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

[haute ecole rider]

@Olen: Thanks for the comment about how full a character Julian is already. She may not be full-figured but she has layers to her character that I've only begun to dig into. I do work on Martin's character a little more - the game leaves so much to be desired. I had fun writing this little scene once I got past the lame in-game dialog. I hope you like how I continue developing this unknown son of Uriel's.

@mALX: The rapport with Martin came as a surprise, for both Julian and me. It was not the same with the other characters I played later. Guess the writer in me was too immersed in the role-playing to just take things at face value. You may recall that there are more to come!

@SubRosa: How else are the people of Kvatch going to recognize their gratitude for her aid at a dark time than to announce to the whole world that the bearer of this sword (and shield) is the HERO OF KVATCH! And yes, I knew in game both Uriel and Martin have blue eyes, but I gave them hazel eyes to make them a little different. Thanks for that little detail.

@minque: I'm glad you enjoyed the conversation between Julian and Martin! There'll be more to come! I'm also delighted to see you still reading my story!

@Destri: Being a huge fan of the original Star Wars trilogy, I'm not as familiar with the prequels, so I'll take your word for it. Your image of Julian bonking Martin on the head with her new Kvatch Wolf (which she is very proud to carry) made me spew! And yes, on to Weynon! But we'll take a little while getting there, thank you very much.

On the road, Julian and Martin get to know each other a little better, but the conversation doesn't get interesting until they stop for the night in Skingrad.

*****************
Chapter 5.1 Musings in Skingrad

It was very late when we reached Skingrad. Tilmo, the ostler at the Grateful Pass Stables, was happy to take Paint in hand for the night. Martin wanted to see the Chapel of Julianos, so we trudged our way through the cobblestoned streets toward the church. The only souls we encountered were the City Watch, taciturn men clad in gleaming mail covered by quilted dark red surcoats. They did not speak to us, but I was aware of their wary eyes following us from beneath steel helms.

The caution on their part was easy to understand. After all, how do we appear to them? A bone-weary, haggard priest in sooty, tattered robes, and a gimpy old Redguard in light armor carrying two swords and a bow? Are we a threat? Will we cause a disturbance? Or are we merely travelers seeking shelter after a rough day on the road? Careful to avoid returning their gazes too directly, I kept my hands away from my weapons.

The chapel was quiet, dark in the corners, with soft lantern light throwing long flickering shadows away from the central altar. The stained glass windows typical of such places showed few hints of color, backlit only by the overcast night. Setting my gear on the floor beside one of the pews, I walked the perimeter of the chapel, deep in study of the designs. The grey-bearded sage in his tall pane returned my gaze from stained glass eyes when I stopped before him. Julianos, God of Wisdom and Logic, says: Know the truth. Observe the law. When in doubt, seek wisdom from the wise. The words of chapel-school wound through the years since my childhood.

“You were named for Julianos,” Mother said, stroking my hair back from my heated face, “before you were even born. I just knew you would always seek knowledge and truth.”

“But Julian is a boy’s name!” I exclaimed, tears still hot on my cheeks. A couple of the pretty girls in town had made fun of my name behind the priest’s back. “I’m no boy!”

“Julianos doesn’t care if you’re a boy or a girl,” Mother answered, her voice calm as always. “He only cares that you live by his code.”

Have I lived up to his code? I wondered, returning to the present. I’ve served Akatosh, not Julianos.

“You were in the Legion?” Martin asked from behind me. Realizing I had spoken my thoughts out loud, I turned away from the window to meet his shadowed gaze. With a nod, I limped to the pew and sat down, easing the ache in my right knee. “And you were named for Julianos?” he continued, taking the pew in front of me and turning sideways so he could look at me over its back.

“My mother told me I would seek knowledge and truth,” I looked down at my clasped hands resting on my thighs. “But all I know is how to fight, how to kill, sir.” At the slight tremor in my voice, I took a breath to steady it. “She wanted me to follow in her footsteps, become an alchemist. But I wanted to be a fighter. Now I wonder if I took the wrong path.”

“Who’s to say you did?” Martin responded softly. “If you didn’t know how to fight, how to kill, would you have been able to close that Gate?” He shook his head when I kept my silence. “I grew up the son of a farmer,” he remarked, looking away from me. “But I found it dull, quite boring. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life working the land. So I joined the Mages Guild.”

The memory of how he had utilized potent frost-flares to help me bring down a bandit we had encountered at dusk still fresh in my mind, I considered his words. “Is that where you learned how to cast those spells, sir?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered, his voice becoming dry. “I thought it would give me more adventure and power. Instead, I found it quite tedious - studying, studying, practicing, practicing, then studying some more, and so on. It seemed to take too long to advance. I never made it beyond apprentice level.”

“What happened, then, sir?” Martin didn’t meet my gaze. “If I may ask, sir,” I added hastily.

“You may ask,” Martin looked at me, a faint humor in his eyes. “Like-minded friends and I,” he continued after a moment, “left the Guild to explore other ways of gaining power. We were reckless, and I made some - mistakes. People died. My friends died.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” I murmured when he paused, averting his eyes again. “It’s hard, losing friends.”

Still not meeting my gaze, Martin nodded, sighing. “It all seems so hubristic, now,” he remarked. I frowned at the unfamiliar word.

“Hubristic, sir?” I repeated.

“Hubristic,” Martin confirmed. “It means excessive pride or defiance of the gods, to the point of being one’s own nemesis.”

“Hubristic,” I muttered to myself. Have I ever been hubristic? I’ve been over-confident at times. But have I ever defied Akatosh, or even Julianos?

“You are the last person I would consider to be hubristic,” Martin’s voice warmed with good humor. With a silent chuckle, I shook my head.

