Old Habits Die Hard Part Four, old habits really do die hard Options

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: If you liked this throwdown with the Count, wait until Julian really lets 'er rip!

@mALX: The Countess gets her comeuppance in this next segment. Enjoy!

@Destri: Your question about the effectiveness of the Leyawiin Guard will be addressed here!

@treydog: Ah yes, Julian has a temper, indeed. And you’re right, all those years in the Legion has tempered her temper (sorry - couldn’t resist!).

@Acadian: Thanks for the praise, paladin! Welcome back! Please give my regards to Acadian Sr.

@Ginner: Welcome to Chorrol! Thanks for the input!

Julian lets a bit of the savagery she is capable of show here when she matches wits for the last time with the Count of Leyawiin.

*************
Chapter 19.10 The Knights of the White Stallion

The guards eyed Mazoga and I as we strode through the entrance hall toward the throne room. The Orsimer remained at my side, her hands full of black bows, her stride matching mine in both length and purpose. I carried one black bow in my left hand, and the cloth-wrapped object in my right.

As I expected, the two guards at the entrance into the throne room clashed their pikes together in front of us. Beyond, Count Caro lifted his gaze from the petitioner in front of him, his brows lifting at the sight of us. I slammed the bow I held into the crossed weapons, breaking them apart and opening the way for Mazoga and I.

The Countess half rose from her seat indignantly at the sight of the Orsimer walking across her green carpeted hall. “How dare you - !” Her spluttering words subsided when Caro murmured something to her. His pale eyes remained fixed on mine as Mazoga and I stopped at the foot of the dais. We bowed to the Count.

“Black Brugo is dead,” I tossed the bow down, the ebon stave clattering on the stones at Caro’s feet. “There is his bow, as you requested. Sir Mazoga has the bows from five others of his gang, including his two top lieutenants.”

Beside me, Mazoga dropped her burden onto the steps in front of the Countess. The woman recoiled from the weapons with distaste. Cupping the object I carried in my left hand, I unwrapped the cloth and grasped the tousled topknot. Gasps and screams rippled around the hall as I held the Orc’s head up for all to see, congealed blood slowly dripping from the severed neck. Caro leaped to his feet, his face pale, while his wife fainted dead away in her chair. A perverse part of me noticed that no one stirred to her aid.

“I brought you his head in case you wanted further proof,” I said to Caro, casually tossing the grisly object to rest next to the bow at the Count’s feet. His bulging eyes moved from the contorted green features to me as he slowly sat back down, his hands clenched on the arms of his chair.

“J- justice has been served,” his voice wavered at first, then firmed into its light tenor. “Henceforth, Sir Mazoga and Julian of Anvil may be known as the Knights of the White Stallion.” He snapped his fingers, his usual insouciance restored. “And I shall pay you both a bounty on these black bows - one hundred drakes for each.” Behind his throne, On-Staya Sundew appeared and bent down to him. He whispered something into her ear. As she disappeared from the dais, he turned his gaze back to me. “You will have access to the White Stallion Lodge, just north of town.” Caro added. “Leyawiin appreciates the service you have provided.”

“Count Leyawiin,” I clenched my hands. “I must return to the matter that brought me here in the first place.”

“Yes, yes,” Caro nodded, waving his hand dismissively. “There are more than six members in the Black Bow -.”

“Count Leyawiin,” I interrupted, bowing from the waist. “It is becoming quite clear to me that your Guards would be quite useless in the task that faces Bruma. After all, they have done nothing while Mazoga and I closed two Oblivion Gates, eliminated a bandit leader, and decapitated a marauder gang.” I tipped my head at Mazoga. “Sir Mazoga has accomplished more in the past six days than I’ve seen of the Leyawiin Guard.”

Caro’s pate flushed, as the hall grew still with shock. But I was not finished. “Keep your guards, or send a contingent to Bruma, as you see fit, sir. I don’t care. But consider this carefully.” My gaze flickered from him to the Countess at his side, just beginning to stir out of her faint. “Mehrunes Dagon will be defeated. When Tamriel looks back on the greatest crisis that we have ever faced, how will history consider the Count of Leyawiin?” The Countess sat up, blinking at me in confusion. “Already the Count of Cheydinhal, a Dunmer no less, has secured a place for himself in the book of legends. Will Leyawiin be counted among those who stand with Bruma, or be considered a traitor to the Empire?” The Countess’s gaze fell on the disembodied head at her husband’s feet, and she slumped away unconscious again. I bowed to Caro one last time, Mazoga echoing me. “Farewell, Count. I am leaving.” I spun on my heel and stalked out, my Orsimer friend again matching strides with me.

*************
We did not speak again until we reached the Five Claws Lodge. When we had ordered our respective drinks from Witseidutsei, Mazoga and I regarded each other across the table.

“Gods’ goolies!” Mazoga exclaimed, slapping the table hard with her palm. The patrons glanced around at us, but she ignored them. “Not just knights, but knights-errant!” She took a gulp of her ale. “That’s got to be some special kind of knight, isn’t it?” Her black eyes sparkled merrily at me as she raised her tankard. “Go ahead and say it! ‘I greet you, Sir Mazoga!’”

I matched her grin and clinked her ale with my tumbler of water. “Hail, Knight of the White Stallion!”

