his chestplate and shoving him back. “The others are Mages Guild!”

Pollus stared at me as the magical battle raged furiously beyond. “Are you certain, Julian?”

“Caminalda attacked me,” I stepped forward, trying to increase the distance between Pollus and the mages. “And I’m Mages Guild, too! Carahil sent us!”

The sudden silence behind me drew my head around. Hanus knelt on one knee, blood dripping down his left thigh onto the cobblestones. Jurard was still standing, but the skin on the right side of her face was blue with frost burn, and she was visibly shaking. At her feet, I spotted the blue velvet of Caminalda sprawled motionless in the road.

I turned away from Pollus and moved to Hanus. “Let me see,” I said to him. He grunted when I traced the blood to a parallel set of gashes in his left side, his linen shirt fluttering with every ragged breath he drew. Someone’s clannfear. I placed my hand over the wound and concentrated. Energy passed from me to him, and the gashes closed beneath my fingers.

“Thanks, Julian,” Hanus gasped as he staggered to his feet. I glanced over at Jurard. A quick peek at my magicka indicated I still had enough for another convalescence spell. I moved to her side and gently touched her face. Another surge of the healing energy restored color to her face and stilled her shivering.

Pollus, his weapon sheathed, shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir,” he addressed Hanus. “I thought you were attacking the old lady.”

“That’s all right,” Hanus answered. “Until we knew who the rogue mage was, Julian was the only one we could trust with our mission.” He knelt beside the Altmer’s body. “But Caminalda revealed herself, and things happened too fast for us to explain to you, sir.”

“But Julian did,” Jurard smiled up at me. “And for that, we are grateful. Legionaries are formidable opponents, even without magic!” She nodded respectfully at Pollus.

“I never thought old Caminalda was the rogue mage,” Pollus exclaimed as Hanus searched the body. “She told me she was traveling to Anvil to see a friend.” He glanced from battlemage to battlemage. “How long had you been watching her?”

“Not Caminalda in particular,” Jurard responded. “We’ve been here since before the Gate opened outside Anvil. Hanus and I spent a few weeks searching the surrounding countryside in case the mage was hiding out there between attacks. We found nothing, so earlier in the week we set up here and started observing everyone.” She shook her head. “Not once did Caminalda let on that she could move like this.”

“She may be old,” Hanus remarked. “But she has years of experience behind her. That makes a big difference.”

I turned to Pollus. “Did you follow us, sir?”

He nodded. “I was concerned about you facing that mage on your own, Julian. I’m certain you don’t have that much magicka to go fighting spell-to-spell with a wizard, and you’re unarmored.”

I looked down at my plain linens. “I see, Pollus. To tell the truth, I’m touched by your concern.”

The legionary turned back to Jurard. “Forgive me, ma’am. I didn’t think you would be able to help Julian, that’s why I followed you. I never thought you’d be battlemages yourselves!”

Jurard chuckled. “We certainly don’t look the part, do we?” She nodded at Hanus. “That was the point. Julian was supposed to draw out the mage. Once he - no, she identified herself as our target, it was our job to take over.” She looked down at the body sprawled at her feet. “Though I admit this one did a better job hiding her true nature than we did!”

“She certainly played up the part of the stuck-up Altmer,” I added. “Fitting the stereotype makes it easy for folks to brush her off as just another one of those.”

Hanus searched the Altmer’s pockets. Recovering a small amount of gold, he held them out to me. “Here, take it, treat yourself to something.”

I shook my head. “No, I’ve got plenty more of that back in Anvil. You two did all the work, you’ve earned something nice.”

“We will, then,” Hanus pocketed the coins and returned to his search of the corpse. “Here’s the key to her room. We’ll search it, and give this back to Christophe when we’re done. Hopefully there’ll be something left that we can send along to the families of the victims.”

“Aye, that’ll be a good thing to do,” Pollus agreed gruffly. “And now the Gold Road’s safe again.” He nodded at me.

“And you can go back to your post, Pollus,” I added with a smile. “Report to your captain with all your duties fulfilled.”

Jurard turned to me. “Julian, will you report our success to Carahil? We need to clean this mess up and tie up loose ends. You’ve done well.”

“Of course, I will,” I answered. “I just have to stop by Brina Cross and get an apple from Christophe.”

“An apple?” Jurard’s brows rose.

“A promise I made before I came here.” I smiled at the thought of meeting that white stallion again. Will he still like me?

Posted by: Grits Feb 20 2011, 09:01 PM

Paralyzed by the weight of being is a beautiful description for a burden spell.

I love how the magical battle was fast and furious and largely unseen. The damage afterward tells us what happened. Pollus attacking a battlemage makes a lot of sense, since they’re not in uniform. This quest is so prone to screw-ups!

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 20 2011, 09:25 PM

The sun gleamed ruby through a misty sky
This is a wonderful way of describing the morning.

Larks sang overhead
The Fifth Legion sang overhead? Sorry, whenever I see the word Larks, I think of the Fifth Alaudae Legion...

That was a good battle, showing one of the oft-unappreciated spells in ES, the lowly Burden. I use a mod that increases the carryweight of people, so it is useless in my game. Hmm, I looked it up, and even in the vanilla game it is not much use. Drain Strength gives you more bang for the buck.

I also liked the legionary's intervention, on the wrong side! His logic was faultless though. Who would not jump to the same conclusion?

I smiled at the thought of meeting that white stallion again
She is going to meet Pappy? She needs to head to Bravil for that!

Posted by: ghastley Feb 20 2011, 11:04 PM

That all rings true from the times I've played it. Everyone summons something, and it's total confusion as to which side the summoned creatures are on. Especially when the summons are firing spells, the actors are firing spells, and everybody's half-hidden by the long grass.

And all loose ends wrapped up nicely. You've rescued a broken quest and made it quite believable.

Posted by: Olen Feb 21 2011, 12:21 AM

Interestingly this has never happened to me, and I've played the vanilla game a couple of times. I can see that would be annoying though, especially on the xbox where the console can't sort glitches.

I liked the description of burden, it's much more fic friendly than in game (where I find it doesn't really work), it was a good way to get Julian out the way and then have her in the right place. Her healing the mages at the end was a good touch too, it shows how far she's come on in magic that she can be doing that now.

Now back to Carahil who as I recall will be rather less elated that the rogue mage is dead...

Posted by: Acadian Feb 21 2011, 02:46 AM

A nice adaptation of the Anvil guild recommendation quest to fit Julian's story.

'I could see the torn up cobblestones ahead where Pollus and I had dragged the dead horse off the road.'
This was nice because it firmly set the location, reminded of who Pollus was and tied nicely back to a previous chapter.

'A Dremora lord materialized from sulfurous smoke behind her, mace rising high. Footsteps to my left alerted me to the running approach of Jurard, a short sword in hand. Some part of me wondered how she had hidden the weapon beneath her civilian clothing.'
Oh, I know! From the same place she pulled that Dremora lord!

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 21 2011, 07:42 AM

Very nice, tense fight scene here.

Crushingly effective description!

Argh! Don't let mALX see that, it'll just lead to more spear-polishing speculation!

Nice touch with Pollus coming in confused as to who's on what side of the fight, too. A neat little nod at the now rather famous bug in-game that resulted in passing Legion soldiers thinking that your Battlemage escort assaulted Caminalda, and not the other way around (as it was in reality).

Nit?
I understand you are at complete liberty to change things up between the game and the story, but isn't Alteration magic (which Burden belongs to) supposed to be a sort of golden-white? Green is Illusion.

Posted by: ghastley Feb 21 2011, 08:26 PM

I suspect a combination of a short Paralysis (for the knockdown effect) with a Burden that lasts longer and keeps the victim down. I forget what one is used when multiple schools are mixed. Is the first or the strongest?

Burden alone seems to just lock one in place, rather than make its target drop.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 21 2011, 08:43 PM

Well, wouldn't you fall to your knees if you had the rough equivalent of two giant bags of onions suddenly appear on your shoulders, without warning? That weight would be quite paralyzing on its own. This is especially so in this story, where I believe Rider is trying to communicate exactly what it would feel like for someone to become dramatically over-encumbered. It does a lot more than just root the person to one spot. Having such weight placed on your shoulders with such suddenness can send you to the floor easily enough without the aid of paralysis.

How would you react if I went and dropped a 100lb dumbbell onto your shoulders without you knowing it? It most definitely would not simply prevent you from moving, it would send you to the ground in a heap. Weight on its own is quite paralyzing enough. Caminalda also strikes me as one intelligent enough to know this, and would see the need to add a paralysis spell to the burden as redundant and wasteful.

That's why I pointed that out.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 22 2011, 05:03 PM

@Grits: That phrase you quoted was a momentary flash of inspiration. I’m glad you noticed it!

@SubRosa: I figured Pollus would not notice how well Caminalda moved after seeing her creak and stoop her way around the inn for at least a couple of days. When I played this quest prior to writing it, Caminalda used something that wasn’t Frost Damage. My PC dodged it, but it left me wondering what the heck that was. So I thought why not have Caminalda use something other than Frost Damage, especially after she hears Julian recite the Frost Shield spell? She was the perfect opportunity to demonstrate the unpredictability of mages.

@ghastley: I’m glad you liked how I fixed this quest, and how I made sense out of the things that confused you before.

@Olen: You’ve been lucky! Actually, it only happens if you have the MQ advanced far enough for the dead horse and that OG to show up (after the Dagon Shrine quest, I think). It’s one of the regular Gates that always open, like the ones outside each town. I’ve done the MG questline before advancing the MQ that far, and no, the legionary isn’t there when you do the Anvil MG recommendation. If I recall correctly, you’re one of those folks who usually don’t play the MQ, so it makes sense that you don’t have that problem. And yes, Julian’s restoration skills have advanced a great deal since the early days. She can now cast convalescence twice in a row? Boy, I remember when just once left her depleted of enough magicka for anything more than a simple flare spell!

@Acadian: Thanks Acadian for telling us how Jurard came up with that short sword! You can tell that Julian and I are still stuck in melee fighter mode.

@TK: Thanks for bringing up the spell. It was something I thought up as the most effective way for Caminalda to neutralize Julian without killing her outright (as befits a sadist). I couldn’t remember what color the burden spells are, so I imagined green. But you are likely right, and I’ve fixed the spell color to make it more accurate. Still, I appreciate the discussion you and ghastley had about the spell. I had envisioned a simple Burden spell, and the weight of Julian’s sword dragging her down. Now granted she was traveling light, but I wanted something dramatic. It is likely that Caminalda has the skill and the experience to come up with the kind of custom spell ghastley described. However, Julian (and I) are not well-versed enough in the ways of magic to be able to analyze a spell beyond its immediate effects. So I’d say both of you are right. Thanks for educating me (and Julian) on that spell!

The Anvil recommendation successfully completed, Julian is on her way back to the Mages Guild. But she has a stop to make first.

**********************
Chapter 23.10: A Promise Kept

This time when I returned to the Horse Whisperer, the courtyard was empty. Only Ernest was visible, raking the packed dirt clean of droppings. He looked up when I stopped by the fence. “Hullo, Julian,” he greeted me. “Looking for Clesa?”

“Actually, I was going to keep the promise I made Blanco,” I answered.

“Clesa’s riding him down on the shoreline,” he leaned on his pitchfork. “Head straight west from here, you’ll see them. She’s been working him almost every day there.”

That explains the sand I saw on the two of them yesterday, I thought. “Thanks, Ernest.”

He grunted as he bent back to his task. “Don’t get why you’re so interested in that horse, Julian.”

“Because he’s not ripe, stiff and silent,” I teased him before turning for the sea. Ernest only growled at me as I walked along the fence. Past the stables, I struck my way across the rolling hills of amber seagrass that waved down to the seashore. It’s still warm here, I mused to myself. Not cool like it is in the highlands. Winter will likely be mild along the coast. I missed these warm winters, a welcome relief from the baking summers typical of the Gold Coast.

I squinted up at the mid-afternoon sun as I walked along. I’ll give Blanco the apple I promised him, then get my gear from Morvayn’s, pay him what I owe for the repairs. I’ll head up to the farm after I report to Carahil, just to see what needs to be done. Again the walnut of grief closed off my throat, again I swallowed it down. I must get it over with. Anticipation is always worse than the reality.

Reaching the top of the last hill before the sea, I paused to look along the waterline. The strip of white sand separating the seagrass from the blue water shimmered brilliantly in the sunshine. Now why am I looking for Blanco? Why did I make him that promise in the first place? It’s not like I want another horse! But I do - the realization hit me. I miss Paint. I miss having his company on the road. And Blanco seems to have the same kind of personality as Paint. But he’s a stallion. Stallions can be hard to manage, especially around mares.

I recalled how Red constantly jibbed at Jauffre’s hands during the ride from Weynon Priory to Cloud Ruler Temple, how he quickly wore himself out prancing instead of walking sedately along like Paint and Jasmine. But Jauffre didn’t seem to mind riding him. In fact, I think he rather enjoyed it. But the prancing can’t be comfortable to sit! I remembered how Paint had nearly lost me the few times he decided to bounce instead of ambling along. I thought back to all the war-mounts I had seen through my years in the Legion. They were mostly geldings, though some of the legates also had stallions they rode in parade review. But in combat, they used geldings. How can I sit a stallion during combat?

I shook myself. Enough daydreaming about a white stallion, Julian. Find yourself another sturdy paint nimble-footed enough to climb the mountains with you.

But Blanco is from High Rock, and that’s mountain country, too. But he’s probably too much horse for me.

Below, the sun shimmered off a white form gliding along the sand. I recognized Clesa’s slim form on the horse’s back. I took a few moments to watch Blanco move. He had a long-striding trot that covered a lot of ground between footfalls. It was so graceful he seemed to float just above the sand. He held his head vertically, his beautiful neck arching high out of his shoulders. His back was so short the saddle seemed to be sitting on his rump. His tail swayed behind him, resembling the breakers chasing him along the sand.

I realized I had been standing frozen to the spot when Blanco slowed to a stop, apparently of his own volition, and Clesa looked up in my direction. She waved, her teeth flashing brilliantly in her dark face. His ears up, Blanco turned off the sand and began walking loosely through the seagrass toward me.

I dug into my belt purse for the apple as they drew near. “Hello Julian!” Clesa called as soon as they were within earshot. “Come to see Blanco again?”

“Yes, and I brought him an apple, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course!” Clesa exclaimed as Blanco stopped before me. His lips quivered and his nostrils fluttered as he eyed the fruit in my hand. Clesa released the reins, flung her right leg over his neck and slid to the ground. Almost immediately Blanco lowered his muzzle to my hand, but he didn’t take the apple just yet.

“You have to give him permission first,” Clesa said to me.

“I’ll bite it into smaller pieces, then,” I proceeded to do so. He took the first bite from my hand with as much delicacy as Sparky did with his tiny hands.

“He really likes you, Julian,” Clesa sounded pleased as Blanco waited for his next bite, happily crunching the hard flesh.

“You mean he’s not like this with everyone?” I asked.

“No, he’s normally very reserved with strangers,” Clesa answered. “It took him a while to warm up to me, and here he’s cottoning to you more than he has with me.”

“What about Ernest?” I glanced at the ostler. “Seems to me that they get along well.”

Clesa chuckled. “Blanco loves to tease Ernest. I keep telling Ernest to stop being so cranky, it only makes Blanco pick on him more. He just doesn’t get it.”

“You said he’s from High Rock?” I asked Clesa as we worked slowly through the apple. “Why did you import a horse so far?”

“Horses from High Rock are much like the Wildeye Paints of Bruma,” Clesa answered. “Tough, sound, easy keeping horses with a lot of sensibility and a great deal of endurance. They are ideal for long distance riding over rough terrain. I like their intelligence and their spirit.” She ran her dark hand along his near foreleg, wrapping her fingers around his lower leg. I noticed her long fingers didn’t quite meet her thumb. “They’ve got a lot more bone than my own bloodlines, which makes for sounder horses that can take a lot of hard use.”

“And he doesn’t stare dumbly at you, either.” I recalled what I had said to Ernest yesterday.

Again Clesa laughed. “And that drives Ernest crazy!” She slapped Blanco fondly on his arched neck.

“Isn’t he hard to handle when you ride him?” I noticed that Clesa wore no spurs, nor did she carry a whip, as I had often seen with Legion officers.

“Not at all,” Clesa shook her head. “He’s very highly trained, he knows how to behave himself. Blanco’s so sensitive he knows what I’m thinking before I figure it out!”

“How old is he?”

“Eleven this past spring,” Clesa watched as I gave Blanco the last piece of apple.

“That’s past his prime, isn’t it?” I thought of seventeen-year-old Paint.

“No, he’s just hitting his stride now,” Clesa answered. “That’s the other thing about Renoir’s bloodlines. They mature slowly, and live a long time. Thirty years is not unusual for these animals. By comparison, the Black Waterside horses are aged by the time they turn fifteen.”

“So you brought him to cross with your mares?” I asked, holding my empty palms up for Blanco to nuzzle.

“Yes, and six of my girls are in foal to him, so hopefully I’ll have a nice crop come spring.” Clesa smiled when Blanco licked his lips in disappointment. “Want to try riding him?”

“What?” I stared at the Redguard ostler, then looked down at my linen skirt. “But I’m not dressed for it!”

“Oh, come on, Julian,” Clesa plucked at the loose folds of the garment. “That’s loose enough. Blanco won’t mind at all!”

I took my heart in my hands and nodded. Clesa took Blanco’s reins and moved to his head while I took my place at his left side. Hiking up my skirt, I placed my left foot in the stirrup as Prior Maborel had taught me and swung up into the saddle. Blanco waited patiently as I picked up the opposite stirrup and settled myself into the seat.

“Remember, keep your heels down, keep your legs long and loose,” Clesa spoke quietly, releasing the reins. “When you’re ready, take up the reins and kiss at him. Don’t squeeze your legs!”

“Won’t taking up the reins make him stop?” I asked Clesa. She shook her head.

“He’s trained differently from what you’re obviously used to. When you establish light contact with the reins, that’s his signal to move forward. The kiss is the signal to walk, while the double kiss is asking for the trot. Clucking makes him canter. Squeezing with your legs will make him bouncier in his movement.”

“Contact?” I wasn’t quite certain what she meant.

In response, Clesa tugged the reins until they hung in a loose arc from my hands to Blanco’s mouth. “Hold on to your end. Your hands are now the horse’s mouth. I’m going to take up contact, and show you how that feels to the horse.” She took the slack out of the reins until I felt the lightest pressure on my fingers. “That’s all the pressure you put on his mouth. You can see it won’t stop him at all. But by keeping light contact like this, you are able to signal very subtle changes,” she squeezed her fingers, and I felt the slightest tug on my hands. “If you must, you can close your hands into fists, or even use your wrists.” She demonstrated the different levels of contact. “Most of the time you will find that you only need the slightest finger pressure on him.”

“How do I turn him?” I asked.

“By doing this,” Clesa held contact on one side while squeezing her fingers on the other. I could feel the difference in pressure. “He’ll turn toward the side with the greater pressure, since you’re flexing him that way. The tighter you must make the turn, the further back on the outside hip you must sit. He’ll move away from the pressure. Don’t lean to the inside, though!”

“Outside? Inside?” I repeated.

“Outside and inside refers to the direction of the turn,” Clesa explained. “If you turn right, you are describing an arc, and outside the arc is your left side, while your right side follows the inside of that arc. It’s useful to think of the turn as a part of a circle.”

“Yes, I understand,” I nodded to myself. “And how do I ask him to stop?”

“Sit down in the saddle, keep the contact on the mouth symmetrical and light. He doesn’t need more than a squeeze of your fingers to get the message.” Now Clesa released the reins. “Ready?”

My heart pounding, I nodded nervously. As Clesa had demonstrated, I took the slack out of the reins until I just felt Blanco’s mouth. Instantly, he alerted, his neck and shoulders rising slightly in front of me. I could feel his back rounding beneath me, and yet Blanco hadn’t moved. Keep my legs long and relaxed. Keep my hands still. I smooched at him.

Carefully the stallion stepped forward, moving quietly through the seagrass. He kept his head up, his ears constantly switching forward and backward. After a few strides, I felt myself relaxing into the easy movement of his back. He’s like Paint in some ways, but different.

To my surprise, Blanco walked quietly without bouncing the entire way back to the stables. Clesa walked alongside us, making small corrections in my riding technique. When we entered the courtyard, I followed her instructions and sat down in the saddle instead of following the movement of his back. She was right, he didn’t need much more than that to come to a quiet halt in the center of the area.

“One last thing, Julian,” she said to me. “When you’re ready to dismount, drop the reins onto his neck. That’s his signal to stand quietly in place. As long as you maintain contact, he’ll be ready to move off. He will do that if you don’t release the contact and shift your weight to dismount. You do not want your horse to disappear from beneath you while your leg is up in the air!”

By Akatosh, she’s right! I dropped the reins, and Blanco immediately relaxed into that quiet stance, his head and neck dropping a little.

Once I was on the ground, I patted Blanco on his neck and handed the reins back to Clesa. “Thank you, ma’am. It was enjoyable!”

“I see that Wildeye paint taught you well,” Clesa responded. “But it’s time for you to move on. You should consider buying Blanco for yourself, especially if the paint is on loan to you.”

I stared at Clesa. Buy Blanco? “I can’t afford a fancy-trained imported horse like this,” I began, but Clesa shook her head firmly.

“I sell my horses at reasonable prices, as you know. My own home-breds go for about forty septims each. But you did us all a great favor, closing the Oblivion Gates and re-opening the Gold Road to travel.” She clapped the horse affectionately. “And you’ve still got a lot of traveling to do, I know. He’ll get you to where you’re going. I’ll sell him to you for forty-five septims, on one condition.”

“What’s that?” I still couldn’t believe it.

“You bring him back here every spring so he can breed my mares,” Clesa answered. “Without that condition, he’s not for sale at all.”

No. He’s just too much horse. But I couldn’t take my eyes off of Blanco. He turned his head and nudged my shoulder, as if to say C’mon, take the deal! We can have sooo much fun together!

I took a deep breath. “Let me think about it, Clesa.”

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 22 2011, 06:04 PM

Excellent musings about the pros and cons of stallions vs. geldings on Julian's part as she walks to the sea. Along with a riding lesson afterward. Sooner or later Teresa is going to learn to ride. I will have to steal it for then!

C’mon, take the deal! We can have sooo much fun together!
Sounds like the white horse is a blackguard at heart!

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 22 2011, 09:54 PM

What a wonderful horse-filled chapter! http://img337.imageshack.us/img337/9673/twolittlefriends.jpg sure do appreciate the attention to detail you gave them!

By the way, if you want a sure-footed down-to-earth horse with lots of personality, Beauty (the palomino) is your gelding! He's Missouri Fox-trotter, which they are very well suited to trail-riding and mountainous terrain.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 23 2011, 01:43 AM

A lovely day at the beach.

'Again the walnut of grief closed off my throat, again I swallowed it down.'
Very nicely put.

Julian is acting pleasantly girly here at the beach. Not quite so young and giggly as the 60 year old Mrs Acadian, but nevertheless a refreshing break to see Julian rather relaxed. Horse craziness is quite becoming on her.

'I took a deep breath. “Let me think about it, Clesa.”
Hmm. Something tells me that will be an easy decision for Julian!

Posted by: Olen Feb 23 2011, 02:00 AM

A good horsey section. Certainly it's an education readng these parts, I had no idea the lifespan of horses varied so much. On a similar note, especially as she's travelling what sort of distance is a harse good for (as a one off or day after day)? I know very little about them except that one end bites and the other kicks.

Anyway he seems quite a character, I'm not sure Cyrodiil is ready...

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 23 2011, 03:29 AM

Wow. I must say, I never had the problem of the Imperial Legion rider doing that. Then again, I just checked, and it's one of the bugs fixed in the Unofficial Oblivion Patch, which I do not play without, so I guess I wouldn't have had the opportunity for it to occur.

It's an impressive set of chapters, but especially well done in the way you handle the guard's bad identification of the real criminal on the Gold Road.

As for Blanco's starring chapter, I can't say much. I'm not a horse person, and rarely use them in-game. I've got a few places where they might be useful, but since I use Supreme Magicka, I end up leaving my steeds off in the wilderness or in the stables somewhere, since I'm a Levitation addict. But your writing makes it work even for a non-horse guy like me, and I appreciate that.

Think he'll say that after seeing a couple of Oblivion gates?

Granted, a guaranteed annual marathon of breeding would be something for any stallion, horse or human...

*The Captain quickly uses Levitation and makes a bee-line for Bruma.*

Posted by: mALX Feb 24 2011, 05:51 AM

Thoroughbreds are trained like that for racing, engage the bit and they're off - drop the rein and they stop. (and the floating feeling when they hit their racing stride). Somehow I knew Julian would end up with the horse, lol. Will she take a prized stud into battle? Uh Oh !!! GAAAAAH !!!!! Great chapters !!!!

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 24 2011, 05:04 PM

@SubRosa: I’ll be glad to help you teach Teresa how to ride when the time comes! And yes, he is a blackguard! I know of three stallions who have very pronounced mischievous streaks like this.

@TK: MFT’s are really cool horses. I’ve owned Morgans, who are very similar. The Morgan breed is actually the basis of many American horse breeds, including the MFT, Saddlebreds, Tennessee Walkers, Standardbreds, Quarter Horses (yes, Quarter Horses) and later generations of mustangs.

@Acadian: Yes, she is horse-crazy, and it’s catching up to her! And you’re right, not much thought is required for this decision!

@Olen: Lifespan is determined not only by genetics, but also by how the horse is used during his lifetime. Thoroughbreds start training as yearlings, they are saddled and ridden as two-year-olds. They are not fully mature until they’re five, so that kind of strenuous racing breaks their bodies down very quickly. I’ve met Thoroughbreds who have never raced, who didn’t start training until they were older, and they held up much better through the years. Seventeen for a race horse is considered old, while twenty is more common for a Thoroughbred who was never trained for racing (those are pretty rare birds, but do exist). By comparison, the stallions at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna do not start saddle work until they’re seven, and don’t begin the dramatic above-the-ground airs they’re famous for until they’re in their early teens. They keep working into their thirties. As for using horses, they are creatures of endurance. They can gallop for ten miles before becoming tired. They can trot for much longer distances (but the trot is more uncomfortable to sit for the rider). At a brisk walking speed, they can cover up to 40 miles before becoming tired. And ready or not, Cyrodiil is stuck with Blanco!

@Captain Hammer: Console player here, so I never will have the benefit of the UOP. Yes, stallions have it made - just ask any of them!

@mALX: Thoroughbreds are also trained to pick up the left lead every time. They have a difficult time cantering on the opposite lead. As for taking Blanco into battle, I think it’s more a problem of keeping him out of fights!

The next three segments lead directly from one into the next without a break. I’m trying not to leave you with any unbearable cliffhangers, though.

*************************************
Chapter 23.11: An Old Betrayal

The overgrown path wound between tumbled boulders on its way up the steep slope. I stepped out of the cool shadow cast by Anvil’s city walls behind me and paused to check the sky. Early evening. Sun will be gone soon. Still I knew the way and was confident in my ability to find my path home. My mind drifted back to the conversation in the smithy.

“Clesa offered to sell you one of her horses?” Morvayn chuckled. “And yet you hesitate? You who always wanted one for your own?”

“It’s not just any horse, Morvayn,” I examined the cuirass critically. It shimmered like ruby rain in the light from the forge. “Good work, Enilroth,” I nodded at the apprentice. He beamed at me and handed me the surcoat, mended and cleaned. The Kvatch Wolf looked up at me from the neatly folded fabric, slightly faded but still lethal of gaze.

“Which one did she offer you?” Morvayn brought my mind back to the conversation at hand.

I tucked the armor into my pack. “The stallion Blanco.” I looked up to see Morvayn and Enilroth both gaping at me.

“The High Rock stallion?” Morvayn whispered. “How much is she asking for him?”

“Forty-five septims,” I answered.

“Forty-five?” this time it was Enilroth’s turn to croak. “But she told me she paid ninety for him! Why so cheap?”

Cheap? I wondered. Forty-five septims is cheap? “There is a condition to the sale,” I shrugged. “She wants me to bring him back every spring so she can breed him to her mares.”

After a few moments, Morvayn snickered. “Oh, ho that Clesa! So that’s how she is going to get out of paying for his keep ten months out of the year!”

I glanced at the amused Dunmer. “What?”

“What use is a stallion when he’s not breeding?” Morvayn asked me. “Since mares tend to come in season only during the warm weather, and since one wants early spring foals, he’ll get bred in the spring, get all his ladies in foal, then he gets to loaf around the rest of the year.”

“Not a bad life for a male, when you think about it,” Enilroth returned my glare with an innocent gaze.

“So I should refuse the offer?” I remarked casually. For some odd reason, my heart sank as I said it.

“No!” both Morvayn and Enilroth shook their heads vehemently and in perfect unison. “A High Rock bred stallion is a valuable animal,” Morvayn continued. “And this one is trained by one of the top trainers in Tamriel. Mira Renoir’s renowned for the horses she breeds and trains.”

“I’ll think about it,” I gathered my weapons. “I’m afraid he’s too much horse for me.”

“Ah, not at all, not at all Julian,” Enilroth assured me. “I saw you with him earlier this afternoon. He took real good care of you. You’ll not go wrong with that horse. He’ll last you a long time, he will.”

I returned to myself with a sigh. A glance around showed that I was now halfway up the steep slope. That’s it. I’ll spend my pension and buy him. But I’ll have to warn Clesa that the Oblivion Crisis takes precedence, and if it was still ongoing come spring -

When I surveyed my surroundings for wildlife, my gaze fell on the tumbled stone blocks of Fort Strand, off to my left. Instantly all thoughts of white horses fled my mind as more powerful memories staggered my stride.

“Come on, Julian!” The handsome young man caught my left hand and drew me up the slope after him. “There’s no one there, I already checked it out.”

Still reluctant, I looked up at the ruined keep of Fort Strand. “I don’t know, Jared,” I still hung back. “Those places don’t stay empty for long.” I still remembered when the Anvil guard and the Legion cleared the fort of bandits just a few months ago.

“It’s the only place around here where we can have privacy, Julian,” Jared stopped to face me. “Unless you want to go to your mother’s house?”

I flinched at his words. A year later, it still hurt to think of Mother and Cieran. I had not been back to the house since that dreadful night. “That’s cruel, Jared,” I whispered, turning my face away from him. “You know what happened there.”

“I’m sorry, Julian,” his strong arms were around me. I let him press my head onto his shoulder for a moment before I broke away. “That was thoughtless of me.” He cupped my face gently in his hands, callused from years of hard labor on the galleons that sailed between Hammerfell and Anvil. “You do know I love you with all my heart, don’t you?”

My pulse sang in my throat as I nodded. “Yes, I know.” Ah Dibella, how I wanted him! But fear of the unknown held me back. “But I’m still not certain -“

“Don’t you trust me?” Jared asked, hurt filling his dark eyes.

I took a deep breath and fought to still the moths in my stomach. “Yes, I do, Jared. I - I trust you.”

We explored the ruin’s first level, then Jared led me to a high-ceilinged room with stairs leading up to a stone platform at one side. I was surprised to see a mattress spread out on the floor, heaped high with blankets. Jared used the torch he carried to light two tall braziers and a third wide and shallow one. As the flickering light grew and filled this corner of the room, I saw a flagon of wine, two pewter goblets, and a plate of grapes and strawberries on a napkin near the mattress.

I stared at Jared as my seventeen-year old mind clicked through the implications. “You set this up ahead of time?”

“Yes,” he smiled at me. “I wanted to make this special for you.” This time when he took me in his arms, he pulled me against him. The heat from his body suffused through mine as he kissed me for the first time. “There’s no one like you, Julian,” he whispered into my mouth. “No one else for me.” I melted against him as his hands began roaming up and down my back, shivers trailing after his palms. “I promise it will be memorable.”

Jared kept his promise. It was memorable. He fed me grapes and strawberries doused in wine. We drank from the same goblet, looking into each other’s eyes. He never stopped touching me, making my body ache for more. By the time he took my virginity, I was more than ready to lose it. In the warm afterglow, my energy depleted, my curiosity satiated, my body sore yet somehow fulfilled, I fell asleep in his arms.

I woke some time later to cold darkness. Disoriented, I lay on the mattress, trying to identify the familiar contours of my sleeping alcove above Morvayn’s smithy. Only a dull glow from the wide brazier appeared in my vision. I blinked and struggled to a sitting position. The ache between my legs, my nudity beneath the quilts brought memories back. Jared! Where is he?

“Jared?” I called into the silence. When I heard only a faint echo of my voice bouncing around the large room, I groped around. My fingers closed on the haft of the torch, cold and inert. After identifying the handle by feel, I crawled to the brazier and shoved the business end of the brand into the embers. The dying flames reignited the pitch on the torch, and I held it up to look around. Within the small globe of light from the brand, I saw no other living creature.

Puzzled by Jared’s absence, I found my clothes. Where is Jared? Why did he leave me alone? Is he all right? Did he explore more of the fort? What time is it? It must be late - Athesi must be so worried about me! I drew on my undergarments, ignoring the blood clotting on my thighs, the small spot on the mattress. As I picked up my skirt, I began to shiver from the chill seeping across my skin. Quickly I finished dressing, slipping my feet into my shoes. I picked up the torch from the brazier and found my way to the stairs leading down from the platform. The oaken door at the side of the room was still locked. He didn’t leave through this door.

It was still light when I made my way out of the fort keep into the evening air. I doused the torch in the patch of sand beside the door and made my way out of the ruins. Overcome by a sudden urge to bathe in the sea, I started down the slope toward the road that ran around the city walls.

An hour later I reached the harbor. I walked past the shuttered storefronts and warehouses, the ships rocking at their moorings. Jared’s ship, Hallin’s Heart, still remained at its dock, dark and quiet except for the creaking of its timbers.

Golden light and laughter spilled out the open door of the Blue Anchor. I thought again of Jared’s disappearance, and turned toward the inn. Perhaps his captain knows where Jared is. I straightened my skirts and smoothed my hair back from my face. I’ll just stop in and speak to him, then head for the point and go for a swim.

I stepped into the smoky interior of the tavern, my eyes scanning the faces of the sailors and wenches that filled the common room. Captain Rizhad looked up from the fate stones scattered over the wooden table in front of him with a scowl. His black eyes met mine with a start, then his gaze flickered toward the fireplace at the opposite side of the room.

I glanced in that direction and recognized the brown-haired Imperial girl who had always made fun of my name, my height, and my eyes. Her head was thrown back onto the shoulder of a Redguard sailor, his muscular arms around her waist, his lips pressed onto her neck. The green gem of an amulet glittered at the base of her throat with her giggling. Astia’s eyes lowered from the ceiling and locked with mine.

“Ah!” she exclaimed, holding her hand out to me. “Miss Know-it-all! Do you know how I got this?” Her hand touched the amulet at her throat. “He gave this to me because I am the most beautiful woman in the harbor!” Her hand touched the sailor’s close-cropped hair. He lifted his head from her and looked at me.

My heart stopped as Jared and I locked gazes across the room. What is he doing with her? With Astia of all women? Does he know she is engaged to another man? He held my eyes for an eternity before he smiled slowly. I backed a step at the contempt I could see in his black eyes. Contempt for Astia? Or for me? How could he leave me and go to her? The raucous noise faded away into woolen silence. Then a hand grasped my arm and drew me away from Jared and Astia, out of the tavern.

I stumbled into the night air and began gasping for air, sobs tearing my chest into raw pieces. The hand that had pulled me out of the Blue Anchor steadied me. “Julian?” the familiar voice barely broke through the silent ringing in my ears. “Are you all right?”

I blinked back the tears, not wanting Felen Relas to see them. I turned away from him, but he caught both my shoulders and turned me to face him. “Julian, look at me,” his voice commanded me to obey. “Tell me what happened.”

I could only shake my head, the tears flowing freely now. Though I remained speechless, Relas understood. His ruby eyes lifted to the stars above us. “That fetcher!” he muttered under his breath. “I ought to slip some snakeroot into his ale! That’ll fix him!” Gently he wiped the tears from my cheeks, then enfolded me in his arms. “Did he hurt you, Julian? Tell me the truth.”

“Only my heart,” I sobbed into his shoulder. But why does it hurt so much?

“Ach, that’s the worst,” he muttered into my hair, hugging me tighter. After a few moments, he released me. “Let’s get you home. Varel and Athesi are besides themselves with worry.”

“Don’t tell them,” I pleaded. Relas’s eyes darkened in a scowl. “Please don’t tell them!”

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 24 2011, 06:11 PM

Not a bad life for a male, when you think about it,
As long as you are one of those lucky few who does not get his balls chopped off...

Jared's love nest is an abandoned fort? Well I suppose I have to give him an A for the effort he went to in order to get it all set up. I would have just went for a room at the Count's Arms instead though...

Only for him to two-time her! Typical. Poor Julian. No wonder she had never had a boyfriend since.

Posted by: Olen Feb 24 2011, 08:01 PM

Agreed with the A for effort, the hotel room is far simpler.

It explains why she's quite so single though, and why there's only been Jared even after being surrounded (and probably rather popular) in the Legion.

I suspect an element is her anger at herself though. He was a sailor, and by the sounds of it said he loved her awfully quickly, which was all very dramatic for her younger self, but perhaps should have set off some alarm bells.

It's another bit of background filled in which explains her current self though.

Posted by: Grits Feb 24 2011, 10:43 PM

Jared, that dirty dog. Waking up in the dark like that, no wonder she has perhaps been reluctant to trust. What if the coals had gone out before she woke up?! I hope something awful befell him.

And that Astia. Grrr! I can’t help but think she goaded him a little.

The raucous noise faded away into woolen silence.
Made me feel like I was right there with Julian. *Grits storms off to geld Jared*

Posted by: Acadian Feb 25 2011, 01:35 AM

Methinks Morvayn is too harsh on Clesa. I think her motivation is much sweeter than Morvayn describes. After all, given Julian's profession and history with her last horse, who would trust that the valuable stallion will survive one, much less several years in the care of she who closes gates to Oblvion. I suspect that Julian will indeed honor her word, but against fairly formidable odds. Perhaps Clesa is wise indeed, but I don't think she is siimply trying to save a septim.

Julian's recollection of her time with Jared is bittersweet and painful. You did a wonderful job helping us to feel the terrible wrong inflicted upon her heart.

Posted by: Zalphon Feb 25 2011, 02:45 AM

I don't know, Acadian. Morvayn is fairly knowledgable.

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 25 2011, 06:25 AM

And so we meet Jared.

Now, as a man, I find the idea of going after one's, ah, family equipment to be a bit excessive.

One wonders, on the other hand, what could be done by eventually letting slip that there's not much to go around down there? Malicious rumors fly faster than the winds, they say.

Alternatively, hiring one of the afflicted "Ladies of Negotiable Affections" to visit Jared before such a "Seamstress" visits the Chapel of Dibella for a Cure Disease might just be the appropriate justice for him. The @$$-hole deserves it, and does a fine job of making 50% of the world look bad.