“You didn’t know me in my younger days, sir,” I remarked. “In hindsight, I’m sure I caused my mother no end of grief growing up.”

“And you’ve learned from your mistakes, I’m certain,” Martin responded, smiling at me. “Now you’re older, experienced, and you seem to know better.”

“Huh,” I felt my mouth lift on the right side. “There are days when I doubt that I do, sir.” Like when I went into that Gate.

“We all do, Julian, we all do,” Martin agreed. His smile faded. “When we met that Legion rider, what was his name -?”

“Hugh Berennus,” I answered, thinking back. We had encountered him near Mortal Camp. He had remembered me from a few days before, and we had exchanged news.

“Hugh Berennus,” Martin repeated. “Why didn’t you tell him you were the one that closed the Oblivion Gate?”

Leaning back in the pew, I stretched my spine. “Why should I, sir?” I said after a moment. “It doesn’t matter who closed the Gate, only that it was closed.” He frowned at me. “It doesn’t apply to you, sir,” I continued, trying to find the words to explain. “But for most soldiers, there is something called ‘need-to-know.’ We only need to know that something needs to be done, not necessarily why or who. If my century is assigned to perform a task, we do it, we don’t ask ‘why is it necessary,’ or, ‘why us? Why not the other century?’”

“When I order you to jump,” Carius, my first pilus, growled at us, pacing along the first rank, “you don’t say ‘Yes, sir!’”

“No sir!” Lariat piped up from somewhere behind me. “We ask ‘How high, sir!’”

“Don’t waste my frickin’ time with that bull talk!” Carius roared back. “You just frickin’ jump!” Now he glared at each of us in turn. I managed to keep my spine straight under that fierce stare. “Recruits! Jump!”

We jumped.

“Without question?” Martin asked, bringing me back to the present. “What if it is an immoral order? What if it is treacherous to the Emperor, or Akatosh himself?”

“It is the officer’s job to question such orders, sir,” I answered. “He or she must do so respectfully, and very carefully. The officers have sight of the greater picture, not the soldiers in the ranks themselves.” My eyes studied my hands, avoiding Martin’s gaze. “Soldiers have to kill, and sometimes the civilians suffer. They may be caught between two opposing forces, or they may be harboring the enemy against their will, or their leaders may refuse to cooperate with us. Most people think we don’t care about the innocent, but the truth is, we do.” With a deep breath, I thought about the soldiers I had served with through the years. “Most of us, anyway,” I continued. “If we were to challenge every order, not only would wars be lost, but more people would die in the ensuing confusion.”

“It’s hard to govern by committee, I suppose,” Martin mused. “I suppose the same is true for the Legion.”

“The ranks are asked to do the dirty job in war, sir,” I continued. “All we can do is trust that our officers and leaders are working toward a higher goal.” I shrugged. “It is sometimes the only way we can survive as a unit.”

Martin rose to his feet and walked away, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed in thought. “And since you serve the Emperor,” he mused, so quietly I could barely hear him, “you must always obey his order, correct?”

My eyes followed him, and I wondered where he was taking the conversation. “Yes, sir.” Now Martin turned halfway towards me, his gaze sidelong at me.

“And the Emperor ordered you to find me?”

With a blink, I considered his words. “It was more a request of a man facing his death, sir,” I said finally. “But I accepted it as an order.”

“Why?”

Why, indeed? “Old habits, I suppose,” I answered. “That, and he was courteous and respectful to me, when I was so wretched.”

“Wretched?” Martin repeated. “You?”

“Just -” I did a quick count, eight already? “eight days ago, I was in a cell in the Imperial Prison. I had been in a brawl, though about what I don’t remember. I had been drunk, and off skooma just a little too long -” I trailed off, avoiding Martin’s gaze. He returned to the pew and sat down again, facing me.

“Go on, Julian,” he prompted quietly. “You were in the Prison for drunk and disorderly.”

In the dim lighting of the chapel, I saw again Uriel Septim’s visage in front of me. With a shiver I blinked away the memory. In almost a whisper, I told Martin of how the Emperor had come into my cell on the last night of his life. The tears came when I told him of Uriel’s courage and acceptance of his fate, how he had placed the Amulet in my care, just before his death at the hands of an assassin.

Martin stared at me. “Uriel gave you the Amulet of Kings?” he muttered, incredulous. I nodded.

“I realize now how important it is,” I responded. “But at the time, all I could see was how he grieved for the death of his sons, how prepared he was for his own death -” again my voice failed me. After a deep breath, I recovered my composure enough to continue. “I did not have the heart to refuse him.”

[SubRosa]

You set the scene with a strong description of the chapel. The shadows in the corners, the soft light, the darkened windows, etc... all build a powerful foundation for what follows.

I have always thought it odd though, that Akatosh seems to be the patron of the Imperial Legion (it is his dragon all over them), not Talos, who is supposedly the war god. That is not a nit on your storytelling, it is just an observation of the Bethesda's setting.

“And you’ve learned from your mistakes, I’m certain,” Martin responded, smiling at me. “Now you’re older, experienced, and you seem to know better.”
This really catches my eye, as it sums up so much of the characters of both Martin and Julian. You have done an excellent job of drawing strong parallels between the two. In many ways they are mirror images. Both have seen hard times, fallen from grace due to their own actions, and are fighting for redemption. Even more compelling is their experiences have made them exactly the right people to face the crisis besetting Tamriel. As if an unseen hand has been shaping them for their entire lives. Best of all, it is all done very subtly, without shoving the hand of fate down the reader's throats.

[mALX]

The last paragraphs are so powerful! Julian's vulnerability was so well done when she was being honest and frank about her own situation to Martin. Really great write!!!

