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

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: Only once during my playthroughs did I obtain the Kvatch Wolf from a fallen guardsman. I loved carrying that shield - it was lightweight, effective (up to a point), repairable with low armor skills, and had a wonderfully bold graphic on it that was easy to see at any distance. While Julian herself never carried it in game, I gave it to her in the fiction because I knew she would feel the same way about it that I did. Oh, and yes, I was thinking of Jauffre posting those heads later, as well. Your nit has been fixed.

@D.Foxy: thanks for continuing to read this! I agree that the game leaves much to be desired as far as interactions between the characters, but I like to think my own imagination is up to the task! I certainly hope so!

@Olen: Your words mean a lot to me, especially coming from an author as imaginative as yourself. Yes, following the game is sometimes restrictive (especially in the tutorial dungeon), but I'm finding ways to break out of its monotony and make it more compelling. I'm especially glad that you like the way I'm developing Martin. I hope you continue to like the direction I'm taking him. Oh, and you're right, "sulfurous" is much better in this context than "sulfuric" - I guess all those chemistry classes I took twenty years ago had more of an effect on me than I realized.

@mALX1: Yeah, I remember thinking "Can't you stay put in one place for a change??" when he would follow me into combat. "Aaahh, you're going to get yourself killed!" Especially after I had a Kvatch guard get between my sword and a daedra earlier in the game. "Stop following me!!" About the third or fourth time through, I realized I had a dialogue option where I could tell Martin to stay put! D'OH!

@all: Onwards to Cloud Ruler Temple!

*****************
Chapter 6.1 Night Ride

The rain had stopped when we returned to the horses. I sat on Paint, looking back at the Priory. The overcast sky made the dark night even darker. Water dripped from the trees and roofs, matching our mood.

Next to me, Martin waited on the calm bay mare. He seemed a little uneasy, and I wondered if it was due to fatigue, or to lack of riding experience. He seemed to know what he was doing, however, so I decided it must be fatigue.

“We need to leave tonight,” Jauffre’s voice echoed in my mind. He had insisted we eat something while our gear was drying off by the fire. “They won’t expect us to leave until morning. If they return, we must be gone.” I couldn’t argue with his logic, but Martin, Paint and I were tired from the past few days.

Beyond Martin, Jauffre’s chestnut stallion jibbed at the bit, tossing his head and prancing. The Grandmaster noticed my regard, and nodded calmly, his hands steady and quiet on the reins of his restless mount.

Ahead, the road led out of the priory, northward to meet with the Orange Road. Paint turned his head in response to pressure from the rein, and I smooched him into a walk. He stepped forward without hesitation. Behind, I heard the other two horses fall in behind me, the mare’s slow footfalls and the stallion’s quick strides.

We reached the Orange Road and headed eastward, where the road wound through the foothills of the Jeralls. The cobblestoned way dropped down a steep slope, then turned northward to rise again. Paint picked his way carefully across the slippery stones. As we neared a curve, I saw a dark figure appear out of the night, unshouldering a large battle axe. At the same time, I felt a sharp breeze pass just in front of my nose. Paint half-reared in front of me when I abruptly leaned back. I heard the distinctive twang of a bowstring somewhere in the trees on my right. Archer!

As one, the three of us dismounted. While I turned for the bandit with the battle axe, Jauffre took off into the woods to the south of the road, his weapon drawn and ready. The bandit swung wildly at me, nearly knocking me off balance when I deflected the axe with my shield. His momentum carried him past me, toward Martin, who flung a frost flare into the bandit’s chest.

As the bandit staggered back toward me, I limped behind him and slammed my sword overhand into his right shoulder. His weapon arm effectively disabled, the bandit lost his grip on the axe. He whirled toward me, his left fist aiming for my face. Ducking his roundhouse blow, I moved to sink my blade into his leather-covered chest. Before I could do so, he staggered, his eyes flying wide, and collapsed at my feet, blood gurgling black from his mouth.

Martin stood just behind him, his own silver dagger bloodied to the hilt. We locked eyes, and I frowned, not liking his quickness to engage in combat. Jauffre joined us, already sheathing his drawn weapon. “That archer’s dead,” he stated simply.

“I wish you wouldn’t jump in so quickly, sir,” I said quietly to Martin. He glanced up at me in surprise.

“I don’t want to sit idly by and let you do all the work, Julian,” he countered softly. “I am not Emperor, yet.”

“And I don’t want you getting killed before you are Emperor, sir,” I replied, keeping my voice even. “It is my job to protect you.”

Martin shook his head, his mouth grim. “And I don’t want to see my friend killed in front of me,” he held my stare steadily. “I’ve had enough of that, Julian.”

I turned to Jauffre in silent appeal. In the gloom, his blue eyes twinkled at us, though his face remained stern. “Tiber Septim led from the front lines,” he said to me, “as did Uriel the Fifth.” He turned his intent gaze to Martin. “However, if you, my Lord, are killed before the Dragonfires are lit, we have no way of turning back Mehrunes Dagon’s plans for Tamriel.”

Martin fidgeted under Jauffre’s level stare. He looked at me, just a little abashed. “I will be careful, I’ll promise you that much, Julian.” That’s all I’m going to get from Martin. It is enough. It has to be.

Once back aboard Paint, I twisted in the saddle to look back at Martin, who was already guiding the mare towards me. “You’re a priest, sir, who grew up a farmer and trained to be a mage.” I said to him. “Where in Oblivion did you learn to fight like that?”

Martin’s smile was barely visible in the darkness. “My fa - the man who raised me,” his voice held amusement, “was in the Legion for many years, much like you, Julian, before he retired and went into farming. He taught me how to use a dagger.” His face turned away from me to look down the road ahead of us. “When I was part of the Kvatch Mages Guild, I specialized in destruction. I had the opportunity to practice those skills when I left the Guild.” Now he looked back at me. “I’ve been a priest only for the last five or six years, Julian.” He shrugged. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

I blinked, my mind working fast. He was placed with a Legion soldier? Was that Legion soldier already retired, or was he forced to retire when he was handed the babe? Leaning to my left just a little, I looked past Martin at Jauffre. The Grandmaster returned my gaze blandly.

********
The sky cleared as we started up the switchbacks leading into the Jerall Mountains themselves. Stars twinkled between the black leaves of the trees, and the twin moons cast dappled light across the cobblestones. As we climbed higher, the trees grew thinner along with the air, and opened up glimpses of the lowlands. Near the topmost switchback, I looked down the mountain range, and caught my breath at the vista spread below us.

Lake Rumare glistened softly in the moonlight, an argent halo around the white marble of the Imperial City and the tall spire of White Gold Tower. Paint stopped near an outcropping at my signal, where I dismounted. At the edge of the road, the ground dropped away in a plunging escarpment. As I knelt in the grass, I studied the landscape below us, matching its contours with the map in my head.