I am all for gathering up the guys and giving ol' Jared a piece of mind to let him understand why we don't appreciate his actions speaking ill of our good names. Preferably behind the Flowing Bowl. With my heavy gauntlets still on. Maybe call the dentist.

Posted by: mALX Feb 25 2011, 07:27 AM

So wait...because one boy at 17 years old was just using her ... and I don't minimize how painful something like that is to a 17 year old girl - but as an adult she would have realized there were bad and good men, and that she had just made a bad choice.

Now if she chose to turn to women from that incident, that would be understandable, but she couldn't have stayed totally sexless for 60 years over one incidence like that! Where's that girl that pulled the thong out of her hair? Julian, we gotta talk !!!

Morvayn can't be right, no one throws away half the cost of their highly prized imported stud just to save on the cost of a few oats, especially not when that stud would be endangered by Daedra where it was going. I can't wait to find out the real reason she is giving the horse away like that - it has got to be really interesting !!

Great Write !!!

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 25 2011, 08:02 PM

Ugh... what a typical man. Hopefully that will dispell any more rumor-mongering about Julian's love life. All it takes is one two timing idiot to shatter a woman's heart, and she'll allow another near it again. Given Jared, the Legion, and finally the Oblivion Crisis, I'd think Julian's very well sealed off that part of her soul with Adamantium walls.

Let's hope Julian doesn't find that guy now. I don't think the results would be very pretty.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 26 2011, 09:00 PM

@Sage Rosa: Jared wanted privacy in his wooing, and the Count’s Arms would have set Julian off. Even at seventeen, she knew all too well how nasty rumors get started.

@Olen: I’m sure there were a lot of men (and maybe not a few women, but I’ll let Sage Rose be the judge of that) in the Legion who were interested in Julian, but no, she wasn’t interested in them. Not that way anyway. And yes, she was angry at how easily she was so humiliated, especially in front of her arch-nemesis, Astia.

@Grits: I suppose something awful has befallen Jared in the twenty-nine years since that night. After all, he was a sailor, and sailors like him don’t hold up well over the years. As for gelding him, that is what the snakeroot is for (causes impotence in men). Kudos to Felen!

@Acadian: Morvayn actually has a great deal of respect for Clesa as a fellow merchant. He always struck me as the kind of guy that would see the humor in any situation. He’s the wisecracking corporal in the foxhole that tells jokes and one-liners while HE shells are dropping all around. As for her motivation to sell Blanco to Julian, it’s not something that becomes clear for some time, but we will see . . .

@Zalphon: see above. Morvayn is knowledgeable, true, but he also considers Clesa a good friend and equal in the haggling business.

@Cap’n H: I agree, Jared does a fine job of making 50% of the human race look bad. Fortunately, there’s more good ones like dear Matius et al to more than offset the likes of that bahsterd. Thanks for your vote of support!

@mALX: my dear kitty, Jared hadn’t seen seventeen in at least a decade at that time. As for Julian’s sex life since then, you seem to be making the common mistake of substituting love for lust. Julian is one of those people who doesn’t feel the need to have sex at the drop of a hat. Yes, kitty kitty, there are such people capable of living a long time without sex. They just find something else to do . . .

@TK: I prefer to think of Jared as not a typical man, but rather a typical bahsterd. The two are not necessarily synonymous. And yes, you’re rather right, she’s sealed that part of herself off pretty well. As for who will batter those walls down . . .

Now that the mystery of Jared is revealed, we move on to another facet of Julian’s past, one likely more traumatic.

****************************
Chapter 23.12 Eviction Notice

That was thirty years ago, Julian, I silently berated myself. Why does it still hurt so much? It’s just my virginity. Losing my family was far worse, still is. The stars above me twinkled heartlessly as I blinked away the tears that threatened to spill down my face. I found myself standing just outside the broken fence that encircled the abandoned farm. A waist-high boulder gave me a place to lean my hip against while I struggled to recover my self-control.

When my breathing steadied, I looked up at the cottage again. It looks almost the same as in my vision. But it’s been abandoned for thirty years! The scraggly plants enclosed by the fence belied the once productive garden that my mother had tended so painstakingly. Yet the thatched roof was freshly repaired, the door firmly closed against the night. Suddenly a faint noise reached my ears.

I straightened up off the rock. What is that? Laughter? Women? Now I saw the chinks of gold between the shutters in the windows next to the entrance. I reached for the remnants of the gate that still hung from its post. As I pulled it toward me, the door swung open and a man’s figure, briefly silhouetted against the lantern light within, stumbled out of the cottage. The panel closed behind him, but not before I realized he was completely nude.

“What -?” I could only get the one word out as he ran past me, his face averted. I stared after his departing figure, then turned back to the cottage. Just what is going on? Squatters? Prostitutes? I checked the katana at my hip, loosening it in its sheath. Momentarily I thanked Akatosh that I had thought to change into my repaired greaves for the hike up the hill, though I still wore the green shirt.

My boots scuffing the dirt softly, I made my way to the door of the cottage. Sounds of laughter, of good humor reached me through the weathered boards. What are they doing in my house? I could feel my jaw tightening and forced myself to take a deep breath, forced my fists to relax. I laid my left hand on the door handle and eased it open.

The interior was unrecognizable from my memories, with every square meter of wall covered in luxurious red woolen drapes, a plush carpet covering the worn stone floor, and a large bed occupying the center of the main room. The rich odor of wine caused me to inhale sharply. Three figures stood before the crackling fire in the hearth.

“Look at this amulet!” A tall Nord woman, her back to the door, held up something green and glittering in her hand. “What do you think it’s worth!”

The female Khajiit tilted her head to one side as she touched the gem. “Oh, about a hundred drakes, I’ll bet.”

The dark-haired Imperial woman spotted me standing in the shadows near the door. “Oh, girls, we’ve got company,” she smiled at me, shaking back loose tendrils from her heart-shaped face. The amulet clinked on the floor as the Nord spun around, her hand reaching for the blade at her side. The Khajiit pinned her ears back and hissed at me.

“What are you doing here?” I kept my voice calm.

“Welcome, Julian of Anvil, Hero of Kvatch!” the Imperial woman chose to ignore my question. “We’ve heard so much about you. You can handle yourself in a fight, eh?” She elbowed her companions aside and stepped toward me, stopping a few paces away when my right hand lowered to my hilt. Her bright eyes considered me a moment longer. “Hmmm, how would you like to make a little extra money?”

“Faustina -“ the Nord whispered warningly, her oval face moving from me to the Imperial woman.

“Listen, I’ve got a proposition for you,” Faustina ignored the taller woman. “I’m certain there are plenty of men who would jump at the chance for a night with the Hero of Kvatch, especially when she’s as exotic as you.”

What? My eyes narrowed at her, and I could feel my jaw tightening again. Me? Exotic? What, is she blind? Still I waited silently.

“See, we’re a gang,” Faustina continued. “We make money by luring men out into the middle of nowhere and robbing them blind. We target married men who are easily convinced that they will have their way with us.” She laughed, a brittle, tinkling laugh like shattering crystal. “Men are so gullible! But let me make something clear. We’re not prostitutes. We do everything on our own terms, and the men never, ever lay a hand on us.”

“Faustina, I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell -“ the Nord tried again to stop her comrade.

“Look at her, Signy!” Faustina did not take her eyes off of me. “Tell me a man can’t look at her and see how seductive she is in those leather greaves!” I resisted the impulse to look at my outfit. She addressed me again. “Listen, here’s how it would work. We spot a likely candidate in the Flowing Bowl, and you go in there and charm him. When he thinks he’s going to get lucky with you, then you tell him to meet you here in a few hours. When he gets here, you make him take off all his clothes. It’s pretty easy, by the way. That’s when we spring the trap and rob him!” She laughed once more. “The best part of the entire plan is that they’re so embarrassed, they never go to the guards!”

“That’s a nice enough plan,” I replied smoothly, feeling the pilus emerge in my soft tone. “There’s only one problem.”

Faustina’s smile disappeared. Signy’s hand gripped the hilt of her long sword, but she froze at a look from me. The Khajiit’s tail lashed as she hissed again, crouching and bringing her hands up. Her talons glittered in the firelight, but I kept my gaze on the Nord. Of the three, Signy seemed to be the only one to have the air of a trained fighter.

“What is the problem?” Faustina asked coldly.

“This is my house.” Now I let the pilus out fully. “I hold the legal title to this place. And the three of you are trespassing.” In my mind I visualized the shock on touch spell that had proved so effective against dremora mages. “Under Imperial law, as well as the law of this county, trespassers forfeit any right to their lives.”

“Well, if that’s the way you want it,” Faustina reached for her own sword. Signy’s blade rang as it cleared its sheath. “It’s three to one, Julian!”

Before she could draw her weapon, I took a long step forward, laid my left hand on Faustina’s shoulder and sent a bolt of energy sizzling through her body. She reeled onto the bed as I turned toward Signy, my katana leaping from its sheath. Already the Nord had her weapon arcing at me. To my right, the Khajiit faded into thin air.

Cacat! She knows invisibility! I hated those spells that caused the caster to disappear. Quickly I cast my detect life spell while I ducked Signy’s swing. While her greater height and longer reach gave her an advantage over me, I had years of training and experience on my side. I danced back to keep the Khajiit’s pink glow on the far side of my blade and to stay out of Signy’s reach.

The Khajiit leaped toward me, and my blade twitched toward the center of that glow. I felt the impact of her body on my weapon as something sharp sliced down the right side of my neck into my shoulder. Ignoring the icy pain of the claws, I stepped into the Khajiit, thrusting the point of my blade deeper into her mass. The spell shimmered away like rain spilling off the roof as blood seeped around my katana where it entered her abdomen.

Signy took another step toward me, her sword flashing in the firelight toward my head. I dropped to one knee and flung the fireball Berene had taught me toward her legs. With a twist of my wrist, my katana tore itself out of the Khajiit’s body as she slumped bonelessly to the floor.

Faustina reappeared at my left, screaming wordlessly as she slashed her sword downward. I tucked my knees against my belly and rolled to the side, away from Signy and clear of the Imperial’s amateurish attack. Some part of me noted how slowly Faustina moved compared to the Nord. That shock spell slowed her down quite a bit. But I’m still going to have to kill her. Before Faustina could recover her balance, I slapped her with another shock spell. With a groan she collapsed to the floor, shaking violently. I didn’t take the time to look down at her, but instead called on Domina Incendia. Signy moved her gaze from the convulsing Imperial to the voluptuous ‘fire-lady.’ I took advantage of her distraction to leap over Faustina and slip to Signy’s left side, tossing my katana from my right to my left hand.

As my summons began firing flames at Signy, I sliced my katana across the backs of her legs. Engulfed in a conflagration, crippled by my attack, Signy went down to her hands and knees. But she still clutched her sword, and she wasn’t giving up yet. Signy managed to straighten up and stab her blade in my direction, but I was already behind her right shoulder.

My grip now reversed on the hilt of the katana, I brought its tip down into Signy’s shoulder, angling it toward her heart. I felt it skim along the edges of her top ribs before something else stopped its advance. But by then, my blade had done its job. The long sword clattered from Signy’s lifeless fingers onto the stone floor.

The last of the magical flames flickered out as I staggered back, shaking from the natural adrenaline. I thanked Domina Incendia with my eyes as she shimmered out of existence. Faustina’s convulsions finally stilled, and she lay arched on her back, her hands frozen into claws, her bulging eyes fixed on the ceiling, the breath gone from her lips. The female Khajiit remained slumped in a growing pool of blood.

I caught my breath. Blood flows in this house once again.

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 26 2011, 10:17 PM

I was wondering if you were going to work the Sirens into this or not. For a while I thought not. But here I see I was wrong! A house people think is haunted would be the perfect place for their lair. No one would want to go there, and if people did see lights within, they would probably put it down to ghosts, and keep even further away!

Me? Exotic? What, is she blind?
Sounds like someone suffers from a bit of Teresaitis!

Quickly I cast my detect life spell
Here is something no NPC ever has the brains to do...

As ever, you give us a rousing cat fight (literally), as Julian takes on three to one odds. Good thing she has gotten so skilled at magic, and has a http://www.mustajoulu.com/sol/domina-web.jpg to call up to help her. Oh wait, not that kind of domina, unfortunately. Still, she was lucky that her house was not set on fire!

Posted by: ghastley Feb 26 2011, 10:50 PM

Interesting shuffle-round of the skills. It's usually Faustina casting a chameleon spell and disappearing, not Tsarrina, but this way makes a more credible fight of it all, and the balance between swords and magic on both sides worked well.

I'm just a little disappointed that Maelona and Gogan didn't get to turn up after all the danger's past, like they usually do.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 27 2011, 03:03 AM

Don't ever break into Julian's house!

See how everything goes better with magic? It's nice to see Julian continuing to integrate magic into her fighting more and more impressively. Here, she showed her skill with detect life, conjuration, good old destruction, katana slashin' and even some tumbling. She did well choosing the right thing at the right time.

Those ladies did have the place pimped up pretty nicely though.

Posted by: mALX Feb 27 2011, 03:19 AM

***




***


You seem to have totally misread my comment. I didn't mention Jared in it at all, nor mistake love for lust or imply having sex at the drop of a hat. When my first husband died I personally went four years without even thinking about ever dating again, so I know better than anyone what love is and that people are capable of going long periods without sex.

Julian made a wrong choice as a teen girl, (the guy was a jerk) - but why did that affect her ability to go on to a healthy relationship (be it with a man or woman) for well over 30 years? All I'm saying, is that seems to be an extremely excessive reaction.

Why wouldn't she have dealt with it? It comes across like she was so traumatized that it remained fresh in her mind - which makes the reader question why would she not deal with the issue, put it behind her, go on to lead a normal happy life?

I was trying to understand how you meant us to take that for the purpose of your story. It brings up questions because IRL if someone reacted that strongly it could reflect on them very differently than what you may be trying to represent in your story - and I didn't know if that was what you were meaning to portray.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 27 2011, 04:13 AM

Happy homecoming Julian! Wow, talk about a welcome home party...

So in the last chapter we see the worst that men have to offer, and now we see the worst of women. I do hope Julian saw a glimpse of Jared the Fetcher in Faustina. Fitting to give those loser robbers a slow and painful death, complete with the signature Kneecap a'la Julian! Ouch!

Looks like the Sirens have deceived their last man. Hopefully Julian won't have to deal with the Anvil Secret Service on the way out (oh, my... I totally didn't mean for that acronym to come out. ).

Posted by: Grits Feb 27 2011, 02:21 PM

This quest has never made sense to me in the game, but it works in your story beautifully.

She laughed, a brittle, tinkling laugh like shattering crystal.
I love what you did with Faustina. She’s instantly recognizable, but somehow she is even more herself.

I resisted the impulse to look at my outfit.
This is perfect. When another women is telling you how your butt looks in those pants, you almost have to look.

Signy’s last moments were impressive. A hamstrung, burning Nord still trying to get her blade in. That image is going to stay with me. Hopefully Faustina’s professional assessment that Julian is a hottie will help her accept the next compliment she receives. And the house is already redecorated, just a little bloody. It makes me wonder, what is Julian going to do with all of the red draperies? Uniforms for the Anvil Little League? Ball gown? Hmm.

I caught my breath. Blood flows in this house once again.
Dangit. And it was already a complicated homecoming.

Posted by: ureniashtram Feb 27 2011, 04:20 PM

Hey, Hautee! Long time no... See? Or something.

I finally caught up!

And I must say:




So Julian never had a boyfriend since that incident, eh? Quite understandable, seeing as there are fragile women than others. She must've been completely in love with that little good-for-nothing, mother-(beep)ing lame excuse for a man for her to be . . . What's the word, bachelor? A female bachelor for over 30 years!

Grr.. Must.. Resist.. To.. Damnit, who cares anyway?! (rounds up some homies and proceeded to hunt Jared down)

The pain of betrayal portayed here shows deeply how far it can sink into one's heart and how it can affect their persepective on love, so much so that some of the broken-hearted people cannot tell the difference between desire of the body or the desire of the heart!

...

Am I making any sense here? Never mind.


----

Chapter 23.12 Eviction Notice


Wow, that's a bloody homecoming. And I would hazard a guess that with blood being spilled on that house, old wounds are opened. My heart goes out for you, Julian.

Well, atleast she 'evicted' the Sirens from her home. I like what you did at the chapter name, BTW. Appropriate.

Posted by: Olen Feb 27 2011, 11:06 PM

Good part, and a good fight. I like how you only write the important ones because you write them well and it makes it more of a treat when you do and keeps everything fresh. Killing them all seemed harsh, even for her, though I suppose they had it coming.

It appears she has some interior decorating to do now, I doubt red drapes would be her thing really.

Indeed, I've never understood in game (or a lot of other places) why shocks don't put people down. Big ones (and the magical ones look huge) really hurt, and make all your muscles tired and your chest sore. Good bit of detail there.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 28 2011, 03:39 PM

@SubRosa: Of course I was going to work the Sirens into this! They’re squatting in Julian’s house, for heavens’ sake! Oh, and how would you know if an NPC has cast a detect life spell? Especially if there is a solid wall between you and said NPC? I think Julian would have been glad if Domina had set those tapestries on fire!

@ghastley: Maelona and Gogan are disappointed, too!

@Acadian: The ‘pimping’ of the old cottage is not to Julian’s taste. Some serious housecleaning is in order once the Guard is done with it.

@mALX: There’s more going on with the reasons for Julian’s love life than just Jared. Hopefully the next few posts will clarify things a bit for you.

@TK: Your comment made me laugh! As for the worst of men and women, Julian had seen ‘em all in the Legion. These three were old news to her. And don’t worry, we’ll hear about the Anvil SS soon enough!

@Grits: Faustina always seemed a little light to me, while the Khajiit was a wallflower. It was Signy that always gave me the worst trouble of the three. So that’s how I portrayed them in the game. I’m glad that came through for you. As for the red draperies, how about a bonfire?

@ureni: Welcome back! Remember that blackguard on the Waterfront? He reminded her of Jared. Take that blackguard and multiply him about ten times. That’s how smooth and charming the sob was. And at seventeen, still mourning her family, Julian was still pretty vulnerable. Believe me, she hardened her heart PDQ after that. I’m glad you liked the title for the last post. And we’ll see how right you are about old memories . . .

@Olen: I will say this, if those bimbos had had the sense to leave while they could, they would still be alive. But no, they had to fight Julian, even though common sense dictates that a Hero of Kvatch who has closed eighteen Oblivion Gates by then can handle herself against light odds like three to one in a fight.

Another flashback episode. Remember, Julian had just ‘evicted’ the Sirens in her family’s cottage, and blood flows once more. Now we find out the details of her mother’s and brother’s deaths.

*************************
Chapter 23.13: A Thirty-Year Old Sorrow

“Do you think we have enough columbine and pansies, Master Relas?” I asked, checking the sack on my hip for the umpteenth time. We were walking back to Mother’s farm. Deer had eaten Mother’s precious collection of West Weald plants she had painstakingly cultivated for so many years. Felen Relas and I had traveled to Gottshaw Inn to find seeds. A short walk along the Gold Road east of the mesa city had netted us several fresh specimens of seed heads and roots.

“Yes, it’s more than enough for your mother,” Relas said. “As a matter of fact, what doesn’t take in her garden can be used in potions.”

“How can we keep the deer away from these?” I asked. “I’d hate for all our hard work to be for naught.”

“Have your brother make water around the plantings,” Relas answered. He grinned mischievously at my grimace. “Deer don’t like male urine. And I think it’d be harder to get a cat or a fox to urinate there.”

I could feel my nose wrinkle and my cheeks burn at the idea. “Ugh, I’m not certain Mother’s going to go for that.”

“You might be surprised what she will do for her garden,” Relas squinted up at the sky. “Let’s hurry, it’s getting late.”

“Okay,” I agreed, already feeling the cool of night on my skin. “It’ll be good to be home again.”

“It’s the longest you’ve been away from home, hasn’t it?” Relas asked.

“A whole week?” I nodded. “I’ve never even had a sleep over!”

“Ach, those townies aren’t good enough for the likes of you, Julian.” Relas assured me. “I think you scare them sometimes.”

“I scare them?” I glanced at the older Dunmer. “Then why do they make fun of me all the time?”

“It’s because they don’t know what to make of you, Julian,” Relas met my gaze. “You don’t fit neatly into any of the stereotypes they have of Redguards. You’re tall for your age. Your hair is straight like an Altmer’s. Your eyes are light colored, not brown or black like most Redguards.”

“And there’s the fact that my father abandoned us when I was still a baby,” I could not hide the bitterness in my voice.

“He did not abandon you, Julian,” Relas contradicted me. I stopped in the middle of the dusty path leading up the steep hill.

“You knew my father?”

Relas stopped a few paces away and turned his gaze toward the mouth of the Strid and the sea beyond. “I promised your mother never to speak of him, but those things the town kids are saying about him are untrue. Believe me.”

I walked toward him. “Why does Mother never speak of my father?”

“That is for her to tell you, Julian,” Relas did not meet my gaze, but turned back to the path and the climb to the farm. “It’s not my place to say anything about him.”

We walked on in silence as the last of the sunlight faded from the western sky behind us. The double moons hung heavy in front of us when we finally reached the top of the bluff and turned for the small cottage some distance away.

“Why is it dark?” I asked as we drew near the gate. No smoke rose from the chimney, either. Then I noticed the trampled plants in my mother’s garden, the uprooted shrubs. “Have the deer come back?” I exclaimed softly.

Relas’s arm stopped me from entering the garden. His gaze was on the ground, darting here and there. “It was no deer,” he said softly, his voice cold like the riptide. I followed his gaze back to the cottage, and realized the door was ajar, hanging off broken hinges. “Stay back,” Relas said, spiking his left hand into the air. Between us and the cottage, a faint shimmer coalesced into a wraith. At a gesture from Relas’s fingers, the ancestor spirit floated through the door of the cottage.

No sound came from inside for several moments, then we heard the sound of the spell dissipating. I dropped the bag and darted forward, entering the cottage before Relas could stop me.

The smell struck me as I stood within the dark interior. Metallic, like cold iron. Foul, like an overflowing privy. Then I heard an odd buzzing sound.

Green light bloomed from behind me. I looked back to see Relas, his face even greener in the cast of the starlight spell. His gaze roamed the cottage, then widened at something. He reached for me, but I turned back toward the fireplace.

In the dim green glow, dark chunks lay everywhere, black splatters covering the walls and floor of the main room. The table where we ate our meals, where Mother prepared her ingredients for sale, was tipped over on its side. One chair lay half-burned in the hearth, two others were broken into bits and scattered around the floor.

“Julian, come outside,” Relas’s voice sent a shiver up my spine. “Now.”

I ignored him, trying to make sense of the strange things before me. Then I saw my mother’s face, eye sockets empty, hair spread in a wild spray from a torn scalp. There was nothing attached to her neck. An arm rested nearby, the healed scars on its wrist marking it as Cieran’s right limb. The air rushed out of my chest when I realized the chunks were pieces of flesh, of limbs and bodies, and the black splatters were blood. Moving specks proved to be flesh flies, the origin of the buzzing, and they were everywhere.

“Mother?” I muttered, my voice strangling my breathing. “Cieran?”

“Julian, out,” Relas took hold of my arm and drew me implacably after him. I struggled against him, trying to remain in the cottage, trying to make sense of the carnage within. A high-pitched sound filled my ears and blocked out all other sound.

Then we were outside, and I was screaming. We reached the gate before my knees gave way and I fell beside the abandoned sack. My stomach heaved, and I stopped keening as the remains of a road supper left my body and landed on the ground.

Relas knelt beside me, his arms around my shoulders as my gagging gave way to sobbing.

The pain in my neck and shoulder from the Khajiit’s scratches brought me back to the present. I found myself facing the fire, and touched the wounds to send healing energy into them.

“Julian?” The voice at the door whipped my head and my katana toward the front of the house. Felen Relas stepped into the light, his gaze on the three bodies on the floor. “Are you all right?” His eyes lifted to meet mine. I shook the memories away.

“Master, you always show up just a little too late,” I muttered, slumping onto the edge of the wide bed facing the fire. I wiped my katana clean with the refresh spell and sheathed it.

“I’m sorry, Julian,” Relas’s voice remained calm, imperturbable. “But you know I’m no fighter. I wouldn’t be of any use in such a situation as this.”

I twisted around to look at him over my shoulder. “Long time no see, Master.”

“Call me Felen, we’re equals now. I kept missing you, Julian,” Relas smiled crookedly at me. “Finally I went to see Morvayn. He told me you had received the title to this farm, and were going up to look at it.” He frowned slightly, his gaze steady on my face. “I have to admit I was a little concerned about you being here alone.”

I looked around the place. “This is nothing like I remember it,” I said quietly. My gaze moved to the floor at my feet, and I saw the necklace Signy had been holding. I reached down and picked it up. This looks familiar. A green gem set in an elaborate gold filigree setting hung from a delicate golden chain. The image of Astia in Jared’s arms, his lips on her neck, the green gem at the base of her throat, superimposed on the gem in my hand. This is Astia’s amulet? The one Jared gave her?

“Where is Astia Calventia now?” I asked out loud.

“What?” Relas stepped over the bodies to sit on the bed next to me. “Astia? She’s still living in Anvil. Married to Pinarus Inventius now.”

“Jared left her, too?” I muttered, more to myself than for Relas’s benefit.

“Of course,” Relas nodded. He plucked the amulet from my fingers. “She hasn’t worn this for thirty years. Wonder how it ended up here?”

I recalled the nude man who had fled the scene. “I wonder if that was Pinarus -“ Quickly I explained the events to my old friend. He hefted the amulet in his palm thoughtfully.

“Pinarus must have taken this from his wife’s jewelry box,” he mused. “I wonder who else gave these women their valuables.”

“Well,” I reclaimed the amulet and dropped it onto the table next to the bed. “I suppose I’d better report this to the guard, then see about getting those bodies taken care of.” I rose to my feet. “I’m tired and am looking forward to bed at the Mages Guild tonight. Care to accompany me to the guard barracks?”

“Of course, Julian.” As I expected, Relas didn’t hesitate. I banked the fire, then we headed back out into the chilly night. We were silent as we started down the overgrown path. My thoughts returned to that horrible night when my childhood ended.

I was still sobbing violently when Relas drew me up to my feet. Supporting me with an arm around my shoulders, he walked me down the hill. When we reached Northgate, one of the two guards on duty outside ran toward us. “Master Relas! Miss Julian!” He looked from the alchemist to me. “What happened?”

“I’m taking her to the chapterhouse first,” Relas’s grim voice matched my grief. “Please have the captain of the guard meet me there.”

The guardsman nodded curtly and ran through the open gates ahead of us, turning right toward the barracks. I stumbled across the Guild Plaza, blind to the city around me as we moved toward the building marked with the banner of the Mages Guild.

“Felen!” a woman called from Morvayn’s shop door. “What is wrong?”

“Get Varel and meet us in the chapterhouse, Athesi,” Relas responded over his shoulder, not faltering in his stride. “It’s urgent.”

When we entered the lobby, Master Wizard Traven stepped out of the sitting room at the sound of my sobs. “What happened?”

Relas didn’t answer, but instead led me into his workroom, where he set me down behind the counter. He poured a small amount of golden brandy into a glass cup, then held it to my lips. “Drink it, Julian,” he commanded, just as Athesi and Morvayn rushed into the lobby.

The liquid burned my throat, causing me to splutter and gasp, but it stopped my hysterics. Though the tears still flowed freely down my cheeks, I could breathe again. I closed my eyes and slumped my shoulders. I sensed Relas turn away from me, the quick steps that indicated Carahil’s arrival.

“Julian’s mother and brother are dead,” Relas said quietly. “The cottage is a charnel house. There is Goblin sign everywhere.”

The oppressive silence opened my heavy eyelids. I looked up to see Traven staring at Relas, his face paler than the alchemist’s ancestor spirit. Carahil’s green eyes were nearly black and her lips were parted in shock. Athesi had clutched Morvayn’s arm, their skin turned ashen. Her wide ruby eyes shifted from Relas to me, then she rushed to my side, kneeling beside the chair and throwing her arms around me. “Oh, Julian!” Her voice caught, triggering more sobbing on my part.

“I’ve sent for the captain of the guard,” Relas continued, his voice drifting as he herded the others out into the lobby. “It’s a terrible mess, and Julian saw what was left -“ his voice faded away as they stepped outside.

Already I was feeling the effect of the strong drink. It numbed my heart enough that my sobs were quiet. Still the grief was overpowering. Athesi rocked me in her arms, her hands pressing my cheek onto her thin shoulder, as if I was a small child again rather than a nearly seventeen-year old woman.

She stayed with me while the others, Master Wizard Traven, Relas, Carahil, and Morvayn went to the old Gweden farm with the guard captain and a few of the off-duty guards. It was dawn when they returned, the mages’s faces haggard and drawn, and Morvayn grim as I had never seen him before. Carahil sat with me, encouraging me to drink some soothing potion while Morvayn and Athesi murmured in the lobby. I could not hear what they said, but I could hear the agreement in Traven and Relas’s voices. Then Athesi was back.

“Julian,” she drew me up out of the chair and enfolded me again in her arms. “You’ll be staying with us at least until you reach your majority. We’ll be your parents as long as you want us.”

I looked from her to Morvayn. His jaw tight, the smith nodded. “I don’t think you want to go back to that farm for a while, Julian,” he managed to choke out.

My own throat closing again, I could only nod in agreement.

“What are you going to do with the farm, Julian?” Relas’s question brought me back to the present with a start. I looked up to see we had passed Fort Strand and were nearly at the bottom of the slope.

“When this crisis is over,” I hunched my shoulders against the cold night, “I plan to enter the University and study alchemy and restoration. I’m thinking of coming back here to restore Mother’s garden after a year or so.”

“You’re going to be an alchemist?” Relas’s brows lifted in surprise. “So all my attempts to interest you weren’t in vain?”

I smiled at his gentle humor. “Seems I’ve come full circle, doesn’t it?” I stopped and looked at him. “What about my father?”

“Your father?” Relas repeated. “There’s nothing for me to tell you about him, except that he was a good man. He left you because he had to, not because he wanted to. That’s all.”

Posted by: ureniashtram Feb 28 2011, 04:21 PM

...

Damn. If this happened after what Jared did to Julian, then.. No words can describe what she must've felt.

This is one of the most powerful chapters I have read to date and I must say that the way you weave this chapter was very,very awe-inspiring but at the same time melancholic and gave one goosebumps!
--
Awaiting the next chapter, as always.

Posted by: mALX Feb 28 2011, 04:32 PM

Thank you for explaining that, I appreciate that. I wasn't wanting to push you into revealing your plot too soon, it just left me wondering.

I was tickled at how you revealed the siren's actions by having Julian witness the man being pushed out the door - and that she let them speak before revealing they were trespassing on her land - Awesome !!

The last line of that chapter was chilling!

***

ROFL !! - We use Fox Urine all the time to keep rodentia off our property, lol. - Why do I picture Foxy popping on here to say something about THAT, lol.

Oooh, the mystery about her father continues!

Heart wrenching scenes of finding her mother dead; shockingly well written, it felt like being there and witnessing it all.

This chapter was powerfully written, the feeling of having been through it lingers after reading it - Awesome Write !

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 28 2011, 07:07 PM

You can tell an NPC did not cast detect life because you turn invisible after attacking them, and they cannot find you.

Deer don’t like male urine.
Deer are not alone in this category!

A very intriguing little discussion with Master Relas. Hmmm, now I am wondering if Julian's father was an Altmer? Given the last line, I am guessing he was not the King of Worms, or Mankar Camoran.

Poor Julian, to have seen the horrors of that farmhouse. No wonder she never wanted to go back there. All throughout, it was an excellent flashback, showing us more than one thing. You are really good at using them to add depth to your characters.

his face paler than the alchemist’s ancestor spirit.
An excellent phrase!

Posted by: Acadian Mar 1 2011, 02:05 AM

Very powerful.

Your use of flashbacks is really effective, and the transitions back and forth are seamless.

Well, that fills in lots of gaps about Julian's mother, brother and history with goblins, then opens more mystery about her father.

Plenty of depth added here to Julian and several Anvil residents.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 1 2011, 02:23 AM

I echo above, quite a gut-wrenching read.

Well, at least we know her father didn't just run off to Stirk to drink his life away. I do hope Julian can finally figure out what happened to him, even if he may have passed by now.

Reliving that must have been especially hard. No matter what the Legion may tell you, you can never get used to death.

Posted by: Grits Mar 1 2011, 03:44 AM

That was so powerful, and so heartbreaking. The excitement over returning home, confusion over what she was seeing, and then the horror of recognizing her family by their parts. Moving back and forth between the flashbacks felt so natural. If Felen still isn’t talking about dad, well, he probably has a good reason.

Still think he should tell, though.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 2 2011, 03:39 PM

@ureniashtram: Thanks for the great words. Jared actually happened about a year after the events in the last post. Her recollection of those two events were reversed, because the triggers (Fort Strand came before the blood on the floor of her old home) occurred in reverse order. I wanted to convey the strength of the emotions that have kept Julian out of Anvil for so long.

@mALX: When I worked in wildlife rehab, we actually advised people to have a man urinate on the flowerbeds to keep the ‘coons and the deer away! I was smiling as I wrote that comment of Felen’s because I was thinking of you and Foxy! And if you ask me, Felen was the perfect person to say that! And I wanted to recapture the power of Julian’s vision in Chapter 15 once more here. I hope now that we know what that place means to her, it gives the message from Akatosh even greater impact.

@SageRose: Julian’s father King of Worms or Mankar Camoran? Uh, no.

@Acadian: You’ll have to wait quite a bit to have the mystery of her father explained. We won’t find out before the end of the MQ. As Old Habits Die Hard ends with the MQ, we won’t know all the details in this story.

@TK: Death is harder when it’s someone you know and love. And I’m glad you too felt the emotion in this chapter. I wanted to leave my readers as shaken as Julian when she lived through that (and relived it).

@Grits: Julian thinks Felen should tell her, too. But that won’t happen. Not anytime soon. Felen has his own compelling reasons.

Now things come back to normal. Sort of.

*****************************
Chapter 23.14: A Quiet Day

“Don’t worry, we’ll clean up the mess for you,” Lieutenant Varus assured me as we sat at the table. He offered Sparky another piece of orange while I sipped at my klah. We were alone in the dining hall, but Sparky had recognized Varus as a soft touch and hung around us while his master sat just out of earshot in the sitting room. “It’s the least we can do for your help with the Gate.”

He had stopped by the next morning on orders to follow up on my report of the three women. “Did you know that we’ve been trying to catch them in the act?” he added as Sparky munched on the soft flesh. I glanced at him as he sipped at the klah. “Maelona and Gogan were planning to go undercover and try to entrap them. The two of them are new in town and could pass as immigrants. But it seems you have beaten them to it.”

“I apologize,” I murmured. Varus laughed.

“Oh, they’ll find something else to do. Already they’re talking about the fight club that takes place every night on the docks.”

“They don’t want to shut that down,” I leaned back in my chair. “It’s what keeps the sailors from bringing trouble into town.”

“Aye, but Gogan thinks they’re luring young boys into the fights.” Varus caught my startled gaze. “And that’s illegal.”

I thought of Midave Sendal. “Yes, it would be, if they catch the organizers at it.” I shifted in my chair. “Well, I wish them the best of luck.”

“I’ll be certain to pass that along, Julian.” Varus smiled. “And we will take a look at what stolen goods we find. Perhaps we can return them.”

I heard the doubt in his voice. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“All the victims were married men,” Varus explained. “You’re not married, are you, Julian?”

“Never,” I shook my head.

“Well, maybe you’ll understand anyway.” Varus shrugged. “The one thing a married man fears is his wife. And if that wife were to find out that he was thinking or intending to - you know - with another woman -“

“I used to be a pilus, Varus,” I spoke with irony. “You can speak plainly with me. After all, I had to give my recruits ‘the talk’ many times. And I know which expectations are unrealistic.”

Varus spluttered a moment, then wiped the klah from his chin with a sheepish grin. “Ah, right,” he nodded. “Well, like I said, if that wife were to find out that her husband was intending to have sex with another woman -“

“And a loose one, to boot,” I added. “That’s further insult to injury.”

“Right,” Varus agreed. “Her outrage would be -“

“Unbearable?” I filled in.

“Unbearable may be putting it mildly -“

“Ah, yes, denial of services,” I remarked, hiding my amusement behind my mug. “I think I understand. These victimized men haven’t reported the thefts to you because they were more afraid of what their wives would do if they found out.”

“Exactly,” Varus nodded. “That’s why Maelona and Gogan were going undercover. But like I said, you beat them to the punch. So now we’ll clean it up and tie up loose ends. It will take a day or so before we’re done with the cottage.” He caught my gaze. “Are you going to stay in town a couple more days?”

I shifted in my seat. I really need to get to Chorrol. Sancre Tor is after that. I’ve been away from Cloud Ruler Temple too long. “I can stay a day or two, but I really should get going,” I answered finally.

“We should wrap things up by then.” Varus rose to his feet and tipped his mug at me before draining the last of the klah. “I’ll check with you when we’re done.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant,” I smiled up at him as he left. Sparky followed him out of the dining hall, and I heard him murmur something to the other mages.

Carahil entered the room. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said to me. “You’re leaving in a couple of days?”

“Yes, I should,” I replied reluctantly. “I have tasks to complete, and one more recommendation before I can enter the University.”

“So I shouldn’t expect to see you again until after the Crisis is over?” Carahil kept her green eyes on mine.

I like the way she’s thinking - when, not if. “Maybe,” I shrugged. “If I’m out this way again, I promise to stop in and see you, though. I’ve already promised Morvayn the same.”

“I’m going to hold you to that promise,” Carahil shook her finger warningly at me. Then she considered me thoughtfully a few moments more while I finished the last of the klah. “Go to Clesa’s and buy that stallion of hers. Take the time to learn about him before you leave!”

“What?” I stared at her, then remembered to close my mouth. “How did you know about that?”

“Morvayn told me,” Carahil winked at me. “And I agree with him for once. That horse would be a good one for you, what with all the traveling you need to do. And forty-five septims for a one of that caliber is cheap!”

************************
A short time later, I stood at the gate leading into the courtyard of the Horse Whisperer. Thoughtfully I hefted the blue silk purse in my right hand. Am I certain I want to spend all of my pension on one horse? I have so much to do with my mother’s farm. And there’s the house in the Waterfront. And there’s the tuition for the Arcane University, certainly it must be expensive.

Within the open-sided stable, divided into stalls within, one of the white horses standing one of the rear stalls picked his head up and met my gaze, his small ears pricked. He reached his head over the partition, past the gelding that stood between us, and fluttered his nostrils at me.

All right, Blanco. Be patient. I have money from other sources as well. I had over twenty-five septims I had accumulated during my travels, mostly from the Deadlands. That’ll cover my living expenses. I opened the gate and turned for the stable office. As I stepped onto the open stoop, the door swung open and Clesa stepped out.