[Acadian]

Caught up again. Wonderful stuff. I'm covering several chapters here so let me hit some of the things I really liked:

- The way you portrayed Savlian Matius as he gave his gear to Julian.
- That Julian carries the trappings of the 'Hero of Kvatch'. Now we do not have to wonder how it is people know who closed that gate!
- As said above, nice interaction with Martin.

[haute ecole rider]

Hey all, I'm in St. Louis this weekend visiting my sister. I've got a little time to post the next chapter before turning in for the night, but I might not post again until I get back home.

@SubRosa: I never thought too much about Akatosh vs. Talos - the Imperial Legion predates Talos Stormcrown, so it makes sense to me that they would have always served Akatosh. Like military organizations everywhere through time, they would find it hard to change tradition. I'm glad that you see Julian and Martin have much in common, though in some ways Martin is more advanced than Julian (especially in the use of magicka, as we have already seen).

@mALX: Martin somehow brings it out of Julian - she feels she can confide in him. Is it because he is a priest? Or because he shared some of his past with her? Who knows? I doubt Julian understands it herself.

@Acadian: I'm glad you are still reading Julian's fiction. No, I don't subscribe to the telepathic guards myself. All they have to do is look at her sword and Kvatch Wolf and white hair and realize this is the Redguard of the rumors! Hey, you're the - Shh, be quiet!

Julian learns a new magic trick that will become very valuable in the future.

*********
Chapter 5.2 Convalescence
A gentle touch on my arm rescued me from a maelstrom of uneasy emotion of loss, of fear. I lifted my head, blinking at the bright light from the altar. A small-boned Breton woman stepped back as I straightened up, her hand dropping from my shoulder. Her gaze held concern and wariness. Rubbing at my eyes until I saw stars, I looked around. The stained glass windows glowed with daylight. Beyond the Breton, Martin watched me patiently, the dark circles under his eyes still present.

“It’s just past dawn, Julian,” he said softly. “We should eat breakfast and go, if you’re ready.”

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. After the day yesterday, I felt stronger, refreshed. “We spent the night here?” I exclaimed softly.

“You fell asleep,” Martin responded. “And I spent the night in meditation.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I apologized to the Breton. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.”

“If you found some measure of peace here,” the woman responded, her light voice nearly musical, “then that is all that matters.” She frowned at me, and leaned forward to take my chin in a surprisingly strong but gentle grip. Turning my face this way and that, she traced the parallel slashes on my right cheek, now healed into raw scars.

“That’s from no wolf or rat,” she said quietly.

“Scamp,” I muttered, tilting my head back out of her fingers and turning my head away.

“I’m Marie Palielle,” the Breton woman volunteered, stepping back to let me out of the pew. “I’m the healer here. If you ever get injured in these parts, don’t hesitate to see me.”

I remembered something one of the Legion riders had said to me. “I’d like to learn how to cast a convalescence spell,” I met her gaze uncertainly.

“See Tumindil,” she pointed out the tall Altmer near the altar. “He’s a little snobbish, but a good mer. If you ask, I’m sure he’ll teach you a spell, for a price.”

Martin nodded when I glanced askance at him. He remained next to my gear, still stacked at the end of the pew. The Altmer lifted his head as I approached the altar uncertainly.

“Yes, what can I do for you, stranger?” he asked, his high brows arching higher at my patched leather cuirass and my scarred face.

“I’d like to learn a convalescence spell, sir,” I murmured hesitantly.

“Do you know how to cast a healing spell on yourself, then?” When I nodded, he gestured impatiently. “Well then, show me.”

Momentarily off balance, I wavered. Thoughts of pain and blood crowded my mind, white energy surged down my arm, and I raised my fist and opened my hand to let it cascade around me.

“As I thought,” Tumindil mused to himself. “You’re a novice. One must be an apprentice in restoration magic to be able to cast a convalescence spell. Hmm, can you do it again?”

His tone irritated me, and I took a deep breath to calm myself before repeating the spell. “How do I become an apprentice?” I asked him.

“Ah, you can join the Mages Guild,” Tumindil responded. “But if that is not your style, then simply practice this small spell of yours and gain experience. Then you will be able to cast a convalescence spell on your friends. It will cost more of your magicka.” He regarded me a moment longer, then smiled. “Your desire to heal others is admirable. And I believe you are close to becoming an apprentice of restoration. I will teach you the cheapest convalescence spell.” He named a price that made me blink.

Counting out the drakes, I looked up at him. “If I’m not ready to cast this spell, how can you teach me?”

“Oh, knowledge and ability are often two separate things,” Tumindil’s smile grew wider. “I can teach you how, so when you can, you will be able to do so.”

Dubiously, I handed over the drakes. He drew me off to one side, near Mara’s window. “Tell me what you do to heal yourself,” he said. Slowly, I shook my head.

“I don’t think about it,” I said. “It’s something that comes when I’m in pain, or bleeding.”

“What do you feel then, when you cast it?” Tumindil asked, nodding encouragement.

“I’m not sure how to put it into words,” I faltered, taking a deep breath. “It’s a power that comes from down my arm here,” I touched my breastbone with my knuckles, “and builds up in here,” I held up my fist, “and escapes around me when I open my hand like so.”

Tumindil was nodding vigorously. “You’re well on your way to understanding,” he murmured. I stared at him. Was that excitement in his voice? “Have you ever tried, well, holding that power in?” He clenched his fist in demonstration. I shrugged.

“Is it supposed to hurt when I hold it?” I asked him.

“That is how you make a stronger spell,” he confirmed. “Hold it in as long as you can. Of course, it will build up, and take more of your magicka, so you will take longer to recover.” Again that impatient gesture. “Try your spell again, but hold it in as long as you can.”