“Why, thank you kindly,” Mazoga’s adoption of the courteous manner was somehow ironic. Her face turned thoughtful. “‘Knight of the White Stallion,’ huh? Has a nice ring to it.” She leaned back until the wooden chair complained under her weight. “Now I’ve got to go out and do good deeds.”

“You can go black bow hunting,” I reminded her. “One hundred drakes per bow. That’s enough to support yourself comfortably for a while.”

“Oh, I’m certain the Count will find something else for me to do once I get rid of all the Black Bow Bandits,” Mazoga remarked. Then she frowned at me as I took another sip. “But what about you, Julian?”

My eyes locked with hers over the top of my tumbler. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you came here to get aid for Bruma,” Mazoga spoke slowly. “But it doesn’t look like you’ll get it. So what will you do now?”

“It doesn’t look good, does it,” I could hear the rue in my voice. “Never mind, I still have other Counts and Countesses to see.” I met Mazoga’s gaze. “I’m from Anvil, and as I remember it, Countess Umbranox is a kind woman. She takes care of her people, and as I used to live there, she likely will listen to me.”

“I hope you’re right, Julian,” Mazoga’s eyes shifted beyond me, and she set her tankard down carefully. Caelia Draconis closed the door to the inn behind her when I turned to look over my shoulder. Her icy gaze met mine as she strode up to me. I rose to my feet to face her.

“I resent what you said about the Guard being ineffective,” her voice matched her eyes.

“Never would I say your Guard is ineffective,” I kept my voice even. “But I’ve been here for eight days, and I have yet to see your Guardsmen do anything beyond the town gates. Black Brugo’s hideout is a mere couple hours’ fast walk from here, and yet nothing has been done about him, nothing until Mazoga and I came along.” I recalled Lerus’s words “- your hands aren’t tied.” Could the same be true of Draconis? Beyond her, a young guard entered the inn, his arms laden with shields. He paused at the sight of the Captain facing me.

“What do you know of the Guard!” Draconis snapped. “Where do you get off criticizing us?” Mazoga jumped to her feet, the chair clattering to the floor.

My hand twitched for the hilt of my katana, but I kept it clenched at my side. With a warning glance at Mazoga to keep quiet, I took a deep breath. “I’ve served twenty-five years in the Legion,” that old pilus resurfaced in my tone. “I’ve watched the City Guard of other towns do everything they could to protect the people they were sworn to protect. The Kvatch Guard sacrificed themselves selflessly for the sake of the survivors. The Bruma Guard followed me into that Gate and learned how to close it, which they continue to do as fast as Dagon opens them. And Cheydinhal held the line while they waited for the Count’s son to return from accomplishing his mission.” I held her gaze levelly. “So tell me, how does yours compare to them?” How does Bravil’s compare? Not very favorably, come to think of it.

“I had heard what had happened at Kvatch!” Draconis’s eyes narrowed. “What purpose would it serve to run into the Deadlands waving our swords?”

“You are the Captain of the Guard,” I bowed my head to her. “As such, it is your decision, and the Count’s, how best to handle these Gates. All you needed to do was send to Kvatch or better yet, Bruma, and ask how their Gates were closed. They would have gladly shared their successful and unsuccessful tactics with you. Such is the nature of veteran soldiers.”

Draconis’s jaw clenched. “I’ll have you know that I, too, serve in the Legion!”

I lost my patience. “Then start acting like it!”

Her head reared back in surprise like a startled horse, and her face turned white. Without another word, Draconis spun on her heel and stalked past the nervous guard out of the inn.

Silence fell over the common room as the guard turned his face from the door to me. The shields in his hands clattered slightly as we regarded each other. I took a deep breath. “What is it, sir?”

He straightened his shoulders and approached us. “The Count has ordered these shields to be presented to the new Knights of the White Stallion.” He presented a shield to each of us with a bow of respect. I gazed at the light iron oval, emblazoned with the white horse of Leyawiin rearing on a grass-green background. It resembled those of the City Guard, except for the golden collar around the horse’s neck. “And here is the bounty for the six bows you collected,” he added, setting a blue silk pouch on the table. “Six hundred drakes in all.” He set a pair of ornate keys beside the pouch. “The keys to the White Stallion Lodge, on the Green Road just north of town.”

Mazoga and I murmured our thanks to him. He saluted us smartly, then turned and left without another word.

[SubRosa]

Always better to throw down than to throw up!

Julian was awesome! From bursting into the throne room with Mazoga at her side, to hurling the decapitated head of Black Brugo to the Count's feet! Whew! Teresa wishes she had those kind of ovaries!

Will Leyawiin be counted among those who stand with Bruma, or be considered a traitor to the Empire?
Not only is the threat implicit in Julian's words, but is given emphasis by the head of Black Brugo at the Count's feet! Bravo!

my Orsimer friend
Indeed she is. I wonder if Julian herself knows exactly when Mazoga moved into that category?

And finally a second throw down with the guard captain who watched as Julian spent two days in the Deadlands and Mazoga protected her city against the Daedra issuing from within. I was cheering for Julian the whole time!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Oct 27 2010, 06:21 PM

[mALX]

OMG!!! I have been screaming and jumping up and down on the seat of my chair over this chapter!!!!! This is my absolute favorite chapter of all !!!!!