“Good morning, Julian!” she greeted me with a smile. “What can I do for you today?”

“You said forty-five septims for Blanco?” I hefted the blue silk purse before her. Her gaze flickered from my palm to my eyes.

“With exclusive breeding rights every spring,” she responded.

“That can be a problem, Clesa,” I answered. “My first priority is this crisis. There is plenty of work ahead before Dagon can be defeated.”

“I know,” Clesa’s smile disappeared and her eyes turned grim. “I was there when you gave your speech in the Guild Plaza the other day. Believe me, I understand the immensity of the task you undertake.”

“I can’t promise that I will bring Blanco back to you next spring,” I continued. “I can’t even promise that I’ll stay alive through what comes next for me. But if the crisis is over, and I’m able, I will bring Blanco back to you.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Clesa nodded.

“One other thing, Clesa,” I added. “Why me? Why are you selling him to me?”

Her dark gaze flickered briefly. “Why not? He picked you. You’re the only one he’s approached on his own. That tells me he’d rather be with you than here as my stud.” I regarded her thoughtfully. That can’t be the real reason. But I can’t stop thinking about him.

“Then here’s forty-five septims, as we discussed,” I set the bag into her palm. “I have a few days before I have to leave, perhaps you can give me a few more lessons with him like you did the other day?”

“You’ve got the basics down,” Clesa remarked, tucking the bag between her bound breasts. “I suggest if you have no other plans today, to take him out and ride him along the coast. Get to know his walk, trot and gallop. Keep things simple. Practice stopping and dismounting. Then come back to me and we’ll go over what you need to know next.” She turned and opened the door behind her. “Ernest! Get Blanco saddled and ready to go!”

Before long, I was on my own white stallion and riding out of the courtyard. Clesa watched me go. “Don’t forget to breathe!” she called after me as we headed west, the morning sun warm on our backs.

Blanco picked his way carefully between the tumbled boulders. I steered him gently toward the high knoll west of the city, where a tumulus much like the Aetherius Stone stood. After what Erthor had told me about them, I was much more curious about these stones with the glowing red runes. It's daylight, though, and the stone will be inert. Still, it’s a good landmark.

Before long I gained enough confidence to let Blanco pick his own pace. He settled into a long-strided walk that ate the distance at a good clip. Blanco marched up the knoll to the bluff where the doom stone stood waiting for us. He stopped just outside the ring of smaller standing stones and stood quietly as I dismounted. I examined the tumulus, then took a few moments to gaze out at the sea.

I turned back to Blanco. His head shot up from the seagrass at his feet, golden stems poking out both sides of his mouth. His black eyes sparkled, his ears flickered back and forth, then he resumed chewing as if to say you caught me!

You are so much more mischievous than Paint. I found myself smiling at him as I walked toward my new horse. Blanco finished his mouthful of grass and nosed me as I patted his shoulder preparatory to mounting him.

We continued west, but I let him pick his way down the steep sea side of the knoll toward the beach. We turned to follow the coastline as it wound in a general northwestward direction. I asked Blanco to trot on the firm ground between the soft sand and the hard clay beneath the seagrass. He picked up the gait readily, his ears forward. I found his trot a little hard to sit, for he was much bouncier than Paint. But soon I found his rhythm and was able to relax into it. In response, his stride lengthened and smoothed out.

So this is what Clesa means by his sensitivity and responsiveness. I leaned back slightly, and immediately he slowed down to a walk, the transition so smooth and seamless it barely jostled my balance. Again I double-kissed as Clesa had said, and again he resumed the trot. This time I was able to maintain my relaxed seat, and had no trouble sitting his trot.

I found it difficult at first to keep my hands still, but hours of riding Paint with a shield helped me to relax my shoulders and elbows so that I could maintain a light contact with Blanco’s mouth and still follow the movements of his head with quiet hands.

A soft chiming sound alerted me to something along the coast. As I sat down in the saddle, I turned my head to scan the waterline. A nirnroot! I didn’t know they grew along the sea! I closed my fingers on the reins and Blanco came to a quiet halt. I dismounted and walked back the few steps to where the strange plant glowed in the late morning sun. I knelt beside it and examined it. It grew next to a clump of boulders, sheltered from the sea breeze. I remembered something from the journal article Sinderion had given me. The sea is a sizable body of water indeed. Gently I dug up the plant and brought it back to Blanco. He nosed it curiously, then pinned his ears back and swung his head away.

“Of course, I didn’t pick it so you could eat it,” I said to him, folding it within its leaves and tucking it into my belt purse. “Let’s go on, maybe there’s more along the coast.”

Blanco turned out to be surprisingly patient, and he soon learned to halt as soon as we heard the chiming of another nirnroot plant. It was mid-afternoon before I stopped and glanced at the sun. I now had ten of the rare plants. Suddenly I wondered if they would replenish themselves. According to Sinderion’s notes, they wouldn’t. I began to feel sick about contributing to their extinction.

What’s done is done. Maybe I can figure out a way to propagate these plants. Finally I turned Blanco’s head east. I knew from this point on the coast, we would soon strike the Gold Road on the highlands, near where it made the bend to run south back to Anvil. Silently I thanked all those expeditions with Felen Relas to collect alchemical ingredients.

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 2 2011, 09:55 PM

Varus? Give me back my legions!

The first part is a nice little piece to let us catch our breath after the bloodbaths of the last few posts. What struck me was Carahil (I ain't been dropping no eaves, honest! ). Suddenly now I see her, and her relationship with Julian, in an entirely new light. All thanks to showing us those scenes of little Julian scampering about underfoot at the guild.

Julian is paying for her living expenses with money from the Deadlands? Talk about irony!

That can’t be the real reason.
I keep thinking that too. Maybe Clesa is an old softie at heart and recognizes that Julian needs a friend right now?

I began to feel sick about contributing to their extinction.
This is why I stopped doing that quest with any of my characters.

Posted by: ghastley Mar 2 2011, 11:52 PM

Are you quoting Augustus, or Suetonius quoting Augustus, or Harry Turtledove quoting Suetonius quoting Augustus?

-----

So Maelona and Gogan were that late! Didn't even get into their uniforms this time!

I liked the Nirnroot musings, too. Nice way to bring in that quest and dismiss it it early, so it doesn't keep intruding. Although you take the whole plant with the Nirnroot, unlike the other plants in the game, I'd always played it that they grew from seed and took a whole year or more to re-appear. I'm betting that Sinderion will have his own theory about them.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 3 2011, 01:15 AM

Hello, Blanco! You've stolen my heart already, you have.

First rule about Fight Club, you don't talk about Fight Club!

I see my own horse (in real life, as well) is not the only one with imps in his eyes!

It's great to see Julian relaxing into Blanco's stride. Very important to have a confident, but relaxed posture when riding. It helps relax them and eases the weight they carry.

Nit:

I think you meant "is" here.

Posted by: D.Foxy Mar 3 2011, 01:33 AM

Ummm....just to point out that I think Husbands usually cheat on their wives with not loose, but TIGHT woment..

Posted by: Acadian Mar 3 2011, 01:40 AM

A delightfully gentle episode.

It was wonderful to see my mate Sparky again, especially as he enjoyed savoring an orange.

You continue to present Carahil in a very nice way, and one that I find quite agrees with my own favorable vision of her.

Ahah! I knew Clessa was a softy rather than an astute breeder. I applaud Julian's choice to buy the stallion. The two of them clearly belong together. What a pleasant ride near the beach!

Nice detail you lavished upon the Nirnroot quest with some interesting considerations.

Posted by: Olen Mar 3 2011, 07:37 PM

Good couple of parts, quite a contrast. I think that's partly why the flashbacks work so well, they offer some darkness and conflict in a fairly quiet section of the story. I suspect this is rather the calm before the storm though.

23.13 created as many mysteries as it solved, it was a very good part in showing what made her what she is though.

This rather makes me wonder. Who was he? Relas seems to respect him, but there's clearly something massive there he's hiding... I suspect we'll come accross more of her father.

the healed scars on its wrist marking it as Cieran’s right limb - this struck me as a bit odd, is there a reason we should know his right wrist would be scarred?

23.14 was good fun. I like Blanco, he's every bit as much a character as Paint was, but so different.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 4 2011, 04:10 PM

@SubRosa: I figured everyone needed a little break from the blood and darkness of the previous segments, and Blanco was the perfect little foil for that. We’ll see more of his personality emerge as they spend more time on the road. As for Clesa’s real reason, we’ll see about that.

@ghastley: Yes, Maelona and Gogan were very late this time!

@TK: Thanks for your endorsement of my portrayal of Blanco. Even more than Paint, he is proving to be quite the foil for our melancholic Redguard. I’m already three chapters ahead, and his role is growing by leaps and bounds.

@Foxy: ROFL!

@Acadian: So you think Clesa is a softie, too?

@Olen: Hmm, what storm do you refer to? And yes, the question of her father will be revisited. As for Cieran’s wrist being scarred, it’s only to identify one dismembered limb from another in that carnage. I’m so glad you like Blanco. Yes, he is very, very different from Paint. Just how different will be hinted at in future chapters.

Julian encounters one of the pitfalls of riding a horse who knows more than the rider. She also learns the cardinal rule of horseback riding.

******************************
Chapter 23.15: If You Fall, You Get Up Again

Blanco walked down the cobblestones, as relaxed as I felt. His ribs swayed in rhythm with his long strides. The sun shone warm on my right cheek, my left turning chilly in the late afternoon. My stomach grumbled with hunger. I knew Blanco was looking forward to dinner in his stall as much as I was looking forward to the same meal at Morvayn’s.

Suddenly Blanco’s ears shot forward, and his head came up. I felt his rump drop behind me as his head turned to our left. What’s there? Hrota Cave. But there’s nothing there. Right? The brush rustled, and I remembered the way Paint had alerted to the presence of the wolf the first day I rode him.

A tawny blur leaped out at us, faster than any wolf I had ever seen. As I recognized the sinuous movements of a mountain lion, I tightened up on the reins to halt Blanco, leaning back in the saddle at the same time.

What happened next caught both me and the lion by surprise. As the big cat crouched before us, Blanco’s neck rose before me, and I felt his back lift up, up and up. He snorted violently, and I felt his shoulders move forwards and upwards.

Fighting for my balance, I gripped his round barrel with my calves. His front end still impossibly high, Blanco’s hind end dropped down momentarily, then he bounced forward, still holding the rearing pose. I fell backwards, my feet sliding out of the stirrups. Desperate to avoid pulling on his mouth, I released the reins and slid off his rump.

My teeth slammed together on my tongue as I landed on my behind. Before me Blanco belled, still up on his hind legs. I caught a flash of his legs above the snarling cat, then he dropped his front feet down savagely on the predator’s ribs. With a loud yowl the lion rolled away, vainly trying to slash at Blanco with exposed claws. My heart in my bloodied mouth, I tried to stand and draw my sword to protect the horse. But Blanco reared again, pulling his front legs out of the cat’s reach. He struck again at the lion, landing another two solid blows on the predator’s body. This time the cat turned and ran back into the brush.

I stared as Blanco reared one last time and jumped forward from his hind limbs, slamming the ground once more with his front hooves for emphasis. He tossed his head and belled again, as if to say and don’t come back around here again! He snorted, then executed a slow spin on his hindquarters until he faced me. He stared at me, his ears forward, and I could almost hear him saying what in Oblivion are you doing on the ground instead of sitting on my back?

Blanco walked toward me and lowered his head to my face. I felt the warm fluid on my lips and wiped the blood away. “You made me bite my tongue, Blanco,” I muttered as I struggled to my feet. My behind hurt, but fortunately no bones felt broken. I cast a healing spell to take the soreness out of my mouth and from my rump. Anxiously, I examined his forelegs, and found a few superficial scratches on the front of them. Another surge of healing energy from my fingers closed up the wounds and stopped the bleeding.

Well, you are a lot of horse. And I don’t really understand what just happened. Do I return you to Clesa and ask for my money back? Blanco nudged my shoulder with his muzzle and sidled so that the saddle was in front of me. Are you hinting I should get back on you? After you just dumped me?

Instead of mounting him, as he so obviously wanted, I patted him on the neck and picked up the rein. We started down the hill, following the same path I had walked just a few days ago. Only this time no column of black smoke rose from beyond the trees, no clot of bloody thunderclouds marred the clear sky.

Blanco walked quietly beside me, occasionally nudging my elbow. He showed none of the insouciance I had observed earlier. Instead, it seemed as if he was trying to apologize for something. What does he need to apologize for? He just saved me from a mountain lion. It’s not his fault I fell off of him.

Ernest looked up from his raking when I opened the gate. “Julian? Why aren’t you riding that horse?” He paused as the stallion followed me into the courtyard with a dejected air. “What happened?”

Clesa ran out from the office. “Yes, Julian, what happened?”

“I don’t think he’s the right horse for me,” I spoke past the knot in my throat. “I think it’s best you take him back.”

“But I thought you liked each other!” Clesa exclaimed. Her gaze traveled over my figure, then her dark eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

I told her. She and Ernest stared at me, speechless. Blanco rubbed his head against my back, almost knocking me over. I turned and patted him on the neck, using it more as an excuse to hide my face from the others.

Clesa started laughing. I forgot my sadness and stared at her. She was leaning on Ernest’s wide shoulder, eyes scrunched shut. He looked as bemused as I felt.

“That’s exactly what he’s supposed to do!” Clesa managed to stop laughing long enough to catch her breath. “That’s why you should keep him!”

“Keep him?” I repeated. “But I can’t even stay on his back!”

“Oh yes, you can!” Clesa took me by the shoulder and turned me to face Blanco. “Get back on the horse right now!”

“But Clesa -“ I protested.

“Never mind!” Clesa shook her finger at me. “Every time you fall off a horse, you get right back on. Otherwise, you’ll never be able to ride again. Understood?”

I didn’t quite understand, but I understood the tone in her voice, the same tone old Carius had adopted when laying down the law to his recruits, myself among them.

Ernest moved to Blanco’s head and took hold of the reins. “Hop on, Julian,” he encouraged me. I placed my left foot in the stirrup, took hold of the saddle by the cantle in my right hand and grasped a handful of Blanco’s mane in my left. A moment later I was seated in the saddle again. Blanco tossed his head and swung his nose around to bump my right boot. This is where you belong.

At Clesa’s instruction, I asked Blanco to step forward. Before long we were circling the courtyard at a trot to the right. After a few turns deosil Clesa had me turn widdershins. As we followed Clesa’s instructions, I regained my confidence on Blanco. Finally she asked me to halt Blanco. As he had on the coast, the stallion stopped quietly.

“Do you remember how you reacted when that lion jumped out?” Clesa asked me. At my blank look, she grinned. “What did you do with your hands, your legs, your seat?”

“I sat back and tightened the reins -“ my eyes widened at the realization.

“If you had been riding Paint, he would have stopped. But because Blanco is trained differently, he responded differently. And when he reared, what did you do?”

“Clamped his sides with my legs,” it was starting to make a little sense to me. “What did that tell him to do?”

“It increased his impulsion.”

“Clesa!” Ernest growled. “Speak plainly! None of that fancy haughty echo talk!”

“Ernest,” Clesa smooched him on the cheek, “be a dear and take care of Blanco. Julian and I are going to sit down and have a chat.” She waved for me to follow her. I gave Blanco a final pat on his neck, dismounted and followed the ostler into the neat building.

Inside a fire chuckled merrily to itself on the hearth, sending a welcome warmth through the interior. Clesa pulled up a chair. “Sit, if you’re not too sore.”

“I’m all right,” I spoke nearly automatically, but still I took my seat gingerly. Clesa chuckled as she straddled the other chair and crossed her arms over its back.

“Impulsion is forward energy,” she explained. “It comes from the hindquarters and propels the horse forward. It comes from your seat first, then your legs second.”

“Then why didn’t the reins stop it?”

“But they did. They stopped Blanco from moving forward. So he went up instead. That’s what he’s trained to do. And when faced with a threat to you, he turned it into an aggressive action.”

“The striking with the front feet?” I asked. “I’ve never seen that before.”

“Mira Renoir trains her stallions to channel their natural behavior into something that can be useful in combat. And she breeds them for courage. Blanco is the product of six generations of careful breeding and training.” Clesa reached to the table and rummaged among the pile of books. She found the volume she wanted and handed it to me. “Take this, and read this. Renoir’s entire philosophy of war chargers is based on this.”

I glanced at the title. The Art of Horsemanship. “Xenophonus?” I asked. Clesa nodded.

“He was a paladin that lived in the First Era. He studied horses, their natural behavior, and how they responded to different training methods.” Clesa flicked her fingers at the book when I held it back to her. “Keep it. I already know it forwards and backwards. It’s helped me a lot with Blanco, I know it will be useful for you.”

I met her gaze. “Kind of like an instruction manual on how to ride a war charger?”

Clesa laughed. “Something like that!”

“Well, I still think he’s a lot of horse for me,” I mused.

“He’s a far cry from Paint, that much is certain,” Clesa reminded me. “But read that book before you decide whether to return him.”

“All right,” I said dubiously. I rose stiffly to my feet and gave Clesa a final glance. “I’ll let you know in the morning.” I tucked the book under my elbow. “Thanks for this.”

“Get out of here, Julian,” Clesa chuckled, pulling a parchment to her and picking up a quill. “I’ve got paperwork to do.”

I went back outside. The shadows stretched long before me, and Blanco, his tack removed, lifted his head and looked at me. He remained in place, though, while Ernest brushed him down. I walked up to them and rubbed the top of Blanco’s neck, ruffling his mane.

“Clesa thinks I just need to learn more.” Blanco tossed his head as if agreeing, then rubbed the side of his face against my shoulder. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

**************************
A/N: There is an actual treatise on horsemanship by a Greek named Xenophon, called http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/1/7/1176/1176-h/1176-h.htm of course. Though he lived about 2500 years ago, his observations and comments about horses and their training are still considered the basis of dressage.

Posted by: Grits Mar 4 2011, 06:11 PM

Blanco is amazing! He came to life right before my eyes. He is so expressive. I mean, I adore Paint, but… wow! Quick question. What does “belled” mean?

Posted by: Captain Hammer Mar 4 2011, 06:48 PM

Wow. I disappear for a few days, and suddenly I'm four posts behind. Time to rectify that.

I agree with Julian about the sorrow at the loss of Nirnroots. If only there were a way to propagate them, or conserve them. Too bad harvested samples can't be duplicated, even if there were such a device that could multiply any alchemy ingredient sample by 10... (And that Nirnroots won't get duplicated in such a chest is equally problematic).

I have to ask, why would Relas still not reveal to Julian the information about her father. Whatever Julian's mother's wishes, the knowledge of that time, and the secrets that she held, are as much the rightful inheritance of Julian as Gweden Farm. Have the years truly diminished her desire to know about her own father?

Lastly, Xenophon. While I'm the type of guy that normally doesn't throw in a real-world figure for something completely fictional, I do have to admit that this was a nice touch. I have copies of Anabasis, Symposium, and Apology on my bookshelf, and while my hobbies have never included horsemanship, I also have a copy of the man's work on hunting with hounds (Hunting with Dogs for those interested on a great look at ancient Greek hunting practices). Seeing a similar presence in the Old Habits story gives me a great sense of how old equestrian mastery is in Tamriel. I don't know whether you wanted to use the paladin status as a differentiation, but the real Xenophon was a supporter of Socrates and his own secular views (plus assorted deeds and acts) led to his temporary exile from Athens, since he was considered something of a bad influence and possible heretic.

Posted by: Acadian Mar 5 2011, 01:33 AM

What a delightful episode where Julian learns so much more about her stallion!

How neat to see him take on that lion. It seems hooves are a major skill for Blanco.

I'm glad it seems Clessa is talking Julian into keeping Blanco.

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 5 2011, 02:47 AM

Well, Blanco certainly showed what he was made of. It appears he was indeed trained in the Vienna school!

None of that fancy haughty echo talk!
Thank you Ernie, someone had to say that.

Xenophonus
Very clever to include the old Athenian. I wonder if he wrote a book about a going into the interior with ten thousand other fellas?

Posted by: mALX Mar 5 2011, 04:29 AM

In ETN you never need to worry about having to advise men to urinate anywhere outdoors, it is a religion around here for men to pee anywhere possible that is not indoors or made of porcelain. Don't ever drink out of any "Mellow Yellow" containers that you have let sit more than 5 minutes, for some reason the challenge of "making" into a can or bottle where the product may possibly look similar is a plus, lol.





I think the wives would be visualizing Lorena Bobbit, denying services would only come after they ensured he could not enjoy those of another first, lol.


Great Chapters !!!

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 5 2011, 10:20 PM

This chapter hits rather close to home with me... the very same thing happened to my mother when she was my age. She was taking ridership lessons when her horse spooked and reared. She made the same mistake Julian almost did, and it took her almost forty years to revive her courage to mount a horse.

She finally has put that messy ordeal behind her. Tackle your fears while they're young, and don't let them fester. Otherwise, they will dominate your life. Fell off a horse? Get right back on. Got food poisoning? Make sure your next meal is what made you sick (from someone you trust, of course).

Posted by: ghastley Mar 6 2011, 03:31 AM

I think Clesa's a bit mean, telling her to get back on Blanco. I'm sure she doesn't want to sit on anything for a while, even if TES's healing magic is miraculous.

Posted by: Olen Mar 6 2011, 11:44 AM

A good section. Clesa is right there, I've never ridden a horse but I know the sort of thing.

And Blanco is clearly the right horse, they barely know eachother and he's driven off a mountain lion for her. Once they get a bit of teamwork the deadra will be struggling.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 6 2011, 02:49 PM

@Grits: I’m glad you enjoyed Blanco. Yes, he’s pretty expressive. Part ot it is his bigger than life personality. But part of it is also that Julian is learning to read equine language. Paint taught her more than how to get on, sit down, and get off.

@Cap’n Hammer: This story waits for no mortal! (including myself ) Relas has a compelling reason not to reveal the truth about Julian’s father that supersedes her mother’s wishes. This is something that will not become evident before the end of the Main Quest, and OHDH. And yes, this is laying the groundwork for the next story! As for Xenophon, he is a very interesting character. He was there at some famous events, including the battle at Tarsus. He was one of the leaders of the Ten Thousand. He knew Socrates. He was a Renaissance man hundreds of years before the Renaissance! I’m glad you like that I paid tribute to the man.

@Acadian: Hooves is not Blanco’s only major skill!

@SubRosa: I was wondering when someone was going to latch onto Ernest’s comment! He just spit it out and I was laughing so hard, so I kept it.

@mALX: He he he!

@TK: Sounds like my mom, only she has never ridden a horse since! She wasn’t crazy about them to begin with, and only went horseback riding on a rental because it was a date with my dad.

@Ghastley, ghastley, ghastley: Getting back on the horse is the number one cardinal rule of horseback riding. Of all the times I’ve fallen off or been bucked off, only once did I fail to get back on the horse right away. That was the time I had to go to the ER for a scalp laceration after my gelding’s three of four hooves connected with my head. No concussion, fortunately. You can bet I was back on that horse as soon as the doctor let me! Yes, horseback riders are a masochistic bunch.

@Olen: It seems that you understand the intent very well! Unfortunately, at this stage of the MQ there are few chances left for encounters with Daedra. Battle of Bruma, hmmmmm!

After the excitement of the past few days, Julian finally has a moment with Felen Relas.

******************************
Chapter 23.16: A Memento of the Past

I sighed with exhaustion as I eased my aching body into the comfortable chair. Relas smiled and held a small vial out to me. “Here, have some of this,” he urged. Carahil glanced up from her reading while I tossed the potion back. The healing surge cooled the last of the soreness in my muscles from an entire day of grueling riding lessons.

“Thanks, Master,” I said, leaning back in the chair. “That hit the spot.”

“Felen,” he corrected me with a sly glance at Carahil.

“Clesa make you work today?” Carahil asked, folding a long finger into her place in the book.

“Who would have thought sitting a horse was so much work?” I complained softly.

“That’s what you get for buying a high school horse,” Carahil teased me. “But does that mean you’re keeping him?”

“Blanco?” I met Carahil’s gaze as Relas left the sitting room. “Why learn all these techniques if I’m not going to keep him? He’s the only horse in all of Cyrodiil who knows what I now know!”

Relas’s chuckles trailed him as he returned to his workroom with the empty vial. “You have to hand it to Clesa,” he called back. “She certainly knows how to work a sale!”

“Do you feel more comfortable about leaving with Blanco now?” Carahil’s eyes grew serious.

I nodded. “Yes, it’s just a matter of practice. I’m certain I’ll get plenty of that on the road!”

“Well then, when you come back to Anvil, I expect Blanco will be a part of yourself.” Carahil stretched her spine and yawned. “It’s late, so I’m off to bed.” She slid a ribbon marker into the book and set it on the table. “Good night, Julian,” she nodded at me.

“Good night, Carahil,” I responded. “And thanks for the recommendation.”

“Not at all,” Carahil rose. “It’s more a matter of thanking you for your help.” She moved to the archway leading into the lobby. “Good night, Felen!” she called, then moved to the dining room. I heard her bid the two younger mages to sleep well and to keep Sparky out of trouble, then her soft steps on the stairs.

After a few moments, I left the chair and headed to Relas’s workroom. He looked up from his crucible as I pulled up the old stool and perched on it.

“I have to leave tomorrow,” I began, then sighed, uncertain how to proceed. Relas stifled the flame beneath the crucible and poured its scant contents into a vial before he sealed it and set it aside. Then he pulled up his own chair and sat down across the counter from me, his elbows resting on the surface and his hands clasped in front of him.

“Yes, you must move forward,” he agreed softly, his ruby eyes steady. “Julian, I don’t know the full of it, but I do know you have an immense task ahead of you. Our recommendations and the Arcane University are like feathers next to it.”

I looked down at my own hands, similarly clasped on my knee. “I had been dreading coming here ever since I set out from Bruma,” I said softly. “But now that I am here, I don’t want to leave.”

“Anvil’s changed a lot since you left twenty-nine, almost thirty years ago,” Relas’s voice matched mine. “Many have died, of old age, illness or injury, others have moved away. The young Count married Millona Silvanus, then disappeared before she could bear him a child. Old Kyne lost her last child at sea, and wandered off into the hills, never to be seen again. Some of your tormentors, notably Astia Calventia and Pinarus Inventius, got married and settled into lives lacking in purpose.”

I glanced at him at the mention of my childhood nemesis. “I saw Pinarus this afternoon,” I remarked. “I asked him if the city guard had returned Astia’s amulet.”

Relas chuckled. “And what did he say?”

“Nothing, but his blush spoke volumes,” I answered. “Lacking in purpose?”

“All he does is hunt,” Relas responded. “Astia is always complaining that it’s an excuse to get out of doing any work around the house.” His smile turned sardonic. “She should talk. She spends the entire day on the harbor front painting the lighthouse!” He shook his head. “I have no idea how many of those paintings she’s completed.”

“There are some that would argue that the Legion is a life without purpose,” I remarked, shifting my weight on the stool.

“I disagree with that,” Relas said firmly. “I think it’s been mostly good to you, Julian.”

“Good?” I repeated, catching his gaze.

“You left here sad, feeling about this tall,” he held up his left hand, thumb and forefinger a short distance apart, “with nothing in the world to call your own. You came back with your head held high, brimming with self-confidence, and commanding respect from all you meet.”

I stared at Relas. He didn’t see me four years ago, when I came back drunk on the ship from Skyrim. But he’s right, I’ve come a long way since then. “I learned a lot when I was in the Legion,” I said finally.

“I don’t doubt it, Julian,” Relas shook his head. “But I have just one question for you.”

“What’s that?” I asked, when the Dunmer hesitated.

“Have you let yourself fall in love again?” He watched my face, and I knew he saw the flicker I felt. “Have you let yourself love a man since Jared?”

I inhaled slowly, turning my face away from his penetrating gaze. “No, I didn’t think I could ever -“

“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?” Relas asked gently. I didn’t respond. After a moment, Relas sighed. “Do you even know the answer, Julian?”

“It’s painful,” I said slowly. “I look at my mother. She spent every afternoon looking for my father. Every single afternoon, when the Chapel bells rang four times, she would look to the harbor. She loved my father, and yet he left her to live alone for sixteen years. And Jared -“ I stopped myself before my voice broke.

“But look at Athesi,” Relas urged me softly. “She loved Varel, and he returned that ten-fold. He hasn’t looked at another woman that way while she lived, and still hasn’t, though she’s been dead these past ten years. And I’m certain you’ve met many other happily married couples who have stayed together for many years.”

I shook my head stubbornly. “I’ll never be that lucky, Master,” I said.

“Felen,” he corrected automatically. “And luck has nothing to do with it,” he added. “Have you ever met any man that you liked in that way?”

I shook my head, then recalled the Redguard pirate. But no, it would never work. He’s a pirate, and I don’t accept the raping and pillaging they do for a living. I never let my tironii do that. I’m not about to hook up with a man who does that. “No, not really -“ I thought back through the years. Jelin? No, I regarded him as my mentor, nothing more than that. Camillus? No, not like that. He scared me more than anything else. “I never had the time to think about it. Right now, I’m just trying to think about getting through the day.” Blue eyes drifted into my mind, eyes as azure as the sky. What? Why am I thinking about him now? No. Not him. I shook the thought away. Don’t think about him.

“All the more reason to think about it, Julian,” Relas broke into my thoughts. “The man you love has to be one you look up to. Not necessarily physically, but in terms of his principles, his ethics. You can’t love someone you don’t respect.”

Yes, I respect him. But no, it won’t happen. It’s not meant to happen. Again I pushed the stubborn image back into limbo and met Relas’s gaze. “I respect you, Master -“

“Felen.”

“- Felen, but I don’t feel that way about you.”

“Whew, that’s a relief!” Relas made an exaggerated motion of wiping at his brow. I coughed into my hand before I could catch myself. “Honestly, Julian,” Relas grew somber, “I’m too old for you, and you’re like a daughter to me.”

“I thought I was like a daughter to Morvayn!” I exclaimed softly. Relas chuckled.

“Then consider yourself blessed to have two of us!” Relas stood up from his chair and moved to his desk where he kept his notes. After a moment’s rummaging, he returned with a small object wrapped in dark grey velvet.

“I’ve been holding this a long time for you.” He laid it on the counter in front of me. “Take it.”

I glanced up at him, startled. Relas was never one for giving gifts. “What is it?” He didn’t answer, only gestured for me to unwrap it.

The silver circle trapped my breath as I stared at it, nestled within the soft folds of the velvet. “My mother’s bracelet?”

“I found it tossed into a corner of the house that night,” Relas said quietly. “I thought you would want something of hers, but I didn’t give it to you right away because I felt it would only hurt you. I was waiting for your grief to subside.”

I shook my head, swallowing against the walnut in my throat. “It never really went away,” I murmured, picking up the bangle.

“I thought I would give it to you on your eighteenth birthday, as your mother intended to do,” Relas’s voice was just a whisper. “But you enlisted that morning, and left Anvil that same afternoon. By the time I found out what you had done, your ship had sailed.”

“She wanted to give this to me?” The tears brimmed hot in my eyes as my fingers traced the perfect curve of the silver bracelet. “Mother never took this off.”

“It was a gift from your father,” Relas said. “A symbol of his love for her. She never stopped believing in him.”

The metal tingled beneath my fingers, and glowed a soft blue. “It’s enchanted?”

“Yes, though I don’t know what the enchantment is,” Relas responded. “Try it on, left wrist.”

“Mother wore this on her right wrist,” I protested softly. Relas shook his head.

“She told me once that it is meant to be worn on the dominant hand. In your case, it would be your left.” He’s right, I’m left-handed, though I trained to fight with my right.

“Mother’s hands were small,” doubt filled my voice. “I don’t think -“ But the circle slipped over my left hand easily and settled around my wrist. I felt a soft thrumming, and it seemed as if the band shrank slightly to fit closer around the bones. “That’s strange,” I murmured to myself. “Maybe that’s the enchantment?”

“Who knows?” Relas responded. “All I know about it is that your father gave it to your mother to symbolize the never-ending love he felt for her, that it has some kind of enchantment on it, and that your mother wanted you to have it when you turned eighteen.”

And he held it for thirty years? Relas must have had faith I would come back. “Thanks, Mas - Felen,” I caught myself, meeting his gaze. “Thanks for holding on to it all this time.”

“Now you be certain to come back and see this old man, will you?” Relas patted me on my shoulder.

“Of course I will!”

Posted by: Olen Mar 6 2011, 04:07 PM

Hmmm, blue eyes... Memory isn't serving me here. Still it was a conversation she needed

That was a very strong line.

Then the unknown enchantment on her mother's mystery braclet from her estranged father. I sense the end of the crisis won't be then end of her story (or her adventures and just as well as I can't see her coping well with retirement).

I suspect we might be off to a certain haunted place next...

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 6 2011, 07:57 PM

I wonder what Carahil was reading? One of those forbidden books, like The Real Barenziah perhaps?

Why am I thinking about him now? No. Not him. I shook the thought away. Don’t think about him.
Blue eyes? It must be Gaius Vitellus! Seriously though, I believe Martin Septim has blues eyes, doesn't he?

Master Relas gives good advice on matchmaking. Unfortunately though, most women do not seem to take it. Instead they fall for men they do not respect, and most especially with those who do not respect them. Like Julian's blackguard pirate. At least she is smart enough to know that while her loins might want a bad boy, her heart has no use for one.

And finally a lightsaber magic wristlet from Julian's father, the mysterious Altmer. Like Olen, I suspect that this will play a part in Julian's future tales, albeit not her current mission of saving the world.


nits:
“Why learn all this stuff if I’m not going to keep him?
Just an observation, but 'stuff' sounds a bit too modern a colloquialism for ES.

I am a little confused with the continuity of Felen Relas. At the beginning he is in the same room as Julian, talking with her and giving her a potion. Then Julian leaves that room and goes to Felen's workroom, and finds him working there? Ahh, I see I missed him take the vial and leave.

Posted by: ghastley Mar 6 2011, 09:26 PM

I was thinking the same and then I checked back and found Relas’s chuckles trailed him as he returned to his workroom with the empty vial.

If we both thought the same, maybe it needs a bit of reinforcement?

Posted by: Acadian Mar 7 2011, 01:32 AM

What a sweet episode! Julian confirms that she intends to keep mighty Blanco and then shares some of her thoughts about men with us while talking to Master Relas.

I continue to admire the magic you weave with speech tags/actions that connect dialogue. My goodness, the examples herein are far too many to quote.

I shook the thought away. Don’t think about him.
“All the more reason to think about it, Julian,” Relas broke into my thoughts.
I loved the clever collision of Relas' words with Julian's thoughts!

Oh, I read this after the comments regarding Felas moving to his alchemy area, and after it appears you may have done some editing. Realizing I do not know what it read like before, Felas' location is very clear at all times now.

Not a nit, but a consideration?
'Relas smiled at me and held a small vial out to me.'
I submit this would be noticeably smoother without the repetition of me? Perhaps: 'Relas smiled at me and offered a small vial?' Or possibly: 'Relas smiled and held out a small vial to me?' Sometimes such repetition is difficult to avoid, but here, it seems fairly easy.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 7 2011, 02:23 AM

A very moving episode. It was great to see Felan passing on a family heirloom of Julian's. It was also most enjoyable they way you explored all of her flaws and gave a good idea what caused them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koI_73OHErw&feature=related

I also have a slight consideration for you. This sentence:


Followed by this sentence:
Didn't make much sense to me. The potion removed her of all (or most of) her soreness, but then it suddenly came back. Perhaps you should banish the iteration of "sore" in the latter sentence?

Posted by: D.Foxy Mar 7 2011, 02:25 AM

Well, it is clear that somebody made her benind sore again after she had drunk the potion...

Posted by: Grits Mar 8 2011, 12:48 AM

Blue eyes drifted into my mind, eyes as azure as the sky.

Could it be he of the lopsided smile?! Oh, I hope so!!!

A magnificent description of the enchanted bracelet. It made me so curious to know more!

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 8 2011, 04:01 PM

@Olen: Thanks for picking up on that line. I felt it was central to Julian’s still being single after all these years. And no, I can’t see her being retired, either!

@SubRosa: I think Carahil has read every single book in the chapterhouse’s library at least a dozen times! In game, yes, Martin has blue eyes. But in my fiction, nope - hazel, as does his father. And I knew you would think of Gaius Vitellus right off the bat, but nope, either. And I would hope that by her age, Julian would know better than to follow her - uh - you know.

@ghastley: I’ve put in a little more detail in the paragraph before, hopefully it will help people follow Felen. He’s a hard one to keep up with, isn’t he?

@Acadian: I’ve developed an aversion to ‘he said/she said’ and all its iterations. Sometimes it’s just unavoidable, but I still try! I’m glad to see that you find it so effective. And nit is fixed!

@TK: Watching the link on You Tube, I’m thinking http://www.rutgerhauer.org/views/ladyhawke/011.jpg is much sexier. Though mind you, he’s not Julian’s Mr. Blue Eyes, but mine! The irony of it is, he's not even my type, but I love him! As you like to say, nit be fixed!

@Fox: Don’t you wish you were the one that made her behind sore again? Admit it! Eye no da trooth!

@Grits: Lopsided smile? I went back through what I’ve posted to date, and there’s quite a few guys with lopsided smiles! Well, you’ll see (in about a month) whether you’re right or not! And yes, I’m raising questions at this stage of the MQ since I’m laying the groundwork for another story after this one ends.

This isn’t properly part of Julian’s story, but I thought those of you who enjoyed meeting Blanco might like a little background. I wrote this for a contest last year, but never entered it.

******************
Renoir’s Stables

Mira Renoir stepped into the stable, inhaling deeply of the aromatic hay. A couple of the horses whickered at her. The Dunmer following her looked around at the open-fronted stalls. “You keep your stallions here?” his voice was incredulous. “Don’t they fight each other?”

“Nay,” Mira smiled at the Dunmer’s ignorance. “My horses are bred to get along with each other. The boys are raised knowing how to behave in a herd situation.” She slid a sidelong glance at Marche Sudmeri. “Of course, I do take the precaution of keeping the mares out of this barn. But the studs are much happier having company.”

“All right,” Marche’s tone remained skeptical. “Let’s see this horse that Clesa is so eager to buy.”

“Blanco’s this way,” Mira led the slight Dunmer to the center of the stable, where a row of three stalls faced the double doors leading to the riding arena. “He’s eleven years old,” Mira continued, pointing out the sturdy horse who turned his head at the sound of his name. “Hello, Blanco,” the Breton waved her hand in a come here gesture. The stallion stepped slowly over to the front of the stall, putting his head over the rope barrier. He lowered his nose to Mira’s pockets, blowing softly.

“He’s small,” Marche complained. Mira shot him a look. Small indeed. He’s one of my larger studs!