I obeyed, keeping my fist clenched above my head. The energy I could feel built up in my hand, fighting to open it against my will. My forearm and wrist ached, then a sharp, silver pain shot down my arm into my shoulder. I gasped, my fingers flying open, and the magic surged up then cascaded around me. The pain disappeared almost immediately, but I was left breathless and dizzy. Tumindil caught my shoulders as I staggered, steadying me easily.

“Did that hurt?” he asked. Blinking away the tears, I nodded. “Now you understand more,” he continued. “Don’t hold it in so long that it hurts like it did just now. Let it go before that pain comes.” His gaze sharpened on me. “Does that make sense, Redguard?”

I nodded. It did make sense! The comprehension must have been clear on my face, for Tumindil smiled in satisfaction. “So how is a convalescence spell different from a healing spell?” I asked him.

“Ah, I’m glad you asked that!” he exclaimed. “You are quite an apt pupil, indeed.” He held up his long-fingered hand and started ticking off his fingers as he continued. “A spell is made of three components, first the effect,” he tapped the first finger, “in this case restore health. Secondly,” he indicated the second finger, “the means of transmission - self,” he tapped his own chest, “touch,” he reached out and laid his palm gently against my shoulder, “or target,” he flung his hand out toward Martin, still waiting beside my pack.

“And the third thing,” he continued, touching the next finger, “is strength or duration of the effect. That is most dependent on your amount of magicka and the strength of your willpower. As you practice, this third effect will increase.” Tumindil touched my shoulder again, murmuring softly. White light passed from his fingers into my shoulder, and I felt my shakiness disappear. He nodded at Martin again. “Try casting this energy of yours at your friend.”

Regarding Martin dubiously, I imagined him injured, hurt and bleeding. For some reason, the memory of the Emperor lying dead came into my mind. The white energy surged down my arm rapidly, and I barely kept the presence of mind to cast that energy toward Martin instead of letting it cascade around me. The magic, however, fizzled as soon as it left my fingers.

“You see,” Tumindil laid a hand on my shoulder as I stared at my fingertips. “You do not yet have the will to throw your magic. But it will come, I can see that.” He shook me gently, drawing my attention back to him. “What did you think of when you made that attempt just now?”

“I imagined Martin hurt,” I said, my voice unsteady. “Then I remembered a - a friend who was killed recently,” my voice broke. Tumindil squeezed my shoulder in sympathy.

“You are a Protector,” he leaned down to me. “You want to keep harm from your friends, and from those who are innocent, no?” After considering his words for a moment, I nodded. “Ah, yes, and you can not bear to see them hurt, yes?” Surprised at the Altmer’s assessment of my own heart, I nodded again. “That alone bodes well for your ability. There,” he tapped my shoulder for emphasis, “lies your secret, your power. The desire to protect others from harm, and to heal them when they are injured, drives your restoration spells. Don’t deny that desire.”

I looked down at my hands, thinking over his words. That was worth the price. I met Tumindil’s gaze. “Thank you very much, sir. I will not forget.”

The Altmer’s smile belied the arrogance Palielle suggested he possessed. “It is not every day I get such an apt pupil. It has been my pleasure.”

Martin lifted an eyebrow in askance at me as I returned to my gear. “I learned something,” I answered the unspoken question. “Now I must practice to use it.”

[mALX]

This was one of my favorite chapters before, and it still is. I love where Tumindil is teaching Julian about healing - so well done!

[Olen]

Excellently done. A description of magic with more depth than just 'it's magic'. And you show more of Julian, she's developing into a brilliant character, a pure hero but with sufficent realism and weaknesses to be quite believable. It's really nice to read a happy (or at least hopeful) story which holds together so well.

This really is a treat

[SubRosa]

“If I’m not ready to cast this spell, how can you teach me?”
I have always wondered about this myself, you did an excellent job of putting a reasonable explanation on this bit of game mechanics. Likewise for the rest of the description of magic. You fill in the very large blanks left by the game in this regard.

Once again I liked your portrayal of Tumindil. At first he comes across as the typical arrogant Altmer. But as we see more of him, we find that he is quite the opposite. When he calls Julian an apt pupil though, it makes me think of the Stephen King short story by the same name.

[Winter Wolf]

The way you build up your scene and characters is so real it is frightening. Wow.

I loved the second last chapter with the crowding shadows in the chapel and the dialogue that followed. And this one with the magic lesson. Simply great!!

Safe trip back home Haute.

This post has been edited by Winter Wolf: Apr 24 2010, 01:17 AM

[minque]

This is great...two wonderful updates! Oh hautie, rest assure I read your story! haven't the chance of responding as quickly as you update, but I'll do my very best.

You are a master of conversations...I appreciate that alot...you make the charachters so alive...

[haute ecole rider]

Hello all, back after a fun weekend in St. Louis:

@mALX: So that was one of your favorite chapters? I recall struggling with that one, until Tumindil got fed up and took over. Once I let him have control, it came easily.

@Olen: I'm glad you find this still interesting. I've thought long and hard about magic, restoration/healing, and the ethics of such things in the context of the TES universe. I'm glad that my solutions to my dilemmas sit well with you.

@SubRosa: Tumindil is one of those characters that seem a little thin at first, but in typical Altmer fashion he became impatient with me and just took over my keyboard. I'm glad he did. He turned out quite good after all.

@Wolf: I remember how much you and Destri liked my description of the chapel at night the first time around. I'm glad it still touches you the second time around. And yes, I had a safe trip back home today, thanks.

@minque: I love writing conversations! I think it's a great way to get a feel for characters. I think you're a master at character development yourself, after having read your own Morrowind fiction (Selena). To get these comments from you is high praise, indeed. And don't feel that you must comment after every post. I know you have a busy life, and I trust that my story will wait for you to come!