There is no where to begin to quote, all of it was so AWESOME!!! But I could not stand it if I didn't repeat these:

Beside me, Mazoga dropped her burden onto the steps in front of the Countess. The woman recoiled from the weapons with distaste. Cupping the object I carried in my left hand, I unwrapped the cloth and grasped the tousled topknot. Gasps and screams rippled around the hall as I held the Orc’s head up for all to see, congealed blood slowly dripping from the severed neck. Caro leaped to his feet, his face pale, while his wife fainted dead away in her chair. A perverse part of me noticed that no one stirred to her aid.

GAAAAAAAAH !!!! WOOOOOOOOOOT !!!!!!!

“Count Leyawiin,” I interrupted, bowing from the waist. “It is becoming quite clear to me that your Guards would be quite useless in the task that faces Bruma. After all, they have done nothing while Mazoga and I closed two Oblivion Gates, eliminated a bandit leader, and decapitated a marauder gang.” I tipped my head at Mazoga. “Sir Mazoga has accomplished more in the past six days than I’ve seen of the Leyawiin Guard.”

Caro’s pate flushed, as the hall grew still with shock. But I was not finished. “Keep your guards, or send a contingent to Bruma, as you see fit, sir. I don’t care. But consider this carefully.” My gaze flickered from him to the Countess at his side, just beginning to stir out of her faint. “Mehrunes Dagon will be defeated. When Tamriel looks back on the greatest crisis that we have ever faced, how will history consider the Count of Leyawiin?” The Countess sat up, blinking at me in confusion. “Already the Count of Cheydinhal, a Dunmer no less, has secured a place for himself in the book of legends. Will Leyawiin be counted among those who stand with Bruma, or be considered a traitor to the Empire?” The Countess’s gaze fell on the disembodied head at her husband’s feet, and she slumped away unconscious again. I bowed to Caro one last time, Mazoga echoing me. “Farewell, Count. I am leaving.” I spun on my heel and stalked out, my Orsimer friend again matching strides with me.

OMG!!! GAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!

I lost my patience. “Then start acting like it!”

Her head reared back in surprise like a startled horse, and her face turned white. Without another word, Draconis spun on her heel and stalked past the nervous guard out of the inn.

WOOOOOOOO HOOOOOO !!!!!

Julian has it going on in this chapter !!!! I will re-read this a hundred times and never tire of it !!!

This post has been edited by mALX: Oct 27 2010, 08:17 PM

[Destri Melarg]

YES!!! Like 'Rosa and mALX, I was cheering for Julian all the way!

Gasps and screams rippled around the hall as I held the Orc’s head up for all to see, congealed blood slowly dripping from the severed neck. Caro leaped to his feet, his face pale, while his wife fainted dead away in her chair. A perverse part of me noticed that no one stirred to her aid.

Julian makes her point and counts coup on the endlessly annoying Countess Alessia in one fell swoop. She also manages to show just how unpopular the bigoted Countess is even among those who curry her favor. Bravo!

You are the Captain of the Guard,” I bowed my head to her. “As such, it is your decision, and the Count’s, how best to handle these Gates. All you needed to do was send to Kvatch or better yet, Bruma, and ask how their Gates were closed. They would have gladly shared their successful and unsuccessful tactics with you. Such is the nature of veteran soldiers.”

The implication being that they would be willing to provide the aid to Leyawiin that Leyawiin withholds to Bruma. Brilliantly said.

There were so many other parts of this that I could have quoted, but I don't want to spam your thread with a post longer than your chapter. Suffice it to say that this was just excellent!

[treydog]

I slammed the bow I held into the crossed weapons, breaking them apart and opening the way…

Loved the cinematic quality of that image. And even more cinematic was the reveal of Brugo’s head. Clever Julian! No chance for Caro to wriggle out with the proof staining his carpet! And her ringing condemnation of the Leyawiin’s (apparently) useless guard force and its feckless Count had me standing up to cheer.

There is something interesting afoot with these Captains who seem unable to do their jobs- and I have to wonder if there is a geographical as well as political reason…

[Acadian]

A rousing episode indeed. A couple times I found myself wondering if the Count would order Julian and Mazoga arrested. Now that would have been fun. I don't believe all the Count's horses and all the Count's men have the firepower to restrain Dames Julian and Mazoga!

It will be interesting to see if the seeds of shame that Julian planted will take root and bear productive fruit.

Doggone that Caelia; I sure hope she grows a pair. Same for the Count. I fear Countess Alessia is, unfortuanately, hopeless.

Oooh. I have a soft spot for Countess Millona of Anvil as well. I bet she'll help.

Best of all, Julian helped her friend, Mazoga become a knight errant. Ya, that's some special kinda knight!

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: I rather thought that segment would get your blood going! Damn! It felt good writing it!

@mALX: I hope you didn’t break your chair!

@Destri: That scene with the Countess passing out and no one coming to her aid just popped into my head. That bit of tongue in cheek was so genius I just had to write it in! And I wanted to point out that Draconis is not the epitome of a Legion officer that she apparently thinks she is.

@treydoggie: That entire scene in the Leyawiin Court was playing just like a movie as I was writing it. It was a lot of fun!

@Acadian: I think the Count was too shocked at Julian’s bluntness to think about arresting her. Besides, she’s there on behalf of the Countess of Bruma, a far more interesting character than the vapid lady at his side. He wouldn’t make a good impression on the Northern Countess if he did arrest her representative.

Julian does one last thing for Mazoga before resuming her Grand Circuit of Cyrodiil.