Behind me, I heard Martin’s breath catch as he paused, taking in the awe-inspiring sight. The growing fatigue in his star-filled eyes was clear to me. “Shall we stop here for a rest?” I glanced back to include Jauffre in my question. The old monk began to nod agreement, but stopped at Martin’s head shake.

“Let’s keep going,” the priest answered. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since Kvatch.”

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

The road crested just below the snowline, skirting the shoulders of the Jerall Mountains. The moons shone unobstructed on the cobblestones, outlining everything around us in silver.

“Is it true, Grandmaster,” Martin’s voice reached me as we walked along the road, “that it never rains in Bruma, only snows?”

“Aye, even in the summer,” Jauffre responded. “It is so high, the air is crisp and clear, and blizzards are common in the summer. During the winter, it is often too cold to snow.”

“Too cold to snow?” Martin repeated. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” I responded, irony in my tone. “The Wrothgarians are higher and colder than this. Have you not noticed how chilly it’s become? I’ve been seeing my breath since we left Chorrol!” I shivered in my cuirass, thankful for its long sleeves. The oiled leather had repelled the worst of the rain, but my hair and the back of my neck were damp and chilly. My hands felt frozen to the reins. With some difficulty, I unclenched my left hand and flexed my fingers, trying to shake some warmth back into them. I managed to do the same to better effect with my right. “Are you two warm enough?” I called back, thinking of their woolen robes.

“Yes,” Martin responded, though I could hear his teeth chattering. “Wool is warm, even when wet, thank Akatosh.” He exclaimed softly, under his breath. “Speaking of Akatosh -” he called my attention to the circular colonnade perched on the mountainside to the left of the road. “I believe that is his one of his wayshrines.”

Paint halted, and I dismounted when Martin did so. “Shall we go look?” he asked me.

“Very well,” I answered, glad of the chance to get down and walk a bit. My behind is almost frozen to the saddle. Jauffre motioned for us to hand him the reins of our horses. He remained on his stallion, eyes watchful. Martin found the half-buried marble steps leading up to the small circle of white columns, which were topped by a dark grey ring-shaped cornice.

Joining Martin beside the small altar within, I studied the round object. Martin laid a hand on the rim, and was immediately covered in a white burst. “It will heal you,” he said, “cure any diseases you have, and, in the case of Akatosh, give you a blessing of speed for a short time.” He gestured for me to touch the altar as well.

As we returned to Jauffre and the horses, I commented to Martin, “That blessing of speed can be useful. Too bad it can’t be used on Jauffre’s horse.”

Martin chuckled softly. “Red is not as fast as he thinks he is,” he said, reaching for the bay mare’s reins. Jauffre smiled as he handed me Paint’s. “Jasmine, on the other hand,” Martin continued, mounting the mare effortlessly, “knows her own limitations, it seems.”

As Paint followed me to a nearby rock, I laughed softly. “I’m not sure of Paint, except that he has been a good companion.” Swinging into the saddle, I ran my hand down his crest. Paint tossed his head, then bumped his nose lightly against my right knee.

“Paint is like you,” Martin responded. “Brave and courageous.”

Heat rose in my cheeks, and I was glad of the darkness. “I think he is wiser than I am,” I remarked. “He certainly has been very patient with me.”

“That is why the good Prior,” Jauffre’s voice faltered momentarily, “gave him to you.”

Twisting around in the saddle, I looked back at Jauffre as Paint started eastward down the road. “Prior Maborel did tell me it was more a matter of trusting him with me, rather than the other way around.”

“Paint and Jasmine are not foolhardy at all,” Jauffre’s voice turned warm in the cold night. “Red, on the other hand,” I heard him slap the chestnut stallion affectionately on the neck, “thinks his balls are bigger than anyone else’s.”

“Like all stallions,” Martin remarked, the humor still in his voice. And some men, I added silently to myself. The black flight of a raven caught my eye as the bird ghosted silently across the road in front of us. A raven? At night? Its dark form disappeared into the trees below the path as we continued on. Paint did not seem bothered by its sudden appearance and disappearance, only flicking an ear at the bird. I decided to follow his example and think no more of it.

[SubRosa]

The battle with the bandits was exciting. More importantly however, it brought an important piece of character development on the part of Martin. We see him leaping into the fray himself, and learn it is because of his unwillingness to stand by and watch the people he cares for die. Poor chap, he is going to learn that being Emperor means doing exactly that...

“Old habits die hard, I guess.”
I bet you could not wait to use that line!

Was that Legion soldier already retired, or was he forced to retire when he was handed the babe?
This was an excellent bit of conjecture. The game tells us nothing about Martins parents (i.e. the people who raised him), not even if they are still alive. Julian's musing is very logical. Perhaps you might want to delve more into Martin's family in future chapters? One imagines that they lived in Kvatch, and were killed there.

Lake Rumare glistened softly in the moonlight, an argent halo around the white marble of the Imperial City and the tall spire of White Gold Tower.
I quoted this just because it is a lovely piece of writing. I especially like your use of the word "argent" here.

The black flight of a raven caught my eye as the bird ghosted silently across the road in front of us. A raven? At night?
Now where did that bird come from, I wonder...

[mALX]

The last lines in this chapter hit me then and now as some of the best Martin/Jauffre/player dialogue ever!

[Olen]

Hmm it appears I haven't commented on this one yet...

It was because I couldn't think of anything to say though, the last part was excellent. It held together tightly and the dialogue between the three was excellent. The inclusion of a wayshrine was inspired too, it really helps being Cyrodiil alive in this quest and makes it drive the setting and characters in a way the filler in the game failed to.

Good update, more?

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: I'm glad you picked up on Julian's thoughts about Martin's foster parents. I'm planning to explore this more towards the end of the Main Quest. At this point I wanted to emphasize the progress of becoming an Emperor, with the mindset that follows. I really enjoyed the dialogue between the three of them. As for "Old habits die hard," I recently reviewed all of my fiction, and out of ten or twelve pieces that I had actually finished, I think only one or two of them does not have a character say this! I guess it's one of my lines. In reviewing this story, I realize this line is fast becoming one of those that every character gets to say, much like "I've got a bad feeling about this" in the original Star Wars trilogy.

@mALX: That dialogue in that part of the chapter is mostly free-typing. I'm sure you can pick out the rare line that is drawn from the game itself. This is one of the places I like to sit back and let the characters speak for themselves, and apparently others like it when I do that as well.

@Olen: Your request is granted!

I've said this before, but it's worth saying again. Julian gets her first glimpse of what is one of my favorite places in all of Cyrodiil - where the air is crystal clear, the view awe-inspiring, the climate freezing cold, and the company warm. Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple!

****************
Chapter 6.2 Dawn Arrival

The Orange Road ran into the Silver Road, leading us higher into the Jeralls. The twin moons were low in the west, and the stars overhead seemed brighter and clearer. The air drew colder around us. With a shiver, I ran my right hand over my head, startled at the ice crackling in my bound hair. I untied the red cord, shaking out the white strands until all the ice had fallen off, leaving my hair feeling less damp. With the reins crossed over Paint’s neck, I retied my ponytail at the nape of my neck.