Julian gets to introduce her new friend Martin to a (relatively) old friend, and enjoy a simple but hearty meal (no polenta this time!) at the same time.

***************
Chapter 5.3 Lunch and Stories

The walk through the West Weald east of Skingrad was quiet. The imps I had encountered on my way to Kvatch still lay beside the road outside Greenmead Cave. It reminded me of something that had been bothering me.

“There’s this flare spell,” I said, “but my problem with it is that it only comes when I’m angry, sir.”

“Well, of course, anger and rage are the driving forces for destruction spells,” Martin explained. “But we must always keep it focused, or the spell will not be effective.”

“In other words, don’t lose my temper, sir?” I asked. He nodded in response. Thinking about it for a few moments, I glanced at him. “I never could cast a destruction spell before, sir,” I remarked. “That’s pretty new, only since I left the Prison. I’m not sure why I can do this now.”

We walked along in silence, Martin’s eyes unfocused. He shook himself and returned my gaze briefly. “Julian, are you as strong now as you were when you served in the Legion?”

“No, sir,” I answered. “These wounds, and the past four years, took away a lot of my strength, and my skills.”

“Would it be fair to say that when you’re in combat now, you’re scared more than you were before?”

Combat was pretty scary then. “Yes, sir, I guess so,” I said slowly. “There’s been a couple of times I’ve been glad these greaves are dark brown -”

Martin shot me a startled glance, then laughed shortly. For a second, his cares and tension melted away, and I smiled at his humor. Then he grew sober again, though his hazel eyes still sparkled. “There’s a pretty fine line between fear and anger,” he said. “Likely you’re scared, then you get angry that you’re so scared -” Again he glanced at me.

“I guess I get pissed a lot quicker than I used to, sir,” I commented. “And that’s why I can cast flares all of a sudden?”

“Well, it doesn’t come spontaneously,” Martin responded thoughtfully. “Like your healing spell, it’s something that most people learn as very young children. You may not remember learning it, but you always knew how to cast it.” He shrugged. ”But it would explain why it’s come back to you now.”

********************

Gathering clouds chased the high sun by the time we reached the Red Ring Road. Paint began walking slower as we crossed the bridge across the draw. He returned my gaze steadily, but I thought he looked tired.

“We have been walking a long way,” Martin commented, looking at Paint as well. “He will keep going as long as we do, but he needs a rest soon.” He sighed. “As a matter of fact, so do I.”

Feeling the growing dampness in the balmy air, I surveyed our surroundings. “There’s Weye,” I pointed out the hamlet to Martin. “I know someone there.”

“If you are sure we wouldn’t impose on his hospitality,” Martin remarked. “I would be glad of a short rest, and I think Paint would, too.”

As I hoped, Merowald was in his garden, tending the beautiful blooms. He heard Paint’s hoofbeats on the cobblestones and straightened up to look in our direction. Recognizing the gelding and I, he moved to the little paddock and opened the gate for Paint. “‘ail, good Julian!” he greeted me cheerfully, working to draw water for the horse. “Bring your ‘orse over here, and sit down there,” he pointed at the garden bench near his front door. “Take a load off, and tell me what news ye ‘ave, friends,” his friendly gaze included Martin.

The Imperial seemed a little relieved by Merowald’s hearty welcome. As we sat down side by side on the bench, Merowald set the full bucket down in front of Paint.

“Well, we have walked from Skingrad,” I began, when the aged Breton returned to the garden.

“Ye must be parched after walking all morning!” Merowald exclaimed. “Let me fetch ye some food and water. The road is dusty today.” He held up a finger. “Just a moment.”

Leaning back with a sigh next to Martin, I watched the cloud shadows cover the land. The warmth of the sun disappeared, replaced by the chill of impending rain. “It’s nearly fall,” Martin commented. “We are turning toward winter. The days are getting shorter and colder.”

Merowald returned with a tray full of bread, cheese, and smoked mutton. He handed us tumblers full of water, and set the tray on the bench between Martin and I. Merowald pulled up a stool. “Now, good friend,” he said to me, sitting down, “the last time I saw ye, ye were alone and poor. Now it seems ye ‘ave moved up in the world,” he gestured toward the hilt of my steel longsword at my left side. “With a new friend,” he nodded at Martin. He met the Imperial’s gaze as Martin assembled a sandwich of mutton, cheese and the wonderful bread.

“This is delicious, Merowald,” I commented, taking a bite out of my own construction. “Thanks for this.” Seeing the curiosity in the Breton’s eyes, I nodded at my companion. “This is Brother Martin. He is a priest of Akatosh. Martin, this is Aelwin Merowald, retired fisherman.”

“My pleasure,” Martin offered around a mouthful of his sandwich. “This is good food, sir. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Did Julian ever tell ye ‘ow we met?” Merowald asked. Martin shook his head. While I squirmed, Merowald told an overly flattering tale of our encounter, his offer to care for Paint, and my payment of twelve Tamriel Barracudas. “A stranger, on the road to somewhere, not in great ‘ealth ‘erself, took on the burden of ‘elping me, a poor, crippled old fisherman! And all I ‘ad to give ‘er was a little ring -” his voice trailed off as his eye fell on my right hand, where the brass pearl ring encircled my little finger.

“All you gave me?” I countered, swallowing the grub first. “You gave me an enchanted ring, and more importantly, your friendship, the value of which you are proving right now.”

Merowald shrugged. “Aye, it’s the least I can do,” he remarked bashfully. His eyes sharpened on us. “But now, dear Julian, tell me ‘ow ye came to return in just a few days with fine gear, and a fine friend,” he nodded at Martin.