“Oh, I don’t breed heavy chargers,” she stated flatly. “They’re slow, clumsy, unspirited, and useless for anything except carrying Nords or Orcs in tin suits.” She rubbed Blanco’s forehead in a circle. The white stallion closed his round, dark eyes and sighed deeply. “This horse is a real fighter,” Mira continued. “He is a weapon by himself. Blanco is one of my best, by Maestoso out of my smartest mare, Thaïs.”

“A weapon?” Marche repeated. “A horse as a weapon?” he shook his black-maned head. “Mira, I respect your reputation as a horse breeder and trainer, but a horse as a weapon?”

“Blanco and I shall demonstrate,” Mira smiled to herself. Opening the rope barrier, she motioned for the stallion to follow her. Marche’s astonishment was clear on his blue-skinned face as Blanco stepped docilely out of the stall, his nose at Mira’s left shoulder. As Blanco passed the Dunmer, Mira heard him blow hard, and looked back to see Marche brushing equine mucus off his blue velvet doublet with distaste. “Blanco, behave,” she whispered into the horse’s ear. He only flicked an ear at her.

They walked to the tacking area, where Mira quickly brushed the night’s bedding off Blanco’s back. She selected the saddle she wanted to use, a stirrup-less model with a deep seat and a high cantle. Settling the saddle on Blanco’s round back, she buckled up the girth. The stallion lowered his head and accepted the bit when she held the bridle up to him.

Slipping the long line through the near ring on the bit, Mira passed the line over the top of Blanco’s head, behind his ears, and snapped it to the off bit ring. Coiling the line loosely in her left hand, she chirruped at the horse and walked out of the tacking area. Like the good boy he always had been, Blanco followed her, the line hanging in a loose arc between them.

They moved out into the riding area, their footfalls muffled by the deep sand and bark that formed its surface. The sun warmed their backs, and Mira inhaled deeply of the High Rock air. Marche followed, and found a seat on the rail that delineated the limits of the riding ring.

Mira stopped in the middle of the ring, chirruping again at Blanco and feeding the long line out. Blanco moved out into a large circle widdershins around Mira, walking with his head down, taking the long, low strides she liked to see when starting out. Mira assessed his mood, the way his ears flicked back and forth, first at the Dunmer perched on the rail, then at her, then at the birds pecking at seeds in the arena footing. Noting the way his rib cage swung from side to side with each long stride, the way he traveled with his head directly in front of his shoulders, not canted to one side or the other, Mira nodded to herself. He’s feeling happy today. Relaxed, comfortable. Not a care in the world.

“Trot, Blanco,” she said softly. Though he was five meters away, the white stallion still heard her voice and picked up the trot, driving off his hindquarters as he was taught to. He settled into a ground-covering stride, his legs moving like metronomes in perfect tempo. His long tail lifted a little away from his rump, swaying from side to side, indicating his perfect relaxation. After a full circle, he dropped his head slightly and blew softly, chewing at the bit.

Good, he’s ready. “Canter, Blanco,” she sang out. His dark eyes sparked as he raised his forequarters and sprang into the three-beat gait, his back moving like a rocking chair, his neck arching higher out of his shoulders. He truly loves this gait. He would prefer to go much faster than this. Mira stifled the involuntary chuckle, but Blanco heard it and flipped his head, not breaking his tempo. His forelock shifted from the left side of his face to the right side, and his black eye sparked at her mischievously.

Mira brought him back down through the trot to a walk. Best not to tire him out today. She was anxious to show the Dunmer the rightness of her training, the suitability of her bloodlines for light chargers. She had grown up with these horses, learning the tenets of the training from her grandfather, the philosophy that underlay the idea that the horse could function in battle as a weapon, and be quite formidable. She had watched with dismay as heavy chargers became the preferred mounts for the nobles of High Rock over the past twenty years.

Mira interrupted her thoughts to stop Blanco and switch the long line to his other side. She worked him in the other direction, so he would remain supple and straight from working both sides equally.

Marche proved to be an attentive spectator, for all that he was overdressed for a horse barn. Mira could see the intent way he watched Blanco as the stallion moved through all his gaits, showing perfect tempo and forward energy.

Now it is time. Stopping Blanco, Mira removed the long line and led the stallion over to the mounting block. He stood quietly on a loose rein as she mounted, and did not move until she had gathered up the reins to make light contact with the bit. Giving him a slight nudge with her heels, Mira thought of the movement she would initially demonstrate. She needed to supple him first, before asking the more demanding movements from him. Mira knew Blanco had the routines down cold, but she preferred to have him warmed before putting him through his paces. No sense in ruining him before he has a chance to find that perfect owner. Keeping him sound now will pay off in the future, when he will be needed to keep his rider from death.

Mira moved Blanco out into a trot, a good working pace. She knew by his speed that his hind feet were falling exactly into the prints left by his front hooves, she could feel the floating sensation between footfalls that meant he had achieved the desired suspension, all four feet off the ground for brief moments, his strides long and even. At her cue, Blanco moved into a serpentine across the arena, crossing from one side to the other in smooth curves, dividing the ring into equal thirds. After a full circuit, she had him extend his trot across the diagonal. His stride lengthened even further, but his tempo remained exactly the same. She had been told by her ground crew, that at his best, Blanco’s hind feet passed his front prints by the equivalent of two full hoofprints. Well, he’s certainly at his best today, as the breeze from his gait brushed her brown hair from her face. She could feel the powerful surge from his hindquarters beneath her behind.

Sitting back slightly, squeezing the fingers of her hands to tighten the reins ever so subtly, Mira brought him back down to a working trot and picked up the serpentine going in the other direction. Blanco feels good today. His suppleness, his responsiveness to her tiny, tiny cues brought a smile to her face. Of course, for the last several years, he always made her smile with sheer joy.

Finally, she brought him to a halt in the center of the ring. Blanco executed it perfectly, his back round beneath her, his legs perfectly vertical under him, his neck arched with his face also vertical to the ground. Mira looked across at Marche.

The Dunmer rose and walked over to the pair, his eyes on Blanco. Mira sat quietly, and the stud took his cue from her, his flicking ears and fluttering nostrils the only movement as Marche walked around him. Finally Marche looked up at Mira.

“He’s a fine horse, all right,” he admitted. “But a weapon?” He waved his arm to encompass the arena. “I saw nothing there that could be anything other than a pleasant ride.”

“Would you mind picking up that pitchfork over there,” Mira suggested, smiling down at the Dunmer. She caught the flash of outrage in his red eyes. “Please, if you wish to see how Blanco can be a weapon.”

Marche narrowed his eyes at her, but he went to the wall of the barn and picked up the pitchfork with a loose grasp, holding the filthy tines well away from his nobleman’s outfit. He stopped a few meters away.

The change in Blanco was as dramatic as it was subtle. Though he still stood squarely and still, his ears had shot forward, his ribcage had expanded between Mira’s legs, and his haunches coiled behind as he shifted his weight back ever so slightly. Mira saw the wary expression on Marche’s face. He’s horseman enough to see the difference.

“Hold that pitchfork as if it were a spear, and you intend to stab Blanco with it.” Mira closed her fingers on the reins, warning Blanco to hold his position.

With a puzzled look, Marche swung the pitchfork so its tines were pointing at Blanco. Mira nodded encouragingly at him. At least he does know how to hold a spear, she thought as she watched the Dunmer shift his feet to present the “spear.” “Now, Marche, good sir, hold your ground and do not move. Harm will come to you only if you do.” When he nodded his comprehension, Mira touched her heels to the stallion’s sides. He rose up into a http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sqaQ6SnqAtI, a slow, cadenced trot in which his diagonal feet lingered in the air, his raised front foot, first the left, then the right, striking out in front. She felt his rump dropping further behind him as his shoulders rose before her.

Marche’s eyes widened as Blanco came so close that his outstretched front hoof barely brushed the tips of the tines. Mira was smiling again, as she brought her hands back ever so slightly and squeezed with her calves again. Blanco rose onto his hind legs, his forelegs curled beneath his breast, his head rearing above Marche. The stallion held the pose for a brief second, then at a second squeeze from Mira’s calves, he http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HbGl95ut3pA&NR=1 forward and swiped his front hooves out, knocking the pitchfork out of the Dunmer’s hands. Marche lost his nerve then, dropping the pitchfork and stumbling backwards. Mira eased the pressure on the reins, and Blanco dropped his forehand down into a stand, snorting and blowing at the startled Dunmer.

Marche’s jaw had dropped, as he stared at the white stallion standing perfectly still, the breath from the horse’s nostrils stirring the lace ruffles on his doublet. Mira felt her smile widen into a grin. “Stay where you stand,” she said to him. Lifting her right rein, and nudging her left hip into the saddle, she directed Blanco into a canter pirouette around his hocks. The horse performed the canter stride to the right, his inside hind foot falling into the exact same spot with each step he took. She stopped him when they were facing away. Again, Mira cued for the controlled rear, but this time, at the height of his levitation, she released the reins slightly and squeezed her calves. Blanco leaped off his hindquarters again, but this time he arched through the air, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KuZPlOA1ZSk with his hind legs as he lowered his forelegs to the ground. Yet he managed to land with all four feet touching the ground simultaneously. Behind them, she heard a choked yelp from the Dunmer. Letting Blanco prance forward a couple of steps, she turned him around and halted him again.

Marche sat on his rump, his face ashen, arena dirt scattered all over his doublet. He stared up at Mira, speechless. She walked Blanco up to him, stopping less than a meter away.

“See, if you had been a bandit, set on robbing me of my fine horse,” she remarked casually, “you would be laying there dead.” She slapped Blanco on his arched neck dropped the rein, and swung out of the saddle. She walked up to Marche and reached a hand down to him.

Hesitantly, he accepted her offer of assistance and struggled to his feet, Mira bracing against his weight. She set to work brushing the arena sand off his fine blue velvet and lace doublet, while the Dunmer stared at Blanco.

“You see, a heavy charger is good only for running forward in a straight line,” Mira continued. “That’s fine, if you’re a lancer at a tourney.” Stepping back, she decided that Marche’s doublet was now clean enough. Turning to look at Blanco, who watched them intently, she chirruped at him and beckoned him to come to her. “But a light charger like Blanco is lethal in more ways than one.” She smiled to reassure Marche. “Heavy chargers are not suitable for long distance riding. They need a lot of grain to maintain their weight. They do not stay sound for long - many are lame by the time they are ten.” She stroked Blanco’s arched neck. “My horses are bred to go all day on little feed,” she continued. “They grow up in the hills above this barn, they run and play among the rocks. Their legs and feet are very hard and dense. They build strong lungs and hearts. “

“Like the Wildeye Paints,” Marche commented.

“Oh, better,” Mira countered. “They can take hard riding, every day, for years. They thrive on little but fresh clean water and grazing. They can run for miles. They aren’t quite as fast as the Cheydinhal blacks, but they are the toughest and hardiest horses out there.” She picked up the pitchfork, keeping the tines close to the ground. “They fear little,” she continued. “My horses are perfect for paladins, Legion riders, and adventurers who need to travel light and far.” Mira’s eye fell on a clump of bark she had missed, and brushed it off Marche’s sleeve. “Do you see why Clesa is so anxious to buy him?”

“But Clesa is an ostler,” Marche exclaimed. “What would she do with a horse trained such as this?”

“Well, she would like his bloodlines in her herd,” Mira responded. “And the witchmen tell me Blanco is destined for someone greater than Clesa, you or I. I’m not going to argue with them.”

A/N: For those of you curious to see how Blanco performs these physically difficult (but natural for stallions) maneuvers, here’s a link to an excellent segment about the http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQOMrTHT8RU&NR=1. Watch for the piaffe, the beautiful floating trot, the courbette, where Blanco knocks the pitchfork out of Marche’s hands, and the capriole, the leap with the backwards kick that leaves Marche Sudmeri on his rump. These horses are not only beautiful and powerful (look at the muscles in their hindquarters), they are also incredibly gentle and do have mischievous streaks. I’ve been fortunate to meet a few Lippizan stallions at Tempel Farms here in Northern Illinois.

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 8 2011, 06:11 PM

Well, that was quite the exhaustive lesson in high school riding! It reminds me of the time I saw the http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v90/subrosa_florens/Animals/Lipizzaner14.jpg a few years ago.

And the witchmen tell me Blanco is destined for someone greater than Clesa
Now who might that be?

Posted by: ghastley Mar 8 2011, 06:16 PM

Let me throw in yet another spelling : I've seen the Lipizzaners at the Spanische Reitschule in Vienna once, way back when I was working in Europe. Amazing horses, and having the school right in the middle of the city is fairly amazing, too.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 8 2011, 08:33 PM

A most delightful segue!

After seeing that Capriole... that would be bone-crushing! I believe Mira when she says that kick can kill!

And yes, I am aware of just how damaging a horse kick can be, we're talking hundreds, if not thousands, of pounds of force being put into a hard, blunt instrument perfectly suited for crushing. One kick from a horse, even a light one, can be enough to shatter ribs. A great deal of trainers in my area teach that you should never allow your horse to get rowdy. If he is pushing you around, push back. If he is pushing you around too much and making you uncomfortable, give him a smack on the cheek.

Madness, you might say. Hit a horse? Here's the low down: What does the lead mare/stallion of a wild herd do if a horse is getting on their nerves? They kick them, hard, as in Capriole hard. The horse's skull is one of the hardest bones in their bodies, and so long as you reserve it for when your mount is seriously misbehaving you will do no damage by giving him a bit of a physical reprimand. Think of it like a mother spanking her child. It's not fun or desirable, but it is occasionally (though rarely) necessary.

Horses are not kitties, they require an involved trainer (and owner) who is not afraid to get his hands dirty. If you wish to own one, study up on how to assert your dominance over them, because the absolute worst thing a rider can do is allow their horse to control them.

Disclaimer: None of the above was aimed at you or your writing, hautee. They are simply a few musing of mine on how to retain control over your mount.

Nit:

I think you mean "nit be picked!"

Posted by: Grits Mar 8 2011, 11:48 PM

I’m so glad you included this, I enjoyed it very much!

Posted by: Acadian Mar 9 2011, 01:08 AM

Even though you said this is not really part of your story, I think it fits in just perfectly! What a fine insight into where Blanco comes from and who he is!

In fact I very much liked how you blended OHDH with riding, while displaying some purpose to the fancy maneuvers.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 9 2011, 04:49 PM

@TK:

Don't worry, I didn't take it as criticism of my writing.

While I agree with the fact that horses are not kitties (and kitties are no pushovers themselves), I must respectfully disagree with the trainers in your area about smacking a horse on the head. Granted, you must never allow a horse to push you around (I don't), hitting them on the head is counterproductive to a trusting relationship. First, hitting them on the head teaches them to become head-shy, which makes it difficult to get a bridle or halter on them. Personally, I've seen what happens when a head-shy horse is caught in a burning barn (two big barns in the area burned within a week of each other, and the survivors ended up in the vet teaching hospital my first year of vet school). Valuable seconds is lost while the rescuer is trying to get the horse out safely, or the horse is left behind for another more amenable creature, and suffers for it. Second, hitting the horse with your hands teaches him to avoid your hands. Again, that is counterproductive to building a partnership with your horse, one based on mutual respect and trust.

Instead, I kick them when they get pushy. I aim my kicks at their shoulders, ribs and haunches, and never use the point of my shoe, but rather the ball of the foot (or sometimes the side of the foot). Among themselves, horses aim their kicks at the body, seldom at the head or the neck. So when I do the same thing to them, even though it may lack the impact of a real horse kick, it gets the message across in clear equine language. And horses are smart when you speak their language. They get it.

Julian is lucky that Blanco has already been trained to respect people. He is not pushy around them, and knows not to crowd them. I know such horses really exist, because I've been around them. I've been spoiled by some of the best-behaved stallions in the equine world. And I've worked with some that were brought up badly, and were untrustworthy as a result.

Posted by: Olen Mar 9 2011, 07:33 PM

A pleasant interlude... I can imagine being kicked by a horse wouldn't be a bundle of fun, especially if it had been trained. From Mira's description Blanco is exactly the horsde Julian needs.

I wonder when she'll get to grips with all he can do.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 10 2011, 10:24 PM

@SubRosa: That was why I didn’t enter it in the short story competition! Not everyone gets into the technical aspects of horseback riding, let alone appreciate the partnership between horse and rider that makes training of this caliber possible.

@ghastley: Then I’m a bit jealous of you! I’ve never been to Vienna.

@TK: I rather thought you might enjoy the little tidbit about Blanco’s background.

@Grits: You’re welcome!

@Acadian: Thanks for the kind words. I have ridden an upper-level dressage horse a couple of times, and remain impressed by how sensitive these guys are. It really doesn’t take much, a mere thought of an aid, for them to understand what you want next. The best rider/horse combinations have the rider merely sitting on the horse without any visible cues, and the horse is executing complex maneuvers flawlessly. That is the standard at the Spanish Riding School, and it’s impressive to watch when you know what to look for.

@Olen: Having been kicked by a horse myself, I can assure you that it isn’t fun! Yes, I wonder too when Julian will get a handle on all Blanco can do for her!

Chapter 23 showed us what Anvil means to Julian, and some of the reasons why she has avoided her hometown for so long. With a slightly better understanding of the potential of a highly-trained charger, Julian presses on with her Grand Circuit of Cyrodill. She makes a few stops on her way up to Chorrol.

************************************
Chapter 24.1: Return to Kvatch

Blanco snorted as I drew him to a halt. He stood quietly, his ears tipped forward, and I dropped the rein on his neck in a signal to stand. The setting sun cast a soft warm glow over the left side of his neck. I turned to glance behind me.

Sebastian Manus, the rich russet tones of his Anvil surcoat subdued by the dust of the road, caught my gaze and signaled his men to hold. He stepped forward with a susurrus of mail to stand at my left stirrup.

“The camp is just down the road a bit,” I indicated the meadow visible at the base of the mesa. “I’m not certain how they’ll accommodate all of you,” my gaze flickered back over the guard contingent and the tradespeople beyond. “Let me go ahead and talk to Boldon first.” Now I pointed out the glade that sheltered the entrance to Belletor’s Folly. “There’s water there, if you want to refill your canteens. It’s a good place to rest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Manus nodded briskly. “We’ll wait for word from you.”

“Thanks, Manus,” I picked up the rein. Blanco gathered himself, ready for my signal. “Someone will be up shortly.” With a nod of farewell at the Anvil guard lieutenant, I double-kissed at Blanco. He set off in a steady trot that ate up the distance from the abandoned mine to the camp.

The sun winked out behind the bluffs to the west when we reached the outlying tents of the camp. I slowed Blanco to a sedate walk along the road, now the camp’s main street, toward gra-Sharob’s fire. The big Orsimer looked up from her forge when I halted. Next to her, young Avik, his brown eyes rimmed with white in his soot-smeared face, stared at Blanco, the bellows momentarily forgotten.

“Hail, Julian!” gra-Sharob greeted me with the warm heartiness I had grown accustomed to from her. “Welcome back!” Her black eyes moved over Blanco’s form glowing in the dark. “And on a new horse, I see!”

“This is Blanco,” I responded, dropping the reins and dismounting. I paused to dig an apple out of the saddle bag and bit into it. Avik watched with wonder as Blanco took the bite from my hand. “I bought him in Anvil.”

“Never seen anyone like him,” gra-Sharob shook her head as she walked around the motionless stallion. “But he suits you just fine, Julian!” she added, returning to the fire. “Avik, are you forgetting something?”

With a start the young Redguard turned back to the bellows and worked energetically away, sending me a sidelong glance.

“Do you have something for me to repair?” gra-Sharob asked as she reached into the forge with long handled tongs. I recognized the head of a mallet as she drew it out of the fire and set it on the anvil.

“No, not this time,” I answered. “The road between here and Anvil is clear for the moment.” I looked at Avik. “But I’m looking for Boldon. Do you know where he is?”

Avik nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Pa’s west of here. They’re puttin’ in a new well on the west side of the meadow.”

“All right, thanks,” I said to the young boy. He grinned back at me. “I’ll talk to you both later.”

Blanco walked at my shoulder, taking bites of the apple as we wove our way through the tents toward the open area where Paint had spent time two months ago. A milk cow and two goats stared wonderingly at us while we walked toward the tumbled boulders at the western edge.

Torches flared into life in the growing dusk, revealing the location of the work party. The apple gone, I motioned to Blanco to stand in place, and continued forward alone. “Hail, Boldon!” I called.

“Julian?” The reply directed my feet toward a figure that separated from the rest of the work party. He picked up one of the fresh torches and stepped away from the others. “Welcome back!”

“Thanks, Boldon,” I replied. “I bring aid from Anvil.”

“What?” The careworn Redguard stopped before me, his eyes wide. “Aid? And what of Skingrad?”

“I still need to report to the Count,” I answered. “But people in Anvil have been wanting to send aid to you. I told them what I thought you needed, and there are supplies and people here to help you get ready for winter.”

“Where are they?” Boldon looked past me, but saw only Blanco shimmering in the growing dusk.

“I left them near Belletor’s Folly,” I answered as we started walking toward the white stallion. “There’s also eight contubernii on their way to Bruma. The soldiers will be moving on in the morning.” I glanced at Boldon. “I’m certain you’ll want to figure out where to put everyone and everything.”

“Well, the folks from Anvil are welcome to pitch their tents south of the camp,” Boldon said. “There’s still some room, I think. Let’s leave the supplies at Belletor’s Folly, they’ll be safe within the mine.”

“And I’m certain the guardsmen won’t mind camping there, either,” I added. “There’s fresh water and shelter from the wind. They don’t want to overload your resources.”

Boldon paused and cast his gaze around the makeshift pasture. “There’s room for eight tents,” his gesture encompassed the south end of the meadow. “They can come down and camp here. Savlian won’t mind telling them about what to expect in the Deadlands.”

We stopped beside Blanco, who had been watching our progress with interest. “And now you have a new horse as well,” Boldon stated, holding his callused hand out for Blanco to sniff.

“I bought him from Clesa,” I shook my head. “I’m still not certain who got the better deal, her or me.”

“I’d say it is the horse,” Boldon’s grin gleamed. Blanco tossed his head as if agreeing. “Well, find Irinwe and have her run up to Belletor’s Folly. I think she’s helping Lenka Valus with the cooking.” He handed me the torch. “I’ll take care of Blanco, and see that he gets fed.”

“He doesn’t need much, really,” I answered. “Just a handful of grain, or none if you’ve little to spare.” I nodded toward the other animals. “I see you’ve managed to scrounge a few livestock.”

“They were all we could find after the carnage,” Boldon replied, already removing Blanco’s bridle. I took my pack from the saddle before he loosened the girth. “I’ll come by after dinner, and we’ll discuss what we still need after I’ve had a chance to see what the folks from Anvil brought us.”

As Boldon had suggested, I found Irinwe chopping root vegetables for a careworn Imperial woman. The slight Altmer’s melancholic face transformed into a brilliant smile when I spoke her name. “Julian!” She set her knife down and ran to me, flinging her arms around my waist. “You came back!”

“Yes, and I didn’t come alone this time,” I hugged the child back. She turned to the Imperial woman, who regarded me with wary curiosity.

“Lenka Valus, this is Julian, the woman I was telling you about!”

“I remember you,” Valus wiped her hands on her apron before taking mine in hers. “You got us safely out of Kvatch.”

“That was Matius,” I shook my head. “I was just along for moral support more than anything else.” I turned back to Irinwe. “I need you to do something for me, all right?”

“What can I do?” The Altmer girl bounced on her toes, her weariness forgotten.

“There’s a group of guards and people from Anvil waiting out near Belletor’s Folly,” I said to her. “Boldon said the guards can camp in the south end of the meadow, and the others can set up just past the southern edge of the tents here. The supplies they brought can be put inside the mine. If you would go and show them where to put everything and where to go, that would be wonderful.”

Irinwe glanced at Valus, who nodded in resignation. “I’ll get Melissada to help!” The slight Altmer girl removed her apron and darted away. I met Valus’s gaze.

“I apologize for stealing your help away from you,” I said quietly.

“Ah, a girl as young as that can’t work all day and not have time to run and have a good time!” Valus shrugged her shoulders. “Besides, it’s a never ending chore, cooking for fifty or more people!” She moved to the counter and began chopping the remaining vegetables. “Now shoo, I’ve got work to do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I inclined my head at her before walking away.

“Hello Julian,” Oleta’s warm voice caught my attention as I worked my way to Sigrid’s tent. I paused to wait for the older Redguard woman. She smiled at me. “You kept your promise and came back.”

“Of course,” I replied. “I have never forgotten Kvatch.” I cast my gaze upwards. “How is Matius doing with the ruins?”

Oleta’s eyes darkened as we turned south along the road. “They’re still digging up bodies. The Guild Plaza has been cleared, and the broken steeple taken down. But they’ve made little headway beyond.”

“I see you have some stones from the buildings here reinforcing your tents,” I gestured at the structures around me. Many of the tents had stone walls up to shoulder height.

“Matius’s idea,” Oleta nodded. “We spent two weeks bringing stones down from up there. Just the smaller ones, mind you!”

“The Countess of Anvil sent help, so you should have more strong arms to help with the hard work,” I said. “And Count Skingrad is waiting to hear what is needed most.”

“Yes, Boldon had mentioned something about that,” Oleta met my gaze briefly. “I gave him my list of the most needed items.”

“The people of Anvil sent along several hundredweights of smoked fish, salt cod, and produce. That should help get you through the winter.”

“That is much appreciated,” Oleta’s weary smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“And Felen Relas sent some healing potions,” I added. He had taken all of the daedra hearts I had, and distilled them into potions of varying strengths. “There’s some Fire of Life potions in the batch.”

Oleta stopped and gazed down the road. We now stood near the edge of the camp, and could see torches swirling in the glade that marked Belletor’s Folly. “Fire of Life?” she repeated. “That is very potent stuff, indeed. She lifted her gaze to the starlit sky above us. “It was developed by a Redguard woman in Anvil, as I recall.”

“The Redguard woman was my mother,” I said quietly. “She and Master Relas collaborated on it.”

Oleta turned to face me. “And now you are walking in her footsteps, Julian.” This time her smile touched her dark eyes. “Your mother would be very proud if she were to see you today.”

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 10 2011, 10:43 PM

Reading that, I'd have to say I agree with you. Thankfully for me, I have never had any trouble with my own gelding at this point, for he is quite well behaved. I'm just glad that we at least see eye-to-eye on the occasional, if rare, need to get physical with a badly misbehaving horse.

I will get back to you on your latest as soon as I can.

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 10 2011, 10:54 PM

I saw gra-Shelob eying Blanco with a hungry look! I bet she is planning a barbecue!

A nice semi-homecoming to Kvatch. I see the survivors are turning their camp into a more permanent settlement. I would have expected as much. It seems more likely they would build a new town where they are, rather than try to rebuild all of Kvatch all by themselves. Although I see in the JF, they are not completely abandoned by the rest of Cyrodiil, as Kvatch is in the game.

Fire of Life potions? Did Julian's mother invent viagra?



nits:
I slowed Blanco to a sedate walk and walked along the road
You have a repetition of walk here. You might try something like:
I slowed Blanco to a sedate walk along the road

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 11 2011, 02:10 AM

A hero's welcome back in the Kvatch encampment for our dear Redguard. And this time she didn't come alone. I imagine she will be splitting off from the forces back in Weye, since she does still have business in Chorrol. I also think Paint will be quite interested in meeting Blanco, too! I look forward to that!

Quick, Julian! Get Blanco away from her! Horse and fire are two things you must never let an Orsimer see together!

Step one of rebuilding: clearing away the remains of the old buildings. I hope Julian will be able to see Kvatch restored to its former glory.

Posted by: Acadian Mar 11 2011, 03:50 AM

This is loaded with subtle touches that I so enjoyed. Here are just some of the pieces that struck me and contributed to the rich tapestry you weave at the Kvatch encampment -

Help from Skingrad will follow - and I expect Julian may stop there soon. Plenty of help from Countess Anvil. What type of staples would one expect from Julian's beautiful city by the sea but preserved fish? Bolden and his crew digging a new well. Savlian directing heavier clearing operations up inside the walls - and things going slowly. Feeding over fifty people everyday and what it takes to do that. Bolden continuing to try and provide 'stable services' despite the conditions. Help from the guild of mages at Anvil.

I see Julian and Blanco continue to grow closer. The distinctive stallion will no doubt continue to attract attention everywhere he goes.

Posted by: Winter Wolf Mar 12 2011, 03:02 AM

Awesome write Haute! The building of your story always feels like a gathering storm.

I am convinced that the Kvatch encampment is Julian's real home. There is a slight change of personality that always comes over her and her horse (Blanco! Wow!) when she goes there. Sure, Anvil will always be where the heart is, but Kvatch will always be the focus of her determination.

I loved this! The character goes from a transition of togetherness (the apple & horse) to a lonely solitude that symbolizes reaching (or nearing) her goal.

Posted by: Grits Mar 12 2011, 04:49 PM

I like the way Kvatch is coming along. They seem to have found the balance between the number of people they need to do the work and the amount of work it takes to care for the people. Using the surrounding area for settlement is brilliant. I would never have thought to use the mine!

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 12 2011, 05:26 PM

@SubRosa: Let gra-Shelob try to make BBQ out of Blanco! He’ll kick her head off! Nit fixed.

@TK: Actually, Julian will split from Manus and his troops sooner, as she will stop off in Skingrad while they continue on to Bruma. She’ll go ahead of them as she can travel faster.

@Acadian: This was another segment where I felt a review of what’s going on was called for. And I’m glad you liked seeing the changes at Kvatch.

@WinterWolf: Welcome back, lupine friend! As for Kvatch and Julian, you’re pretty close to the mark. I’m glad you liked Blanco. I remember you and Destri always wanted Paint to do more. Well, hopefully Blanco will meet your needs for a heroic mount! And I found your Skyrim note absolutely hilarious!

@Grits: From all the reading I’ve done, I know that underground chambers (root cellars, mines, caves, etc) are great places for storing perishable foodstuffs through the winter - they won’t spoil so quickly, and they won’t freeze, either. Now if you want ice cream -

*************************
Chapter 24.2 Taking Stock

“We don’t need charity,” Matius addressed the fire. “What we need are the means to regain our self-sufficiency.” His words had the air of an old argument.

“But we must get through the winter first before we can work at becoming self-reliant again,” Boldon countered.

There were several of us around the small fire in front of Sigrid’s tent - Matius and Boldon as the unofficial leaders of the Kvatch refugees, Sigrid and Oleta who represented the Guilds and the Chapel respectively, and gra-Sharob as the sole surviving craftsperson, as well as Manus and Enilroth, who had accompanied me from Anvil. While Manus intended to continue on with his guardsmen to Bruma, Enilroth planned to return to Anvil once he had a clearer idea of what was still needed.

“There is fresh produce that can be dried and preserved for the winter,” Oleta said. “Also we have plenty of seafood that has been salted or dried to keep easily.”

“What we lack are ingredients of our own to make potions,” Sigrid added, “though the healing potions Felen Relas sent up are much appreciated. The Mages Guild chapter here once had a comprehensive herb garden, all is now lost.”

“I’m certain both Relas and Sinderion will send along seed stock to help you re-establish your garden come spring.” I exchanged glances with Enilroth, who nodded his comprehension.

“We lost much of our livestock,” Boldon added. “If we can get more goats, sheep, or even a few milk cows, it would be much appreciated.”

“I think Skingrad would be glad to provide some sheep to you,” I responded. “As for the rest, we’ll see what we can rustle up.”

Matius met my gaze across the fire. “No stealing, Julian,” he shook a finger at me. When the chuckles subsided, he grew somber. “Most of all, I think we need knowledge. We need people with experience in construction. If we are to rebuild Kvatch, we’ll have to start from the ground up.”

“The more immediate need are muscles,” Boldon added. “Unskilled labor to clear away the rubble, to take care of the dead.”

“We also need fuel for the funeral pyres,” Matius nodded. “Charcoal, firestone, and pitch.” He shook his head. “I hate to cut down all the trees around here, because we’ll have need of them in the future.”

“Don’t cut them down,” I agreed. “Enilroth will tell the Countess what you need. She has already ordered increased shipments of firestone from Hammerfell in anticipation of increased need for heating fuel for the winter.”

“You should also ask Skingrad for spun or woven wool for winter garments,” Enilroth suggested quietly. “Anvil is a more temperate climate, we have little that is suitable for these highland winters such as you get here.”

“Aye, that’s a good point,” Sigrid nodded. “Thread and needles, too.”

“Those we can provide,” Enilroth made a notation on a piece of parchment that rested on his thigh. “Scissors, too. I’ll see if Morvayn will make several pairs for you.” He glanced over at gra-Sharob. “Anything you need from our forge, ma’am?”

“Other than fuel?” At the Bosmer’s nod, gra-Sharob tilted her head back in thought. “Iron ingots would be good. We’re salvaging as much metal as we can from the ruins, but the fire has weakened much of it. We have need for construction tools, and I’d prefer to use virgin iron for that.”

“Steel would be better, wouldn’t it ma’am?” Enilroth’s tone held respect, and not just because of the Orsimer’s massive bulk next to him.

“I have everything else here I need to make steel,” gra-Sharob remarked. “Plenty of carbon in those burnt trees, and tungstenite in Belletor’s Folly.”

“That’s good,” Enilroth nodded. “Then I will tell Morvayn you need more pig iron.”

Manus turned to Matius. “The Countess wants to know if you need more guards here,” he said quietly. I glanced at the lieutenant.

“More would be good,” Matius agreed. “But right now all they’re doing is body collection and care.” He glanced at me. “I think some of them are itching for some action.”

“They can go with Manus’s men to Bruma,” I responded. “Countess Carvain is looking for reinforcements from all the other towns. I know you can’t spare the men, but it’s an option if you’d rather avoid an insurrection.”

“That isn’t a bad idea, if you’re up for it,” Manus said. He slapped his hands on his knees and rose. “It’s getting late, and I’ve got to see my men settled for the night. I’ll see you again in the morning, Matius, Julian.” With a salute, he turned and disappeared into the night.

“I’m turning in, too,” Matius stood. He sent me a dark look. “Julian, if I may have a few moments with you?”

I excused myself from the others, who had already returned to the question of supplies and materials needed for the winter. Matius and I walked north, toward the black shadow of the mesa bulking against the northern stars. He didn’t speak again until we reached the point where the road started climbing. He stopped and looked back at the scattered torchlights of the camp.

“I’ve sent to the Imperial City asking for aid several times - men, material, skilled craftsmen. I’ve had no response from them.”

“The Legion is stretched pretty thin,” I remarked. “The patrols have been decimated by these Oblivion Gates, and the provinces are hard hit as well.”

“They’ve always been stretched thin,” Matius’s tone held bitterness. “But I’m glad that we have Anvil and Skingrad for neighbors. I’d rather we were beholden to them than to the Elder Council.” I sensed his head turn to me. “Julian, would you have asked me for those men if Manus had not brought the subject up?”

I considered his question. “I’m not certain,” I said finally. “I know you’re tight on resources, and security is a problem. I’ve noticed bandits have become more prevalent on the roads since this crisis started, and it’s because of the daedra attacking everything and anything. Skingrad lost two contubernii worth of men to that Gate, and Anvil nearly as many.”

“And we lost one of the legionaries when we took Kvatch back,” Matius added. “It can add up over time.” We stood silently for a few moments. “Julian, tell me the truth?”

“Of course, Matius,” I responded.

“Will this ever end? Will we survive Dagon, or will we fall to him?”

I closed my eyes against the despair I heard in Matius’s voice. The past couple of months have taken their toll on him. I had been dismayed by how gaunt and worn he had appeared when he joined us for dinner. Though he had been glad to see me, I could see the nightmares that still shadowed his eyes. What can I tell him to give him the courage he needs to go on?

“I can only tell you what I keep telling myself, sir,” I took a deep breath. “We can beat him. Some of the best people in Cyrodiil -“ Martin’s worn visage bent over dusty tomes crossed my mind. “- are hard at work on finding the way to close these Gates for good. I have no doubt in their ability to find the means to do so.”

Matius looked down at the ground, scuffing the dry dirt. “You sound like you believe it, too,” he muttered. “I don’t think about it when I’m up there,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the mesa behind us, “but at night, when I’m trying to sleep -“

“Matius, I’ve cleaned up enough battlefields to know what you’re dealing with up there,” I put a firmness I didn’t feel into my voice. “These are your friends, your family, your neighbors that you’re pulling out of the ruins. Some of them you can’t even recognize anymore.” Matius’s stillness told me I had hit a nerve. “And when you let yourself have a quiet moment, that’s when it hits you. Hard.”

“Then how do you keep going?” Now I could hear strain in his voice, the strain I saw in his face when he greeted me earlier that evening. “What keeps you from giving up?”

“The thought of what will happen if we give up,” I could hear the fatalism in my voice. “I’d rather try with the chance of failing, than never try, for that way is certain failure.”

“Wish someone would tell Ilav Dralgoner that,” Matius remarked. I glanced sharply at him again. “He’s the only surviving priest here, since Brother Martin left with you.”

“And he has given up?” I asked. Matius shrugged.

“He says the Covenant between Alessia and Akatosh has been broken,” the former bodyguard looked away. “He believes the Enemy has won. I imagine he means Mehrunes Dagon.”

“Dagon hasn’t won yet,” I replied automatically. After a few moments’ consideration, I took a deep breath. “Has Dralgoner been telling people it’s no use?”

“More or less,” Matius rubbed at his close-cropped hair. “He stands on the switchback to the gates of Kvatch and waylays people. The guards ignore him, but some of the refugees that are helping clear the ruins are being affected by his despair.” His dark profile turned toward me. “Not everyone, who needed to, heard you speak of Kvatch as being triumphant as long as there are people.”

“I can see how that would make it so much harder for you and Boldon to keep morale up.” I tilted my face toward the double moons. “Hopefully the aid from Anvil and Skingrad will go a long way toward convincing your people they are not alone.”

“I hope so,” the fervent whisper was barely audible from behind the visible sigh that escaped Matius’s lips.

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 12 2011, 10:04 PM

Firestone was an excellent bit of world-building.

A nice little episode showing the tribulations of the Kvatchites, who have a lot of hard work ahead of them, and little to look forward too. It is enough to make anyone give up. Especially the way they are completely abandoned by the Elder Council, Legion, and the rest of the government.

“Julian, if I may have a few moments with you?”
Hubba, hubba... Does Matius have blue eyes?

So Ilav Dralgoner is the local doomsayer eh? I wonder if he is really a priest of Akatosh, or one of Marooned Dragon?

Posted by: Acadian Mar 13 2011, 03:18 AM

More rich and somber detail of the Kvatch rebuilding process, the requirements and toll.

It is wonderful that Anvil and Skingrad can be counted on for some help.

Dralgoner is like a cancer. Methinks perhaps he needs to be formally conscripted and sent to Bruma to man the front lines there.

Posted by: Winter Wolf Mar 13 2011, 04:01 AM

I had a vision of Red Dead Redemption while reading this chapter- the gathering darkness, the flaring torches, the campfire, the grazing horses on the outside, the gruff voices and the quiet reasoning of Julian.