***************
Chapter 19.11 The Lodge

After lunch, we gathered our gear and headed out of Leyawiin. Paint greeted me quietly when I stopped by the stable to settle his account, but I was dismayed yet again at how much weight he had lost in a little over a week. Atahba, the Khajiit who worked in the stables, advised me that Paint still wasn’t eating well. Though I visited him every day, the news remained the same. Paint just wasn’t his old self. Again I made the decision to walk.

“What’s the use of a horse if you can’t ride him?” Mazoga asked as we trudged up the muddy road in the rain. I glanced at her. Orsimeri see horses mostly as dinner on the hoof. Especially when they’re as broken as Paint is.

“He was a loan from a friend,” I answered finally. “The prior - died, and I made a promise to Paint that he would be well cared for as long as he lives. He has been of tremendous help to me.” Paint flicked an ear at me as I ran my hand down his neck, feeling the dullness of his coat beneath my palm. “I don’t desert my friends, Mazoga. I’m certain you understand that.”

“A horse a friend?” Mazoga snorted. “All right, if you say so, Julian.” She eyed the gelding again. “But what happened to him?”

“Will o’wisp,” I shifted Daedra Slayer at my waist. As long as I remained in the swamps of the Southern Niben, I intended not to be caught off guard again. Both my plain katana and my unenchanted bow were secured to the saddle, and I carried Akatosh’s Fury at my back, strung and ready for use.

The rain had stopped and the sun raised steam from the river and the road by the time we reached our destination. The White Stallion Lodge turned out to be a shabby frame building perched on a small knoll next to the Green Road. A weathered dock sheltered the opposite side of the road. While I viewed the headquarters of our new order skeptically, Mazoga seemed delighted to have a roof she could call home. “Look! A cooking fire!” She pointed out the stone hearth just behind the building. “And a porch,” she sprang onto the creaky boards and spun to look back at me. Her eyes moved beyond. “With a river view!”

Laughter spilled from my throat. River view, indeed, I thought as I turned to look at the waters of the Niben just past the worn dock. Paint followed me to the rear of the building, where I unsaddled him and provided a bucket of water for him. Mazoga had already gone inside, leaving the door open, when I returned to the porch.

Mazoga had tossed her shields, both the Orcish round and the Leyawiin light iron oval onto the shabby wooden table in the common room. Her voice reached me from an adjacent room. “Look! There’s two beds! Plenty of room for both of us!” Dubiously I peered into the small sleeping room at the pair of disheveled cots. Motheaten blankets failed to hide the lumpiness of the thin mattresses, the transparency of the threadbare sheets, the flat pillows. Mazoga plopped herself prone on one of the beds, which creaked dangerously under her armored weight. A cloud of dust puffed up from beneath her bulky form, nearly obscuring her face. “Ahh, this feels so comfortable!”

She waved me to the other cot. “Check it out!” Warily I did so, and found spiderwebs and mouse droppings. I picked up one corner of the mattress and checked beneath it. The frayed ropes that provided support did not give me confidence. I glanced at Mazoga, her own mattress now nearly reaching the floor. If I didn’t believe she was born under a rock, I certainly do so now. Holding my breath, I gathered up the bedding and carried it outside.

“What’s wrong?” Mazoga followed me out. “Isn’t the bed comfortable for you?”

“It may be comfortable,” I muttered, crossing the road to the dock and dropping my bundle on the wooden boards, “but it’s certainly not healthy.”

An hour later, the blankets and sheets from both beds, after a prolonged bath in the Niben River, were spread out on the sunny roof to dry in the hot afternoon sun. The mattresses had been emptied of rotting rushes, thoroughly shaken out, and restuffed with dry grasses gathered on the slope behind the lodge. The cot frames had been restrung with fresh ropes we found in a chest. I had a hearty fire going in the disused fireplace in hopes of drying the last of the mold from the interior. Mazoga had opened all the windows to catch any stray breeze.

“Hello!” the voice drew my attention to the road. A Legion Rider had stopped in front of the lodge and was staring at the roof. I stepped out onto the rickety porch.

“Hello, yourself,” I stifled a grin at the bemused look beneath his helm. “I’m Julian of Anvil, and this,” I turned as Mazoga joined me on the porch, still impressive in her linen shirt and leather pants, “is Sir Mazoga. We’re Knights-Errant of the White Stallion.”

“Oh, really?” The Legion rider’s brows disappeared beneath the helm as he regarded us. “The Count found replacements?” He tapped his chest. “I’m Quintus Tibullus.”

I let the grin surface as I shook my head. “How long has this place been closed up?”

His brown gaze grew thoughtful. “Since before I started patrolling here - about five years, I think.”

“Five years?” Mazoga exclaimed. “No wonder Black Brugo moved in here!”

“Yes,” Tibullus’s gaze narrowed at us.

“He’s dead,” I assured him. “Mazoga and I took care of him back in Telepe.”

“Did you?” I could see new respect in his eyes. “That’s mighty good news. Especially considering that Oblivion Gate up the road a ways.”

I frowned. “Where?”

“North of Water’s Edge,” Tibullus jerked his thumb northwards over his shoulder, as his bay pawed at the cobblestones, sparks flying from her shoe. “It’s set back from the road, and so far the people in the settlement haven’t been bothered by it. But I’ve already encountered a stray scamp or two, and a clannfear the last time I passed it.”

“Are you and your horse okay?” I asked.

Tibullus nodded. “Aye, that we are. That clannfear was a piece of work, though.”