“I traveled to Kvatch -” I began, and that was as far as I got.

“Ye were at Kvatch?” Merowald interrupted, interested. “Is it true? The ‘ole city is destroyed?”

“Yes, pretty much,” I answered grimly. “An Oblivion Gate opened in front of the city, and daedra invaded the place. I’m told they had a siege engine that came right over the walls and killed most of the people there. The Count was killed in the Castle, the Guard decimated, and very few civilians survived.” A glance at Martin showed him sitting quietly, downcast eyes on the half-eaten sandwich in his hands. “Martin managed to get some of the civilians into the chapel. I guess Akatosh was in that chapel that night, for the daedra could not gain entrance, though only two of the Guard were left to hold the place.”

I thought again of the guardsmen, of Matius. “Savlian Matius, one of the Guard, managed to get other survivors out of the city. He had the remaining guardsmen set up a barricade at the top of the road in front of the Gate to keep back the daedra. Their bravery saved the survivors.”

Merowald turned to Martin. “I am sorry, good sir,” he spoke quietly. “Ye must ‘ave lost many good friends on that terrible night.”

“So I did, good friend,” Martin responded, his calm tone belying the grief I knew he still felt. “And yes, Savlian was very brave to hold the road against the daedra. Tierra and Berich Inian were the two guardsmen in the chapel with us, they too gave much courage to hold out until Savlian and Julian could get to us.”

“Ah,” Merowald’s voice took on a note of satisfaction as he regarded me. Ducking my head, I focused on my sandwich. “I knew Julian ‘ad more good deeds in ‘er. So tell me, Brother Martin, ‘ow did good, brave Savlian and Julian rescue ye?”

Martin glanced wryly at me. “She closed that Oblivion Gate.”

“By ‘erself?” Merowald exclaimed, astonishment clear in his voice. “And that is why,” he pointed at the scabbard of my steel sword, “she is named ‘ero of Kvatch?”

“Aye, that is why she is the Hero of Kvatch,” Martin’s tone was firm, though a little amused. “One thing I’ve noticed, traveling with Julian, is that she is quick to speak of bravery and courage in others, but says next to nothing of her own.”

“Why, I never -” Merowald declared, regarding me more intently. “I knew Julian ‘ad a good ‘eart, but to go into Oblivion alone, why, that is a true ‘ero!” He smiled at my growing discomfort. “Ah, my good friend,” he leaned forward to grasp my right shoulder in his still-strong hand, “I will always remember ye as the stranger who ‘elped me find a comfortable retirement. Ye are always welcome ‘ere, friend.”

Paint wandered over to the stone wall separating the garden from the paddock, clearly refreshed. Martin licked the last of his sandwich off of his fingers, finishing the water and sitting back with a replete sigh.

“More water, or food, per’aps?” Merowald reached for the empty tray.

“No, thanks,” Martin shook his head. When Merowald glanced at me, I, too, shook my head.

“We have far to go before we are done, and the day is growing late.”

“Very well,” Merowald rose, taking the tray under one arm. “I’m glad ye took the time, then, to visit an old man and tell ‘im stories.”

“It seems you told us a good story, yourself,” Martin responded, rising to his feet and bowing slightly to the shorter Breton. I stood too, but found myself being hugged by the old man.

“Do come by again, Julian, Brother Martin,” he said to us. He clasped my upper arm in his free hand. “When ye are a great and famous ‘ero, do not forget the old fisherman of Weye!”

“I’ll never be great, or famous,” I responded. “But I will never forget you, Merowald.”

[SubRosa]

I always like seeing Aelwin. You make him a much more lively and engaging character than I ever did. Seeing him make Julian squirm was simply delightful.

“One thing I’ve noticed, traveling with Julian, is that she is quick to speak of bravery and courage in others, but says next to nothing of her own.”
Quoted for truth here. Julian is obviously one of those people who understands that some things speak most eloquently for themselves. Not to mention she is fighting four years of extremely low self-esteem...

“I’ll never be great, or famous,” I responded. “But I will never forget you, Merowald.”
Methinks that Julian will be wrong on one of these counts...

[Olen]

It's nice to see a return to Aelwin rather than him simply being a one off side quest, it makes the world seem alive and changing which can be hard to achieve. The dynamic developing between Martin and Julin is good too, their characters are developing and coming together well off their interactions.

Good section

[mALX]

This chapter gave Martin some insight into Julian's character - loved it then and now!!!!

[Acadian]

Two very nice chapters! I very much enjoyed the Skingrad Chapel, learning of some more healing magic. And, of course I am pleased to see Julian revisit Weye and introduce Martin to her old fisher-friend. Very nice to curl up, settle down and read this!

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: I enjoyed watching Aelwin make Julian squirm, too. And yes, actions do speak louder than words. Julian will never forget Aelwin is her friend. So I guess she either will be great, or famous . . .

@Olen: Thanks for the comments. It's good to know that revisiting some of these NPC's after finishing a side quest is welcomed by readers. When I'm role-playing, I always stop by and visit some of the NPC's that I've helped in the past, and Aelwin is one of the favorites. It's also good to know that the growing friendship between Martin and Julian is appreciated as well.

@mALX: I used this chapter as a way for Martin to learn more about Julian. Getting her to talk more about herself is sometimes like pulling teeth. Aelwin's so good at making her squirm!

@Acadian: So very glad to see that you are still enjoying Julian's story.

@all: Now we finally reach Weynon Priory, and the end of the road turns out to be further away than our friends originally thought . . .