At the point in the road where it turned sharply west, I looked up the steep slope to the left to see the tops of the Bruma city walls, black in the indigo sky. More mountains towered above us to the east and north, higher even than the alpine plain on which Bruma nestled.

Paint followed the road easily, his ears pricked forward. The path forked just before the gates, still closed against the night, and Paint took the right hand path. He walked toward a small stable tucked against the city walls, stopping near the gate to the corral. Turning in the saddle, I looked at the sign above the stable door. Wildeye Stables.

Jauffre guided Red alongside Paint. “This is where Paint was born, about seventeen years ago. He has not been back since Prior Maborel purchased him, ten years ago.” He smiled at Paint. “He does not forget. This was a good place for him.” Now Jauffre pointed at the secondary road that wound northward past the city walls. “Follow that around to the road that comes down from the North Gate,” he directed. “That road will take us to Cloud Ruler Temple. Lead on, Julian.”

I chirruped at Paint, who, with a last look at the paddock of his youth, stepped onto the path and continued on. We followed the slender thread around the city walls to the slightly more prominent road dropping away from the North Gate of Bruma.

After we turned onto the new path, my eyes traced the route ahead. It crossed a little dell to the side of a steep escarpment. The road turned west to climb across the face of the slope, leading my sight up to the top, where a squat stone structure crowned a shoulder of the mountains. Topped with a peaked tile roof possessing upswept eaves, the uppermost stones of the fortress gleamed a faint pink in the first flush of dawn.

The sky above was growing light in the east, where the high peaks kept us in shadow. On the escarpment, I could see the shadow line cast by the eastern mountains thrown across the walls of the fortress.

By the time we reached the top of the road and turned northeast to face the huge iron gates, the roseate light had crept down the sides of the fortress to light the top of the mountain’s shoulder. It dazzled my eyes, forcing me to turn my face toward the fortress. Those tall metal panels creaked open as we dismounted, and a steel-clad figure, dwarfed by the gates, stepped out to face us. The dawn light flashed off the brass trim and the blue enamel of the Blades armor as he paused to study our faces.

The Blade faced the one man he recognized, his hand on his hilt, “Grandmaster, is this -”

“Yes, Cyrus,” Jauffre responded, “this is the Emperor’s son, Martin Septim.”

The Redguard turned smartly to Martin, his armor clinking slightly. He raised his right fist to his chest and tipped his head forward in salute. “We are honored, Sire,” he said crisply. “Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple!”

Cyrus stepped back to lead us into the Temple. Within the gates, a wide stairway rose within the high walls to bring us to a raised plaza. Red protested initially at having to climb the steep steps, but gave in when Paint and Jasmine, following us, left him behind. At the top, Cyrus caught my gaze, and gestured toward a small stable tucked beneath the fortress wall at the west side of the plaza.

After collecting the reins of all three horses, I led them to the stable. As they entered the tie-stalls, I loosened the girths and removed their bridles. Fresh hay drew them towards the manger that ran along the stalls.

Back in the plaza, I watched the company of Blades gather in two ranks on the open pavement, leaving the way from the stairs to the Temple proper at the north side clear. Jauffre led Martin to the broad steps leading up to the Temple and paused there, turning to face the assembled Blades. Limping across the paving stones, I stopped behind the nearest rank to listen.

“Blades,” the Grandmaster’s voice rang in the dawn. “This is your new Emperor, Martin Septim!”

The air sang with the sound of katanas drawn in unison, as the soldiers lifted their weapons in salute. “Hail, the Emperor!” The strength of their response caught me off guard. “Hail, the Dragon Born!”

Past armored shoulders, I could see the chagrin in Martin’s face at their cheering. He glanced at Jauffre, then took a deep breath.

“Thank you, I think,” he spoke haltingly, quietly. His voice, soft compared to Jauffre’s, still carried well in the cold mountain air. Years of casting whispers into the farthest reaches of a chapel, I thought to myself. Very different from the command voice of combat veterans. “I will try to do my best for you,” he continued. “Your loyalty to the Emp - my father, as well as to me, is greatly appreciated. That is all.”

A tall Blade, his armor slightly more ornate than the others, stepped out of the line and turned to face the others. “Dismissed,” his rough voice broke the ranks. “Return to your duties, Blades.” As the others scattered to their posts around the plaza, more than a few met my gaze with level stares. None held overt hostility, rather more an assessment. Becoming acutely self conscious of my repaired leathers, I searched their faces for Baurus. Though I saw quite a few Redguards, none were my first friend.

“Sire,” Jauffre was saying as I approached Martin and the Grandmaster, “they’ve prepared a room for you. It’s been a long trip from Kvatch, and you look exhausted.” He nodded at Cyrus, who waited patiently near the front entrance to the Temple Hall. “Cyrus will show you the way.”

Martin glanced at me. “What about Julian?” he asked.

What about me, indeed? I wondered, aware of Jauffre’s gaze on me. What do I do, now that Martin’s safe?

“Don’t worry,” Jauffre turned his blue gaze back to the priest. “She is welcome here, too.” What? Me? I stared at the Grandmaster, who returned my gaze calmly.

“This is so strange, Julian,” Martin said to me. “After all that’s happened, I’m the Emperor here. I’m supposed to act like one, and I don’t even know how.” He paused, holding my gaze with his own, so like his father’s. “I’m grateful to you, Julian,” his mouth curved, the smile not touching his eyes. “You got me here safely, and I owe much to you, friend.” He looked around at the fortress plaza, at the Blades patrolling the walls. “These soldiers are waiting for me to tell them what to do, and I don’t know where to begin.”

“That’s what the Grandmaster is for, Sire,” I said to him quietly, aware of Jauffre’s and the tall Blade officer’s steady regard of me. Martin flinched at my use of the honorific reserved for the Emperor. “It’s his job to tell the Blades what to do. For now,” I smiled at him, “I’d take his advice and get some rest, first. You’ll be able to think better after some sleep and some food.”

With a rueful glance at me, Martin turned to Cyrus. “Lead on, then.” As I watched Martin follow Cyrus into the Temple Hall, Jauffre clapped a hand on my left shoulder.

“Well, Julian,” he said in that clipped voice of his. “You have done all that I have asked, and more. Your assistance has been of great value.”

I began to shake my head, but stopped when the Blade officer handed Jauffre a sheathed katana. “Thanks, Steffan,” Jauffre acknowledged him. Holding the katana across his open palms, he extended the sword to me. “You’ve shown not only bravery and courage, but also tact and reticence. We are always in need of people like you, Julian. It would be an honor to have you join us.”

I stared at him, stunned. Join the Blades? Me? Am I good enough? I finally found my voice. “Uh, y- yes,” I stammered. “The honor would be mine, sir.”