“Watch out for flame atronaches,” I advised. “They’re worse.”

“Yes, they’re bad enough,” Mazoga agreed. “But if you can get close to one, she’s easy meat.”

Both Tibullus and I gave Mazoga a considering glance. “Meat?” the Legion rider repeated. “More like hot coals, I imagine.”

“Hot stuff, indeed,” I put a wry tone in my voice, lifting one brow suggestively. Mazoga missed my reference, but Tibullus didn’t. He guffawed heartily, then saluted the two of us.

“Good to meet you both,” he said. “Look forward to more encounters with you.”

“Oh, I won’t be staying here,” I ignored Mazoga’s quick glance at me. “Though I intend to stop by from time to time. But I have other tasks to perform.”

“Very well,” Tibullus nodded at me, picking up his rein and smooching at his horse. As she started her easy stroll down the road, he turned back. “But I hope you keep this stretch of road clear of bandits and monsters!”

*************
“Do you really have to go on?” Mazoga asked me the next morning. “I know it’s important that you get some aid for Bruma, but your horse doesn’t look very well at all.”

“I’ll keep walking,” I replied, my heart heavy at the thought of Paint’s persistent lack of energy. “If he doesn’t get better, there’s a friend in Weye who will take excellent care of him.” After all, Paint is seventeen years old. And the past few months have been hard on him, though he had taken it all in stride. Until that will o’wisp. What did that creature do? The convalescence spells no longer work on him. “I walked everywhere when I was in the Legion,” I continued. “I just have to rebuild my marching calluses again, that’s all.”

“Will you be back, Julian?” The wistfulness in her tone drew my gaze to Mazoga. “I liked having you with me at Fisherman’s Rock, and in Telepe.”

“You’re a damn fine fighter, Mazoga,” I secured my plain weapons to Paint’s saddle. “Just be careful.” I cast a glance at the dwarven blade at her hip. “Watch out for will o’wisps. Your weapon will be useless against them.”

“Aye, but I can’t afford an enchanted blade, yet.” Mazoga responded.

I recalled the sigil stones in my pack. Martin had shown me how to identify their effects, and I was lucky to get a shock damage stone. Mazoga watched with some befuddlement as I searched through the pack. Her eyes widened at the sight of the softly glowing stone I unwrapped.

“Draw your sword and give it to me,” I said, holding my right hand out for it.

“What?” Mazoga was understandably wary of surrendering her weapon. After a moment, she apparently decided she trusted me. The dwarven blade whispered as she drew it from its scabbard and handed it to me hilt first.

I tried to remember how I had enchanted the first Daedra Slayer. Martin had enchanted my present one, as well as Akatosh’s Fury, while I was laid up from the surgery on my knee. I simply dropped the stone on the blade. That is, I think that’s what I did. I looked up at Mazoga. “I’m not sure I know how to do this, so let’s give it the old Legion try.” Her eyes widened further as I held the buzzing stone over her precious blade.

I tapped the orb against the dwarven metal. The sword groaned, but the stone did not disappear. I closed my eyes and searched my memory again. This time, when I tried again, I let the full weight of the heavy globe drop onto the blade. Energy sizzled through the bones of my hand and wrist, and the weapon sang that discordant tone I remembered. I looked down to see my empty hand resting on the blade, which now glowed with a soft argent light.

I hefted the blade, getting a feel for its balance, then tested it on a nearby shrub. Lightning flared, and a small thunderclap followed, splitting the woody branches and throwing sparks. Paint threw his head up and snorted, and Mazoga stumbled backwards.

“Gods’ goolies!” she swore. “What in ‘blivion did you do?”

I took the blade in my still-tingling hand and extended its hilt to Mazoga. “You have an enchanted sword now.” I smiled as she stared at the weapon disbelievingly. “It should make quick work of any will o’wisps you find.” As her hand slowly grasped the hilt, I released the heavy sword into her grip. “Mind you, it needs recharging from time to time. If you find filled soul gems, use them. Otherwise, go see Agata at the Mages Guild in Leyawiin. Tell her I sent you, and she’ll take care of it for you. She’s expensive, though.”

The big Orsimer stared wordlessly at me. Finally she took a deep breath. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she exclaimed. “Thanks, Julian. You’re a real pal!”

I reached up and clapped her on one broad shoulder. “I’ll see you next time I come this way. In the meantime, remember to say please if you want something!”

[mALX]

Your depiction of Mazoga gets better with each chapter! You have her personality down pat, I can picture her saying everything exactly as you have written it, the expressions on her face as she says them!!

This chapter was a winding down in one way, and a building block at the same time. Deep bonds of friendship are being forged that are tangible - Awesome Write !!!!!!

[Acadian]

Lovely!

I thoroughly enjoyed the contrast between Julian's view of the Lodge and that of our optimistic orc. The place is perfect for her - with a river view! Julian was wonderful to help shore and clean things up though.

I'm so pleased that Julian recognized the danger posed by wills-o-the-wisp to the mighty Mazoga and took appropriate steps to help her friend survive. Even to include advice on how to recharge the weapon.

I feel the heaviness in Julian's heart as she procedes north on foot with her four legged companion at her side. I fear Paint may be heading for retirement, and wonder if he will spend his days in the comfortable climate near the lake at Weye, or perhaps in the chilly Bruma Wild Eye stables of his birth. Lead on!