******************
Chapter 5.4 Thievery and Death

The rain started as we passed Fort Nikel, picking up the Black Road toward Chorrol. We trudged on into the highlands, not speaking much to each other. At first, it was just a light drizzle, but as we passed Fort Ash, it became a downpour. The entire afternoon was grey, and our mood turned to match it. After two days of walking, I was looking forward to the simple, warm hospitality of the Priory. Perhaps Martin will find some peace at last. He still had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and I could only guess at the nightmares that haunted him.

Thoroughly drenched, we reached the bend in the road that led to Weynon Priory. The priory itself was a dark shadow in the rain, the chapel on its hilltop an even fainter shadow. “There it is, Martin,” I said, pointing at the barely visible structures ahead. “A warm fire, good food -” my voice trailed off when the clash of steel on metal, the shouts of men in combat, reached us. Dropping Paint’s rein, I drew my longsword, and shook my shield into my left hand. Beside me, Martin drew his dagger. We started toward the Priory, but did not get far before a running figure appeared out of the downpour.

It was Eronor. “Weynon Priory is under attack!” he gasped when he saw me. “They’re killing everyone!”

Through the rain, I could see a robed figure battling a familiar hulking form. I caught my breath at the sight of the daedric armor. Assassins!

“Stay with Paint!” I shouted, as much at Martin as at Eronor. Without looking to see if they obeyed, I hobbled toward the priory as fast as my bum knee would let me. Two red-armored figures loomed at me, both with maces raised high. With a skip to my left, I stabbed the sword beneath the lower edge of the daedric cuirass of the nearer assassin. Not stopping my forward movement, I recovered the blade and turned the Kvatch Wolf toward the second assassin. The coldness of a frost-flare shot past me and impacted the shoulder of the assailant. He staggered, and I shoved him off balance with the shield. As I slipped to the right and behind him, I backhanded the blade across the back of his knees.

Turning back to the first assassin, I found him already dead, frost across his face and the top part of his cuirass already melting away in the rain. Martin ignored the glare I shot him, before I spun away and plunged my sword into the exposed neck of the second assailant.

“Son of a farmer, huh?” I panted at Martin as we continued toward the priory and the persistent sounds of combat. In the porte-cochere, Brother Piner deflected the assaults of two more assassins. Not bad for a monk, I thought silently as Piner wove his slim katana in an intricate web of slashes and parries that kept the two assassins at bay. One of them fell as I approached the other. Another frost-flare drew him away from Piner and towards me. My steel sword sparked as I slashed at the cuirass, already made brittle by Martin’s potent magic. The tip of the blade sank into the other’s abdomen, catching on bone before I could pull my swing.

As the assassin fell lifeless from my weapon, I looked at Piner over his body. “Thank Talos you’ve returned!” he gasped, lowering his katana slightly. “Brother Jauffre is in the chapel!” The stabbing pain in my knee worsened as I ran past Martin, toward the chapel. I could hear the priest and the monk at my back as I flung the chapel door open.

Two assassins towered over Jauffre. The old man wielded a slim two-handed weapon, longer than Piner’s katana, with deceptive quickness against their assault. He sent the two assassins reeling from his counter-attack. One of them staggered into my ready blade, which slid into the gap in his side. Taking his greater weight on my sword, I angled the tip upwards into the rib cage, seeking vital structures.

As he fell from my blade, Piner stepped past me and took on the other assassin. Unable to decide which of the two monks was the greater threat, the assailant fell quickly before their flashing weapons.

As the daedric armor dissolved into sulfurous smoke, leaving behind ordinary-looking corpses, Jauffre and I stared at each other. “They must be after the Amulet!” he exclaimed. “I have it hidden in a secret room in the priory. I must go and see if it is still safe!” Not waiting for a response from me or Piner, he ran past Martin out the chapel.

“Wait!” I shouted. What if there is an ambush inside the priory? The old Breton kept running. With a mouthful of curses for my bum knee, which stabbed with every stride, I hobbled after him back out in that pouring rain. He passed a black-robed body slumped against the front facade of the priory and slammed through the door. In the brief second I allowed myself, I recognized the dead man. Prior Maborel. My stride faltered, but I forced myself to continue into the priory, hearing Jauffre’s footsteps already pounding up the stairs.

When I followed the Grandmaster to the landing, I saw one of the bookcases shoved to one side, books scattered on the floor from its shelves. Jauffre had disappeared through a doorway in the wall, an opening previously covered by the displaced bookcase.

Entering behind him, I took in the chaos of the small room, the overturned chest and desk, and the sudden despair in Jauffre’s shoulders as he sheathed the long blade at his back. “They have the Amulet,” he muttered. “The enemy has defeated us at every turn!”

“How could they know of the Amulet?” I exclaimed, stunned. “I told no one of it! Only Baurus knew I had it!”

Jauffre turned to face me, his gaze grim. “Dagon is powerful,” he answered my question. “He can see things invisible to us mortals.”

My sword slid home in its sheath, and I returned to the landing, where Piner and Martin stood near the stairs. Piner’s eyes closed in discouragement, and uncertainty showed in Martin’s expression. How hard has this been for him, I thought, seeing again the weariness and exhaustion in his gaze. Three nights of horror, two days of hiking, now combat, and not knowing who is friend and who is foe. I waved him up, turning back to Jauffre. “I found Martin, sir,” I said to the Grandmaster. “Here, he is safe. Martin, this is Grandmaster Jauffre of the Blades. He served your father for many years.”

“I still serve the Emperor,” Jauffre turned to Martin and bowed deeply. “So it has not all gone against us,” he addressed us both. “Talos be thanked! But Sire, you can not stay here. Once they learn about you, they will track you down.”

“Where will he be safe?” I asked, thinking of Martin’s fatigue and of my own.