The way you write helps paint a picture for the reader. Awesome!

I can see that you put a lot of work into it- asking yourself what the people would have to do to rebuild a whole town. The different sides of the argument came across very well.

Posted by: Destri Melarg Mar 14 2011, 09:02 AM

I had to go all the way back to Chapter 21.1 in Thread #4, but after an enjoyable session of reading I am finally making headway toward being fully caught up. Let me start this (over-long) post by eating some delayed crow. I, like Commander Phillida, was of the opinion that Lerus was just marking time in Bravil. While her journey with Julian gave me some much needed insight into her character, it wasn’t until her wonderfully described report to the primus legate that I really got a feel for how much she has truly done on her post. I also liked how you tied the events at Fort Grief with the corruption that is strangling the city. Finishing that chapter by recalling the events in Solsthiem reminds us all of Julian’s dealings with Athlain. I so love a well done crossover!

Something else that struck me was the regard in which others hold Julian’s actions. Lerus and Forenze trying to tally how many gates Julian has closed gives a clear indication of just how difficult such a task must be to even the experienced soldier. It’s nice to see Julian afforded such respect after sallying for too long in the mud.

This caught my eye:

‘There will be blood and death before the end, Sun’s/Son’s Companion.’ I also think it’s telling that Julian regards the ruler of all Tamriel as ‘Emperor Uriel’ rather than ‘Emperor Septim.’

After all the intrigue and political machinations in the city, it was slightly jarring to see Julian leave on foot. In the long interim of both my absence and your hiatus I had almost forgotten Paint’s heartbreaking condition. Being reminded of it was not fun . . . but I know it was necessary.

After the trials of closing the Skingrad Gate Julian is met by the further slights of everyone’s favorite Castle Steward. I agree with Cardboard Box and SubRosa, calling him a corpse-humper just seems to sum him up. I wondered if Julian would get wise to the Count’s secret. The way you handled that, on the balcony overlooking the remnants of both Kvatch and the recently closed Oblivion Gate, was excellent. I guess it’s no wonder the Count doesn’t give audience. Anyone who spends even a short time in his company seems to learn that he is a vampire.

And then we come to Julian’s memorable night in the Skingrad Mages Guild. I think the name Vigge the Cautious was meant as a joke, because the man is anything but. I also like how, for the first time, Julian ruminates on the civility of the Argonians she has met along the way.

Perhaps Erthor is secretly the most gifted mage in all Tamriel! Think about it, he discovered a way to make his summons permanent (that didn’t require a mod or a cheat). If Julian really gets desperate for bodies to stand with her in Bruma she could always bring Erthor and his army of perma-zombies!

The closing of the second gate in Skingrad was even more compelling than the first one. Maybe it was getting to see the closing (for all too brief a time) through Fortran’s eyes, or maybe it was the subtle reminder of the detail that you take your own Oblivion through those gates with you. Whatever it was, I found myself more invested in this Gate’s closing than I was with the first.

And that ends Thread #4.

Julian’s return to Anvil:

I am so glad that you chose to begin Thread #5 (already?!) with the closing of that Gate on the Gold Road, the one just southeast of the Brina Cross Inn. [rant] I have closed that one in several of my games because every time it opens a poor legion horse (not a Black Horse Courier horse) drops dead on the Gold Road and his rider spends the rest of the game stranded in that spot (ostensibly so that he can avenge his departed mount). It makes it a real pain to do the Anvil Mages Guild recommendation because that soldier winds up killing Aurielle and Roliand every time. Like it was their fault that his horse is dead! ‘Way to take up for the icicle bandit, dude!! Now I don’t even bother with the Oblivion Crisis until after I’ve done the faction quests. [/rant]

I like your explanation of the strength magnitude of Sigil Stones. Julian wondering if enchanting with such stones sets the souls free just continues to mark her as the (goody two-shoes) hero that she is.

Finally Julian receives the hero’s welcome that she has long deserved! This chapter was definitely worth the wait. I agree with Olen though, Carahill choosing that moment to pester Julian about some relatively mundane task for the Mages Guild was beneath her usually sterling character.

*Also let me reiterate: Please get Julian some nookie soon, if only to keep mALX, ‘Rosa, and now TK from chewing on their keyboards!*

I enjoyed the quiet interlude of the night Julian spends in the Anvil Mages Guild with Thauron and his slave pet, Sparky. The act of healing the imp long ago may have been noble. But the fact that he crafts drain magicka spells to get it to do what he wants while deciding what it eats and when is just wrong to me. FREE SPARKY!


Grrr! Another of those brilliantly crafted sentences that has me gnashing my teeth with envy.

I also noticed that, in Julian’s flashback to her time spent with Felen Relas, that he definitely told her the G rated version of Barenziah’s story.

There is one thing that I had a problem with. You have Julian being reprimanded in a flashback for stealing a glance into the play The Lusty Argonian Maid. That particular opus was written by Crassius Curio of Morrowind. Now I know that in Morrowind we are told about his ‘new play’ (presumably titled The Dance of the Three-Legged Guar ). But I doubt very much that he wrote Argonian forty+ years before the Oblivion Crisis so that Julian could get in trouble for reading it as a child. Curio’s an old lech, but he’s not that old.

That’s all I’ve got for you right now. I’ll be back when I’ve caught up.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 14 2011, 03:26 PM

@SubRosa: Matius has brown eyes. Sorry. You know, speaking for myself, I adore the guy. He is the heroic lead I always have a crush on.

@Acadian: I think sticking Ilav Dralgoner in the front lines at Bruma would be disastrous! He’s like you said, a cancer, and the battlefront at Bruma’s the last place I’d want a cancer of despair!

@Winter Wolf: I’m glad the atmosphere of Kvatch in the early post-Gate days came through for you. We will see more of Kvatch after the MQ ends and Julian begins the next stage of her life. As for the arguments (self-sufficiency versus outside aid), both are valid, IMHO. I see the aid from Skingrad and Anvil as micro-loans - not only just enough to get through the winter and until the next harvest, but also enough to permit them to bootstrap themselves out of the ruins once again. According to the Lore, it’s not the first time Kvatch’s done it.

@Destri: Welcome back! :twirl: Your commentary has refreshed some events in my mind. As always, your insight is invaluable. I’m sorry that you missed Paint, and I hope that you will come to enjoy Blanco as much as you loved the Prior’s gelding. As for Erthor’s perma-summons, I think that was a mistake on his part, and something he’s still trying to figure out! “What the 'blivion did I do differently that time!” You bet he went back to that cave to try and replicate that particular spell he screwed up! As for the timing of the Argonian Maid, I’m going along with Athlain’s timeline. It’s stretched out between Morrowind and Oblivion, but to me it makes more sense than the few years’s separation we see in-game. So it may be less of a problem for you if you keep that in mind.

*****************
Chapter 24.3: Return to Skingrad

Tilmo took the tack I stripped from Blanco. He shooed me away from the horse. “I can see you’re tired, Julian,” he urged me toward the West Gate. “Go in and get some sleep.”

“It has been a long day,” I admitted, picking up my pack and patting Blanco farewell. He tossed his head as Tilmo began currying the road dust from his coat.

One of the guards outside the West Gate greeted me with an assessing gaze at the soot on my Wolf surcoat. “Been closing more Oblivion Gates, ma’am?” I recognized him as one of the men who stood the barricades while Fortran and I closed the Gate in the cemetery.

“Unfortunately, a new one opened just past that bandit camp on ridge there,” I jerked my thumb northwestward. “It’s not there anymore.”

“That explains why there had been no traffic from that direction,” the guard remarked. “I’ll tell Dion.”

Again they opened the heavily reinforced gates for me. I trudged into Hightown, toward the Mages Guild.

I had left Kvatch early the morning after my conversation with Matius, leaving the Anvil contingent behind. Boldon had given me a list for Count Skingrad. The ride from Kvatch had been mostly quiet, the animals leaving me alone. We had been ambushed by a lone bandit, but when Blanco gathered himself beneath me, the Khajiit had hesitated doubtfully. As Clesa had taught me, I had asked for the levade. Blanco’s rear, which he had held for several moments, allowed me to scan the sides of the road for more bandits, as did the detect life spell I had cast at the same time.

Blanco’s striking foreleg as he came down had convinced the Khajiit that we were not easy game. The bandit had backed away and faded into the brush without attacking us. As we had walked away from the failed ambush, I considered Clesa’s parting words. "Trust Blanco with your life. When you confront danger, he will be your partner. Whether you fight on foot or on horseback, trust that he will guard you always.”

As we headed eastward and climbed the steep hill that rose to the ridge west of Skingrad, I had noticed the telltale thunderheads that signaled another Oblivion Gate. It’s not far from that bandit camp. I’ll see if it’s safe to leave Blanco there while I close the Gate. With Blanco a safe distance away, I had come upon four daedra swarming a lone bandit during my customary sweep of the surrounding area. His three comrades lay motionless nearby.

I sent Berene’s fireball spell after one of the scamps and knocked a clannfear down with an arrow from Akatosh’s Fury. The Redguard fell before the second clannfear and the scamp. They tore into him savagely, eliciting horrifying screams that brought back memories of massacre to me. Without thought for the bandit’s choice of career, I tore into the daedra with my enchanted katana, giving no quarter.

With the daedra dead, I turned to the bandit. He lay shaking violently, his dark skin pallid from shock and pain. The flesh was torn from both legs below the knee, and a foot was missing below one ankle. He dragged himself toward his discarded short sword before I caught up to him.

“Lie still, sir,” I knelt beside him and called up the convalescence spell that now came so easily to me. He knocked my hand away with his one good arm, groaning as the gesture brought more unbearable pain.

“I’m finished,” his voice was a bare husk. “You save my life for what?” He jerked his head toward Skingrad. “Jail? Begging in the streets? No, that’s not the life for me.”

Beneath the pain that masked his face, I could see the fierce pride still lingering in his eyes, the pride that made Redguards famous for our independent spirits. Though he was a bandit, that pride touched a nerve in me. Yet my mother’s example would not let me back down. “Let me help you, sir -“ I tried again.

“Not like that!” I stopped, startled at the force in his objection. He locked gazes with me "Finish what they started. Just make it quick.”

I stared at him, feeling my jaw tighten. Kill him? My eyes drifted over his injuries. He’s right. I can’t give him back his legs, his mobility. Without it, he’s dependent on others. And the folks in Skingrad are not likely to treat him kindly, bandit that he is. I nodded reluctantly and rose to my feet, bringing my plain katana out of its scabbard. The Redguard lay back and closed his eyes.

His death as swift and merciful as my Legion training could make it, I left the bandit and returned to Blanco. I managed to bring him past the Gate to the camp, where I provided water for him and stripped him of his tack. Briefly I considered resting, but I hated the idea of trying to sleep with that immense screeching portal so close by. With a admonition to a nervous Blanco to stay put, I went into that Gate.

As usual, another day had gone by while I spent time in the Deadlands. After a day’s ride and another day closing the Gate, I now felt more than ready for bed. I’ll see Sinderion tomorrow, and Count Hassildor tomorrow night. Then it’s on to Chorrol.

*****************************
“Oh, Julian, ten nirnroot so quickly?” Sinderion exclaimed as I handed over the parchment-wrapped packet. “Really?”

“Found them along the coast north of Anvil,” I answered. “It’s pretty remote there. Tell me, do they regrow once you harvest them?”

“I don’t think so,” Sinderion shook his head. “They are growing increasingly rare through the years.”

“I wonder why,” I mused.

“That’s an excellent question!” Sinderion exclaimed. “Perhaps it would be worth studying, if I wasn’t so busy keeping track of the wine here!”

I regarded the tall Altmer. “It must be difficult, sir,” I remarked dryly.

Sinderion laughed heartily. “Yes, I admit it, I love my wine! And right here with Tamika’s and Surilie’s vineyards is heaven for me!” He picked up a wine glass. “Have you tried any of it?”

“I’m an addict and a drunk,” I shook my head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.”

Sinderion’s face fell. “That’s too bad, Julian. I hear S’drassa in Leyawiin is working on a cure for skooma addiction.”

“Right now I’m fine,” I assured him. “But if the cravings come back, I’ll speak to him about it.” I shook my head. “But it’s been a while.”

****************************
“You want to see the Count again?” gro-Yarug greeted me, cutting off Hosidus. “The Count left explicit instructions to have you brought to him when you returned, see.”

As the older Imperial stalked away, his face suffused, I turned to the Orsimer. “Yes, sir, I’m here to report to him as he requested.”

“I will take you to Hal-Liurz,” gro-Yarug motioned for me to follow him.

“I’m a bit early, aren’t I?” I asked. It was not yet sundown. “I can wait, if that’s better.”

“You can wait with Hal-Liurz, see,” gro-Yarug grunted, insistently waving me to the grand staircase. “She’s eating dinner before the Count calls for her. You can have a bite to eat with her.”

He led me to the steward’s sitting room, a small chamber buried somewhere in the maze that was the castle living quarters. A small window faced westward, showing the setting sun. The Argonian greeted me warmly and insisted on sharing her modest dinner of lentil soup and bread with me.

“The Count hass been anxiously awaiting your return,” she assured me. “He knowss winter is coming and Kvatch iss ill-prepared for it.”

“Actually, Anvil has sent some aid,” I said. “Mostly seafood dried and salted, and fresh produce that they can dry themselves. But there are some things Anvil can not provide.”

“Wool,” Hal-Liurz guessed, nodding to herself. “We have plenty of that. Alchemical ingredients not common to the Gold Coasst. Wine to chasse the chill away and to lift sspiritss after a hard day’ss work. Cheesse that lies soft on the tongue and providess sstrength.”

“Things like that,” I agreed, smiling at the steward’s astuteness. “I have the list with me.”

“Excellent,” Hal-Liurz nodded emphatically. “Be certain to give it to Count Hassildor.”

A bell tinkled somewhere in the depths of the castle. Hal-Liurz glanced out the window. “The Count iss up now. Wait here, I will let him know you have returned.” She rose and left the chamber.

I did not have to wait long before she returned. Again she led me through the maze of hallways to the tower room where Hassildor awaited me. This time, there was a glass of clear water waiting for me.

“Good to see you again, Julian of Anvil,” he greeted me, again waving me courteously to the chair opposite him. “How are things in Kvatch?”

“Better than when I left them two months ago.” I told Hassildor of the progress the refugees had made in fortifying the camp against the oncoming winter, of the recovery of the bodies and the cleaning of the ruins. He seemed pleased when I mentioned the aid Anvil sent.

“I knew Countess Umbranox would not ignore their plight, either. But I understand the Gold Road was closed between Anvil and Kvatch?”

“Two Oblivion Gates and a rogue mage,” I nodded. “They have been cleared, and the road is open all the way to Skingrad.”

“And I think I know who is responsible for that,” Hassildor inclined his head, unnerving eyes on me. “I shall not ask for details. I only need to know what you have told me.” He took a sip of his wine. “Do you have the list of needs for us?”

“Yes, and I can give you a quick rundown. Wool would be appreciated, as they have little in the way of warm clothing for winter. Leather for boots. Pig iron. Morvayn in Anvil will see about getting as much as he can for gra-Sharob, but there is already a great demand for iron and steel. If Skingrad can also provide iron −”

“Not a problem,” Hassildor waved me into momentary silence. “Our mines are still productive. I’ll have Agnete select the iron to send along. Anything else?”

I worked through the rest of the list. Hassildor murmured to Hal-Liurz from time to time, giving instructions based on what I described. Finally I fell silent, sipping at the water to moisten my throat.

“Who is in charge there?” Hassildor asked me.

“A Redguard named Boldon is organizing the camp,” I answered. “He was a laborer before, but he has leadership qualities and is widely respected. And Savlian Matius is leading the clean up and body recovery in the city. He is already planning the reconstruction.”

“Obviously they need laborers,” Hassildor mused. He met my gaze again. “Who is this Savlian Matius?”

“He was one of Count Goldwine’s bodyguards,” I replied. “He became leader of the guard by default.”

“What sort of man is he?”

I considered his question. What sort of man, indeed? “Speaking as a former pilus,” I said slowly, “if he were my Legion officer, I’d follow him to Oblivion and back without question. He’s young, but very canny, quick to size up a situation and quick to act. He does not hesitate to ask for help, but he does not wait for it.”

“Impatient?” Hassildor asked. I shook my head.

“No, decisive.”

Hassildor regarded me thoughtfully. “Hmm, that’s interesting.” He rose to his feet and turned to face west. I knew he was studying the ruined city visible from this vantage point. “Kvatch will rebuild, I don’t doubt that anymore,” his voice was soft in the chilly night. “But it needs a leader, and with Count Goldwine and his family gone --"

“Matius holds the Count’s signet ring,” I answered. “He keeps it safe for the next Count, whomever he or she may be.”

“Do you trust him with it?” Hassildor turned his head so I saw his profile against the stars.

“I’ve seen no reason not to so far,” I answered. “He is not wearing it on his finger, if that’s what you’re wondering. And he works alongside the others. If he has any ambitions in that direction, they’re very well hidden.”

“Is he capable of such ambition?”

“He’s smart enough for it,” I shrugged. “But I doubt it’s even crossed his mind to take advantage of his possession of the ring. The man is too honest and open to even think about subterfuge.”

“And you can recognize that?” Hassildor turned to face me.

“I’ve had officers, legates capable of scheming to gain position, rank and privilege,” I replied. “Yes, I think I have the experience to see that. I recognize the ability to weave plots in Count Indarys and Count Caro, in High Chancellor Ocato, and in a few other people I’ve met in the last few months. But I don’t count Matius among them.”

“High Chancellor Ocato?” Hassildor repeated. “Do you think he is using recent events to his advantage?”

“He’s capable of it,” I nodded. “But whether or not he is doing so, I don’t know. I’d like to think he has the best interests of the Empire at heart. To do less than that would be to betray Emperor Uriel’s memory.”

“Hmm, I see,” Hassildor’s tone was impassive. “Thank you, Julian of Anvil. I’m certain you have much yet to do, so I shall not keep you. Let me assure you that we will send what aid Kvatch needs in the next few days.”

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 14 2011, 05:17 PM

A bandit thought better of attacking the protagonist? Yaay! I think that is a first for fan fiction. You even beat me to it! It is so nice to see realistic behaviour from the bad guys.

Even better was the scene between Julian and the bandit at the gate. Her desire to aid the maimed man was very natural and well portrayed. Of course she would want to do whatever she could. You would have to be really cold not to (like John Wayne in The Searchers). The end was likewise natural, and expected. What else would the bandit want, with no hope and no future?

Finally, an intriguing discussion between Julian and Count Skingrad. The part about Matius I expected, as the Count will want to take the measure of the man who will most likely be the new Count Kvatch. The digression into Ocato was as delightful as it was unexpected.

Wouldn't Ocato be a fool not to take advantage of the situation for his own ends? That would not necessarily mean for the ill of the Empire. Someone stepping up to the plate to fill the vacuum of power left after Uriel's death would not only been good, but I should think necessary for keeping the Empire together. The real question would be whether or not Ocato would relinquish that power to Martin when the times comes... However, the way the Elder Council seems to be sitting on its tush and not taking decisive action suggests that he is not though.


nits:
“You want to see the Count again?”gro-Yarug greeted me
Looks like a hungry orc ate your space here. Better throw a few more horses on the fire!

Posted by: Grits Mar 15 2011, 01:59 AM

From 24.2
“We don’t need charity,” Matius addressed the fire. “What we need are the means to regain our self-sufficiency.”

Perfect, I have actually been waiting to hear him say something like this! That’s how real you've made him.

“As for the rest, we’ll see what we can rustle up.”

Julian the sheep rustler! Somehow I don’t think that’s one of her old habits.

I found the quiet conversation under the moons quite moving, including the reminder that Martin is still hard at work among the Blades, and probably could use a little pep talk himself.

24.3
One of the guards outside the West Gate greeted me with an assessing gaze at the soot on my Wolf surcoat. “Been closing more Oblivion Gates, ma’am?”

So Julian had a side trip into Oblivion, and her memory of the bandit’s horrific injuries reminds us not to take it lightly.

It’s not far from that bandit camp. I’ll see if it’s safe to leave Blanco there while I close the Gate.

What to do with your horse while you’re in the Gate is a big issue. I’m glad to see Julian address it.

I like it when Julian is in Kvatch. It’s hard to pin down exactly why. And Chorrol next, another of my favorite places.

Posted by: Acadian Mar 15 2011, 03:19 AM

Once again you effectively use time sequencing here. In this case opening at the stables with Tilmo, then catching us up with the recent past, then rejoining the present.

I enjoy seeing how fully Julian integrates the needs of her companion, Blanco into her days. Things like ensuring he is in good hands with Tilmo for the night or taking pains to find a safe spot for him to wait as she clears an Oblivion Gate are delightfully welcome reminders of the responsibility entailed.

Julian was forced into several decisions regarding that bandit outside the Oblivion Gate, the most difficult of course was whether to give him the relief of death. You effectively portrayed the pain and grayness of this. More importantly, you showed us what Julian was thinking as she reluctantly made the best choice of a couple imperfect options. A hard choice I'm sure, but I really think she did exactly the right thing.

'Tell me, do they regrow once you harvest them?”
“I don’t think so,” Sinderion shook his head. “They are growing increasingly rare through the years.”
“I wonder why,” I mused.'
Brilliant!

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 15 2011, 05:06 AM

Chapter 24.2:

A very good look back into what Kvatch has been through, and what they might need to get back on their feet.

Also, if they need fuel in a pinch, bone works quite well. It's hard to start, but burns hot and long.

Nit:

You're dastardly quote mark here decided to point the wrong way!

Chapter 24-3:

Back in Skingrad. Nice to show some humility for the bandit and give him a quick death. I also enjoyed the one who ambushed you, but then discovered that he had a little something called gray matter and thought the better of it.

Glad to see Hassildor is willing to lend a hand. We just might have this town rebuilt before the crisis ends! Well, maybe not... it's a big city, after all.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 16 2011, 03:36 PM

@SubRosa: I’m glad you liked my portrayal of the two bandits. Somehow Blanco is more intimidating than Paint at his best. I just watched Ladyhawke last night to refresh my memory how to use such horses in combat. That fight scene between Navarre and Marquet in the cathedral is quite inspirational, and we might see some elements later in OHDH. As for Ocato, well, it’s not easy leading an Elder Council as divisive as I imagine this one to be. I’ll keep your comments in mind as I develop the High Chancellor further.

@Grits: I’m glad our fondness and respect for Matius comes through so well for you. I enjoy it too when Julian is in Kvatch. I think there she has a chance to drop her pilus persona. They’ve all seen her when she was weak and sick from her addiction, so she doesn't have to be so tough and strong when she's there.

@Acadian: I have to be careful with the time sequencing here. I’ve become so comfortable with transitioning back and forth it’s easy for me to over do it. I knew people were going to respond fairly strongly to that Redguard bandit Julian helped (though not quite in the way she originally intended to).

@TK: I’m glad you enjoyed the two segments - Kvatch and Skingrad. As for the wayward closing quote, it’s a problem with the forum’s formatting. In Scrivener (the app I use for writing) it points the correct way following the dash. However it seems the dash is invisible to the forum editor, and it sees only the space preceding it, which is the signal to convert to an opening quote. I’ll have to figure out the formatting rules specific to the forum editor . . .

After a visit at Kvatch to check up on cleanup and rebuilding progress, closing yet another Gate near Skingrad, and another visit with the Count of Skingrad, Julian finally returns to Weye and introduces her newest friend to a couple of old ones.

*******************************
Chapter 24.4 Introductions

Paint whinnied as we walked toward his paddock, and moved down to the fence. “Julian, is that ye?” Merowald exclaimed, stepping from his garden into the road. Paint stretched his head over the top rail toward me, snorting and blowing at Blanco.

The stallion stood quietly, but I noticed his ears twitching toward the gelding. I dropped the rein on his neck, and Blanco shook his mane before turning his gaze to Paint. He remained otherwise motionless until I dismounted, then took a step toward the fence, arching his neck and puffing up.

Sensible Paint did not seem impressed by Blanco’s showing off, but instead bumped muzzles with the stallion. He then turned his brown eyes at me and whinnied again, softer this time.

“I see ye have a new ‘orse,” Merowald stepped forward and held his hand out to Blanco. “‘E’s a beaut!” While the stallion and the retired fisherman became acquainted with each other, I slipped between the rails and greeted Paint. He nosed me over, as if to make certain I was still in one piece. His eyes sparkled when I pulled an apple out of my belt purse and bit into it.

At the sound of my teeth crunching the fruit, Blanco alerted on me. I lifted my hand in the Legion hold signal. He remained where he stood, but watched as I fed Paint the apple.

“Does ‘e know Legion signals, too?” Merowald had noticed the exchange between us.

“Something I taught him, on the way from Anvil,” I replied between bites. “His name is Blanco, by the way. He’s High Rock bred and trained, and he’s my horse, not just on loan like Paint was.”

“So ye will return Paint, then?” Merowald asked. I shrugged.

“I think he still belongs to Weynon Priory,” I answered. “Though the Prior himself has passed away, I should return Paint there.”

“‘E’s stronger now,” Merowald’s eyes were sad.

“I see he’s been good company for you, Merowald,” I smiled at him. “He was good company for me, too.” I turned back to Paint and laid my hands on his ribs. Closing my eyes, I sought his magicka. The fire was larger than before, but not nearly as strong as Blanco’s. But do horses have differing magnitudes of magicka like we do? I don’t know how strong Paint’s was before that will o’wisp.

Paint nudged my shoulder, breaking the contact. I blinked, and rubbed his shoulder in response. “You look better,” I said to him. He did look better, his eye brighter with more of a spark. He had put on weight, as well, though he wasn’t yet back to his old condition.

“I agree, Julian,” Merowald said after a moment. “‘E’s good company and all, but I think ‘e’ll be glad to be back home.” He turned back to Blanco, running his hand along the horse’s arched neck. “Well, this one’s trained to stand quietly with geldings?”

“I think so,” I responded. “Paint is used to being around stallions, he’s pretty low key with them.” I thought of how he ignored Red’s impertinence. Somehow I couldn’t see Blanco being so insouciant with the gelding. I opened the gate for Blanco. “Let’s see how they behave.”

“Aye, let’s!” Merowald agreed. He reached for Blanco’s rein, but the stallion had been watching me intently. I signaled him to come to me, and he walked carefully past the limping fisherman and paused just outside the open gate. His ears swiveled toward Paint, and his nostrils fluttered.

Paint stood his ground a few strides away, his eyes on Blanco. After a few moments, the gelding shook his head and shifted into the relaxed three-legged stance. At that moment, Blanco stepped past me and entered the paddock. He turned to face me, waiting alertly. I removed his bridle and saddle and rubbed his forehead firmly, ruffling his long forelock in the process.

“I’ll take these,” Merowald took the tack from me and carrying them into his cottage. I remained a few moments more, but Blanco turned away from me and began grazing. After a few moments, Paint dropped his head and did the same.

They’re deliberately ignoring each other. For the moment. Is that good? I closed the gate behind me and moved to the garden, where I sat on the bench. Merowald came out a few moments later with a tumbler of water for me.

“I was watchin’ them through the window,” he said, seating himself next to me and lighting his pipe. “Seems to me they’ll get along fine.”

“I hope so,” I replied. “I’ll be leading Paint back to Weynon Priory from the saddle.”

“If Paint ‘ad been one of those obnoxious geldin’s,” Merowald blew a long stream of blue smoke, “then we’d ‘ave a problem. But ‘e’s so laid back, I don’t think Blanco will feel the need to put ‘im in his place.” He turned his head and watched the pair for a few moments longer. “And Blanco doesn’t seem like one of those stallions that ‘as to show ‘is balls to everyone all the time.”

“I was nervous about getting a stallion,” I admitted. “I’d seen them in the Legion, and they always seemed to be difficult to handle. But he’s been easy.”

“Ye’ve taught him a signal or two,” Merowald remarked. “How long ‘ave ye ‘ad ‘im?”

I tipped my head back against the plaster of the cottage, cool in the gathering dusk. “Let’s see, six days now.”

“And the two of ye ‘ave learned a lot in that short a time,” the old Breton grinned at me. He took a long puff on his pipe before speaking again. “I could tell when I saw ye ridin’ up that both of ye’re comfortable with each other.”

“Thanks, Merowald,” I smiled back, taking another sip of the cool water. “But if not for Paint, I would never have dreamed of riding a horse like Blanco. I had to learn new things so I would know what to expect! He’s not trained like Paint, you see.”

“Really? ‘Ow’s that?”

I told him of our encounter with the mountain lion, and how Blanco had responded so differently to the same cues I had used with Paint. He listened raptly as I described the grueling lessons Clesa had given me until I could ask for the levade, the courbette or the rear and forward jump that he had used to return the lion’s attack, and the capriole, the high leap with the backwards kick that could be useful when being attacked from behind.

“That’ll be handy with goblins and bandits and the like!” he exclaimed. “I’d ‘ate to be on the receivin’ end of those back feet!”

“It can be quite devastating, I’m told.” I glanced at Merowald. “Someone of your height, those hooves would be right in your face. For a Nord or Altmer, it’s right here,” I drew my hand across the base of my neck, level with my collarbones. “Deadly either way.”

“Ye’d have to be a male Bosmer to avoid that, then!” the fisherman nodded emphatically.

“A male Bosmer might get scalped,” I corrected. “If he’s lucky, that is. Blanco can adjust the height of his kick to get the most damage.” I shook my head. “We’ve been practicing on the road from Kvatch. He’s taught me a lot.”

“‘E’d be a good fightin’ partner, at that,” Merowald shook his head in wonder.

“I’m still a little nervous about letting him fight alongside me, though,” I smiled at myself. “I’m in the habit of keeping my horse out of danger.”

“But danger can sneak up on ye at times,” Merowald spoke ruefully, tapping his gimp leg for emphasis. “It’d be good to ‘ave someone like Blanco then.” He met my gaze. “By the way, ‘ow can ye afford a ‘igh Rock stallion?”

“Clesa made me a deal - half what she paid for him as long as I bring him back every spring for breeding.” I recalled Morvayn’s comment. “That was the main reason she imported him - for breeding to her own bloodlines. This way, she gets out of feeding him for most of the year!”

Merowald chuckled. “And ‘ow is your friend, ah, Brother Martin?”

“He was fine when I last saw him.” I counted days for a few moments. “It’s been about six weeks now. I’ll probably see him again in a couple more weeks.” And I hope he has the Xarxes fully translated by then. Though what he’ll ask me to do next remains to be seen. And somehow I have the feeling Sancre Tor won’t be the end of it.

“Ye’ve been travelin’ all over Cyrodiil, Julian,” Merowald puffed on his pipe one last time, then tapped it against the edge of the bench, spilling the ashes onto the ground. “That’s more than I’ve ever seen!”

“I’ve seen more of Cyrodiil in the past two months than I have in my entire life!” I exclaimed. “Bruma, Cheydinhal, and Leyawiin. Kvatch and Skingrad.” And the Deadlands, too. But let’s not speak of that.

“‘Ow was it goin’ back to Anvil?” Merowald turned the smooth wood of the pipe in his hands, as if considering refilling and relighting it.

“I was dreading it at first, but once I was back and saw some old friends, it was fine.” For the most part. I caught myself fingering the silver circlet on my left wrist, tucked up beneath the padded sleeve of the quilted tunic. Its enchantment remained a mystery, and though I caught it glowing softly at times, I still felt no effects from it.

With a glance at the evening sky, I rose to my feet. “I’d best be getting off to bed, Merowald. I’ll be back early in the morning to take these two on to Weynon Priory.”

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 16 2011, 10:16 PM

A nice little pause, and a wonderful reunion with an old friend! Aelwin was nice to see as well . As ever, I love the cockney accent you give him. Someday we will have to get him and Aia together, the dialogue will be marvelous!

It has only been six weeks since Julian began her grand circuit of Cyrodiil? It seems like six months, given how much has happened. I doubt that Martin and Jauffree will recognize her when she returns!

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 16 2011, 10:32 PM

More fun horsie talk!

It was great seeing how Blanco and Paint reacted to each other, and I agree with that entirely. Paint will forever be the complacent, yet playful little gelding I always envisioned him to be. I should know... Beauty is exactly him in Palomino coat!

Ignoring each other is a lot better than fighting each other, at least. They should get a chance to get to know each other much better very soon, and I predict Blanco will waste no time showing off his Stallion-ness on the road.

Nit:

Seems your start italic marker went a bit wayward here.

Posted by: TheOtherRick Mar 17 2011, 12:04 AM

Well I have finally gotten around to starting this one. I only have the first five posts read so far, those being Chapter 1.

I have to agree with Treydog...it is really cool to see a protagonist that is a bit longer in the tooth than most of them. Being a bit long in the tooth myself, I can completely relate to the aches and pains that come with becoming a late-summer chicken. You describe it perfectly.

Also, the flashbacks are great! They are the ideal tool for character building.

All in all, a great account of the tutorial. Looking forward to continuing.

Posted by: Acadian Mar 17 2011, 01:15 AM

A delightful return to Weye!

You continue to paint a wonderful character in Aelwin. I really enjoyed seeing Paint meet Blanco. I know Aelwin will miss the gelding, but I'm glad Paint is getting much better.

So, it seems that Weynon/Chorrol is next?

Nit?
“Well, is this one’s trained to stand quietly with geldings?”
I read this several times, making sure I was trying to account for the accent and the liberties available via dialogue. The bolded area however seems to contain an unintended redundancy? If you break down the contraction, you get 'is this one is trained to…?' Perhaps: 'is this one trained to…?' or 'this one's trained to…?'

Posted by: Grits Mar 17 2011, 03:55 PM

I enjoyed the horsey goodness, and the lovely chat in the garden. Maybe Julian can rescue a cat for Aelwin, so he won’t miss Paint so much.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 18 2011, 02:54 PM

@SubRosa: Aigh, the dialogue between Aelwin and Aia would be a pain to write! Are you trying to give me nightmares? Don’t get me wrong, I love the old guy, but his voice is a beeyotch to get right. And according to the time line I’ve been maintaining alongside each chapter, yes, it’s been not quite six weeks since Julian left Cloud Ruler. She left on 7 Frostfall, and it’s now 18 Sun’s Dusk.

@TK: Thanks for catching the wayward BBcode. It’s been fixed. I had a feeling you would enjoy seeing two of the boys in Julian’s life meet each other.

@Ricky: Hey, welcome to Old Habits! You and treydog are not the only ones to comment on Julian’s age as being atypical for a fan fic protagonist. I’m having a great deal of fun writing her story, and I hope you will see that in upcoming chapters.

@Acadian: You guessed right - Weynon and Chorrol are next. I’m glad you enjoyed the little visit with Aelwin. Your nit has been fixed.

@Grits: Maybe Julian will get a cat for Aelwin!

*************************
Chapter 25.1 The Last Stop

As the three of us made our way up the long slope toward Weynon Priory and Chorrol beyond, I searched the sky for the Gate I knew stood open outside the city. They had been talking about it at the Bloated Float while I had my supper last night. It had opened on the same day as the Gates outside the other cities. This would be the strongest sigil stone yet, I mused silently to myself. Travel to Chorrol had essentially stopped, the Black Horse Courier only traveling as far as Weynon Priory before leaving the Black Road and cutting across to the Orange Road where it skirted the north city walls to the gates that faced the mountains.

Ahead, the sun merged into the familiar crackling red glow of an Oblivion Gate. Blanco stopped beneath me as I regarded the tip of the oblate fire visible above the ruins of the old fort just south of Chorrol’s main gate. No wonder the courier’s going through Weynon Priory. That’s right on the intersection of the Black Road with Gate Street. That’s mighty close to the town gates! Blanco regarded the sizzling energy ahead, his breaths coming fast and shallow, his ears swiveling at speed. Paint, who had been walking quietly at the stallion’s hip, hung back as far as the lead would allow him.

After a few moments, I nudged Blanco forward, and turned him off the road onto the path leading to the Priory. Both horses were too happy to walk away from that Gate. Paint picked his head up and quickened his steps. Within a stride or two his nose was at my knee, and I could see his ears pricked forward.

At the sight of a familiar figure walking from the chapel to the priory house, Paint’s nostrils fluttered, and he whickered softly. “Yes, Paint, it’s Eronor,” I said, gathering the rein in my left hand and stroking Paint’s neck with my right. “You’re almost home.”

The Dunmer had paused before the house at Paint’s call, and now stood facing us, his hand over his eyes to cut the glare from the westering sun. “Hail, Eronor!” I called to him. “It’s me, Julian of Anvil!”

His smile reached us before his voice did. “Hail, Julian! Welcome back!” As we walked up to the priory, bemusement moved through his scarlet eyes. “But two horses?”

“I’m returning Paint.” The gelding stepped past Blanco to nudge Eronor’s shoulder. Automatically the Dunmer reached up and took the halter lead from me. “He had a bad encounter with a will o’wisp in Blackwood,” I continued, dropping Blanco’s rein and dismounting. “I don’t think he’s fit for traipsing all over Cyrodiil with me anymore.”

“Will o’wisp?” Eronor repeated, his eyes moving over Paint’s form. “He doesn’t look that bad.” He waved for me to follow him with Blanco as he started toward the stables in the rear.

“He’s better than he was when we were in Leyawiin,” I kept Blanco a respectable distance behind the other horse. “Marz, the healer in Bravil, taught me a restore magicka spell for him. I’ve been casting it every chance I get.”

“Well, you don’t have to return him,” Eronor led Paint into the enclosure and secured him within the stall. I put Blanco next to him and began stripping the tack.

“I thought since he’s now retired, he would be happier to be back here,” I said. “And it seems I thought right.” Paint did indeed seem contented as Eronor filled the water buckets for both horses.

“Hmm,” Eronor grunted as he laid armfuls of aromatic hay before each eager mouth. “This has been his home for over ten years, so that makes sense.” He watched as Blanco worked away at his own dinner, ears twirling with the rhythm of his chewing. “And this stallion is so well behaved!”

“They met yesterday,” I answered. “Spent the night together in a paddock in Weye. They got along just fine - gave each other some space and that was all.”

“Not like Red at all,” Eronor shook his head. “Seems like he’s used to being around other horses.”

“Blanco does flirt with the mares the Black Horse Couriers use, though,” I remarked. Eronor’s eyes flashed at me as he stepped past the stallion, running his hand over the horse’s round back and strong rump. “He likes to talk them up. Of course, so far none of them have taken him up on his offer.”

“They shouldn’t!” Eronor chuckled. “After all, they don’t go out when they’re in season!” His gaze flickered over my frame, lingering a moment on the Kvatch Wolf emblazoned on the surcoat. “We’ve been hearing about you here at the priory. Closing Gates and being called Hero of every town in Cyrodiil. Folks up in Chorrol are praying you’ll come soon!”

“I saw the Gate in the old fort ruins,” I felt the mood turn somber at the change in subject. “How are they holding up?”

“Brother Piner’s been standing watch with the city guard and the Fighters Guild every night,” Eronor replied. “He’s been sleeping in the day between prayers. A small team from the guard went in about two weeks ago, but none of them have returned.”