This post has been edited by Acadian: Oct 29 2010, 04:47 PM

[mALX]

GAAAAAAAH !!!!! I hope by in Weye - you don't mean at the stables outside the Imperial City where they ... eat horses !!!!!! ARGH !!!!!!!!!!

[Acadian]

Yes, by Weye, I meant, um, Weye. Not the Imperial City.

Perhaps under the care of his old retired fisher friend, Aelwin, in Weye who has taken care of Paint several times. Or perhaps at the Bruma stables of his birth.

Julian would never surrender Paint to that Snack Grabbing orc at Imperial City stables.

This post has been edited by Acadian: Oct 29 2010, 05:14 PM

[SubRosa]

“A horse a friend?”
Buffy and Teresa would have no trouble understanding this!

Once again, Mazoga's naivete is very fun as she and Julian do some much-needed Spring cleaning at the Knights of the Green Mare's headquarters. Now the Count just has to shine the Horselight in the sky, and Sir Mazoga will be ready to do battle with evil-doers!

“I just have to rebuild my marching calluses again, that’s all.”
This reminds me of one of my favorite lines in the movie Gettysburg: "After the first few thousand miles, a man gets limber with his feet."


This post has been edited by SubRosa: Oct 29 2010, 08:41 PM

[D.Foxy]

You know something, rider?

I resisted, and resisted, but now....it's too much...


MAZOGA IS NOW AS FIRMLY ENTRENCHED IN MY HEART AS IS VOLS IN ROSA'S STORY!!!

I demand (and I strongly, strongly suspect other readers will demand) that Mazoga be given more and MORE room in later episodes!!!

Dang...come to think of it, Mazoga would make a perfect pair with a certain lady Super Mutant in my friend Ole Andeee's story...


...Now THAT would be SOME crossover!!!

[treydog]

The return of Paint is bittersweet; I am happy to see our friend one more, but sad to see he is still not recovered.

Mazoga exuberance at having a home was wonderfully endearing, even as you described the shabby reality through Julian’s eyes. That was an excellent display of the writer’s craft.

“Hot stuff, indeed,” I put a wry tone in my voice, lifting one brow suggestively.

We will have to guard against that sense of humor, I see.

There was just so much to love here that it is not possible to isolate this or that passage. The growth of Sir Mazoga under Julian's (and haute's) patient tutelage has been an especial treat. Though Julian is somewhat sparing of words, her actions in enchanting Mazoga's blade speak volumes. That was a thoughtful, selfless act- a gift of something her friend will need....

And you have again managed to take an interesting (and often annoying) bit player and turn her into someone special, complete with a history and a personality.

Now on to Weye, where we can hope Aelwin has some ideas for another of Julian's friends.

[haute ecole rider]

@mALX: Thanks for your thumbs up on my view of Mazoga. She is a wonderful, if difficult, character to write. And you’re right, the last segment is both an ending and a bridge at the same time.

@Acadian: So you enjoyed the contrast in how Mazoga and Julian saw the charming Lodge. I knew you would appreciate Julian’s parting gesture in enchanting Mazoga’s sword and advising her how to keep it recharged. As for Paint, not to worry, he’ll be comfortable in his retirement.

@SubRosa: You had me rolling with your comment about the Horselight!

@Foxy: Mazoga as memorable as Vols? Now I’m thrilled! She really grew on me, I’d have to admit.

@trey: Developing Mazoga’s character was a challenge, as she was already so distinctive in the game, but it ended up being quite fun. Julian won’t forget Mazoga so quickly. As for Paint, help arrives sooner than Weye.

With the start of a new chapter we revisit a familiar place and continue the Grand Circuit of Cyrodiil.

****************
Chapter 20.1 Back to Bravil

Antoine Branck eyed Paint as I led him through the gate into the paddock. “What happened?” he said on a low whistle. “Paint looks quite ill.”

“Yes,” I answered, patting my loyal companion on his arched neck. He still hadn’t regained the old vigor, nor had he recovered the weight he had lost. “Will o’wisp laid into him pretty good before I could kill it.” I pulled my pack and bows from the saddle. “I haven’t been riding him since. I’ve also been casting convalescence spells on him as often as I can, but this is as good as I’ve been able to get him.”

“Well, let me and Isabeau put our heads together on him, and we’ll see what we can do!” Antoine averred firmly, stripping the tack from Paint’s spotted back.

“If you can get his appetite back, I’d be happy,” I said.

“Not eating well?” Antoine frowned.

“Not taking apples anymore,” I responded sadly. He had started refusing them in Leyawiin, and that had scared me more than the weight loss or the dull look in his eye. “If I can get him back to Weye, he has a friend that adores him.”

“Right, we’ll get right on it, ma’am,” Antoine’s brisk tone did little to ease my worry, but I appreciated his can-do attitude. Swinging my pack to my shoulder, bows in hand, I laid my cheek against Paint’s neck. He flicked an ear at me, then dropped his head and nosed desultorily at the lush marsh grass at his feet. When he raised his head without taking a bite, I caught Antoine’s wince, and turned away before tears could break through my self-control.

Wearily I trudged to the Quaking Bridge. Frederick greeted me as his relief stepped off the bridge. “Hello, Julian!” his welcoming smile faded at the look on my face. “It seems that you and Paint have walked a long road,” his tone turned somber. “I’m off duty now, shall we walk in together?”

“Certainly,” I agreed, glad of his company. “Long road indeed, and the road ahead is still longer yet,” I continued as we walked along the Quaking Bridge.