“Good, then,” Jauffre nodded in satisfaction. He gestured at the Blades officer. “This is Captain Steffan. He is the officer in charge here. If you need anything, please go to him.”

[SubRosa]

Ahh, Paint's homecoming. I have been waiting for this. I always liked that scene, because of how it shows Paint is a character, rather than a mode of transportation.

This was one of my favorite lines from the game:
“After all that’s happened, I’m the Emperor here. I’m supposed to act like one, and I don’t even know how.” I like it because it shows Martin not as a one-dimensional superhero, but rather as a regular guy who has found himself thrust quite unwillingly into the boots of said superhero.

Just as importantly, I liked how Martin turns to Julian at the end. We see here that she is indeed the Son's Companion. She is the one he trusts most now, the one thing he knows he can always count on.

Now Julian is a Blade! I bet she never saw that coming when she was getting in fights with her brother! Or when she was in the Legion!

[Olen]

Woo update

I loved the description of cloud ruler in the mountains, you really bring that bit of the game to life. It never felt high to me in the game, but in that description I could feel the cold almost dry feel of thin air and see the shape of the mountains. It reminded me very much of a real place in the himalayas.

Again you managed a lot with the dialogue, if I recall that is along the lines of what is in game but altered slightly which I like, it gives the game a nod while keeping your characters different and setting them apart. It really worked well for showing Martin out of his depth and a little uncomfortable, then Julian feels similar. Excellent stuff.

The air drew colder around us. - I like the choice of 'drew', it has so much more than 'became'.

casting whispers into the farthest reaches - this really worked for me, lovely bit of description.

[mALX]

That is one of the scenes I love in the game, when they raise their Katanas in salute to Martin when he arrives at Cloud Ruler Temple - as you always do, (dare I use the word?) Awesome Write!

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: Paint is a living, breathing character to me, and I'm glad my readers pick up on it as well. As for Martin's line after being hailed by the Blades (that's when it really hits home, I guess), that is one of my favorite lines, too. I think it really sums up his situation so well. And no, she never saw her acceptance into the Blades coming. It was not even a dream back when she was in the Legion. If only her brother could see her now!

@Olen: I do stick with the in-game dialogue a lot, but I'm glad that you are enjoying how I'm managing it. As for Cloud Ruler Temple, it is one of my favorite places in the game. Looks like you went higher than I ever did! I've been to Sante Fe, NM (7,000 feet), Hurricane Ridge in Olympic National Park (about 5,600 feet), and Going to the Sun in Glacier National Park (6,600 feet). You were in the Himalayas? I envy you - you definitely have the bragging rights!

@mALX: Thanks for the Awesome praise!

In this chapter Julian is introduced to life at Cloud Ruler Temple.

****************
Chapter 6.3 - Captain Steffan

Captain Steffan removed his helm as Jauffre walked away. He possessed Imperial features, but stood taller than most Imperial men. Intense blue eyes studied me from beneath level black brows. Close-cropped black hair with a shock of white above the left temple topped his head.

“Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple, Julian,” he said in that rough voice. Why so rough? Old injury? Sore throat? “I know you’ve traveled a long way,” he continued. “Let me show you the barracks, the armory where you can keep your gear, and the dining hall where we share our meals.”

“What will be my duties here, sir?” I asked, looking around the plaza. Two Blades patrolled the outer walls, and I could see two more in the watchtowers above the gates. Another Blade stood guard beside the door to the Temple Hall.

“I’m sure Grandmaster Jauffre has something in mind for you,” Steffan responded, starting for the east wing. Falling into step beside him, I wondered what he meant. “For now, you can rest, repair your gear or replace it, and catch up on your food.” Again he gave me that assessing glance, making me aware of my thinness. “Grandmaster said you were pretty gaunt,” he continued, “but it looks like you’re making up for it.”

He’s right, I admitted with some surprise. This cuirass isn’t fitting so loosely as it used to. Maybe it isn’t all gra-Sharob’s doing. “I’ve been trying to eat meat once a day, like the Grandmaster told me to do,” I answered. Steffan nodded, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Ah, yes, Grandmaster would tell you that,” he commented. He directed my attention to the two Blades trading blows with their weapons in a square of sand. “Personally, I think there’s nothing like using your muscles to build them up.”

One of them wielded the same two-handed blade that Jauffre carried. “What is that blade, sir?” I asked, indicating the taller of the two Blades. “I have never seen the like of it before. It’s almost like a claymore, but so much lighter.”

“Aye, it is lighter than a steel claymore,” the captain agreed. “That is an Akaviri dai-katana, the big cousin to the katana most of us carry. Very few of us use it - it takes a great degree of skill and strength to wield it effectively. That’s Fortis, and Baragon is the only other Blade to carry it.” Catching my eye, he jerked his head toward the sunken stairway leading down to a door in the east wing. “We have one available in the armory, if you’re interested in it.”

“Certainly, sir, I’d like to see it,” I turned away from the practice sands and followed the tall captain. A wide brazier set at one side of the main steps fended off the chill with a merry crackle as we passed it. Steffan opened the door and waved for me to step inside.

A short passageway led straight ahead to a dogleg up to an upper level, a wooden railing separating it from the entry level. “Up there, that’s the dining hall. You’ll find provisions, and we eat here.” Steffan explained. “Most of us are on rotating schedules, but we try to gather for dinner, with just a couple out on the walls. When we are on combat footing, though, it’s fend for yourself time.”

“Grab whatever grub we can get when we can get it?” I commented. “Makes sense.” Directly to my left, a truncated stairway led down to another door, beneath the dining hall floor. The captain preceded me down the steps.

“This is the armory,” he said, leading me within. The sounds of clashing metal on wood ceased as I followed him. “Hello, Ferrum,” he greeted the young Blade standing at the training dummy, his katana lowered toward the floor. Ferrum wiped the sweat from his brow with his ungloved left hand. “This is Julian,” Steffan continued. “She’s our most recent Blade-sister.”

“Sir,” Ferrum gave the captain a short nod, then regarded me with black eyes. “Hail, sister,” he greeted me, barely winded. “Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple.”

“Thanks, - brother,” I responded. The dark-haired Breton smiled at me, then glanced at Steffan.

“As you were, Ferrum,” the captain answered the unspoken question with quiet humor. The Breton turned away and started slashing again at the wooden dummy. Steffan led me to the rear of the underground chamber. A smith’s forge sat in a corner, its fire banked. Along the wall next to it, several blades rested in a weapons rack. At the opposite wall, shelves held long, narrow chests.

Steffan regarded the chests for a few moments, then knelt and selected one that sat on the floor. Swinging the lid open, he stepped back. “Here, you can use this one for your gear,” he explained. “Whatever you don’t need while you’re here.”

Thankfully, for the pack was pulling at my spine, I lowered the bag into the locker. The container was long, long enough for weapons, as well. I unloaded the bow and quiver, and laid the two swords I had brought - Hero of Kvatch and Daedra Slayer, within the box. The katana in my left hand, I closed the lid and pushed it back under the shelves.