“Nowhere is truly safe,” Jauffre responded, clasping Martin’s shoulder encouragingly. He too, had noted Martin’s exhaustion. “But Cloud Ruler Temple near Bruma is the best place for now.” He looked around the landing, at the books scattered across the floor. “First, we must rest and recoup.” Heading for the stairs, he turned back in our direction. “My Lord,” he said quietly, “welcome to Weynon Priory. I apologize for the reception. If you’ll follow me, please.”

Martin shot me a slightly panicked glance. It’s beginning to sink in. He’s Uriel’s son, not the son of some farmer as he has believed all these years.

As Jauffre led Martin to a seat beside the fire, I went outside, back into the rain. Eronor appeared, leading Paint. “Is it over?” he asked. I nodded, stopping beside Prior Maborel’s body. “I was in the sheepfold, when I heard voices,” he said, joining me beside the black-robed corpse. “They seemed like ordinary travelers, talking to Prior,” his voice became ragged. “All of a sudden, weapons appeared in their hands and they struck him down. I ran, and found you.”

If only we had walked a little faster. If only we hadn’t stopped for lunch at Weye. As I watched, Paint stepped to Maborel’s body, nosing him briefly, then recoiled, sidling away. It’s the blood, and bowels. Horses don’t like death. I took the rein from Eronor and led Paint away, toward the stable. Putting him in his stall, I removed the saddle and bridle.

Eronor had followed me, and took the tack from me. “I’ll take care of him,” he said quietly, sadness making his voice unsteady. “Go on inside, Julian.” Taking the pack from the saddle, I turned back to the priory.

Piner stood outside, looking down at Maborel. “I’m sorry, Brother,” I said quietly. He raised his eyes to me, his cheeks wet, from tears or the rain, I couldn’t tell. His eyes were dark, sad. Turning away from me, he knelt beside the prior. As I had done with Rilian in the castle at Kvatch, he closed the older man’s eyes.

Eronor appeared from the rear, pulling a fodder cart behind him. He stopped the cart next to Maborel’s body. Wordlessly, Piner and I moved to pick up the dead prior, and gently laid him out in the cart. We helped Eronor pull the wooden cart up to the chapel’s door. First we carried out the bodies of the two assassins, dumping them unceremoniously outside the chapel, off to the side.

Piner brought out a wooden bier from a storage cabinet near the door, and set it up in front of the small altar. After he covered it with a white cloth, he led me back out to the cart. Together, with Eronor holding the door for us, we brought Maborel inside and set him down on the bier.

“Thank you for your help, Julian,” Piner turned to me. “I’ll take care of this.” It was a dismissal. I understood. Brothers take care of their own. Back out in the rain, I helped Eronor gather the bodies of the assassins and loaded the cart. Together we took them to the road leading away from the priory, toward the Black Road. Eronor stopped the cart at the side of the path.

“I’ll take them up to Chorrol in the morning,” he said to me quietly. “The Watch needs to be notified about this. Thanks for helping, Julian.” He gripped my shoulder. “Now go inside and warm up.”

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Apr 29 2010, 08:22 PM

[SubRosa]

A very exciting play of words here:
I recovered the blade and turned the Kvatch Wolf toward the second assassin. The coldness of a frost-flare shot past me and impacted the shoulder of the assailant. He staggered, and I shoved him off balance with the shield. As I slipped to the right and behind him, I backhanded the blade across the back of his knees.

First, saying "the Kvatch Wolf" is far more dramatic and evocative than "my shield". Then the bit of teamwork from Martin (the frost attack), the bash with the shield, and finally Julian's patented slash to the back of the knees all add up to not only a very realistic feeling battle, but also an exciting one!


“Dagon is powerful,” he answered my question. “He can see things invisible to us mortals.”
Or the Mythic Dawn has a spy in Weynon Priory...


If only we had walked a little faster. If only we hadn’t stopped for lunch at Weye.
Could'a, would'a, should'a. John Crichton could not have put it better.


dumping them unceremoniously outside the chapel, off to the side.
Jauffre will take care of those heads later...


nits:
I asked, thinking of Martin’s fatigue, of my own.
this might flow better with an "and" tossed in after the last comma:
I asked, thinking of Martin’s fatigue, and of my own.

[D.Foxy]

Entering behind him, I took in the chaos of the small room, the overturned chest and desk, and the sudden despair in Jauffre’s shoulders as he sheathed the long blade at his back. “They have the Amulet,” he muttered. “The enemy has defeated us at every turn!”

“How could they know of the Amulet?” I exclaimed, stunned. “I told no one of it! Only Baurus knew I had it!”

Jauffre turned to face me, his gaze grim. “Dagon is powerful,” he answered my question. “He can see things invisible to us mortals.”


This is a touch that brings the game to life.

The game itself requires you to 'fill in the blanks' a lpt. With touches like this, you and your character immerse themselves into the game...

Well done, an excellenct rewrite!

[Olen]

I like this piece a lot. It's coming to life in and of itself while following the game and bringing out so much more from the game world and characters we know.

I agree with SubRosa about the Kvatch wolf line, brilliant way of putting it.

You captured to feel of that bit of the game well (or perhaps more accuritly how it should have felt) the uncertainty and panic then come down after. And Martin continues to proove to be an interesting character.

One thing, perhaps not a full blown nit but a bit unusual:
As the daedric armor dissolved into sulfuric smoke -- you might want to consider changing 'sulfuric' to 'sulfurous'. I've rarely heard sulfuric used outside a chemistry context, unless you meant the smoke smelt of sulfuric acid. Might just be me though.

This post has been edited by Olen: Apr 28 2010, 12:09 PM

[mALX]

The first time I came up on this part of the quest I was freaked out by all that going on - it was unexpected and overwhelming being at a lower level and not knowing Martin was marked essential at the time, lol. You did a very accurate rendition of that scene!!!