“But I see you no longer limp,” Frederick said. “And you’re filling your armor more.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Worried about your horse?” I nodded silently. “Talk to Marz. She may be able to help Paint.”

“A Chapel healer that works with animals?” I glanced sharply at Frederick. He grinned lopsidedly at me.

“Most of ‘em don’t, but Marz has a soft spot for the dumb ones.” He clapped my shoulder, tipping my balance just a little before I caught myself. “What news do you bring?”

I paused as we reached open gates and glanced back across the canal. “Have you had any new Oblivion Gates open around here?”

“Since you last came this way?” Frederick shook his head, his gaze following mine toward the ruined fort and the remains of the Gate. “No, none at all.”

“I need to head to the Mages Guild first,” I looked at Frederick. “But after that, do you think it’s possible for me to see Viera Lerus?”

“The Captain?” Frederick’s brows rose in surprise. “I don’t see any reason why not,” he said after a moment. “She seems to think better of you since your last visit.”

We walked through the gates into the town. The guards standing at their posts greeted us by name. Startled, I glanced at them as we walked down Gate Way. After the indifferent arrogance of the Leyawiin Guard, the camaraderie from these guardsmen was unexpected.

“Well, Frederick, I’ll see you again,” I said when we reached the intersection of Gate Way and Canal Street. He knuckled his helm at me with a grin and headed for the Castle. I turned right and made my way down Canal Street, with barely a glance at the skooma den above my head. I’ll sound out Lerus about the best way to approach Count Terentius, I thought to myself. I’m not in the mood to waste more time jumping through hoops to make another lazy-butt noble happy. I still felt resentful of the days I had lost convincing the Leyawiin Count to send a contingent to Bruma. Still, I’ve gained a friend in Sir Mazoga. I smiled to myself at the remembrance of her reaction to her newly enchanted sword - “Gods’ goolies!” I hoped that she still found the White Stallion Lodge much to her liking.

The afternoon air was already turning cool as I stepped onto the porch of the Mages Guild chapterhouse. The unmistakable tang of autumn was already palpable, even this far south. Is winter already set in at Bruma? How long before I find out?

Kud-Ei greeted me warmly from her chair when I entered the chapterhouse commons. “Welcome, Julian!” she smiled toothily as I approached her. I dropped my pack to the floor, leaned my bows against the wall, and collapsed into the easy chair next to her. Stretching my long legs, I leaned back with a sigh. “Fancy some tea?” she asked me, her orange eyes regarding me with some amusement.

“Certainly,” I admitted, thinking of walking back across town to the Castle on my sore feet. Haven’t walked this much since I was in the Legion! Got to build up my marching calluses.

Kud-Ei rose gracefully to her feet and moved into the dining room. She returned a short moment later with a cup. Filling it with tea from the pot on the side table, she handed me the mug before resuming her seat. She waited until I took a sip before speaking again.

“I hear you have been quite busy,” she murmured. “It’s a shame that Falcar hass been so careless with the apprenticess.” I glanced at her, hoping she did not see the tensing in my jaw at the mention of that accursed Altmer. Her orange eyes met mine squarely. “I ssee that you are sstill angry. Why?”

“Such total disregard of the value of life is not befitting a leader,” I said slowly.

“Where did you learn that?” Kud-Ei’s spined brows had climbed her forehead at my words. “Certainly not in the Legion?”

“Oh, yes, in the Legion,” I answered firmly, nodding for emphasis. “In times of war, in combat, every capable soldier counts. When a soldier falls in battle, we consider that a sacrifice. But when a soldier falls because of the carelessness of comrades or officers, we consider it a waste.” I turned my gaze to the amber tea in my cup. “Battles, wars, even kingdoms have been won or lost by one life.”

“I never realized ssoldierss felt that way,” Kud-Ei murmured into her tea. By now I was unsurprised. It was not the first time I had encountered the common perception of soldiers as emotionless killing machines.

“Not all of them do,” I responded. “There’s all kinds in the Legion. I was lucky that my first two pili were men of integrity.” I drank down the rest of the tea, washing the dust of the road from my throat. Kud-Ei nodded when I pointed askance at the tea pot.

She waited until I had refilled my cup before speaking again. “And I hear Dagail in Leyawiin iss hersself once more.” Again, she did not miss my reaction. “And I ssee you are angry about that, too. Why?”

I slid a sidelong glance at the Argonian. “Because no matter what a leader’s faults are, showing overt disrespect toward her is detrimental to the group as a whole.”

“You must think uss magess are an undissciplined lot, after so many yearss in the Legion,” Kud-Ei commented. A short chuckle escaped my lips. Not your mages, Kud-Ei.

“There’s all kinds in the Guild, too,” I remarked. Her eyes gleamed with amusement, then turned serious again.

“What newss do you bring, Julian? How do you return without a limp, but with the weight of the world on your shoulderss?”

Startled by her perception, I glanced at Kud-Ei. Sighing, I returned my gaze to the tea in my hands. How much to tell her? “I’m certain you’ve heard of the Mythic Dawn,” I began.

“Yess,” Kud-Ei turned her gaze to her cup. “Ranaline tried to kill you the lasst time you were here.”

“They are planning to make Bruma the next Kvatch,” I continued. “I’ve been tasked to ask for troops from the other counts and countesses around Cyrodiil.” Sighing, I sipped at the tea. “So far, Count Indarys of Cheydinhal has sent troops. I’m here to ask Count Terentius for support, as well.”