After I buckled the new weapon to my waist, I followed the captain to the center of the long room. He opened a weapons cabinet, similar to the one at Weynon Priory, and drew out a dai-katana. The slender blade sang slightly as he unsheathed it and handed the hilt to me.

Slightly longer than my new katana, with a two-handed grip, the weapon was heavier and felt sturdier. Still, it felt much lighter than the steel claymore I remembered from my Legion days. Steffan stepped back to give me room as I hefted the dai-katana thoughtfully.

“Its speed and reach are the same as a katana’s, and most longswords,” the captain commented. “But its balance is more like a claymore, and it does more damage for its weight, like a claymore.” He turned his head to the side. “Ferrum.” The younger Blade stopped and turned to give me a little more space.

With the hilt in both of my hands, I could feel the meaning of Steffan’s words. The balance was indeed different than a longsword’s. As the blade swished through the air in a figure eight, I could feel the speed in its movement, but its weight caused my shoulders to tighten after a few circuits. “Yes, sir, I see what you mean,” I said after a moment. Handing the blade back to the captain, I shook my head. “I think I’ll stick with the katana, thanks.”

“You may be tall, Julian,” Steffan slid the elegant blade home in its sheath, “but even I don’t handle it all that well. It takes much practice and strength to handle a blade such as this.” He placed it back in the weapons cabinet. I studied the pieces of armor on the shelves as Ferrum returned to his exercises.

The captain selected one of the distinctive Dragonscale cuirasses worn by the Blades and held it up in front of me, visually measuring it against my torso. “This may fit you, if you would like to wear it.”

Taking the armor, I nearly dropped it when Steffan released its unexpected weight into my hands. Gods! Have I really lost so much of my strength? I held it up with a twinge of regret. It was beautiful, with brass buckles fastening the segmented body plates, blue enamel and brass medallions on the pauldrons, and a stiff leather collar lined with softer kidskin. “Am I supposed to wear this, sir?” If the answer is yes, I’m in big trouble.

The captain took it back. “No, most of our agents do not wear the armor,” he said, replacing the cuirass in the cabinet. “And that’s what I think Grandmaster Jauffre has in mind for you.”

“Agent?” I repeated, looking down at my leather cuirass.

“Most Blades work undercover,” Steffan explained, leading me out of the armory. As I passed Ferrum, he sent me a farewell glance without breaking his rhythm. “There are actually few of us who wear the armor,” the captain continued as we headed to the dining hall. “The garrison here at Cloud Ruler Temple, and the Emperor’s personal bodyguard.”

“Like Baurus?” I asked. Steffan nodded. Limping after him, I smelled smoked boar and roast mutton. My stomach growled, and the captain glanced back at me. Mortified, I returned his gaze sheepishly.

Without pause, he scooped an apple off a table and tossed it back to me. “I’ll show you the rest of the Temple, then you can come back here and get some more grub,” he said with a lopsided smile. “In the meantime, enjoy.”

Without hesitation, I bit into the apple as I hobbled through the upper door into the central Hall. Steffan led me to the center of the immense space. Heat from the enormous fireplace against the north wall caressed my right cheek. My leather boots thudded softly on the wide floorboards. Around me, the post-and-timber construction led my eyes upwards to the clerestory windows near the peak of the roof, which let morning light into the space and made the roof appear to be floating above the walls. That morning light shimmered on the argent blades of katanas hung along the rafters down each side of the long Hall.

“This is the Hall of Blades,” Steffan gestured at the katanas. “Here we honor the fallen.” With a touch on my shoulder, he turned me to face the fireplace, and showed me two weapons hanging by themselves above the hearth. “Those belong to Captain Renault and Glenroy. I believe you knew them.”

Choking down the bite of apple, I nodded. “Only for the briefest of moments,” I answered. “Glenroy was brave - and angry.”

“Yes, I can understand that,” Steffan’s rough voice became very quiet. “Baurus reported that by the time the three of them reached your cell with the Emperor, they were the only Blades left of the Imperial Bodyguards. Even the ones guarding the princes fell during the assassinations.”

“All of them?” I shot a glance at the captain, but his gaze was on the two lone katanas. “All but Baurus?” At his nod, I looked down at the apple in my hand. “I know how that feels,” I muttered.

[SubRosa]

Why so rough? Old injury? Sore throat?
Perhaps like Shelby Foote, too many cigars and mint juleps while sitting on the back porch...

A good piece-o-chapter, establishing not only the physical space of Cloud Ruler Temple, but also introducing us to many of the Blades, now Julian's sisters in arms.

[Olen]

Great as ever. I like your description of cloud ruler, very much as I imagine it to be.

“Ah, yes, Grandmaster would tell you that,” -- I liked this line, it shows a lot of personality both of Jauffry and Steffan. Quite a revealing line really.

As ever the same request: more?

[Acadian]

Well, I am caught up again. I am finding that dedicating part of a day to reading wonderful stories about once a week seems to suit well for me. I am definitely following Julian's wonderful adventure though!

5.4 was a heartpounding return to the Priory and glimpse into the bigger challenge ahead. 6.1, although not absolutely necessary was a wonderful trip along the road revealing more than enough to make it a wonderful piece. 6.2 was a masterful reflection of the beauty of the Temple sitting atop the mountain with its thin, crisp cold air. 6.3 was a wonderful glance into life at the CRT and introduced Julian, Secret Agent!

In one of your comments you mentioned the line you walk between truth to the game and literary license. I see you are listening to your heart, for that is where the answer lies for each of us that wrestle with that question. And the answer is different for each of our fictions. You are doing a wonderful job and have found the right line for you!

[haute ecole rider]

@all: Thanks for reading and for the comments.

More of Cloud Ruler Temple and Julian’s new comrades-in-arms. This entire part-o-chapter is not in the game, but pretty much free-typing.

******************************
Chapter 6.4

Soft murmurings and rustlings roused me from a black slumber. I lay for several moments, feeling disoriented by the heavy timbers above and around me. I saw several Blades moving around the room, some stripping their armor for bed, others rising and dressing for duty. With a luxurious stretch, I felt the delicious tension in my muscles. My left hip, for once, didn’t twinge with the movement. I’m getting more fit, I observed. The long day’s walk, and the long night’s ride, didn’t leave me sore, as I would have been a week ago. Rising to my feet, I tested my right knee carefully. It didn’t hurt much this afternoon.

Captain Steffan had shown me to the barracks in the west wing of the Temple. Heated by a hypocaust, the floor was warm, making the bedrolls surprisingly comfortable to sleep on. Torn between filling my empty stomach, still growling after that apple, and finding sleep, I had chosen sleep, at least for a few hours. Now my belly would not let me postpone feeding it any more.

The clashing noise of swords greeted me as I stepped through the smaller door leading to the plaza. I looked across the area to the practice sands. They’re still at it? Recognizable by the dai-katana he carried, Fortis sparred with his partner as I paused beside the western brazier to watch them.