I felt my stomach flip at his words. “Two weeks ago?” About the time I closed the Skingrad Gates.

“Aye, the daedra were swarming pretty badly then. Bittneld felt he couldn’t wait for you any longer.” Eronor’s eyes grew pained. “Brother Piner argued for waiting, but I guess things were pretty bad at the time.”

“And now?” I turned for the priory.

“There’s fewer daedra coming through, but we’re still taking casualties. Brother Piner’s hitting the altar for healing here every day when he comes back.” Eronor gestured at my pack. “Rest a bit, leave your extra gear here. I know I can’t keep you out of that Gate.”

“No, not really,” I could hear the rue in my voice. “If that’s okay with you Eronor, I’ll just drop off my extra gear, grab my weapons and head out.”

“But you just got here!” Eronor exclaimed.

“Knowing that there’s people taking casualties, I can’t just sit here and rest until they’re safe,” I countered. “That was my job as pilus in the Legion, and it’s an old habit I prefer not to break right now.” I clapped his thin shoulder as we walked through the porte-cochere. “Don’t worry, Blanco did all the work so far today!”

I managed to put my pack inside the priory without wakening the sleeping Piner. Carefully I closed the door behind me, then adjusted the two swords at my left hip. Mentally I reviewed the spells I would be most likely to use in the Deadlands - detect life, shock on touch, fireball, and healing. My two bows strung and slung at my back, my quiver at my right hip, I returned to the Black Road and turned my feet toward those familiar daedric thunderclouds.

The first few guards I encountered at the barriers stared at my white hair and the Kvatch Wolf before one of them bolted for the center of the line. The other two approached me. “Have you come to help us out?” one of them asked.

I saw the weariness and strain that aged their youthful eyes, familiar by now after Skingrad and Anvil. “Who’s in charge right now?”

“Captain Bittneld the Curse-Bringer,” the other volunteered. “Bormir went to fetch him.”

“Never mind that,” I walked past them. “Take me to where he is.”

I had not moved more than three steps before one of the men, striding at my shoulder, pointed ahead of us. “Here he comes.” The two men saluted the captain before turning back to their posts.

Bittneld was as Nordic as his name. But where Captain Burd was as tall as an Altmer, Bittneld was closer to my own height, and broader through the shoulder. He had the same cool blue eyes, the hard assessing gaze as the taller Nord. “Julian of Anvil,” he greeted me, his voice hoarse. Probably from shouting over the noise from that Gate. “Are you here to lend aid?”

“I heard some of your men went in there, but didn’t come back,” I said quietly. Bittneld’s gaze flickered ever so slightly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner, sir.”

“You can’t be in nine places at the same time,” Bittneld half-growled. “But I still wish you had that ability!”

“So do I, sir,” I responded. “But now that I’m here, I’ll go ahead. Can you hold the line for another day?”

“We have no other choice, really,” Bittneld shook his head. “It’s that or let Chorrol be overrun by daedra.”

“Only if they open two more Gates like this one, as they did at Kvatch,” I glanced at the Gate. Yes, a smaller one. “It’ll likely take me about a day or a little less,” I continued. “That’s how most of these Gates have been for me.”

“I’ve heard you took one of Dion’s men into that second Gate outside Skingrad,” Bittneld turned to gaze at the portal, his face scarlet in the glow from the unholy fire. “And the same with the guard at Bruma.”

“Are you concerned about a second Gate opening?” I asked. “Skingrad was unusual, but not the only one. Leyawiin had two Gates open outside their east gate, too. But are any of your men rested?” Bittneld’s scowl told me the answer. “Then it’s best I go in alone. I’m rested.” Relatively speaking. “I’ll be happy to brief your men afterwards.”

Bittneld sent me a glare hotter than the fire of the Gate. “I’m going to hold you to that, Julian of Anvil. Until then, we’ll hold the line here.”

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 18 2011, 04:30 PM

old habit I prefer not to break right now
We know how hard those die!

Another city, another gate (and soon another MG fetch and carry quest). It was heartening to hear that the Chorrol guard at least tried to shut the gate on their own. Not so heartening to learn they never came back. It looks like Bittneld's nickname is in full-force!

Posted by: Grits Mar 18 2011, 06:29 PM

I like to see how Chorrol is handling their Gate, but sorry to hear about those lost in there. The description of the top coming into view captures the sense of inevitability I get when I see one. It sounds like Julian is well on her way to becoming the Champion of Cyrodiil, if only informally.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 19 2011, 12:34 AM

And likely melting his icy Nordic soul!

And here we go again. What's the tally now? 23? 24? Well, at least we know Julian has some experience with gate-crashing. Better keep her away from parties from now on!

Posted by: Acadian Mar 19 2011, 12:56 AM

I'm so glad Paint seems happy to be back at Weynon Priory! It looks like he will get great care, and the Chorrol area is beautiful. Well, when there aren't any darn Oblivion Gates around.

Nice touch that the guards are augmented by the Fighters Guild and even Brother Piner.

Pair of swords, check. Pair of bows, check. Full quiver, check. Spells reviewed, check. Bristling Julian sounds ready!

I can hope I suppose, but after two weeks in that gate, it doesn't sound good for the expedition that preceded Julian.

Posted by: Olen Mar 20 2011, 10:41 PM

All caught up . Good parts here, looks like we have another gate about to be closed. In fact I think it's the penultimate one, barring any random closings she goes in for...

Seeing Kvatch again was good. Going back to old places and seeing change really brings the world to life and gives the feeling that its vast cast aren't just twiddling their thumbs while Julian is away. That they aren't doing all that well, in spite of the initial problem being over adds realism, in many ways it's months down the line which are important, not the immediate problem.

I also sense that there might be some more to do there in the future, with no count and two possible leaders... Even with things looking up there will be more problems there. Still it looks like they'll have food, tools and shelter.

No more issues with the Skingrad guild I notice. The bandit not attacking on the way there was a nice touch, it makes them seem more human.

The part with Merowald and Paint was a treat. It offered a sort of break from the immediate focus of gathering forces to the next phase in the quest to look at the big picture, and of course revisiting old characters is always pleasant. The multiple functions it fulfilled made it doubly enjoyable, I noticed the further foreshadowing with the bracelet.

And then into 25, and another gate, but the last one this time before Julian faces a rather different kind of foe. I wonder how prepared she will be for the change after fighting so many daedra...

I'm looking forward to it

Nits:
“I have everything else here I need to make steel,” gra-Sharob remarked. “Plenty of carbon in those burnt trees, and tungstenite in Belletor’s Folly.” - this stood out for a couple of reasons, both slighly technical. The knowledge of alloying seems a bit advanced (also tungsten seems a strange choice), also steelmaking is quite a large job and would probably be beyond her. But then she might have magic on her side which would proably change the process.
'regarded the tip of the oblate fire visible above the ruins' - gates look more prolate than oblate, but that's just me being obsessive.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 21 2011, 02:03 PM

@SubRosa: Yes, another city, another Gate. And we’ll see if Bittneld’s nickname applies to his men or his enemies.

@Grits: Fatalities is something the game kind of glosses over, but I felt it was needed to make the story more real, and the implied danger of the Gates more immediate.

@TK: The tally, counting this Gate, is nineteen.

@Acadian: I figured it was time more folks got involved in the barricades outside the Gates. And no, it doesn’t look good for the group that went into the Gate two weeks ago.

@Olen: Thanks for catching up! It’s good to see that you’re still enjoying Julian’s story. There will be more foreshadowing in upcoming chapters. As for prolate vs. oblate, I had a hard time finding a word to describe the lens shape of the Gates. I figure prolate is a more uncommon word and may not be familiar to most people. For now I’ll leave it that way, but I’ll acknowledge your obsessiveness is correct.

On arriving at Chorrol, Julian discovers yet another Gate. To prevent more casualties, she goes in to close it. Now she has one last noble to see, one last Guild chapter head to visit, and one last town to check off her Grand Tour.

*****************
Chapter 25.2: The Last Recommendation

The Oblivion Gate did not take as long as I expected, and I was able to catch a few hours of sleep at Weynon Priory before I headed into town. The shops were still closed, so I decided to head up to the Mages Guild chapterhouse first and see if the chapter head was up.

On my entry into the grand edifice, an Imperial man greeted me. “Hello, Hero of Chorrol!” He grinned as I groaned silently. “Thanks for closing that Gate for us. We would have given you a bigger welcome if we hadn’t been tossing and turning in our beds!”

“That’s all right,” I shook my head, recalling my return to Nirn in the very early hours of the morning.

The lungfuls of cold night air diminished the fatigue I always felt after a foray into the Deadlands. Above me, stars glowed in the moonless sky. As I stepped away from the ruins of the Oblivion Gate, a slight figure passed the barricades before me.

“Hail, Julian!” Brother Piner greeted me. Like the guardsmen and Captain Bittneld, the monk showed the effects of six weeks of standing watch outside an active Gate. Yet he was genuinely happy to see me. “I was glad to hear you had arrived!”

“I’m glad to see you in one piece, too,” I answered. “Somehow I wasn’t surprised when Eronor told me you had been standing watch every night.”

“What else could I do, with one of those standing so close to the Priory and to Chorrol?” Piner clapped me on the shoulder. “Just as you can’t stay out of these things!”

“Ma’am,” a Dunmer with black hair cut in a cliffracer style and steel plate over his chest and shoulders clanged a salute as others crowded around me. “Welcome back to Nirn.”

“Wait, wait,” I held up my hands, my boisterous welcome back at Anvil very much on my mind. “What time is it?”

“Almost one bell in the morning,” he replied. “You weren’t gone nearly as long as Captain Bittneld said you would be.”

“No, not as long as I expected,” I admitted. “But I’m still tired, and it’s too late at night, or rather -“ I let a smile show, “- early in the morning to do anything else but go to bed for a few hours at least.”

“Well, ma’am,” the Dunmer would not give up. I realized he did not wear the same oak tree insignia as the Chorrol guardsmen. “Captain Bittneld left orders to be notified as soon as the Gate was closed.”

“And I wouldn’t tell you to disobey those orders,” I stepped past him. “But I’m headed to the Priory and bed. Tell Captain Bittneld I’ll catch up with him at a more decent hour.” At a sudden thought, I paused and turned back. “Is the area clear?”

The Dunmer slid his gaze to Piner, standing beside me. Piner turned his gaze to the sky above us. “Yes, ma’am,” the older man replied, “we swept the area less than an hour ago, and no daedra have exited the Gate since.”

“This is Modryn Oreyn,” Piner broke in. “He’s the Champion of the Fighters Guild. They’ve been helping man the barricades at night.”

I looked around again at the men surrounding us. While some of them wore the usual surcoat and mail of the guard, others wore various sorts of armor. Two Orsimer towered over most of their comrades, one in iron plate, the other bare-chested. “Then I would suggest one of you head into town to report to the Captain,” I said. “The rest of you sweep the area one more time, then turn in for the night. It would be best to leave the usual guard on the walls, just in case.”

Oreyn’s eyes narrowed at me. After a moment, he turned his gaze to one of the nearest guardsmen. “Yes, sir!” In response to the unspoken command, the guardsman’s right fist clanked on his chest in the customary salute before he left the group.

“As you suggest,” Oreyn’s tone held grudging respect. “Ma’am.”

I shook myself and returned to the present. “It’s a good morning, isn’t it?”

“Aye, that it is!” the Imperial responded heartily. “I’m Contumeliorus Floris, the mage in charge of recharging!” He tipped his head back as he laughed from his belly. “Get it, ‘in charge!’”

“Yes, I do,” I chuckled, more at his cheerful attitude than at his groaner. “I’m looking for Teekeeus.”

“Oh, he’ll be down shortly,” Floris assured me. “He’s a bit grumpy these days, though. With that Earana hanging around the Great Oak, his tail is all tied in knots.”

“Earana?” I repeated.

“You’ll see her soon enough!” Floris arched a brow at me. “But I’d steer clear of her if I were you. She has it in for Teekeeus, and wouldn't hesitate to take any of us down with him."

“Why?” I couldn’t help my curiosity.

“They were rivals in the University.” Floris lowered his voice with a glance at the stairs leading up. “It got so bad both of them were kicked out. They still hate each other’s guts.”

“All right, I’ll keep that in mind.” Footsteps on the stairs alerted me to the arrival of someone else. A balding Altmer, a peevish cast to his features, regarded me from his greater height as he reached the ground floor.

“Julian, this is Angalmo, our alchemist,” Floris waved him to join us. “Don’t mind his expression, he always looks like he just stepped in something!”

“Oh, stop it, Floris!” the Altmer snapped tersely, but his eyes as they turned to me were sparkling with humor. “He’s always picking on the Altmer stereotype, Floris is.” His voice was much warmer than his face.

I smiled up at him. “He does strike me as the prankster sort,” I remarked. Angalmo’s pursed lips actually smiled at the comment.

“So you’ve just closed yet another Gate, Julian,” he remarked with mock casualness. “How many does that make?”

“I’ve lost count,” I replied. “Nineteen, I think?”

“Nineteen!” Floris exclaimed. “And do your enchanted gear require recharging?”

“I found a few filled soul gems in the Deadlands.” I shrugged. “So far I’ve been able to keep my gear topped off. Now keeping them repaired is something else.”

“Rasheda will fix that right up,” Angalmo waved his hand toward the door. “She should be open any minute now.”

“Yes, I thought I would see her after I speak with Teekeeus.” I set my pack down and rummaged in it. After a moment, I found what I sought. “Here, do you have any use for these?”

“Bloodgrass?” Angalmo exclaimed. “And what are these?”

“Spiddal stick,” I pointed out the thin canes, then pointed out the stubby wood, “and harrada root.”

“How wonderful!” Angalmo reached for the ingredients. I moved my hands warningly.

“Be careful of the bloodgrass.” I showed him the fine scars on my hands. “The sap from them is highly irritating.”

“Of course!” Cautiously, Angalmo took the items from me, using the hem of his sleeve to handle the sharp-edged grass. “Thank you, Julian!”

“I noticed there is bloodgrass growing outside what’s left of the Gate,” I added. “I don’t know if it’ll continue growing, but it might be a good source if it survives.”

“I will keep an eye on them,” Angalmo promised. “Now if you’ll excuse me -“ He bowed to me before turning for the alchemy workroom just off the lobby.

Floris chuckled. “You’re on his good side, no doubt!” He turned and met my gaze. “Angalmo loves nothing more than tinkering with exotic ingredients to see what more he can learn from them.” He clapped his hands. “Well, have you eaten yet, Julian?”

I nodded as heavier footsteps, followed by the swishing sound of a tail brushing the treads reached us. A tall Argonian in a simple blue robe appeared on the staircase. His gaze moved from Floris to me, and his tongue flickered briefly between his scaled lips.

“Teekeeus!” Floris put his hands together and bowed slightly to the Argonian. “This is Julian of Anvil. She comes seeking you!”

I inclined my head respectfully as the chapter head approached us. Teekeeus stopped a few steps away, his orange eyes still steady on mine. “Welcome to Chorrol, Julian,” he returned my tacit greeting. “It seems thankss are in order for clossing that Oblivion Gate. Folkss have been on edge around here, and business has fallen off conssiderably.”

“Hopefully things will return to normal soon,” I responded. “I’ve come to see you for a recommendation for the Arcane University.”

His brows lifted. “You wish to enter the Universsity?” He took a deep breath, his eyes unfocusing momentarily. “Yess, I would need time to prepare a proper examination. However, if you would handle a minor matter for me, we could forgo that examination.”

At a glance from the taller man, Floris withdrew into the alchemy workroom. Teekeeus gestured me to follow him behind the counter, away from the stairs. “Lissten carefully,” he held up a scaled finger. “There iss a mage here in town, an Altmer named Earana. She and I have - a hisstory. She has no respect for Guild regulations, and is consstantly accussing me of missussing my powers. I’m certain she iss here becausse she wantss ssomthing from me. But she hassn’t yet approached me.” He scowled and his teeth ground, sending shivers up my spine. “She iss up to trouble. I want you to sspeak to her, find out what she wantss.”

Posted by: ghastley Mar 21 2011, 04:46 PM

He scowled and his teeth ground, sending shivers up my spine.
That's a lot of teeth, so I'm not surprised grinding them has a major effect!

Earana doesn't have much to say about Teekeeus in the game. It will be interesting to see what you add to her side of the story.

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 21 2011, 08:08 PM

“Hello, Hero of Chorrol!” He grinned as I groaned silently.
Oh noes! Julian has been found out again!

“Just as you can’t stay out of these things!”
Nice to see we are not the only ones to notice this trait of Julian's! Other women go shopping, she goes gate-crashing!

The Fighters Guild actually helping with a gate! What a refreshing change from the game, where they never leave their chapter houses! Oreyn of the cliffracer hair was the perfect choice for a representative. And I see Lum and Kurz gro-Baroth as well! The latter two have large parts in chapter 34 of the TF, so it was a joy to see them here.

his tail is all tied in knots.
I love this! Remind me to steal it!

“He’s always picking on the Altmer stereotype, Floris is.”
And I see Floris is not the only one to poke fun at it!

She has no respect for Guild regulations
Seeing that Earana is not a member of the Mages Guild, this does not seem remarkable!

As Sir Graves said, I am looking forward to seeing how you portray Earana. So far the best treatment she has gotten in a fan fic has been dog poo!



nits:
“Earana iss her name, and she iss up to trouble.
This is the second time Teekeus said her name was Earana. I am guessing it is a leftover from edits.

Posted by: Acadian Mar 22 2011, 12:39 AM

'With that Earana hanging around the Great Oak, his tail is all tied in knots.”
I must echo SubRosa's warm endorsement of this! Wonderful. You then delightfully amplified it when that very tail could be heard swishing down the steps behind Teekeeus.

Using the Fighters Guild to augment things was a great idea.

I like that, at this point, you paint Teekeeus in kind of a neutral light. His nature is left open enough that we want to learn more about it. I am always predisposed to like Argonians, but sometimes, this one can be well, a bit of a challenge. I look forward to Julian's take on him as things develop. And of course, I look forward to meeting dear Earana.

Posted by: Grits Mar 22 2011, 02:08 AM

I enjoyed the interplay between Oreyn and Piner.

I nodded as heavier footsteps, followed by the swishing sound of a tail brushing the treads reached us. A tall Argonian in a simple blue robe appeared on the staircase. His gaze moved from Floris to me, and his tongue flickered briefly between his scaled lips.

Teekeeus is so vividly Argonian, I am in awe! I’m very interested to see what Julian makes of the coming events.

Posted by: Olen Mar 22 2011, 05:51 PM

SubRosa has already stolen all the great quotables from that part, and they were many.

You paint the different guilds so well, they all have a real feeling to them which makes them stand out. It all flows down from the guild head in many ways: Skingrad was proably productive enough but rather weird, Bruma was very organised (Kud-ei is there after all), Bruma was a farce, Anvil was very proper... And now Chorrol seems happy enough but perhaps not so tight, as I'd imagine Teekeeus running things.

Your protreyal of Teekeeus himself was good too, very neutral. I can imagine Julian won't dislike him, but won't really get on either. Erana on the other hand, well I'm sure that will be more interesting.

Great stuff building the setting so fast

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 22 2011, 06:37 PM

Hello, Teekeeus! I hope you don't have any... other, evil-like plans for that book you are now so close to getting your hands on. You swindled my wood elf good, after all!

I sure hope Earana doesn't end up dead here, too. Talendor managed to avoid it (at the cost of embarrassing her so as she'll probably just leave town to get away from the jeering stares), but the playing field is open for you. Still, that's a bridge to be crossed sometime later.

Posted by: Destri Melarg Mar 23 2011, 07:52 AM

First, let me congratulate you on the creation of Midave Sendal. With an admirable economy of words you do so much to set up his character and establish reader empathy. I liked him immediately. You know, it occurs to me that taking him through the KOTN could prove to be interesting, if you are still hunting for ideas for your next story.

So now Julian is sober, healed, famous, and RICH!!

Well, at least for the moment. Why do I get the feeling that Julian’s pension will soon be lining Clesa’s purse? I bet Ernest will approve. His selection of clothing is short a few pieces. He can’t afford to clean horse-snot out of everything he owns! Go Blanco!!

Nice twist on the Anvil Recommendation. Ever since Julian agreed to do it I’ve been wondering how she was going to pass herself off as a merchant. As I said before, I have that same problem with the (horseless) Legion Rider killing the two battlemages. In my game it happens after you escort Martin to Cloud Ruler, not after Dagon Shrine. Although, if you do that recommendation before you start the main quest, and that Rider is patrolling on the Gold Road, he will still jump off his horse and kill the two battlemages. Every time! Makes you wonder at the effectiveness of guild training.

QFT!

Blanco’s chapter was simply fantastic. Clesa’s primer on how to ride was informative without being preachy. Is there any doubt whatsoever that Julian is going to buy him? My only wonder is how Clesa considers 45 Septims and the promise of stud rights in perpetuity as a ‘deal’ for Julian!

*Ask and ye shall receive! I had to stop reading because I just learned that Clesa paid 90 Septims for Blanco!! Something fishy is going on!*

I know this is way late, but I can’t help it:

WARNING: RANT FORTHCOMING

[rant] I have to take offense to some of the comments made in the wake of Jared’s betrayal. We men are not perfect, and yes we do stray. Believe me when I say that Jared’s actions DO NOT constitute the actions of the ‘typical’ male! As a male who has strayed I can say with certainty that I do not consider it my finest hour. The fact that she left me over it was no less than I deserved and I still regret my actions even after several years. It was a painful episode that I have no desire to ever relive. I think that constitutes the attitude of the ‘typical’ male, or the typical human being with even the smallest shred of empathy for another. Jared’s betrayal was both vindictive and cruel in that he REVELED in the fact that Julian found him with another. That makes him an a$$hole, not a ‘typical’ male. [/rant]

Captain, count me in. See you behind the Flowing Bowl. Don’t forget your gloves, I’ll bring the boots!


Yeah, like play video games and write fan-fiction?

*Destri ducks out of the room to avoid the flying toaster!*

_____

_____

_____

*He peeks around the corner to gauge the temperature of the room. Judging it safe, he tentatively enters and continues.*

So now I know what was haunting Gweden Farm! The fight against the Sirens was fantastic! Like Acadian said, Mysticism, Destruction, Conjuration, sword-play, and tumbling all told with an exciting and engaging energy. This ranks right up there with Fort Grief as one of your best battle sequences. I have to admit that I felt a little sorry for Faustina, Signy, and Tsarinna. They brought their end upon themselves by being so quick to go for the sword, but their crimes didn’t really hurt anybody.

Wow. I don’t have anything to add to what the others already said about the flashback chapter (I will call it that from now on because to dwell on any of the events therein is just too painful, and not just for Julian). Great writing!

Enter Blanco. This was a very welcome switch of gears from the last few chapters. I think that Paint was a great horse to help heal Julian, but Blanco is the steed of the Hero of Kvatch (sorry, Paint). They must cut quite the figure: white-haired, light-eyed Julian, Daedra Slayer on her hip, astride white, smart, lion-kicking Blanco. I bet the bards are going to dine for years on songs about them!

After a bad first impression I have come to admire Carahil. Felen Relas was already firmly established in his role of mentor and friend. Carahil has been revealed to us slowly, in layers (not unlike the removal of bandages in old horror movies ). I really like the way that you’ve done this. Rest assured that I have been taking notes for myself right alongside these comments. Don’t be surprised to see this technique stolen borrowed for my own story.

I have a question: Have we encountered this man with the azure-as-the-sky colored eyes? I mean, when you reveal him to us, are we all in for a massive collective facepalm?

Blanco’s origin story was a surprise, but a welcome one. Now he is even more indelibly etched into my consciousness!

Once again the others have already pointed out everything that struck me about the rebuilding of Kvatch. I thought that Winter Wolf’s comment was especially interesting. Julian may have been born in Anvil, but the Hero of Kvatch was forged in, well, Kvatch.

And I’ve always wondered why the game doesn’t recognize Savlian Matius as the obvious, and deserving, successor to the title of Count Kvatch. Even the mods don’t give the man his due.

Y’know, we could have gotten Dralgoner an appointment with Signy Home-Wrecker at the Flowing Bowl if Julian wasn’t so quick with the slashy-slashy! Nothing says morale boost like a 6’5” buxom Nord!

Hmm, it seems that Count Hassildor and I are of the same mind when it comes to Savlian Matius. I can see that the Count’s antennae is definitely up. Even now he seeks to use the situation in Kvatch for political ammunition. His wariness of Ocato hints at a long history between the two. I wonder if you plan to explore that in the future, now that her dealings with the Mages Guild will be bringing her into more contact with the Count.

Poor Aelwin, now he has to suffer through the monotonous days of retirement alone. Maybe while Julian is out rescuing cats she can save one up for him (oops, Grits beat me to it). And I can think of a few male Bosmer that Blanco could practice his kicks on!

As Julian cecks her gear and reviews her spells before launching herself into yet another gate I am reminded of only one thing . . . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YHa_jqxnn4o

Finally, I have no hesitation in saying that I can’t stand Teekeeus! I always give the book to Earana, even though Finger of the Mountain is a ridiculously bad spell! Let’s just hope that Julian’s solution to the ‘Earana problem’ is not the same as Buffy’s! Though we have already acknowledged that Julian is quick with the slashy-slashy!

And with that, I am all caught up!

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 23 2011, 03:16 PM

@ghastley: I hope you enjoy this version of Earana. Actually when I play this recommendation, it’s a tossup which side I take. I can’t make myself like one more than the other. We’ll see how Julian handles the both of them when she completes the recommendation.

@SubRosa: Given the recent onslaught by female protagonists on the Mall of Chorrol, it might be a relief that Julian won’t be joining them anytime soon! You have major parts for Lum and Kurz? I look forward to Chapter 34 then! And you’re welcome to steal borrow my tail line!

@Acadian: Teekeeus’s tail is a part of him, why shouldn’t people comment on it? Better than saying His underwear is all in a bunch!

@Grits: I’m glad you picked up on the unspoken friendship between Oreyn and Piner. And yes, there is no doubt of Teekeeus’s race!

@Olen: I think you called it right on the Guilds, and how Julian is going to get along with Teekeeus.

@TK: Well, I’ve always seen Teekeeus as being rather, well, unimaginative. As for how Julian handles Earana, I hope everyone likes her solution.

@Destri: Wow! All caught up now! Thanks for all your comments, they are much appreciated. Midave Sendal just popped up from the crowd at the Guild Plaza, and has stuck with both Julian and me. He will have a much larger role in the next story, but it has never occurred to me that he is the perfect person to pursue the KOTN questline. And yes, Destri, Jared is an A-hole, not a typical male. And I had a feeling you would so totally love Blanco. After you and Olen kept asking more of Paint than poor Paint was capable of delivering (charging up the steps into the Chapel of Kvatch?), I figured you would totally adore the horse Blanco is. Thank you for your compliments on my reveal of Carahil’s nature. As for the azure-eyed male, well, yes, we have already met him. I mentioned that way back in my comments to Chapter 10.5 (Thread Two, post 73). Yes, I’ve promised myself to see Julian bring Aelwin the next little kitty she rescues. As for the Earana problem, well, keep reading!

Now we meet the other side of the Chorrol Mages recommendation.

***********************
Chapter 25.3: Earana’s Bad Side

The last of the night’s chill lingered beneath the sheltering branches of the Great Oak as I stepped out into the dappled sunlight of the plaza. I breathed deeply of the late fall air, the smell of the fallen leaves and dry grass barely detectable beneath that of stones warming in the sun. A breeze rustled the autumn debris around the cobblestones.

I looked up at the Great Oak, its branches already half bare, the remaining leaves turned russet brown by the frosts that now occurred nightly. So another recommendation that isn’t a real test of my magical abilities. Or is there something I don’t know about?

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” The Dunmer’s voice brought me back to the present. I lowered my gaze to meet Oreyn’s scarlet eyes. “Are you with the Mages Guild?”

I nodded silently, aware of the approaching guardsman beyond the Fighters Guild Champion.

“That’s too bad, we could’ve used you.” Oreyn shrugged, turning for the Fighters Guild headquarters, which stood next door. He paused a few strides away and glanced back. “I don’t know about your fighting skills, but I have no doubt you’ve got the stones for it.”

I decided not to take offense and chuckled, shaking my head. “After half a lifetime in the Legion,” I remarked, “I’m looking to get out of fighting. It’s just not as easy as I hoped.”

Oreyn’s fierce glower lightened as his teeth flashed, then he was walking away. I turned my gaze from the Champion to the guardsman, waiting a polite distance away.

“Good morning ma’am,” he greeted me. Beneath his helm, a young face held a slight uncertainty.

“And a good morning to you too, sir,” I smiled. I’ve forgotten that I can sometimes intimidate the rookies. And here I am, trying not to be intimidated by the Champion of the Fighters Guild!

That doubt eased in the young soldier’s face. “Captain Bittneld has asked if you would meet him at the castle? He’ll be in the county hall for the next hour or so.”

“I’ll find him,” I nodded. “But do you know where I can find Earana?”

“The Altmer?” the guardsman glanced around the plaza. “She stays at the Grey Mare, but spends much of her time here. She should be on her way -“ he stopped at the sight of a tall female figure approaching. “That would be her, ma’am.”

“Thanks,” I said. “And your name is -?”

“Maccalan Parmenion,” the youngster replied, uncertain again.

“Thank you, Parmenion,” I nodded at him before turning south. The Altmer woman he had pointed out to me stopped several strides away, but I kept walking in her direction. She watched as I drew near.

“Hail, Hero of Kvatch!” Her voice held thinly disguised scorn. I stifled my customary sigh. “Are you with the Mages Guild now?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” I kept my voice neutral.

“How surprising,” her brown eyes raked me from top to bottom and back. I resisted the impulse to look down at my simple linens, but instead kept my gaze on her. “A former Legion soldier, and a Redguard to boot?” Her eyes turned calculating. “Hmm, but it could be useful,” she muttered to herself.

Do I let on that I know something about her and Teekeeus? Or do I hear her out first? I decided silence was the best course of action for the moment.

As I expected, Earana didn’t stay silent for long. “You can be of use to me after all, Julian of Anvil,” she sneered. “There’s this book I’ve been looking for. I finally discovered its location, and I want you to go get it.”

I considered her words for a few moments. That’s what she’s here for? Or is she after Teekeeus? Beyond her shoulder, I could see Parmenion and another guardsman pause in their patrols, surreptitiously eavesdropping on us. “What’s the name of the book?” I asked neutrally.

“It’s called Fingers of the Mountain, and it’s located at Cloud Top.” Earana shifted her weight impatiently from one foot to the other. “It’s important that I get it.”

“Why can’t you get it yourself?” I asked. “An Altmer like you ought to be able to protect herself with plenty of potent spells.”

“What?” Earana’s voice dripped with distaste as a male Altmer, a longbow at his back, joined the two guards in their barely concealed interest. “Me go out there in the wilds? Are you out of your mind?” The blond hunter echoed my unspoken sentiment with a roll of his eyes.

“Where is Cloud Top?” I pulled my attention back to Earana.

“It’s up in the mountains north of here,” Earana pointed toward Northgate. “Don’t waste any time, and don’t speak anything of it to anyone at the guild chapter here.” I stiffened as she took a step closer to me until she towered over me. “If you tell that Teekeeus about it, you’ll be sorry you did!”

I stood my ground and squared my shoulders. “Are you threatening me, Earana?” I raised my voice just enough to be clearly heard by the guardsmen and the hunter. The guardsmen’s hands drifted toward their swords, and the Altmer reached for his unstrung bow.

“I’m just warning you,” Earana seemed oblivious to the change in the guards’ demeanor. “Teekeeus wants to control all that power for himself, but I won’t let that book fall into his hands! Only those capable of handling it should have access, not anyone else, and certainly not Teekeeus!”

I kept my gaze on her, keeping my hands open at my sides. “If you have a bone to pick with Teekeeus, leave me out of it,” I kept tight rein on the pilus that threatened to emerge. “I don’t appreciate being treated like imp chips by a mere Altmer mage who’s too frightened of a little dirt to go after what she really wants.” I stepped back to the raised curb that encircled the Great Oak. My eyes locked on Earana, I set my pack and weapons down.

Her gaze flared, and I sensed her right fingers twitching, gathering magicka. The two guardsmen behind her gripped their hilts and drew their swords partway out. I flung my left hand out toward Earana. The feint caused her to flinch, and red smoke flared around her fingers before dissipating in the dappled sunlight. “Hold it right there, Earana!” my voice snapped with all its old authority. “If you want me to go fetch that book, you will cease and desist all attempts at threatening me, verbally or otherwise.”

Earana took a step back in surprise, her eyes showing white all around the brown irises. Then her brows drew together, and she drew a breath. I stepped forward until I stood just within her reach. “Continue to disrespect me, and you can find that fetching book yourself.” I pitched my voice lower, with just enough force to carry to the onlookers. In the corner of my vision, I sensed the hunter’s slow grin. “Which shall it be?”

Earana blinked, and we both became aware of a gathering of townspeople watching from a safe distance. Her eyes flickered around the plaza before returning to me. “If you expect me to apologize -“ she began, the scowl freezing on her face.

“Oh, no, apologies are no good,” I cut her off with an emphatic shake of my head. “Either you treat me with courtesy and respect from this moment forward, or you can forget about that book you’re so desperate for.” I let the old smile, the smile I reserved only for combat, the smile that hid my nerves, surface. Her jaw clenched at something she saw in my face. “It’s up to you, Earana.”

It took all my willpower to turn my back on the enraged Altmer and walk back to my gear. A whirling knot formed between my shoulder blades as I bent down to pick up the pack. Hopefully with all these people around, she won’t pull something. But I doubt she’ll hold back if there are no witnesses around. I straightened up, my pack slung over one shoulder and my enchanted weapons in one hand. Across the plaza, Modryn Oreyn and the two Orsimer I recognized from last night watched from the stoop of the Fighters Guild headquarters. Near them, a couple stood together, their gazes on Earana behind me. http://0.tqn.com/d/dogs/1/0/V/o/2/delano_gsd_delana.jpg both the same size as wolves but with black and tan markings, sat one on either side, panting in the warm sun.

Captain Bittneld stood in the middle of Oak Way, hands on hips and feet braced apart. As our gazes locked, he nodded curtly at me and remained in position. I walked past Earana toward him.

“Are you going to Cloud Top?” Earana exclaimed. I shot her a glare.

“I didn’t survive as long in the Legion as I did by going into combat with damaged gear.” I did not hesitate but kept walking toward Bittneld and the smithy beyond. His gaze slid past me in the Altmer’s direction. I stopped beside him, still facing south. “Hello Captain. Parmenion gave me your message. I was planning to find you after I dropped my gear off with Rasheda.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bittneld finally turned away from the Great Oak. “I’ll walk with you.”

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 23 2011, 06:45 PM

So another recommendation that isn’t a real test of my magical abilities. Or is there something I don’t know about?
Welcome to the Mages Guild, where the ability to use magic is totally unnecessary!

Parmenion? He seems a bit young for that name. But I suppose the old man had to be young sometime. I just hope he is cautious around young whippersnappers named Alexander!

“Why can’t you get it yourself?”
This is what the game never explains. There is really no reason for Earana to even be wasting her time with the player, when all she has to do is walk up and get it herself.

I don’t appreciate being treated like imp chips by a mere Altmer mage who’s too frightened of a little dirt to go after what she really wants.
Yay for the imp chips! Cyrodiil's favorite snack!

You certainly gave us a tense encounter with Earana, she who is too hoity-toity to tip-toe through the tulips. Like Teekeus, she is clearly used to having things her way, and does not care who she offends. I have always thought the two were made for one another.

All of this Earanaing lately has gotten me thinking of maybe writing a short piece from her point of view. Maybe I could call it Wicked...

Posted by: Acadian Mar 24 2011, 01:51 AM

'The last of the night’s chill lingered beneath the sheltering branches of the Great Oak as I stepped out into the dappled sunlight of the plaza. I breathed deeply of the late fall air, the smell of the fallen leaves and dry grass barely detectable beneath that of stones warming in the sun. A breeze rustled the autumn debris around the cobblestones.'
Lovely that you opened by lingering at the Great Oak. A delightful passage for all the senses.

“I don’t know about your fighting skills, but I have no doubt you’ve got the stones for it.”


Having so many familiar faces (Oreyn, Lum, Kurz, Honditar, etc) drawn to the Great Oak by the confrontation was a nice touch that really helped bring the scene alive.

Posted by: Destri Melarg Mar 24 2011, 09:32 AM

You posted this just to torment me didn't you? Just as I get caught up you slap another chapter on me! And yes I had to get caught up. I want to be around for the big reveal in a few more chapters!

What is it about Earana that seems to rub everyone the wrong way? I never pictured her as particularly mean or unsavory until I started reading the fan-fics. Maybe I just hate Teekeeeus that much!

Julian's handling of the situation was sublime. I half-hoped that she would let the old pilus out, just to show that Buffy is not the only one capable of peeing herself!

Posted by: Grits Mar 24 2011, 03:01 PM

I find myself echoing Acadian’s comments. I loved the attention you gave the Great Oak. Seeing it almost ready for winter was somehow even more rewarding than if it had been in its full autumn splendor. And right after Julian’s face-off with Earana, look it’s Bailey and Kezune!

Posted by: Olen Mar 24 2011, 11:48 PM

Julian ad Erana got on about as well as I'd expected they would. Julian showed brain making sure there were plenty of people watching the encounter.

I loved this line and the interactions she's considering. Of course the Hero of Kvatch will be intimidating, but she forgets it rather often (until she gets angry at least). It also foreshadowed the spat with Erana rather well.

Now will she tell Teekeeus? I've never seen what's wrong with him, he does his job and otherwise ignores you, maybe he misuses his powers a bit, but he's hardly the worst of them...


Isn't that what life is about? Butter up the right people and squash the rest, it's one thing the mages guild recommendations did do well was the politicking which goes on.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 25 2011, 03:50 AM

Ahh, yes, that Altmer can have such a nasty temper. I'm sure Julian had a lot of fun playing verbal chicken with that easily enraged pile of rat droppings. Well, she might have done some good in my tale, it's just too bad she didn't live long enough for us to find out what.

I love German Sheppards. Such style and poise. I wish I could have one, but unfortunately I'm already contending with three dogs at my home, so I don't think a fourth would be highly advisable. Especially with one being a right little cannonball.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 25 2011, 02:13 PM

@SubRosa: Maybe you should write a short piece from Earana’s POV! It would be interesting to get inside her head. Like you said, she is used to having her own way, and for someone like Julian to dig in her heels is not something Earana appreciates!

@Acadian: I knew all the Bosmeri on these forums would love that description of the Great Oak. And I couldn’t resist letting Oreyn give his own twist on that (in)famous conversation topic about the Fighters Guild!

@Destri: No, I’m not tormenting you! Honest! I’m just sticking to my new posting schedule (Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays). And I think Earana almost peed herself when Julian faked her with that left-handed feint.