“Then you will go to the other citiess, too?” Kud-Ei asked. “Sskingrad, Anvil, Chorrol?” I nodded. “What good will more numberss be againsst the hordess of Oblivion? I undersstand they broke down the very wallss of Kvatch!”

“So they did,” I answered. “The Bruma Guard has learned how to close the Gates as they open, but casualties are inevitable, and they will come to the point where they will be unable to prevent the opening of a Great Gate. Once that happens, Bruma will fall.” I met Kud-Ei’s gaze. “It is the Countess Bruma’s hope that having reinforcements from the other counties will buy us enough time to figure out how to -” my voice faltered as Uriel’s voice brushed through my memory, “- to close shut the jaws of Oblivion.”

Kud-Ei regarded me for several moments. “Jusst how sseriouss iss thiss, Julian?”

“If Bruma falls,” I closed my eyes against the terrifying thought, “so goes all of Cyrodiil.”

“That bad?” Kud-Ei whispered, dismay in her voice. Silently, I nodded.

[treydog]

The contrast between Bravil and Leyawiin was deftly drawn. That is particularly true given Julian’s past experiences in Bravil- the unfortunate ones, I mean.

Hooray for Marz! If anyone can provide Paint with the Restoration he needs, I would put my money on her.

I will try not to go into “cold shower” territory in regards to Frederick of Bravilwood’s interest in Julian. I will say that he is rather observant and aware of the changes in our favorite former soldier. But perhaps that is simply camaraderie…

Good plan to talk to Lerus before going to the Count- of course, Julian is generally a careful planner.

The unmistakable tang of autumn was already palpable, even this far south. Is winter already set in at Bruma? How long before I find out?

A lovely way to show the passage of time- and Julian’s awareness of it.

The conversation with Kud-Ei is a joy to read (as your conversations usually are). You have such a wonderful, natural way of seeding information into those talks- in this case, the goal of Legion training and the value the Legion places on the lives of the soldiers. Or as Carbo more bluntly put it- “You’re a good troop- try not to get yourself killed.”

And an ominous, but honest assessment at the end.

[mALX]

Do we assume she stopped and talked to Marz on her way? Or will you be writing that out? ARGH! PAINT!!!

I think one of the most revealing passages in this chapter of beautifully worded and poignient phrasing is this:

“If Bruma falls,” I closed my eyes against the terrifying thought, “so goes all of Cyrodiil.”

It gives a visual image of Julian's inner strength. She knows fully the danger, the prognosis if this mission fails - but still manages to function and not give herself over to the terror she feels inside (which would infect others and cripple her efforts to save Cyrodiil) - Awesome Write !!!!!

[SubRosa]

So does Isabeau look like Michelle Pfeiffer, and turn into a hawk when the sun is up?

Poor Paint! My heart goes out to him. You do a good job of conveying Julian's love for her trusty steed.

Oh noes! Viggo Mortensen has stolen Paint!

“And you’re filling your armor more.”
Hubba-hubba!

How do you return without a limp, but with the weight of the world on your shoulderss?
Well said Master Po! I almost expect Kud-Ei to start calling Julian grasshopper next!

As Three Dog noted, the contrasts you draw between Leyawiin and Bravil are startling. I almost want to say that Bravil seems too nice now. But of course we are seeing it through Julian's eyes, as a place filled with friends and comrades: Frederick, Marz, Kud-Ei, Antoine, etc... Quite the turnaround from how she perceived the city when she first arrived. I cannot help but to think that Julian has come home. It is rather fitting too, that the place where she completely sank into darkness be the same one where she returns to the light.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Oct 31 2010, 06:04 PM

[Acadian]

Yay, Bravil!

Antoine is a peach. I hope Marz can help with Paint.

It is good that Julian has a friend in Frederick. I'm pleased she can speak with him as a fellow soldier. Hopefully he can help provide a little info on how to best procede with, um, Count Pompousness.

You do wonderful justice to dear Kud-Ei. What a joy she is!

Great insights on the mind of a soldier.

[Destri Melarg]

Chapter 19.11 The Lodge

The update on Paint’s condition is just heartbreaking. I was so sure that Julian would find him at the stables prancing around like his old self. As fitting as it may be to allow him to be looked after by fellow retiree Merowald, I would much rather see him put out to pasture at his old stomping grounds in Bruma . . . or in the quiet and (relative) serenity of Weynon Priory.

I agree with everyone else in praising your version of Mazoga. I hope we get to see more of her. It was a small thing, but I loved the way that Julian made sure to establish Mazoga in the mind of Tibullus. All this panhandling diplomacy she has been doing of late seems to have made her even more acutely aware of the importance of appearances. I doubt that Tibullus would have been so cordial encountering a solitary Orc squatting in the White Stallion Lodge, knight or not.

Given Mazoga’s complete lack of concern for hygiene or cleanliness, I shudder to think what the White Stallion Lodge will look like the next time Julian comes through.

Chapter 20.1 Back to Bravil

I can’t say it any better than SageRosa already did. My favorite part was where Julian made her way down Canal Street with ‘barely a glance’ at the skooma den, yet still remained cognizant of where it was. That stands in stark contrast to the last time she stood on that street just after leaving Fort Grief. Julian is ‘filling her armor’ in more ways than merely the obvious.