The sentry at the front door caught my gaze. “Good afternoon, Julian,” she greeted me. “I’m Jena. Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple.”

“Thanks, Jena,” I answered. “Is that Fortis?”

“Yes, it is, and Pelagius. They spar every day, all day.”

“The entire day?” I stared at Jena. The Imperial woman smiled, her brown eyes twinkling.

“Yes, and Ferrum in the armory is still at it, too.” Her tone held a suppressed chuckle. I shook my head in wonderment. “Will you join us for dinner? It will be served in two hours.”

My eyes squinted at the westering sun, then fell on the stable. “Yes, I think so,” I answered. “I’d like to check on Paint.” With a glance back at Jena, I considered my next question. “Would it be wrong for me to take an apple for him? He likes them so.”

“By all means,” Jena smiled. “Help yourself.”

A few moments later, I reached the stable, apple in hand. The three horses had been stripped of their tack and brushed down, their coats dry and gleaming in the shadows of the stable. They greeted me with soft blowing, and Paint nudged me with his nose as I made my way to his head. The wonderful smell from their hides, the aromatic hay in the manger, the clean scent of glycerin soap, felt good as I inhaled deeply. I smiled at the eagerness in Paint’s eye.

Paint eagerly accepted the pieces of crisp apple as fast as I could bite them off. Red watched us from the other side of Jasmine, but when he tried to reach past her towards me, she pinned her ears and snaked her head at him. Red turned his head away. Best ask Jauffre to give him an apple or two, I mused, feeling sorry for the way the mare picked on him so mercilessly. She got along fine with Paint, however. It must be because Paint is gelded, and not as pushy as Red.

In the shadows of the stable, I recognized Paint’s saddle by the round light iron shield still attached to the cantle ring. The Kvatch Wolf gazed back at me in the gloom. As I reached out to it, I thought of gra-Sharob, of Sigrid and Boldon. I wonder how the children are doing. I missed them already. My right hand remembered the feel of Falisia’s tiny fingers resting in my palm. My thoughts wandered to Matius. That’s the real hero of Kvatch. He held the guard together, kept them going in the face of impossible odds.

Goneld’s bloodied face, Rilian’s hand on my shoulder appeared in my mind’s eye and hit me hard. With my breath suddenly gone, I leaned against the wall next to the saddles. I thought I left all that behind.

“Julian?” a tall figure appeared in the rectangle of afternoon light that formed the doorway. At the unfamiliar voice, I wiped my cheeks and turned to look at him. “I’m Roliand,” he continued, removing his helm so I could see his face. Fair skin, golden blond hair cropped short, light blue eyes. Shoulders broad and Nordic. “I took care of the horses. I hope you find everything all right, sister.”

I regarded him, then gestured toward the rumps standing in a row. “I think they look happy, Roliand. Thanks for your care.”

“It was my pleasure,” he responded, smiling at me. As I stepped out of the stable, I tipped my head back to make eye contact with him. “I heard you were in the Legion, sister,” his voice, surprisingly soft for such a big man, held a note of curiosity. With a nod, I looked away, toward the practice sands. He caught the direction of my gaze. “Go watch them,” he remarked. “They enjoy performing for an audience.”

“I will see you at dinner, then?” I asked. Roliand nodded, replacing his helm and brushing his right knuckles on his breastplate with a soft clink. As he walked away, toward the outer wall, I limped across the plaza to watch the two soldiers.

They are good, I decided after watching them for several minutes. They braced for each other’s blows, blocking, parrying and counter-parrying. Pelagius used his shield much the way I did, mainly to deflect the blows from Fortis’s two-handed weapon. Without the benefit of a buckler, Fortis used his gauntlets or the sturdy blade of his dai-katana to block Pelagius’s katana. As I watched, Pelagius avoided an overhand strike from Fortis, then swung his blade straight down, only to have Fortis’s upraised elbow knock his wrist away.

The dinner bell rang, and the two men stepped back from each other, sheathing their swords. “Good evening, sister,” Pelagius greeted me, pulling off his helm. In spite of sparring for hours in full armor, the two Imperials were only slightly winded. “Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple.”

“Thanks,” I answered, limping toward the east wing. The two men matched their strides to mine. “You two are really good,” I gestured back at the practice sands. “I think I learned a thing or two.”

Fortis, having removed his helm and stripped his gauntlets, shook his head. “I don’t know,” his teeth shone in the gathering dusk, “I think you could teach us something, too. Twenty-five years in the Legion, sister. That’s a lifetime of hard fighting.”

As Pelagius opened the door for us, I shrugged. “More like years of training, years of waiting, years of boredom. Throw in a few moments of sheer, Goblin-induced terror here and there, and that pretty much sums it up.”

We walked into the dining hall, where the two men led me to a nearby table. Platters of roasted meat and vegetables, fresh-baked bread, waited, wafting steam. Sitting down, Pelagius eyed me thoughtfully. “Goblins?” he repeated. “Are they really as tough as people say?”

“The peons aren’t, really,” I answered. “They’re quick and aggressive, but lightly armored and armed, and not very effective in their tactics.” Fortis filled a plate and set it in front of me. “They’re more slash and smash, and not even good at it.” I shook my head at the offered wine, and reached for the teapot instead. The chatter died as Captain Steffan and Jauffre entered the hall, Martin in tow. They took seats at another table at the far end of the hall. This time, I was ready, and waited as the soldiers bowed their heads silently in grace. Fortunately, my stomach stayed quiet in the silence.

After a moment, Fortis looked up at me. “What about the other Goblins?” he asked, slicing a chunk of roast mutton on his plate. A few of other Blades wandered to our table and sat down. I recognized Roliand and Jena.

Taking a sip of the hot tea, I considered his question. “The skirmishers are trickier,” I answered. “More cunning. They use iron bows, but shoot fast and accurately.” With a pause to take a bite of grub, I continued, “Berserkers are big, strong, and heavily armored. They are unrelenting in their attacks. And the shamans,” I forced that image from my mind, keeping my voice steady, “are very nasty. They hang back and fire spells at you. They like to paralyze you, then hit you with shock spells - .” Swallowing against the sudden dryness in my throat, I took another bite of mutton. Stop it. It’s over.

“And of course, you can’t get near them unless you’re a sniper or battlemage yourself,” Fortis commented around a mouthful of grub, gesturing with his fork for emphasis. With a nod of agreement, I swallowed my own mouthful.

“The worst of them all, though, are the war chiefs,” I finished. “They’re bigger than the berserkers, strong, and fast. They love to use touch paralyze spells on you, then hammer away while you’re down.” My fork scraped across an empty plate, causing me to look down in some surprise. “I lost a lot of comrades to those things,” I finished.

“Here,” one of the other Blades dropped another slice of mutton onto my plate. “If you’re going to be one of us, and teach us a few things about Goblin-fighting, you’ll need more meat on your bones.” His brown eyes sparked at me.