@Grits: Do you know how hard it was to find a picture of a pair of adult GSD’s?? Litters of adorable puppies, yes. But two adults? Nope. I lucked out finding this image from a rescue group in CA.

@Olen: Yes, after four years as a drunk and an addict, it’s hard for Julian to see herself as being intimidating. Especially now when she is still trying to find her new path.

@TK: It’s true, GSD’s are high maintenance dogs. But they are so quick to pick up training, and have such a high working drive. I love watching those dogs work!

***********************
Chapter 25.4: Captain Bittneld the Curse-Bringer

“I’m afraid you got on Earana’s bad side,” Bittneld remarked as we approached the entrance to Fire and Steel. He stopped as another guardsman approached us.

“What about Julian’s bad side?” The guardsman smiled at me when I frowned at his voice. Do I know him? I peered closer at him. “I served in the Ninth Cohort of the Sixth fifteen years ago, ma’am.”

I searched my memory. “Who was the optio?” I asked.

“One Titus Florio,” he answered. “You probably don’t remember me, but I remember both of you well.”

Bittneld glanced from him to me, then faced the guardsman. “Are you on duty, Ashcroft?”

He removed his helmet and met my gaze. “Faric Ashcroft reporting for duty, sir, ma’am.”

Now I recognized the tall Breton. Though his ginger hair now had more salt than cayenne pepper in it, and his florid face was now more weathered, he had the same insouciant glint in those pale blue eyes, the same serious set to his jaw. Ashcroft? Yes. “It’s been a long time, Faric Ashcroft.” I nodded at Bittneld. “Does he give you any trouble, Captain?”

Bittneld regarded the Breton thoughtfully for a few minutes. “For the most part, no,” he spoke slowly as Ashcroft’s grin widened. “But there’s been a time or two when I’ve suspected -“ He did not finish the sentence. “Back to your patrol, soldier,” he addressed Ashcroft curtly.

“Yes, sir, ma’am,” Ashcroft replaced his helm and saluted us. “I hope to catch up with you, ma’am -“ his blue eyes twinkled at Bittneld beneath the shadow cast by the helmet, “- when I’m off duty.”’

“I’d like that, Ashcroft,” I stepped onto the stoop of Fire and Steel. “See you around.”

Bittneld watched Ashcroft’s departing back for a brief moment before opening the door to the smithy for me. As we stepped inside, he hailed the Redguard stooping over the forge. The other woman straightened up, setting her tongs down with a clatter.

“Rasheda, this is Julian,” Bittneld waved me up beside him. “She closed the Oblivion Gate early this morning.”

“You did?” Rasheda’s smile gleamed in the firelight from the forge. “Many thanks to you, Julian. Hopefully business will pick up again now that that infernal portal is closed!” She stepped away from the fire and moved to the anvil. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes ma’am, I have a few enchanted pieces I need repairing,” I answered, setting my pack down on the nearby worktable and laying my magical weapons next to it. Rasheda pointed at Akatosh’s Fury with a question in her eyes. At my nod, she picked it up and examined it.

“Not too bad,” she muttered, testing the give of the stave. “It will fix right up. And this,” she set the bow down and picked up Daedra Slayer, “is a beautiful weapon! Nice balance. Needs sharpening, but the blade is still straight. That’s Akaviri work for you.”

I drew out Matius’s cuirass from the pack and handed it across to Rasheda. She draped it across the anvil and examined first with a visual inspection, then with her hands running across the surface. “Hmm, this has taken quite a beating.” She glanced up at me. “Is that all your armor?”

“I have leathers, and I’ve repaired those,” I answered. “But I’m not yet skilled enough to repair enchanted gear, ma’am.”

“Well, then, we’ll have to change that, don’t we?” Rasheda put her fists on her hips. “All the traipsing around you’ve been doing, you ought to be able to repair your own armor out in the wilderness!” She smiled at my startled glance. “We still get the Black Horse Courier here, you know! The cutover to the Orange Road wasn’t closed off.”

I recalled what I had overheard in the Bloated Float a couple of nights ago. “Yes, I heard the riders were cutting through Weynon Priory and coming in the North Gate.”

“Yes, they were,” Rasheda nodded. “Come back after dinner tonight,” she added. “I’ll see about raising those armorer skills of yours. First lesson’s free!”

“I’ll pay you for your time -“ I began, but Bittneld put his hand briefly on my arm.

“Trust me,” he met my glance as he led me outside. “Take that free lesson. Rasheda doesn’t come cheap. Magna cum laude from the University of Smithing.”

I stopped and stared at him. Bittneld returned my gaze neutrally. Is there really such a place?

Rasheda laughed heartily behind me. “He’s kidding!” she called over the noise of the forge. “But I’m that damn good!”

Bittneld’s poker face failed to hide the twinkle in his eyes as he stepped onto the stoop. He scanned the street with a practiced eye before leaving the smithy. “Burd and Dion speak well of you,” he remarked casually as we made our way down Oak Way toward the pieta and the South Gate beyond. “I know I didn’t say it at the time, but I was mighty glad to see you yesterday.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find any of your guards in there,” I offered quietly. It had been the worst of the Gates so far. The lower halls in the sigil keep had reeked of clotted blood, of eviscerated bowels, of fear and agony. Every talon on every wall and every column had held a mutilated corpse. The floors had been sticky with thick reddish brown gunk. If not for Carandial’s refresh spell, I would have lost an hour of sleep cleaning the last of the residue from my boots and greaves with glycerin soap.

Bittneld grunted. “I knew they were lost,” his voice was barely audible beneath the brisk autumn breeze. Still I could hear the guilt in his tone. “What’s done is done.” He shook himself and met my gaze as we turned up Castle Road. “But you made me a promise.”

“I did,” I agreed. “And I intend to keep it. When do you want me to brief your guards?”

“I suppose you’ll want to see the Countess,” Bittneld continued. “But I want my men knowing what’s ahead of them before they leave for Bruma.”

“You’re certain she’ll agree to send reinforcements?” I asked.

“If you can get her attention long enough to think about it,” Bittneld’s tone held a new edge of irritation, “I have no doubt she’ll not want to be the only one not sending aid.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked. “Is there something going on I should be aware of?”

Bittneld sighed loudly as we entered the shadow cast by the castle walls. He didn’t answer until we stepped into the sun shining through the open gateway again. “A painting of the late Count Valga was stolen out of milady’s bedchamber a few nights ago. She’s been beside herself, as it has great sentimental value to her.” He shook his head. “The staff’s been running around in aimless circles flapping their wings thanks to her. And now she wants me to investigate the theft! I’m a Captain of the Guard, not her private detective!”

My thoughts skipped back to a dark stone room and a young legionary. “I have a little experience in that area -” thanks to General Camillus. “I can offer to see what I can do.”

“You shouldn’t have to get involved in this, Julian,” Bittneld gestured toward the door leading into the main keep at one side of the courtyard.

“I was in Leyawiin,” I remarked. Bittneld couldn’t hide the grimace that crossed his face. “I imagine Countess Valga would be no different if her daughter’s any indication. Closing two Gates there was not enough to satisfy the Count or his wife.”

“That Count Caro has a reputation of being a master manipulator,” Bittneld nodded to the guardsmen stationed on either side of the keep door. They moved to swing the heavy panels open for us. “But Countess Valga’s not as bad as that. She’s just - distracted right now.”

“So tell me what you know about it, please.” I followed Bittneld into the entry hall.

“Not much,” the Nord replied. “I’ve been busy with the Gate until now. Apparently it was stolen from the Countess’s bedchamber a few nights ago. Few people have access to the private quarters, and she suspects one of those few.”

“And I’m certain most of the guard aren't under suspicion as they were either out at the Gate or sleeping,” I added. Bittneld nodded tacit agreement.

“I’ll introduce you to Countess Valga,” he said, leading me across the entry hall toward a flight of stairs at the opposite side. “Then I’ll be out on patrol. I don’t doubt you can take it from there.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it, sir,” I said. We passed several more guardsmen, their eyes still hollow beneath their helms. They greeted Bittneld with familiar respect and me with thanks and warm courtesy. It’ll take them a few more days to get back to normal. After six weeks on the line, they need the rest.

Ahead, a bustle of activity in the county hall alerted me to the presence of a very agitated Countess. Voices reached me before the words did. A lean Imperial dressed in elaborate black velvet livery was bending beside the throne. The woman seated in its oaken embrace shifted impatiently. “What do you mean you can’t find it?” her sharp voice crackled across the county seat as Bittneld and I approached the dais. “Don’t speak to me again until you have news of import!” She waved the man away impatiently.

He straightened up and stepped backwards down the steps to the main floor. Bittneld stopped beside him as another servant approached the Countess with a steaming cup.

“Giving you a hard time, Wavrick?” Bittneld muttered to the Imperial. The older man sighed wearily.

“It’s bad today,” he murmured back. “With the Gate closed, she expects all of us to be searching the castle for that damned painting.”

“Would you please announce us?” Bittneld waved me to his other side. “I’ve got Julian of Anvil here.”

“I’m not certain that’s news of significant import,” Wavrick shook his head. “Go ahead yourself.”

Bittneld rolled his eyes at me, then squared his broad shoulders and stepped forward to the foot of the dais. “Milady,” he spoke clearly.

Arriana Valga looked up from her cup. “Ah, Captain Bittneld,” she greeted him. “Do you have news of the painting?”

“I’m sorry milady, I don’t,” Bittneld bowed, his tone sufficiently contrite. “But I have Julian of Anvil here. She closed the Oblivion Gate early this morning and broke the daedric siege.”

“Ah, yes, yes,” Valga waved her hand impatiently. “Thank you, Julian of Anvil. I wish I had time to chat, but I’m afraid I’m in the middle of an investigation.”

I mirrored Bittneld’s bow. “I understand, ma’am.” When I looked up, I could see the pleased approval in her gaze. “I have some investigative experience, perhaps I may be of assistance?”

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 25 2011, 07:09 PM

I already have the outline for the Earana story. Since I have about 28 more posts in the TF already written, I think I will start writing the EF in the next day or so.

I always thought Bittneld had one of the coolest nicknames in ES. Although granted it is not one I would ever want myself...

“I’m afraid you got on Earana’s bad side,”
Somehow, this does not strike me as being too difficult to do!

Though his ginger hair now had more salt than cayenne pepper in it
This was a pure genius of description. Given that you always give us a good meal in the JF, I suppose it is no surprise that you would ply us with spices!

Magna cum laude
I am so fighting not to comment on this!

All in all, a nice little episode that gives us a breather, adds a bit to Julian's growing repertoire of skills, and introduces her to the Curse-Bringer. Not to mention introduces us to the distracted Countess of Chorrol. Is it just me, or do most of the Counts and Countesses of Cyrodiil seem rather petty and self-absorbed?

Posted by: Destri Melarg Mar 25 2011, 08:46 PM

You nee further proof that Julian must be Cyrodiil’s greatest hero by now? Rasheda at Fire and Steel is offering something for free!!

I really enjoyed this quest in the game. Something about the meticulous gathering of clues and interviewing of witnesses jibes with the rampant OCD that manifests within me on occasion.

Once again you give us a Nord guard captain who positively oozes competence and professionalism. I’m also interested in seeing who this Faric Ashcroft guy is.

Who is Magna? And why should she have all the fun?

Posted by: Acadian Mar 26 2011, 01:03 AM

I really enjoyed this episode!

“What about Julian’s bad side?”
While this makes perfect sense, it was somehow unexpected and quite struck me as a stroke of brilliance on your part!

Of course, now that you have dropped hints about the fellow who has struck Julian's fancy, any man with blue eyes now falls under scrutiny and goes on our list of possibles. *scribbles down the name, Ashcroft*

'I stopped and stared at him. Bittneld returned my gaze neutrally. Is there really such a place?
Rasheda laughed heartily behind me. “He’s kidding!” she called over the noise of the forge. “But I’m that damn good!”
I absolutely loved this because it shows a delightful chink in our heroine's armor. Someone actually got one by her! It merely serves to make her more human and endearing to us!

I echo the fine presentation of Bittneld, and add praise for the delightfully quirksome Countess.

'My thoughts skipped back to a dark stone room and a young legionary. “I have a little experience in that area -” thanks to General Camillus. “I can offer to see what I can do.”
Now I did not run off and compare this to dear treydoggie's story, so forgive me if my foggy recollection is off. Is Julian referring here to her investigation involving Athlain? If so, I think that is neat as can be. If I am confused, I ask your forgiveness.

So, it seems Julian will be canvassing a castle. Hopefully in addition to some aid for Bruma, she will earn a painting of a cat that she can present to Aelwin.

Posted by: Olen Mar 26 2011, 06:59 PM

This line was rather effective in its purpose. The eviscerated bowels were rather an accurate olfactory observation and brought the rather gruesome image to life.

And we meet some more Chorrolites. Rasheda was always one I hated, her prices are insane. Still if she is so expensive I suppose she would be good.

I echo Acadian on Bittneld getting one past her and also enjoyed the useless countess and her irate captain...

I'm going to disagree on Ashcroft though, I don't remember him from eariler and I think the individual with blue eyes has already appeared. Could be my memory though, he certainly remembered her.

And nice slotting in of the BotM referance, if that is what it is (I don't remember a General Camillus... but...)

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 28 2011, 03:31 PM

@SubRosa: I’d love to have Bittneld’s nickname! Then nobody would want to mess with me! So you liked my description of Ashcroft’s hair. And yes, most of the nobles of Cyrodiil are rather self-absorbed. Of all of them, though, I like Narina Carvain the most. Even though she seems quite obsessed with Akaviri artifacts, her actions during the crisis (not to mention that apparently she gained the throne by her own right and not through a husband) makes me respect her even more.

@Destri: I love this quest, too. It’s more than the usual fetch-and-carry, and quite a lot of fun, too. I love talking to the suspects, especially the grumpy Hairy Legs (though just how hairy his legs are remains to be seen - preferably not!). I’m glad that Bittneld the Curse-Bringer really came alive for you. For some reason I just love writing these Nordic Guard Captains (Dion is the lone Imperial exception). You’ll get to see more of Ashcroft in a later post.

@Acadian: Remember, I had mentioned that we have already met Julian’s azure-eyed heart-stealer by Chapter 10. This is Ashcroft’s first appearance in OHDH, though he served in her cohort many years ago. And yes, someone got something by her all right! Bittneld just said it, and I had to leave it in because Julian’s reaction was so priceless. And yes, you caught the Blood on the Moon reference correctly.

@Olen: Thanks for picking out that line. I wanted to build on Julian’s earlier observations of the increasing strength of the Sigil Stones she was recovering from each Gate. You’re right about Ashcroft - this is his first appearance in OHDH. And thanks for catching the BotM reference. General Camillus was her CO during her time in Skyrim, and we met him briefly in Chapter 21.

Having encountered Earana, and dropped off her enchanted gear at Rasheda’s for repair, Julian and Bittneld went to the castle. Right now Julian’s mind is on her highest priority task - getting as much aid for Bruma as she can. Already she has realized that the way to get it is to undistract the Countess.

***********************

Chapter 25.5 Canvassing the Castle

“Splendid!” Arriana Valga set her mug down and clapped her hands. Wavrick stepped forward as she rose from her seat. “Laythe, Julian and I will retire to the dining room for a few moments. Please ensure we have some privacy. Captain Bittneld, thank you.” She scooped up the cup and stepped down.

The Imperial moved gracefully to the right, opening a door and stepping through. Bittneld bowed once more to the Countess, then sharply spun on his heel with a sidelong glance at me. As he marched out of the county hall, Valga glided down from the dais, holding her hand out to me. “Come, let’s have a seat together, shall we?” She moved past me and trailed after Wavrick, gathering her blue velvet skirts in both hands. A tall guardsman moved from behind her throne and waved for me to precede him. Bodyguard.

I fell in behind the Countess, shortening my stride to match hers. Though she held her head high, I could see that age had begun to bend her spine. Her hands on the blue velvet were skeletal, and fine wrinkles radiated from her eyes and mouth. Still, she carried herself with a proud elegance that came with years of ruling a county.

We entered the dining hall, where Wavrick was ushering a servant woman out. The countess moved to the far end of the dining table and regarded the corner of the ornate carpet with a peeved air. Behind me, the bodyguard stopped just within the door.

“Those stains still aren’t coming out?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry, milady,” Wavrick bowed to her. “The servants have been working on it without success.”

I joined the Countess and looked at the rug. Bright colors were splashed across one corner of the covering, clashing with the more subdued earth tones of the weaving. I knelt beside the rug and touched the still-damp material. “Is this paint?” I asked.

“Yes, it was discovered the day before yesterday,” the Countess huffed. “It was already dried by then.”

“It’s oil-based,” I fingered the clumps that coated the surface of the heavy wool. “It won’t come out with soapy water.”

“You know how to remove it?” Valga’s voice held surprise. I looked up at her.

“The only thing I know of is terebinthine,” I replied. “But it might damage the carpet also.”

“So the carpet is ruined?” The countess stamped a foot angrily. “It’s expensive!”

I rose to my feet, eyeing the splotches of color. Is that a footprint? Yes, it is. Smaller than mine. “Do you have any artists in the castle, ma’am?”

“No, not that I know of,” Valga retreated to a side table and seated herself with a flounce of her skirts. Wavrick picked up a wine flagon and glanced at me with an unspoken question. I shook my head at him. “Please, sit here,” Valga indicated a chair opposite her. As I obeyed, Wavrick set the pitcher back on the table, bowed again and left the dining hall, closing the door behind him.

“I understand you are missing a painting, ma’am?” I decided to take the initiative, though it ran counter to protocol in most courts.

“Yes.” The countess did not seem to mind. “It was of my lost love, Count Valga, and it has been stolen from my bedchamber.” She sighed melodramatically. “It is all I have left of the Count. I spend many a lonely night wishing the words I speak will be heard and not just fall on the lifeless pigments and canvas.” Valga sniffled and sipped at her klah.

“When did it happen, ma’am?” I put a gentle tone into my voice.

“Let’s see, it was three nights ago last night. It was there in the evening when I went to bed, and gone in the morning when I rose.” She met my gaze, and I could see the canny woman who had led County Chorrol for many years. “The bedchamber is kept locked at all times.”

“Who else had access to your bedchamber, ma’am?”

“That would be Laythe Wavrick, my herald, whom you already met,” Valga lifted her pale blue eyes to the stone arches overhead. “Orgnolf Hairy Legs, the porter, Chanel the court mage, Orok gro-Ghoth, my steward, and of course, Captain Bittneld.”

Mentally I repeated the names to fix them more firmly into my mind. “And what were they doing on that night, ma’am?”

“As you know, Captain Bittneld had been out all day on the barricades,” Valga waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the Gate outside the walls. “He was in the barracks sleeping after he did his customary patrol of the town. Wavrick was in bed, my bodyguard can vouch for him. Orok gro-Ghoth was in the kitchen, then went to bed as well. But no one could vouch for either Chanel or Orgnolf.”

Again my gaze was drawn to the paint stains on the rug. Would a painter steal a painting? “So as far as Chanel and Orgnolf are concerned, we only have their word concerning their activities that night, ma’am?”

“That is correct,” Countess Valga responded with an emphatic nod. “Oh, I wish this hasn’t happened. Both of them have worked for me for a long time, and I’ve had little complaint concerning either one. I’d hate to think one of them has betrayed my trust, but it would seem that is the case.”

“That must be quite disconcerting, ma’am,” I agreed. “What were you doing that night, may I ask?”

“Of course,” Valga sipped at her klah. She is more intelligent than she lets on. “It was the usual. I had spent the day seeing petitioners and overseeing the defense of Chorrol. Dinner was late that night, and I went straight to bed afterwards, a little after ten bells. I slept all night long, and when I woke in the morning, the painting was gone.”

“When was the last time you saw the painting, ma’am?”

“When I went to bed, of course,” Valga sipped again. “I always speak to it every night.”

“Yes, ma’am, you said something about that,” I admitted. “Well, if there is nothing else you need to tell me, I’ll get started.”

“Yes, here are some keys that will allow you access to the private chambers of the castle,” Valga detached a large ring from her belt. “Please return them tonight. I’ve confined Orgnolf Hairy Legs and Chanel to the castle interior, you should have no problem finding them. If you can’t find Orok gro-Ghoth here, you may find him at Northern Goods and Trade purchasing supplies for our larder. And I believe you may already have spoken to Bittneld.”

“I’ll speak to him again,” I rose to my feet. “Excuse me, ma’am.” She waved me away. I turned and headed for the county hall. The bodyguard met my gaze as I drew near the door.

“Good luck, ma’am,” he murmured with a weary air as he opened the door for me. “I hope you get to the bottom of this soon.”

I found Laythe Wavrick at his position near the dais. “Hello, sir,” I greeted him.

“How can I help you, ma’am?” He straightened his velvet livery.

“Can you tell me anything about Chanel or Orgnolf?”

“Chanel’s all right, I suppose,” Wavrick shrugged. “Orgnolf likes his drink quite a bit. I think it may have gotten worse - he’s taken to borrowing money to buy liquor. The stuff is rather expensive for someone making porter’s wages.”

“I see,” I mused. “Do you know where Orok gro-Ghoth is right now?”

“He should be on his way back from Northern Goods,” Wavrick responded. “He went there earlier to see if any new merchandise came in today.” His gaze moved beyond me, toward the stairs. “Here comes Orgnolf.”

I turned to see an irascible-looking Nord, red nose prominent beneath a balding pate, coming down the steps. “Speak of the daedra himself.”

Wavrick chuckled. “Good luck talking to him, though, ma’am. He’s always in a foul temper.”

“Thanks,” I nodded at him before walking toward the scowling porter. The Nord hesitated on my approach and glanced around as if looking for escape. “Excuse me, sir,” I held out my hand to stop him. “Are you Orgnolf Hairy Legs?”

“Who wants ta know?” he growled defensively.

“I’m Julian of Anvil,” I kept my voice level. “I heard about the missing painting. It seems the Countess is running everyone crazy about it.”

“Aagh!” his bloodshot eyes rolled expressively. “That’s puttin’ it mildly!”

“A porter’s work is never done,” I added. “And I doubt the past few days has been any easier for you.”

Orgnolf sent me a fierce glare that could blister the paint off a guardsman’s shield. “Easier! Paugh!” he spat to one side. “What good’s a porter that can’t transport things?”

“About as much good as a pilus without a cohort,” I replied mildly.

Orgnolf eyed me, then began chuckling. “Aye, you got that right!” Now he smiled sourly. “What can I say?”

“Well, why can’t you transport things?” I asked. “Seems to me there’s plenty of work to be done around here.”

“Ach, it’s because of that ridiculous painting!” Orgnolf’s good humor disappeared. “Ever since someone snuck into the Countess’s bedchamber and stole that portrait right out of its frame!” He shook his head. “And they think I had something ta do with it?”

“Well, that’s hard to believe,” I looked him up and down. “But did you?”

“Nae! Not after I got into an argument with a delivery boy. He was supposed ta bring a few casks of wine up from Skingrad, but one of his mules slipped in the rain outside and broke two of the casks. The damned pipsqueak insisted on being paid the full amount! I ain’t gonna pay for merchandise I didn’t get!” Orgnolf was getting angry again, the red spreading from his nose over his cheeks. He took a deep breath. “After that, I went ta my room and spent the rest of the night. Reading.”

Posted by: Olen Mar 28 2011, 06:17 PM

Hmmm another character you see differently from me. I always saw Orgnolf as a bit of a fool and utterly useless. He must be one of more more annoying characters in game. Still it's refreshing to see him dealt with correctly.

This quest is a jewel for Julian, her interactions wiht people are always good and there's so many to choose from. And already she's picking up clues. Introducing the paint stains was an excellent move, much more natural than just 'finding' them. I'm looking forward to her hearing the otehr stories and seeing the one which doesn't add up.

I wonder what she'll do then.

Posted by: ghastley Mar 28 2011, 07:11 PM

It's nice that in Fan Fiction, you can correct the problems of the original game. It's always annoyed me that you're not allowed to find any clues until you finish the interviews.

Now I'll be interested in what order Julian will do things, with the "constraints".

Posted by: Destri Melarg Mar 28 2011, 09:20 PM

It seems a little strange that Julian took it upon herself to start investigating the disappearance before being asked to do so by the Countess. On the other hand, maybe not so strange when you consider that it has been Julian's charge to do favors for spoiled nobility since the Oblivion Crisis began! At this point she must be completely fed up with the whims of the gentrified class! I commend her on her natural skill in diplomacy, which always seems to manifest right before the old pilus' boot meets an offending backside. . . hairy or otherwise.

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 28 2011, 10:09 PM

It annoys me to no end that in an Empire founded by an Empress, it seems that no woman can become a ruler of even a County, let alone the whole shebang, unless it was her husband's first, and he died or ran off to become a master thief. I never knew how Countess Bruma got her position. I never noticed any mention of her ever being married, so as you say, she must have earned it. Unless her parents were the Count and Countess and died with no male offspring.

Move over Simplicia, Miss Julian is now on the case! I love how you moved the scene to the dining room, and then quite naturally focused on the most obvious thing in the room. The fresh paint stains on the carpet.

So Captain Bittneld has access to the Countess' chamber? Hubba, hubba...

“Speak of the daedra himself.”
A wonderful phrase!

I loved Julian's discussion with the Countess. Distracted she might be, but one can see that she has what it takes to run a County underneath it all. Then her interview with Orgnolf had me smiling. Once again Julian the consummate diplomat emerges, and she wraps the irascible Nord around her finger.

Posted by: Acadian Mar 29 2011, 01:19 AM

What a fabulous picture you paint of the Countess! Ditzy and cunning and distracted and well-suited to her post all at the same time. No simple one dimensional character here. This one's plenty complex and you paint her so well.

'I decided to take the initiative, though it ran counter to protocol in most courts.'
Oh, Buffy read that book too and stuck to it. I must admit though that Julian has the maturity and stature, not to mention Hero of Kvatch title to not only let her pull it off, but to make it a wise move on her part.

'Orgnolf sent me a fierce glare that could blister the paint off a guardsman’s shield.'
What a delightful description!

Julian is so well suited to this. Her time investigating Athlain, ferreting out Mythic Dawn clues with Baurus and the time she has spent in various courts certainly well-qualify her as Julian, PI. It showed in the way she managed the Countess. Then again as she opted for a touch of flattery with Orgnolf.

I see that Orgnolf has told us it was raining the night of the crime. . . .

I can't wait to see how Julian deals with the perp, if she finds whodunnit.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 29 2011, 02:03 AM

Pilus Julian is back again!

I like the twist you put on the quest here, by giving Julian a bit of background experience (as Athlain can testify to), and also dealing with a glaring flaw in that quest. Why the countess would be willing to hand over such an important investigation to someone she met off the street is quite beyond me.

I wonder what Chanel will be like.... If Julian is like me, she will be certainly be able to see some glaring flaws in her story if she is indeed the culprit, but this is your story, so I will not speak any further of that.

Nit?

“After that, I went ta my room and spent the rest of the night[.] Reading.”

I know that most of the time characters don't grade their own dialogue, but that period I highlighted seems rogue to me. I don't think that you really need it here.

Posted by: Grits Mar 29 2011, 06:47 PM

I love that the Countess seems a little silly, but we can see that she is not. Bittneld the Curse-Bringer is fun to spend time with, and not just for his excellent name. The comments he makes in the game are enjoyable, but he is even better in your story. University of Smithing! And he kept a straight face.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 30 2011, 03:36 PM

@Olen: I agree, this is one of the quests where Julian really shines. I really enjoyed writing this quest and having her tell me her thoughts and actions here. It turned out to be more fun than I thought it would be.

@ghastley: Well, I hope you’re not disappointed with the way the rest of the mystery investigation plays out here.

@Destri: Normally Julian wouldn’t even consider taking the initiative as she did. If she had come to Chorrol first on her Grand Circuit, she wouldn’t have. But this is her last one, and she has learned that every Count/ess wants something in addition to just closing the relevant Gate. And her experiences with Leyawiin has braced her for an equally difficult Countess at Chorrol. So she took the initiative here to save time.

@SubRosa: I’m happy that you enjoyed Julian’s interactions with the Countess and with Orgnolf of the Hairy Legs. And yes, I always thought she would notice the paint stains the first time she walked into the dining room.

@Acadian: I was thinking about it, and realized that Julian just knows when to follow the rules, and when to toss the rulebook out. It’s something she has learned since leaving the Prison. And yes, I think she is well suited to be a PI. Whether or not that becomes her next career is pretty doubtful, though.

@TK: Yes, the fact that the Countess seems so quick to dump the investigation into the PC’s lap escapes me, too. Though once I did try to talk to her about it before I started progressing through the MQ (just delivered the amulet to Jauffre), and she said she wouldn’t discuss it with someone she didn’t know. Turns out the number of fame points does matter. As for Orgnolf’s dialogue, if you listen to him, there is definitely a period in there. He pauses right at that point, then speaks “Reading” with exaggerated sarcasm. I’ll think about how I’m going to convey that more effectively.

@Grits: Yes, I’ve always enjoyed Bittneld’s comments ingame. I always try to trigger that half finished quest that matches him with the innkeeper at the Grey Mare (Emfrid). I’m successful only half the time, but it’s fun!

@all: I’m just delighted that everyone seems to enjoy the Countess. I pictured her as being somewhat annoying like her daughter, but at the same time just plain canny, like my own Italian grandmother, bless her soul.

********************************
Chapter 25.6: Gathering the Clues

I found Bittneld speaking to one of the guardsmen at the South Gate. He signaled me to wait until he finished. The stone rim around the pietà provided a convenient place to rest my behind. The noon sun shone warmly, but I could feel the cold in the air, and the half-bare branches of the trees reminded me that we were now more than halfway through the penultimate month of the year.

I wondered if Bittneld would have anything to add. While waiting for Orok to return, I had encountered Chanel, the court mage. A Redguard close in age to me, she possessed an unlined face that suggested she spent little time out of doors in the sun. Her feminine beauty made me feel awkward and gangly next to her.

“I heard the Countess had asked you to investigate the missing painting,” the woman’s melodious voice was as rich as the tapestries that lined the walls of the county seat. “I wish you good luck.”

“And you are -?” I thought I knew her identity, but I wanted to be certain.

“How silly of me to forget you’re new here,” she smiled. “I am Chanel, court mage to Countess Valga.”

“Then you must know of the painting in question,” I held her dark gaze. “I’ve never seen it. Can you describe it for me please?”

“It was a portrait of Count Valga, painted shortly before he was killed. He was in his prime then, and quite handsome.” I noticed the dreaming look in her eyes. Was she more fond of him than was appropriate? “Whoever painted it could not do him justice. He was kind and noble, qualities difficult to capture on canvas.” Her eyes refocused on me. “I’m afraid that other than that, I can’t tell you much more about it.”

“Can you tell me where you were the night of the theft?” I asked.

“It was a late night. I spent the evening in the courtyard of the castle taking star readings. Then I retired to the dining room for a glass of wine, and spent some time studying the star charts I had made.” Her gaze flickered slightly, and I made certain the frown I could feel on my face remained invisible. Star readings? On a rainy night? Or was Orgnolf lying about the rain? “After an hour or so, I went to my chamber. I slept the rest of the night. When I rose in the morning, the castle was already in an uproar over the missing painting.”

“You knew Count Valga when he was alive?”

“Yes, I have been here just over twenty years,” Chanel responded. “He was killed in battle with Nordic clansmen that had come down from Skyrim via the High Road. That happened eleven years ago.” Her eyes grew sad. “He is greatly missed by many here.”

“I know the Countess remembers him fondly,” I remarked. “It’s difficult losing a husband in the prime of his life.”

Chanel didn’t speak. She shifted her gaze away and inhaled slowly.

“Hello, how goes the investigation, Julian?” Bittneld’s voice brought me back to the present.

“I have an idea who the culprit might be,” I replied as he sat down next to me. He stretched his long legs out and turned his face to the sun, closing his eyes. “But I wanted to get out of the castle for a bit, and to find out if you had any additional information.”

“Man, it feels good to just sit quietly in the sun for a bit without hearing that infernal Gate,” Bittneld muttered. He opened his eyes and glanced at me. “I saw you talking to Orok on the Castle Road. Did he have anything useful to tell you?”

“Just that he spent the night inside because of the rain and didn’t see either Orgnolf or Chanel,” I replied. “He did mention that Orgnolf’s drinking had become worse, and that he caught the porter drinking in the west tower once.”

“Yes, and he let him off with a warning.” Bittneld nodded. “That happened last week. Orok warned him if it happened again, he would tell the Countess. She frowns on drinking while on duty.”

That fits with what he told me. “What about you, Captain?” I asked. “How was the weather that night?”

Again he closed his eyes in the sun. “Hmm, I can’t remember much. One night was much like the next, after standing all day outside the Gate fighting daedra.” Bittneld was silent for several moments. “It was raining hard much of the night. The streets were still wet in the morning.” He glanced at me. “Any ideas?”

“What about Chanel?” I asked. “What do you think of her?”

“Like most of the women in Chorrol,” he grunted. “Fine to look at, but quite snooty. Not nice at all.” His eyes sharpened as if at a sudden thought. “Funny thing, though. She has been spending a lot of time in the west tower, too. When I asked her about it, she said it had to do with her magic research.” He shrugged. “At the time, it made sense to me.”

“Drinking?” I asked, thinking of Orgnolf.

“Nah,” Bittneld shook his head. “I’ve never seen her take any drink at all.”

“Maybe I’d better check out that west tower,” I rose to my feet. “It seems to be quite popular among the castle staff.”

“It’s used mostly for storage,” Bittneld followed suit, stretching his spine. A flicker moved through his eyes. “Which makes it ideal for other purposes.”

“Yes, the sort of purpose one doesn’t want others to know about,” I agreed.

“But a teetotaler and a lush?” Bittneld’s gaze turned assessing. “I find that hard to believe.”

I glanced at him. “Spend much time in the Legion?” I asked him.

“Ah, yes.” He nodded. “I’ve seen my share of strange pairings during my years there.” Stubbornly he would not concede the point, though. “But knowing those two as I do, it’s still doubtful they would see each other that way.”

“Well, you may be right, Captain,” I had to agree. Based on the little I had seen of the two, any kind of relationship closer than that of fellow employees of the same Countess seemed quite unlikely. But I had been fooled before, and both Bittneld and I could be fooled this time. “Only one way to be certain.”

“I’ll let you get on with it,” Bittneld adjusted the claymore at his back. “I’m heading out to what’s left of the Gate to make certain the area is still clear.”

You mean take one last look at the place where you lost your men. I kept silent, only nodded my understanding. In your place, I would do the same. We parted ways, Bittneld for the South Gate, now standing open, and me back to the castle.

Inside, I asked one of the guards patrolling the private quarters where the west tower was located. He pointed out the short hallway that led back to the door. After thanking him, I moved to the portal. A few moments of trial-and-error revealed the correct key for the lock, and I entered the round room.

Typical storeroom. Across the way, I could see another door set in the wall, a door that likely led out to the arch tower, a freestanding structure that stood separately from either the castle or the town walls. Stacks of crates crowded around the room. I frowned. Where is the hatch to the lower level? I couldn’t see the usual trapdoor that provided the only access to a typical tower’s lower rooms, found in every well-built castle. Bittneld doesn’t strike me as the kind of captain that would allow such traps to be covered by crates. I walked between the containers to the opposite door.

As I passed them, I realized they were stacked in such a manner to leave an open space against the wall behind them, one on either side of the room. Against the northern arc a chair, empty bottles piled up behind them, hid behind the crates. Orgnolf. That must be where he was caught drinking. At a thought, I turned and looked along the opposite wall. The containers there were also stacked to provide a clear space around the familiar trapdoor.

Why pile the crates to block this from view? I moved to the trapdoor. After another search through the ring of keys, I unlocked it and swung the panel back.

A soft eerie glow greeted me. I did not smell the usual sooty odor that accompanied lanterns and torches. Instead, the glow was bluish-white in color. My feet found the rungs, and I made my way down into the lower level. Again, crates were piled haphazardly in the center of the room. But after the upper level, I knew to search along the walls. The lower room was divided roughly in half, with the ladder and a collection of items in one half, and an open space on the other side of the wall of crates. The glow came from that side, as well, and I found the opening that gave me access.

The smell of oil paint struck my nostrils as I rounded the barrier. My gaze fell on a painting, its colors glowing softly in the bluish light, mounted on an easel. A barrel next to it supported a palette with small jars of paint and a mug full of brushes.

I looked around. The source of the odd light turned out to be a large faceted stone, as long as my hand, wrapped in black metal filigree and resting in a bronze bowl, set against the stone wall. I held my hand over the glowing object and felt no heat rising from it. Cautiously I touched it with my fingertips. Though the light gave my fingers a reddish glow, the stone remained inert. I grasped the filigreed cage and picked it up. The light moved around the walls as I lifted it, testing the weight of the heavy stone. After a moment, I drew closer to the easel and held the glowing stone up to the painting.

The warm amber shape of a Chapel formed out of the loose brushstrokes, with a black and purple night sky looming against a defiant bell steeple. Glimmers on the surface of the paint suggested it was not yet dry. Recently painted. Is it completed? Or not? What if it’s the missing painting, painted over? I walked around behind it, holding the stone up to evaluate the back of the canvas. Bright, clean weaving met my gaze, with no dust, fine cobwebs or yellowing that would indicate years of hanging on a wall. No. New canvas.

I stepped back and considered the painting again. This must go with the paint in the dining room. But why paint there when there is already a studio set up here? A glance at the floor revealed layers of splattered paint. Someone’s been painting here for some time. Much longer than the past few days. I looked around the room again. Well, I’ve seen all there is to see here. Carefully, I replaced the stone back in its bronze bowl and returned to the iron rungs set in the wall.

Now to examine Orgnolf and Chanel’s chambers.

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 30 2011, 05:24 PM

Star readings? On a rainy night?
Indeed! Something smells rotten in Chorrol!

Like most of the women in Chorrol,” he grunted. “Fine to look at, but quite snooty.
Ha! I have heard that before! Maybe he needs a grey mare to change his opinion...

Hmmmm “I’ve never seen her take any drink at all.” : says Bittneld. Yet Chanel says she retired to her quarters with a glass of wine...

I think we have a winner!

Posted by: Destri Melarg Mar 30 2011, 07:31 PM

I would have serious misgivings about trusting my life to someone called Bittneld the Curse Bringer, no matter how competent he is!

You continue to display the most refined sense of knowing when to use narration and when to use flashback. Showing her conversation with Chanel via flashback gives us an unmistakable sense of the time that Julian has spent in her investigation. From her immediate suspicion of Chanel’s ‘star readings’ line (I am embarrassed to say that I completely missed that on my first playthrough, and as a result I gave the Countess the wrong name), to her deduction over the age of the painting in the storeroom, nothing gets by her discerning eye.