I didn’t have time to be embarrassed by my relative weakness next to these sturdy Blades. “That’s Belisarius,” Fortis jerked his thumb at the other Blade. “He’s the brains in this outfit.” He pointed at the rangy Breton next to himself, across the table from me, “And this is Baragon.” Now he pointed at the quiet woman on his other side. “This is Caroline.” He nudged her teasingly with his elbow. “Doesn’t say much, but keeps us all in line.”

Her hand moved quickly and she speared the last slice of mutton from his plate. The dripping meat disappeared into her mouth before Fortis could protest. With a stifled chuckle, I met her grey gaze. “A woman’s work is never done, hmm?” Her grin mischievous, Caroline shook her head.

At my side, Pelagius’s eating slowed. I followed his gaze to see Martin - Emperor Martin - eating with better appetite than he had shown before. It must be the cold, the altitude. I was surprised at how much I had already packed away myself.

“I’m sorry, Julian,” Pelagius muttered, noticing my regard. “I’m sworn to protect the Emperor, no matter what. But I can’t help wondering, what sort of man is he?”

In thoughtful consideration of the question, I nibbled on some potato. “He’s been a priest of Akatosh for a number of years,” I said finally. “He has lived a life of peace and service, to others as well as the Divine. He is a good teacher,” I thought of how he had taught me to cast my flare spell more effectively. “He sees the good in others, and takes their suffering to heart.”

Fortis was nodding as I spoke. I sensed there was some ongoing discussion between the two. “Aye, the Emperor must be like Father Akatosh himself, wise, kind, gentle -”

“In times of peace,” Pelagius countered softly. “But peace has fled Tamriel, and we are facing daedra -”

The nature of their discussion became clear, and I firmed my voice, still keeping my tone low. “I don’t doubt for a moment that Emperor Martin has the courage necessary to defend Cyrodiil against daedra.” The memory of how he had faced the assassins at Weynon Priory still fresh in my mind, I continued, “On the way here, whenever we were attacked, he never sought refuge, but stood his ground and faced danger with dagger and frost-flares.” As I spoke, Martin met my gaze across the hall, nodded and smiled at me. As I returned his silent greeting in kind, I finished, “and he’s pretty good with those spells, too.”

“Hmm,” Pelagius grunted softly, sopping up the last of the gravy with the last bite of bread. “That’s high praise, coming from someone who’s fought with battlemages.”

“If he weren’t the last son and heir,” I murmured, feeling full. Pelagius saw the look on my face, and speared the last potato from my plate. “I had more problems keeping him out of trouble than taking care of trouble itself.”

Pelagius surprised me with a hearty chuckle as he finished my potato. “All right, Julian,” he said. “That’s the way I like ‘em.”

I shook my head. “Not if your job is to keep them alive,” I countered. Fortis’s broad grin met my gaze across the table.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: May 6 2010, 02:27 AM

[mALX]

I'm hungry after reading this! Great Write Hauty!

[SubRosa]

The Return of the Hypocaust! I could swear that was a monster movie from the 50s... Along with its sequels, Bride of the Hypocaust, and Revenge of the Hypocaust.

Once again, the horses were one of the high points for me. But what really resonates in me from this chapter-part are Julian's recollections of the people of Kvatch, both living and dead.

Finally, a nice sit-down with more of the Blades and a hearty meal. Best of all, no polenta!

All in all, a strong part-o-chapter, that adds up with the rest of this chapter to create a solid foundation upon which to build the rest of Julian's story. In fact, a solid foundation for Julian herself to build the rest of her life upon. Something she has been sorely missing since being discharged from the Legion. I have a feeling that Julian is one of those people who needs the focus of being a part of something, of having a mission, a purpose to direct her life. Now she has it once more.


nits:
I lay for several moments, feeling disoriented by the heavy timbers above and around me. Around me, I saw several Blades moving around the room, some stripping their armor for bed, others rising and dressing for duty.
These two sentences fit together awkwardly, due to the same two words ending one and beginning the next. You could probably just lop off the "around me" from the second sentence, and start it with "I saw several Blades moving around the room..."

This post has been edited by SubRosa: May 6 2010, 01:06 AM

[D.Foxy]

* has visions of HE Rider being on a diet, and me carrying savoury dish after dish of aromatic food past her nose*

[Winter Wolf]

Awesome write Haute, the dialogue flowed oh so smooth. Wow.

The wonderful smell from their hides, the aromatic hay in the manger, the clean scent of glycerin soap, felt good as I inhaled deeply.

Careful, I feel myself about to sneeze.

The conversation about the goblins was great. The dialogue was the exact type of flow and ebb that warriors would use. And don't forget Goblin Jim, he may keep under the radar a bit but that quasi-little ferret is the worst of the lot.

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: It's good to see that my hypocaust can still delight you! You have pretty much nailed Julian's character - she has been missing the Legion since her discharge, and has now found something else to fill that void. Yes, she needs to be needed.

@mALX and D.Foxy: sorry to stimulate your appetite! My vulpine friend, if I had known you were on a "die with a t" I would have lingered longer on the meal!

@Winter Wolf: Sorry about your allergies. Now you've got me thinking about how I can fit that little weasel into Julian's fiction! Hmmm!

In this chapter, Julian learns of her new place in the Blades, and of her next task; finding a friend and returning to the place of her incarceration. Warning: do not read on an empty stomach!

******************
Chapter 6.5 A New Task

Stiffly, I rose from the bedroll, casting three healing spells to relieve the aches in my joints. My knee felt stronger, though it still hurt to stand on it. Dressed in my leathers, I headed out to the plaza just in time to see the sun peeking past the tall mountains to the east. In a clear space near the western brazier, I faced the dawn.

Okay, let’s see how much I remember - I started taking deep breaths of the chilly air, feeling the frost all the way down into my abdomen. My eyes following the puffs of my slow exhalations, I centered myself and called up long-buried memories of Jelin’s Way of the Crane. Awkward at first, I persisted through the dance-like movements that focused on balance and centering, on fluidity of movement and flexibility of muscles, on peace of mind and breathing control. Though not as smooth as those of my second pilus prior in the Legion, the forgotten patterns became easier as I worked through the routine.

When I finished, I was warm in spite of my fogging breaths, and felt the most limber I had in years. Now, at my age, I appreciated the value of these exercises that so many of my Legion comrades had dismissed as fancy-pants.

As my awareness returned to myself, I noticed Cyrus watching me from his post beside the front door to the Hall of Blades. “Good morning, Julian,” he greeted me. My cheeks warmed with embarrassment.

“I’m sure I looked pretty foolish just now,” I muttered. With a smile, I met his gaze squarely “Good morning, Cyrus.”

“No, that wasn’t foolish at all,” the big Redguard assured me, his teeth gleaming in the growing dawn. “A little awkward maybe,” he conceded with a shrug, “but some of those moves looked hard.”

“Well,” I moved toward the east wing. “I’m out of shape, so they are harder than they should be.” My hand on the door handle, I glanced back at Cyrus. “See you later, brother.”

Again, his teeth shone. “Later, sister,” he said.

Inside, I found Martin and an armored Blade hunched over mugs of steaming fluid. The priest - no, Emperor - caught my eye and waved for me to join them. After I loaded up a plate with breakfast, I obeyed Martin’s unspoken invitation. The Blade - no, Grandmaster Jauffre! - pushed a mug at me, and held up the klah pitcher with a questioning look.

“Thanks, Grandmaster,” I said, sitting down next to him and across from Martin. “Good morning to both of you.”

“How are you feeling today, Julian?” Jauffre asked as I started into my grub. Smoked boar strips, scrambled eggs seasoned with salt, pepper and scallions, fresh-baked bread covered with amber honey, and yet another red-and-green apple covered my plate, and my stomach craved it all.

“Hmm,” I said around a mouthful of food before swallowing. “Pretty good, actually, sir.” Jauffre and Martin exchanged glances. “Other than being hungry,” I added, a little abashed.

“You’re getting fit,” Jauffre observed, taking a sip of his klah. “You’re not as gaunt and sickly as you were when I first met you over seven days ago.”

With a pause to consider his words, I realized he was right. “I’m surprised, I think,” I said, finally. “I thought I would be slower to regain my strength.” My gaze returned to my plate, and I refilled my fork. “Of course, this is much better than Legion grub, sir.”

Jauffre chuckled. “We’ve got a bunch of youngsters to feed here, Julian,” he commented. Youngsters? These Blades are in their third and fourth decades! As I shot him a look, I caught the flash of humor in his bright eyes. That sparkle faded as he regarded me for a few moments more. “I doubt you’re at your full strength yet, Julian,” he commented. “You’ve lived a hard life before Emperor Uriel found you, and it has taken its toll.”

Uncomfortable about the turn the conversation had taken, I met Martin’s gaze across the table. “And you, Sire, have you been able to sleep?” The dark circles under his eyes still remained.

“No, I still can’t,” he admitted, crossing his arms on the table and setting the cup at his elbow. “Though my appetite is returning. Hopefully that means sleep can’t be too far behind.” Again he and Jauffre exchanged glances. Now what is that all about?

“Grandmaster,” I said to the Breton next to me, “Captain Steffan said that you would decide what my place here is.”

“Ah, yes,” Jauffre nodded, his eyes moving to his mug. “Martin and I were just discussing that. The Amulet of Kings is crucial to things now. Without it, it would be difficult to prove Martin’s claim to the Ruby Throne.”

“Prove his claim?” I repeated, looking at Martin. “Why, anyone who has ever met Uriel Septim would see him in Martin!”

“It’s not so simple,” Martin met my gaze from under level brows. “The Dragonfires are dark, and the Amulet of Kings is necessary to relight them. Without the Dragonfires, the barriers between Nirn and Oblivion are open. That Gate you closed at Kvatch is an example of that failure.”

As I stared at him, my mind skittered over the implications of his statement. “You mean, more Oblivion Gates can open?” I whispered. “There can be more Kvatches?”

Martin nodded, his hazel eyes grim. With a deep breath, I leaned back. “By Akatosh.” Cacat. Cacat! Visions of burned out cities, haunted refugees, crying children flashed through my head, interspersed with images of dremora and tortured soldiers. My heartbeat slowed down, became a dull thud in my chest. No. We can’t let that happen. We have to find the Amulet. “We have to find the Amulet,” I echoed myself, blinking to bring myself back to the present. “But how?”

“That is your next task, Julian,” Jauffre responded. “As a Blades sister, you do realize that you are now under my command.”

“Of course, Grandmaster,” I responded. “That goes without saying, sir.”

“Good, we understand each other,” Jauffre took a sip. “We need to recover the Amulet before the enemy takes it out of our reach. The problem is, we don’t know who the enemy is. I’m hoping Baurus has managed to learn something more about the assassins.” He glanced again at me. “He is still in the Imperial City, investigating them. You can find him at Luther Broad’s Boarding House in the Elven Gardens District.”

“You want me to go find Baurus, learn out what he knows?” I asked.

“Not quite,” Jauffre responded. “I want you to find him, and place yourself under his command. He’ll find some use for you, I’m sure.”

Studying the black liquid in my mug, I considered his words. On the one hand, I found myself delighted to see Baurus again. He had been my first friend in this new life I found myself in. Would he feel the same way about me? His parting words to me gave hope that he indeed felt the same sense of comradeship that I did, the kind of bond that arises during intense combat.

On the other hand, I quailed at the thought of returning to the Imperial City, the place of my incarceration. Still unable to remember the events that led to my imprisonment, I wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t be thrown back into Prison. What if the City Watch recognizes me?

Meeting Jauffre’s steady gaze, I took another breath. “When do you want me to leave, Grandmaster?”

Draining his mug, Jauffre rose to his feet, taking his plate and fork. “As soon as you feel well enough to travel, Julian,” he said. “Time is critical, but you’re no use to us if you push yourself into a breakdown.” He stepped to a dry sink, and placed his dishes on the scratch pile within.

“Then I will leave this morning,” I glanced at Martin. “By your leave, Sire.”

He closed his eyes momentarily, then held my gaze. “Be careful, Julian.” I nodded at him, then rose to my feet to add my own breakfast debris to the dry sink. “I’d hate to lose my companion,” he added behind me. The words shook me. Sun’s Companion. Son’s Companion. As I glanced back at him, still seated at the table, I saw how lonely he looked there.

“I will see you again, Sire,” I put as much conviction as I felt into my voice. Martin lifted his gaze to mine and smiled.

“I do not doubt it, Julian.”

[mALX]

I loved all of it, but this line stood out because it is exactly how I felt the first time I played:


"On the other hand, I quailed at the thought of returning to the Imperial City, the place of my incarceration. Still unable to remember the events that led to my imprisonment, I wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t be thrown back into Prison. What if the City Watch recognizes me?"


I remember hiding out in woods to travel, afraid the guards would say "Escaping Prisoner" or something - till my son went into hysterics over it and embarassed me, lol.

[SubRosa]

A tasty breakfast. Good thing I read this after dinner. The Blades certainly eat good! Obviously Julian was in the wrong service all this time! Seriously though, Julian is toughening up. Strength which she will certainly need, given what is still to come.

The tai chi-esque exercise was a good touch, especially since you took the extra step to reveal it was more valued by the older soldiers for its value in toning muscle.

“You mean, more Oblivion Gates can open?” I whispered. “There can be more Kvatches?”
Bam! There it is, and the meaning of "Close Shut the jaws of Oblivion." now becomes all too clear. Not just one gate needs closing, but the entire open doorway that now exists between Nirn and the Daedric Realms. Yikes!