Posted by: Acadian Mar 31 2011, 12:49 AM

'Her feminine beauty made me feel awkward and gangly next to her.'
How perfectly appropriate for Julian. There is indeed a woman in there who naturally is not totally satisfied with what Mara gave her. The Legion, and overcoming addictions, have no doubt taken their toll on our dear Redguard. She possesses the beauty of experience though. And don't forget about those beautiful emerald eyes and striking hair!

'Her gaze flickered slightly, and I made certain the frown I could feel on my face remained invisible.'
This is both beautiful and clever.

“Man, it feels good to just sit quietly in the sun for a bit without hearing that infernal Gate,”
I chuckled as I imagined Julian saying, "Quoted for truth!"

You continue to do a great job with Bittneld. He rings true.

I still can't wait to find out how Julian deals with things when she confirms whodunnit.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 31 2011, 02:06 AM

Vittneld certainly punctured Chanel's alibi quite heartily. Knowing Julian's suspicions, I'm feeling that Chanel's quarters are first on her list.

Very interesting idea of having the light of a Welkynd stone reveal the portrait being painted. I've always wondered why she decided to hide her hobby so well? Portrait painting on its own is a harmless pastime. My guess is that Chanel moved her painting projects down there rather recently, but the reasons the game gave for the studio being so out of the way are, frankly, quite flimsy.



Anyways, I'm sure you'll be able to do a better job than Beth. did on this quest. You always do.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Apr 1 2011, 03:50 PM

@SubRosa: Well, Chanel already lied about the weather that night, why not lie about why she was really in the dining hall as well? Yes, and Julian was thinking the same even before her conversation with Bittneld, but the good old Curse Bringer just confirmed her suspicions.

@Destri: Thanks for the compliments. I’m with you, I missed that star readings clue myself too, though I didn’t go as far as giving the Countess the wrong name. Nope. I ended up peeking in the game guide and giving myself a face-palm moment.

@Acadian: It’s always interesting to see what you pick out as lines or parts that resonate with you as a reader who happens to write a terrific story of his own. I’ll let you in on a secret. Julian still can’t get used to the white hair. She’s so used to thinking of herself with black hair that whenever she catches a glimpse of that white hair (in a mirror, a polished shield, still water, etc) it takes her off guard. And Bittneld is only echoing my own sentiments about the blessed silence that follows the closing of a Gate.

@TK: I hope this next installment clears up any nits you may have with the in-game quest.

Julian has spent the day gathering clues and investigating people concerning a certain missing painting. Now we catch up to her again as she has dinner with an former subordinate from her Legion days.

***************************
Chapter 25.7: Closing a Case

“Parmenion told me you would be here for dinner,” Ashcroft slid into the chair opposite me. My mouth full of mutton stew, I glanced over at the innkeeper. The tall Nord caught my eye and nodded when I held up a finger then pointed at the Breton across the table. “Let me treat you, ma’am.”

“No, let me treat you instead,” I answered. “The Countess was generous enough.”

The Nord innkeeper set a brimming bowl of savory stew in front of Ashcroft, along with a large hunk of fresh-baked bread. “The usual, Faric?”

“Yes, Emfrid, thanks very much,” Ashcroft nodded, already stuffing his face. “Hmm, good,” he managed to speak without spitting. Emfrid shook her head at him with a sidelong glance at me before returning to the bar.

“Mind your manners, Ashcroft,” I reminded him. He choked the stew down.

“’Tis been a long day, ma’am,” he said. He glanced up at Emfrid with a smile when she returned with a tankard of ale. After he washed the stew down with a sip, he sighed in satisfaction. “I hear you solved the mystery of the missing painting, ma’am.”

“Hmm,” I muttered into my stew. “I was just lucky, I guess.”

“How did you know it was Chanel, ma’am?” Ashcroft remembered to swallow first this time.

“Found a makeshift studio in one of the towers,” I answered. “Then found painting material in her room. When I asked her about it, she confessed to all of it.”

Chanel stopped in the doorway. “Oh, you scared me!” Her eyes moved from me, seated next to her desk, to the lectern, its lid open to reveal a sketchbook and charcoal sticks. I watched silently as unease flickered over her pretty face and thinned her full lips. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yes, I was,” I kept my tone soft. “The Countess complained to me about paint stains on the dining hall carpet, and I found a makeshift studio in the lower level of the west tower. Perhaps you’d care to explain this?” I gestured toward the revealed art supplies.

Chanel closed the door with a soft snick behind her, her eyes downcast. She moved to the bed and sat on its edge, facing me. “That studio is my doing,” she murmured. “I’ve always painted in my spare time. It relaxes me.”

“That’s good,” I leaned my cheek on my left hand, elbow propped on the desk. “But why did the Countess not name you when I asked if she knew of an artist in the castle?”

“Because I never told her about it,” Chanel’s voice grew even softer.

“Why didn’t you?” I watched her closely, noticing how her breath grew shallow and how her eyes shifted restlessly beneath lowered lids. “Countess Valga strikes me as the sort of noblewoman who would be proud to have an artist in residence.”

“Not this artist!” Chanel’s response was a little more heated than I expected. I felt my eyes narrow at her.

“Since you’re so good with the paintbrush, perhaps you can tell me who painted that portrait of the Count?”

Her head snapped up. “It was I who painted that portrait!” Her voice turned anguished. “I did out of the greatness of the love I held in my heart for him.” Her eyes shimmered in the lantern light and her breath caught. “Still hold in my heart,” she whispered, slumping again.

“So it was you who took the painting,” I said quietly. “I had been wondering how you could take star readings on a stormy night with rain pouring down. When I found this,” I lowered my left hand to the lectern, opening the sketchbook to an unfinished charcoal portrait of a handsome man, “I knew for certain that you had lied to me about that night.”

Chanel sat silently, but a single tear twinkled its way down her cheek. I stifled a sigh. Why would you risk your position and standing in a county seat for a man? A dead one at that?

“Chanel, look at me,” I struggled to keep the pilus out of my voice. No point in scaring her now. When the Redguard mage obeyed my soft command, I held her gaze for a few moments longer. “Why did you take it?”

“When the Count passed away,” Chanel sniffled and wiped the back of her hand across her cheek, “the Countess sequestered the painting in her bedchamber and spent so much time with it. I became jealous, then when I couldn’t remember his face anymore, I became scared. So I sneaked into her bedchamber that night and took the painting out of its frame. I intended only to borrow it to paint a copy.”

“In the dining hall?” I asked. Chanel nodded.

“But I heard the guardsmen returning from the Oblivion Gate, and had to give up that idea.”

“So that’s how the paint ended up on the dining hall carpet,” I mused. “I had wondered why there was paint there when a nice studio was ready in the west tower.”

“I had intended to return the painting once I sketched in the copy,” Chanel shifted on the bed, clasping her hands in her lap and returning her gaze to the floor. “And no one would have been the wiser.”

“But you never got to finish the sketch,” again I gestured at the book. “And you didn’t return the painting.”

“I couldn’t,” Chanel’s voice turned defensive. “When the Countess discovered it gone, she sent the entire castle into upheaval! I had no chance to return it!”

Now I had to force myself to keep the pilus down. Easy, Julian, she’s not one of your tironii, I reminded myself. “You had three days to return it to the Countess. Instead, you held onto it, and allowed unnecessary suspicion and distrust fall on others in the castle. Don’t you think it’s time you stopped thinking only of yourself?”

Chanel stared at me, her eyes huge in her small-featured face. “If you’ve ever been in love, you would know -“

I felt my face freeze at her words. That stings. “It doesn’t matter whether I’ve ever been in love or not,” I could feel the ice in my tone. “What matters is that you took property that belonged to the Countess. Granted you painted that portrait. But you gave it to the Count, didn’t you? Which means it became the Countess’s property when he died. You have had no claim to it since the day you gave it to the man you loved.” I rose to my feet and closed the sketchbook gently. “I’m going to report to the Countess now.”

Chanel shot to her feet. “What will you tell her?”

Carefully I lowered the lid on the lectern. “The truth.” I faced the mage. “You may as well hand over the painting now. I’ll return it to the Countess.”

Ashcroft eyed me thoughtfully. “Were you being the pilus you used to be, ma’am?”

I felt my right brow lift at his words. “Now that you mention it,” I pointed my fork at him. “I am a former pilus. That means you and I are now more or less equals. There’s no need for you to go ma’amming me anymore.”

The redheaded Breton hid his sheepish grin behind his tankard. “Even though you don’t look the same as you used to,” he remarked casually, “you still have the air of the pilus about you. Old habits die hard, ma’am - Julian.”

“So they do,” I gave him the hard glare he should still be familiar with. “I hope you got rid of a certain few, however.”

“Ah, I did lose a few,” Ashcroft remained insouciant. “But maybe not the ones you hoped I would lose.”

“That’s too bad,” I remarked.

“You said the Countess was more than generous enough?” Ashcroft dove again into the stew. “I take it she was pleased with the outcome?”

“Yes, and no,” I answered. “She was happy to get the painting back, but she was displeased with Chanel’s actions. She considers it a betrayal of her trust.”

“Ah, Julian, dare I guess what you hold in your hands?” The Countess rose from her throne as I stepped onto the stone floor of the audience hall. Bittneld and Wavrick turned to watch as I carried the large canvas, still attached to its stretchers, toward the dais. I turned it to face the Countess. Anticipation turned to joy as her anxious gaze fell on the beloved visage.

I held my ground as Countess Valga swept down to me and took the canvas from my hands, holding it up at arm’s length. “Oh, my beloved Charus! I missed you so!” I half-expected her to kiss the pigmented surface, but instead she turned to me. “Where did you find it? How did you find it?”

“The culprit only borrowed it to make a copy of the portrait,” I answered. “There was no chance to return it to its place. It was agreed that I would return it to you instead.”

Valga frowned, then handed the portrait to Wavrick. “Please return the Count to his place,” she murmured to him. “Julian, Bittneld, if both of you would come with me, please.” She clapped her hands, dismissing the other courtiers.

The captain and I trailed after the aged Countess back to the dining hall. At a nod from her, Bittneld closed the door between the two chambers, then crossed the immense room and did the same with the one leading back to the kitchens. Valga sat at the same table she had used earlier that morning.

“Tell me, Julian, who was the culprit?”

Briefly I considered not revealing the identity of the thief, but decided against it. My first duty lay to the Countess, not to Chanel. “It was the court mage.”

Valga’s brows rose. “Chanel?” she repeated. “But why -?” her voice trailed off as her eyes turned things over in her mind. “I see,” she said finally. “I had forgotten.”

“I don’t see it at all,” Bittneld spoke curtly. “Why?”

“I had forgotten she painted that portrait,” Valga responded. “If she wanted to make a copy of it, it makes sense. Though I’m not saying I find that an acceptable reason for her covert actions. All she had to do was ask to borrow it for a day.” She saw the surprise I felt. “Yes, I knew she had painted my husband. Charus told me of it when he received the painting. He didn’t think anything of it at first, but then he realized she loved him. He tried to discourage it, but she wouldn’t listen.” She sighed. “He was killed in battle shortly afterwards.”

“She still loves him greatly,” I said gently. “While she must be punished -“

“Of course, I am not without pity,” Valga waved her gnarled hand dismissively. “I won’t jail her. But she must leave Chorrol without delay, and never set foot in the county again.” She turned to Bittneld. “See to it, Captain.”

He hesitated with a glance at me. But before I could draw breath to speak again, Valga waved him away irritably. “Yes, yes, I know, Captain. Julian, your real purpose here was not to help me recover the portrait of my lost love, no?”

“No, ma’am,” I answered simply.

“Yes, I have heard about your mission from some of the others. My daughter is not - fond of you, but my son-in-law refers to you with respect.” She watched as I struggled to hide my surprise at her words. “And I have nothing but admiration for Narina Carvain. Unlike myself and Countess Anvil, she came into her seat under her own power. Tonight after dinner, Captain Bittneld and I will discuss whom of the guard shall go to Bruma. I believe we can spare five contubernii, no, Captain?”

“Five sounds about right, milady,” Bittneld bowed to her before leaving the dining hall.

“How long have you been here in Chorrol?” I asked the redheaded Breton across from me.

“Since I rostered out of the Legion two years ago,” Ashcroft replied. “Asked for a recommendation to a guardsman position, they suggested either Burd in Bruma or Bittneld here. I picked Chorrol because it’s milder than my home county.”

“You’re from the Wrothgarians, right?” I searched my memory. “Are you familiar with any of the horse breeders in that area by any chance?”

“I know a few, certainly,” Ashcroft shrugged. “Why?”

“I just brought a High Rock stallion in Anvil,” I answered. “He grew up in the Wrothgarians.”

“Do you know his breeder’s name?”

“Breeder and trainer,” I searched my memory, “Mira Renoir.”

Ashcroft stared at me, his jaw frozen in mid-chew. “Renoir?” He remembered to empty his mouth. “Mira Renoir?” He shook his head. “She learned the craft from her grandda. He was unusually gifted with the horses. How did this horse end up in Anvil, though? She doesn’t sell her horses so far away, especially the stallions.”

“She sold this one to Clesa in Anvil,” I answered. “And Clesa sold him to me.”

“I’ve heard of this Clesa,” Ashcroft shook his head. “I wonder why she sold the horse to you. She’s usually too canny to let one of that quality go so easily.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be looking too hard at this,” I replied. “But I can’t help wondering why she sold him to me at considerably less than what she paid for him.”

“Did Clesa place any conditions on the sale?” Ashcroft rubbed at his jaw thoughtfully.

“Just that I bring him back to her every spring for breeding to her mares,” I answered. “She did tell me that she decided to sell him to me because he chose me.” Like Ashcroft did just moments earlier, I shook my own head. “I’m not certain I believe that.”

Ashcroft regarded me thoughtfully, then leaned forward. “I don’t know if this is true, it’s just rumors -“ He paused as if considering whether to press forward with his thought or not. “When I was growing up, my da used to say that Gervais Renoir was one of the High Reach witchmen.”

“Her father?” I repeated, feeling my brows rise at his startling statement.

“Her grandda. Folks in that part of Tamriel say that that kind of talent tends to skip a generation or two. Her da was unremarkable as they come, though he was competent enough with the horses.”

I stared at him. “Are you suggesting Blanco is - cursed?”

Ashcroft chuckled. “Not necessarily. If he picked you, I’d say Blanco is more than your typical stallion. And as such, he is not to be treated with disrespect.”

Posted by: SubRosa Apr 1 2011, 05:20 PM

I keep wondering if Ashcroft will one day become Attorney General of Cyrodiil...

Why would you risk your position and standing in a county seat for a man?
I have never understood this either. Not about Chanel, but IRL. One more reason I am glad I am a lesbian.

Once again you make excellent use of a flashback to tell the story of Julian's solving of the mystery. This is really your strongest point as a writer I think. You use your flashbacks like deft sword-thursts at the heart of the plot. You cut right to the heart of the matter, and do not bog us down with the unimportant things inbetween.

Of course there was never really any doubt in my mind as to what Julian would do once she learned Chanel (I wonder if she was her parent's fifth child?) took the painting. She is such a straight arrow, that nothing else was an option.

Old habits die hard,
Slipped another one in I see!

So Mira Renoit is a Witchwoman of the Western Reach? and her grand-dad was Monty Roberts? Julian was lucky indeed to get that horse!

Posted by: Captain Hammer Apr 1 2011, 06:11 PM

Finally caught up to you again. Great framing for the investigation into a missing painting. I have a general level of caution whenever I read things that make extensive use of flashback form, but you avoid the pitfalls and manage to make it a meaningful story-crafting tool, instead of a cheap gimmick.

One nit:

I believe you meant Bruma, there.

More interesting things to be learned about dear Blanco. If horsemanship in Oblivion was that detailed, and the ability to get a war-horse not contingent upon doing the Dark Brotherhood quests, I probably would have put more time into the equestrian endeavors.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Apr 1 2011, 06:31 PM

Yes, that ending to the quest was much better. Providing that simple sketch was all it took.

Posted by: Olen Apr 1 2011, 09:27 PM

Or lie about his nationality and tax status...

SubRosa caught my thoughts on that part really. The flashbacks tell the story well and keep the style fresh and also give us an idea of the character of the guardsmen. I'm wondering what part Ashcroft has to play, as yet he's a connection to her past, however I suspect he will become more. His knowledge of Blanco could proove interesting too.

I agree that your handling of that quest was better than in game where the evidence was circumstantial at best. Chanel still had the feel she had in game of being a bit of an idiot which kept it close to the game though.

Posted by: Acadian Apr 2 2011, 01:04 AM

I agree that your use of flashback is skillful here. It lets you impart your own sense of time to events and hone directly in on the essence of what you are flashing back to. The transitions to and from flashback are very important to prevent any possibility of confusion, and you did this flawlessly.

Julian's decision regarding Chanel is perfectly in keeping with her character. She compassionately did her duty. I also admired her restraint when nipped by Chanel about having been in love. Once again, her experience and maturity won the day, allowing her to overcome the sting she felt and respond like the pro she is.

“Yes, I have heard about your mission from some of the others. My daughter is not - fond of you, but my son-in-law refers to you with respect.” She watched as I struggled to hide my surprise at her words. “And I have nothing but admiration for Narina Carvain. Unlike myself and Countess Anvil, she came into her seat under her own power. Tonight after dinner, Captain Bittneld and I will discuss whom of the guard shall go to Bruma. I believe we can spare five contubernii, no, Captain?”
What a fabulous roundup of 'Noblesville'! That was quite the insight into how Countess Chorrol thinks. Beyond her bloodline to Leyawiin, it shows that of course these nobles all know and have opinions about each other. Further, each of the opinions/observations you wove in here was a gem.

The Ashcroft, Breton, Highrock, Blanco linkage is intriguing, and I look forward to seeing if there is more to it. On one hand, the opportunity to have some more Blanco 'character development' (because he surely is a character!) is most welcome. On the other hand, I love simply having rich tidbits presented that are no more than they appear. Like life, not all things have to be dramatic/followed up, go somewhere or be some sort of foreshadow/clue; some do and some don't. So, you see, whichever way you lead with this will be most welcome!

Posted by: haute ecole rider Apr 4 2011, 02:27 PM

@SubRosa: Your sentiments about Chanel’s choices are not limited nor unique to lesbians. I’m straight, and I feel just the same way. You’re right, Julian is quite the straight arrow. Her white hair stands in for the white hat of the old Westerns! Yes, Julian is quite lucky indeed that Blanco came into her life.

@Cap’n Crunch: Hey, welcome back! I”m glad you caught up. I’ve slowed down the pace of my posting a bit, so hopefully that will help you keep up in the future. And you’re right, I meant Bruma. Nit fixed. As for a real war-horse, well, Shadowmere isn’t one, either. More a race horse than anything else (though granted she is way more durable than most RL race horses!). A war horse doesn’t need speed so much as agility, courage, and yes, stones. Hmm, perhaps Blanco can become the next Guildmaster of the Fighters Guild? Imagine Oreyn reporting to him!

@TK: I’m delighted that you are much happier with this version of the quest compared to Beth’s.

@Acadian: Yes, Julian’s decisions regarding Chanel are true to her character. Her moment of self-doubt - do I report her to the Countess? - only reflects the redefining (or refining) of her nature that Julian is undergoing throughout this story. Thank you for pointing out that not every rich tidbit and nuanced fact needs to go somewhere, as in real life they often don’t. Many times they only serve to enrich our existence and improve our Trivial Pursuit scores.

In the last chapter Julian clears up a mystery at the Chorrol castle and encounters another mystery when Faric Ashcroft, a former tiro of hers, fills her in on Blanco’s breeder. Now she moves ahead on another familiar quest.

*****************************
Chapter 25.8: Cloud Top

By the time I found the ruined arch that marked the path leading to Cloud Top, I was glad I had chosen to ride Blanco. He came to a halt quietly at my signal, his breathing easy and his neck warm and only slightly moist. I dropped the rein against his neck, dismounted and sat down against the blocks, turning my face to the sun. Blanco swung his head as he looked around us, his ears pricking in each direction. He remained relaxed though, and soon dropped his head into the half-doze, knuckling one hind leg in the resting stance.

The view along the southern face of the Jeralls was breathtaking. At this altitude, the bright noon sunlight gave everything around us a crisp edge, while distant features held a blued tint. Below I could just make out the outlines of Chorrol’s walls. From this vantage point I knew I couldn’t see Weynon Priory, nestled out of sight on the far side of the town. But I still searched for the small chapel’s bell steeple anyway.

“I see you’re ready for traveling,” Brother Piner greeted me as I fed the apples to Paint and Blanco, each in turn. I glanced at him where he leaned his forearms on the half-wall of the stable.

“Yes, I’m going to Cloud Top,” I returned my attention to the two horses before they began jostling me with their muzzles. Piner waited as I bit off two more pieces and fed each of them. “Earana wants me to fetch a book for her.”

“And she doesn’t want Teekeeus to know about it, right?” Piner smiled at my nod. “Those two really have it in for each other. I’m surprised you agreed to go get it for her, after the way she disrespected you yesterday.”

“You were there?” I asked. Piner shook his head.

“I heard about it from Dar-Ma, Seed Neeus’s daughter, when I was in Northern Goods and Trade.” He shook his head. “Apparently you made quite the impression on her.”

The last of the apples crunched between their teeth as I stroked the horses’ necks, then stepped out of the stable. “Hopefully her mother doesn’t disapprove.” I picked up Blanco’s saddle and carried it back inside. Blanco whickered softly and pawed at the hard-packed dirt, but stood quietly as I lowered it onto his round back. Once I settled it as Clesa had shown me, I tightened the girth.

“What makes you say that, Julian?” Piner took the bridle down from its peg and shook its straps out. “Why should her mother disapprove?”

“Some mothers don’t think I make a good role model for their impressionable young daughters,” I remarked dryly as Piner handed the bridle to me. “After all, I’m a Legion pilus, likely to break into foul language at the drop of a hat, spending all my free time in taverns with other rough soldiers, and spoiling for a fight.”

“I don’t think Seed Neeus is one of those,” Piner chuckled while Blanco accepted the bit. “Rather, she wants her daughter to grow up self-reliant and self-confident. Like you.”

“We’ll see,” I answered as I checked the girth one last time. Blanco followed me out of the stable, then stood patiently on the cobblestones. “Besides, I’m not getting it for Earana. I’m getting it for the Mages Guild. This is the last recommendation I need before I can enter the Arcane University.”

“Then Talos be with you,” Piner stepped back as I mounted Blanco. “And safe travels!”

“Well Blanco,” I rose to my feet and dug another apple out of the saddlebags. “Here you go, enjoy.” He woke at the first crunch. “I know you don’t need much in the way of food,” I watched him chew the bite I gave him. “But I appreciate you doing all the hard work coming up here.” He fluttered his nostrils at me as if agreeing. “Still, I feel the need for a bit of exercise,” I continued feeding him the apple. “So I’ll walk the rest of the way.” I turned and looked up the faded path that led upwards. Just beyond the slope, I could make out the tops of more ruined arches. “It looks like Cloud Top is an old fort,” I said to the stallion as he finished the last of the apple. “I’m glad. I don’t like those Ayleid ruins. They give me the creeps.”

He followed after me as I started up the winding path, contentedly crunching each bite of the apple as I handed them back to him. Finally we reached the remains of the old fort. The ancient rockslide rose steeply behind the ghost of a keep. Only three of the typical support columns remained intact, holding up a pair of stone beams between them. A fourth one lay half-buried in the mountainside, tipped over at a drunken angle. In the center of the half-obliterated space described by the four support posts, a jagged stump of a marble column rose with an eerie glow, evident even in the strong sunlight.

Blanco stopped just outside the arches as I stepped onto the mossy cobblestones. A glance back showed him staring intently at the black form that lay sprawled on the ground near the broken pillar. His nostrils flared widely, and he pawed at the ground nervously, then looked at me. I turned back to regard the shape that had so disturbed him.

There’s nothing to fear from this, I thought, kneeling beside the charred corpse. It’s been dead a long time. I unclipped my sheathed dagger from my belt and used it to lift aside burned clothing that still clung to the trunk. Something slid out and landed on the ground next to the partially exposed ribs. A book. The book? I glanced around the place. There were no indications that an entrance into the depths of the fort still existed. There’s no other hiding place. Unless - my gaze fell again on that eerie pillar. Behind me, the grating sound of hoof on stone pulled my attention around. Blanco doesn’t like that pillar. He doesn’t like me so close to it. It’s not the dead body that bothers him, it’s that pillar.

I looked back down at the corpse and reached for the book. Surprisingly, it seemed intact, with only a very mild scorching around the edges of the leather cover. As I picked it up, my fingertips tingled uncomfortably. When have I felt this before? The Mysterium Xarxes! It’s the same feeling! I almost dropped it at the realization. Another foul daedric text? Is that what Earana wants? A daedric text? And does Teekeeus know how to read it?

For a moment I wondered if giving the book to Teekeeus as he had requested would be the right thing to do. Who’s right? Earana obviously has the greater magicka just by virtue of her race, but Teekeeus seems the more prudent of the two. The only person I would really trust with such a volume is Martin Septim. But what purpose would giving him this book serve? What would he do with it? He has to focus on recovering the Amulet, he can’t be distracted by a trifling matter as this. Or is this a trifling matter? Nothing daedric is trifling, as far as I know.

Again Blanco pawed restlessly at the cobblestones. I glanced up at the pillar. This person died here. He was scorched here. That kind of power has to come from somewhere. That pillar has the same kind of glow as that light-stone in Chanel’s secret studio. It’s magical. Could it be the source of the death-blow that killed this poor soul? And why was he killed? Because he had the book in his possession? Or because he tried to do something that was described in the book?

That made up my mind. Best to give this book to someone who lacks the knowledge necessary to translate it, but understands enough of the danger to keep it locked up safe. That would be Teekeeus. Holding a corner of the book between my fingertips, I rose to my feet and backed away from the corpse, my eyes on the pillar. I did not stop moving until Blanco’s breath stirred my ponytail. When my knees began knocking, I realized how tense I had been. There was something about that pillar, something inimical to my senses.

As I stowed the book in the saddlebags, Blanco lifted his head up and his ears pointed toward that glowing pillar. I noticed that he stood with his weight distributed back over his hocks, ready to spin and bolt. Yet he did not move a muscle while I placed my foot in the stirrup and swung my other leg over his back. He waited while I settled into the saddle and picked up the rein.

When I gave Blanco the signal, he turned on his haunches and started high-stepping down the steep path. I decided to trust him and eased up on the reins a bit in a tacit signal to pick his own pace. Blanco bolted into a rocking canter, careening down the mountainside until we passed the stone arch that remained of Cloud Top’s outer defenses. As we continued down the High Road, he slowed down to a walk and blew mightily.

“You didn’t like that place much, did you?” I ruffled his mane. Blanco bobbed his head emphatically without pulling on the reins. “I don’t plan on returning there, so don’t worry about it anymore.” No, instead we have Sancre Tor ahead. And I have a feeling it’s going to be much more dangerous than Cloud Top. Else why would the place be sealed after four Blades were lost in there?

Posted by: SubRosa Apr 4 2011, 05:10 PM

“Rather, she wants her daughter to grow up self-reliant and self-confident.
A woman who is self-reliant and confident? Now there is an idea that terrifies a great many people.

Julian discovers Cloud Top, and the book. You do an excellent job creating tension as she examines the site, and the body, and finally the book. In the game this is just a simple fetch and carry, for a spell that is really not worth having since you can make better ones yourself. But you have transformed the book into something dark and mysterious. The fact that there is no telling what it might do makes it even more foreboding. Especially given the corpse.

Posted by: Acadian Apr 5 2011, 12:49 AM

I so enjoyed how you made Blanco such an integral part of this, and truly a partner to Julian. His insight and ability to communicate is fabulous!

It was also fun 'listening in' on Julian's logic regarding disposition of the book, and the reasoned conclusion she came to. Very effective to include bringing the book to Martin as a consideration; not only was that a valid option to consider, but it reminds us of the bigger picture and ties nicely to Julian's true purpose in Chorrol.

I like the fact that this quest has at least a couple possible approaches/options.

Posted by: Grits Apr 5 2011, 08:01 PM

I found Julian and Blanco’s reactions to the pillar fascinating. I love that she thinks of Martin as someone who could have the book. Cloud Top is so beautiful, I tend to ignore the charred body. Julian enjoyed the view, but approached with her brain engaged.

Posted by: Olen Apr 5 2011, 11:06 PM

I have to agree with Acadian on the brilliant dynamic you're building between Blanco and Julian. They are quite different in many ways and offset eachother well. Blanco brings a bit more vim to the pair while Julain has the experiance. I suspect that they will make quite a pair when the going gets tough.

Likewise her pondering of what to do with the book. Interesting she never considered the keep it herself option, I certainly wouldn't trust Teekeeius with power if I were her. Though she's right that Erana would be worse...

The power you've given the book is good, it's more than just another token to drag around. I wonder if it will rear it's head again in a later story...

Posted by: Destri Melarg Apr 6 2011, 02:05 AM

Chapter 25.7

I can never bring myself to turn Chanel in to the Countess. That is another on the long list of reasons why Julian and I are not the same. Like ‘Rosa said there was no doubt which way Julian’s moral compass would steer her in that situation. She also remains resolutely in character during her interrogation grilling dinner exchange with Ashcroft.

I thought it was interesting that Julian (a woman who is currently seeking recommendations into the Mages Guild) would immediately jump to the conclusion that Blanco is cursed because of his link to the Witchmen. I guess old prejudices die just as hard as old habits!

Chapter 25.8

I am so glad that you addressed the thing that always bothered me the most about this quest. That body is burnt to an absolute crisp! One gets the feeling that touching a limb would cause that limb to crumble into dust. But the book, when found on the body, is in pristine condition! You made that book the focal point of this chapter by highlighting its daedric quality. You left no room for doubt in regards to its magical (and therefore dangerous) nature. Given their exchange earlier, I can find no scenario that would see Julian trusting such a tome to the likes of Earana.

Posted by: Captain Hammer Apr 6 2011, 04:45 AM

Ah, the unburnt book amongst burnt remains. The others have already commented on the nature of the surprisingly bloody-rare book in the charred-to-a-crisp remains, as well as Julian's decision on the disposition of the book.

I always followed a far more pragmatic path, but I agree with Rosy, without mods (Supreme Magicka, how I love thine blessings), Finger of the Mountain is a worthless spell (for all but a level one character, in which case it actually does have use. Not for long, though).

Posted by: ghastley Apr 6 2011, 09:05 PM

A minor point:

At this point Julian had apparently made up her mind that Teekeeus would get the book. At Cloud Top it was back up for reconsideration, presumably when she found out what kind of book it was, but that led to the same decision. Without a "that changes everything" moment, it left me a bit confused about the sequence, as it wasn't clear on the first read that she chose the same option twice.

Or did Blanco choose the second time around?

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Apr 6 2011, 09:11 PM

Well, let's hope Teekeeus doesn't get any nasty ideas with that book involving red rooms and vampires.

Given the power of that text, it always struck me that Fingers of the Mountain was one of the secrets of Tamriel that would have been much better off left undiscovered.

You know, to tell the truth, I'm getting more and more involved in creating mods for this game, and that gives me an idea for a quest mod revolving around that book. Still, I have my fan-fic to tend to, but I think I will have to give that idea a little pondering. It would be nice to see Fingers of the Mountain get treated like a proper forbidden tome.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Apr 28 2011, 09:46 PM

It's been a while since I've updated this thread.

Chapter 27 is proving a real bear to write. I think it's going to be the hardest of all of the MQ for me to write. I have more than half of it done to my satisfaction, but I don't want to resume posting until the entire chapter, as Acadian likes to put it, sings.

In the meantime, some of you may have heard that I've installed a new hard drive with Windows 7 into my Intel Mac. It now boots up into W7 as well as Mac OSX, and runs Oblivion flawlessly. So I've been replaying the MQ and loading a few mods here and there as I go along. I've got some screenshots that Julian and I would like to share with you.

http://i862.photobucket.com/albums/ab186/hauteecole/Old%20Habits%20Die%20Hard/2OntheOrangeRoad.jpg

http://i862.photobucket.com/albums/ab186/hauteecole/Old%20Habits%20Die%20Hard/3BladesGreetMartin.jpg

http://i862.photobucket.com/albums/ab186/hauteecole/Old%20Habits%20Die%20Hard/4RolanVenturius.jpg (Slof's Horses gives all the Legion riders horses with bobbed tails)

http://i862.photobucket.com/albums/ab186/hauteecole/Old%20Habits%20Die%20Hard/5JulianBlancoGoldCoast.jpg

http://i862.photobucket.com/albums/ab186/hauteecole/Old%20Habits%20Die%20Hard/9SunsetGallop.jpg

My favorite screenshot of all is now my http://i862.photobucket.com/albums/ab186/hauteecole/Desktop%20Screenshots/JulianandBlanco042811.jpg.

Posted by: SubRosa Apr 28 2011, 10:49 PM

I am guessing that Chapter 27 is Sancre Tor?

I loved Heading Home best. I love the way the setting sun hits the water in that swath of orange and red.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Apr 28 2011, 11:33 PM

*sees icons*



Good to see you're learning the ropes!

Posted by: Acadian Apr 29 2011, 01:39 AM

Best of luck as you and Julian keep working on Chapter 27.

Welcome to PC land! Isn't Slof wonderful? Everything she touches with horses is magic!

The screenies are fabulous. Blanco looks gorgeous and I'm with SubRosa in appreciating your eye for the sun over the Abecean.

Posted by: Grits May 3 2011, 06:14 PM

Oh, how beautiful! Your desktop picture is my favorite. They look so peaceful!

Posted by: Burnt Sierra May 16 2011, 10:29 PM

After my marathon Maxical reading session yesterday, it's been my marathon Julian reading session since I got home from work...six hours ago. My stomach is now reminding me that I haven't eaten, so it seems like the right time to take a break and return tomorrow to continue.

I suppose the highest compliment I can give is that this tale has engrossed me to the extent that I did forgot to eat until now - and anyone who knows me can testify to how rare that is! Luckily I won't get in trouble for ignoring Dawn tonight, as she's at her writing group - free, guiltless time spent reading an excellent story, with a lead character who just jumps off the page/screen and stands in front of you in three dimensions chatting away.

Can't ask for a better Monday night than that, and I'm looking forward immensely to continuing this tomorrow

Posted by: haute ecole rider May 23 2011, 03:50 AM

@SubRosa: I’m glad that you liked the way I added dread to this quest. I know from experience how animals can sense when something is wrong, even when the setting is beautiful. And Julian is sensitive enough to Blanco’s reactions to pick up on his unease regarding that pillar and the corpse. And yes, you’re right, Chapter 26 is Sancre Tor.

@Acadian: Yes, I liked that there are options with this quest, but I tend to take only one path. As a melee player/fighter, I tend to ignore the potential magic offers. Julian is the same way. I suspect as we progress through our magical education, we will be kicking ourselves for not considering obtaining that spell! Yes, I’m liking what Slof did with the horses very much. Especially now that they are anatomically correct!

@Grits: Yes, it’s beautiful at Cloud Top. And it’s logical for Julian to think of Martin as someone who should have the book, not the quarreling mages down below. I’m glad you picked up on that, as well as the interaction between Julian and Blanco. If it hadn’t been for her time with Paint, and learning that Paint can spot hostiles before she can, this process would have taken much longer, as Blanco is so much more advanced than ol’ Paint. That desktop picture of Julian and Blanco is still up on my Windows partition. And yes, that was a rare moment of peace for the two of them.

@Olen: It’s great that you are picking up on the growing relationship between Julian and Blanco. It’s impossible to ignore it when they spend so much time alone together on the road. Humans seek social interactions all the time, and horses are just too happy to oblige. Dogs are the same way, and cats somewhat less so.

@Destri: Ah, yes, old prejudices do die harder than old habits! Yes, Julian is still learning just what magic can do other than witches’ curses, destructive spells, and healing spells. And I’m glad you agreed with Julian’s decision to give the book to Teekeeus after all.

@Cap’n Bam: I’ve never personally sought to obtain the Fingers of the Mountain spell, as I’m more a shock and fire girl rather than a frostbiter. While I have respect for cold, I’ve dealt with it waaay too much in Minnesota to consider it truly demoralizing the way shock (or fire) can be. And when half the Marauders I encounter are Nords, what use it it?

@ghastley: As far as that quote you pointed out, at this point Julian considers Teekeeus to be the appropriate representative for the Mages Guild. But she doesn’t consider him to be leadership material based on what little she’s seen of him. So she considers getting the book for him as getting the book for the Mages Guild. But when she realizes the power the book holds (beyond that of a mere textbook about spells), she has a moment of doubt about Teekeeus’s ability to keep the book safe without succumbing to its temptation. I’m sorry that was not clear in the writing.

@TK: I’m not sure that Teekeeus has the imagination to do anything drastic with that book. I mean, he even leaves it in a box with an easy lock! I look forward to what you do with that daedric text! And yes, I’ve been busy learning the ropes of modding. I’ve been successful at converting Gweden Farm into Julian’s retreat.

@Burnt Sierra: Thanks for your comments regarding this story thus far. There isn’t much more left to write, just a few more adventures before we finally reach the end of the tale Julian has to tell. I just have one question for you - why is Dawn at a writing group when there’s a great one right here on your computer screen? I’ve learned so much from reading not only others’ fictions, but also the constructive criticism that follows each story post. Some I’ve been able to apply to my own, and I have done so shamelessly.

And with this post I’m ending Thread Five. Thanks to all who have read Old Habits Die Hard thus far. I really appreciate your constructive criticism, your enthusiastic support and your encouragement. On to http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4750

Posted by: Burnt Sierra May 24 2011, 08:42 PM

I caught up to date (until I just noticed you'd started another thread ), the day after my previous post. It was a really engrossing read, for several reasons.

1. I've been following Trey's stories for six (good grief) years now, and to see Julian through your eyes, and comparing it to the portrayal in BOTM was fascinating.

2. The lovely subtle touches littered throughout. The side mention of a Legion job in Solstheim, the loving detail in describing the horses, the rides. Actually, I think that bears more credit than I just gave it. One of my favourite authors, Richard Russo, has talked several times about the importance of making locations act as a character. Bringing them to life, involving them in the story, making them more than just background. The same goes for animals, frequently they're just a means to an end, not a fully fledged character in their own right. You've done this with Paint, with Blanco, with the stables, details brought to life with such energy and enthusiasm, you can't help share the delight in learning these things. And, all through the eyes of the character, not some disjointed narrative voice intruding. Beautiful and seemless.

3. The flashbacks. One of the most difficult techniques to do well, and make relevant. You used them sparingly, but they introduced such emotion and depth to the story, and never felt forced.

4. Finally. Julian. What can I say? Just an absolute delight of a character. To see the world through Julian's eyes is a pleasure. Certainly gets an invitation to my next dinner party, if only for the stories!

The better question would be why I didn't go that time? Oh wait, I was here...

She's trying to finish a novel, and it's had some interest from agents this time around, so... I'll let her off.

Posted by: minque May 24 2011, 09:51 PM

By request of the great author of this amazing story I am now closing this thread!