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

[Destri Melarg]

I should start by warning you that this is going to be a long post. I am going to try to use it to get myself current with Old Habits again. I swear, a few weeks away and I feel almost like a stranger to this board. You have been warned, let’s get started:

CHAPTER 5.1 Musings in Skingrad

Reading this chapter was like eavesdropping on a quiet conversation between two fascinating people.

I loved the way that you used Martin to anchor Julian in the present. The transitions between her memory and Martin’s questions were just superb.

In the end you have them both make confession to each other. The fact that they do so in a chapel, under the moonlight streaming through the pane-glass window of the God of wisdom, logic, and truth is a subtlety that really resonated with this reader.

Brilliant.

Chapter 5.2 Convalescence

“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.”

*Destri hears the rhythmic click of tap shoes as haute dances around one of Oblivions glaring inconsistencies.*

This is a very good explanation of the ridiculous idea that you can buy a spell for which you have neither the skill nor the magicka to cast. I still can’t figure out why the game allows you to do that.

I’m also quite impressed with your description of the three components of a spell. It would be interesting to see how you would expand on the teaching of spells if Julian were to join the Mages Guild (blasphemy, I know).

Even if I had not read this before, I would have the feeling that Julian will get ample opportunity to practice restoration in the days to come.

Chapter 5.3 Lunch and Stories

This was another good explanation of why Julian can spontaneously cast the flare spell. With the easy humor that she and Martin share, you can almost feel the friendship forming between the two.

As minque so ably pointed out, your conversations alone are reason enough to want to keep reading. Bringing our haggard travelers to Weye and sitting them down with old Merowald is another fun, wonderful interlude. A lot of writers use these quiet moments in a story to prime their readers for the next moment of crisis, but with you I sense the same care and, I don’t know, respect given to these quiet moments as to your battle sequences.

A professor once gave me a wonderful piece of advice. She said:

“Treat your conversations like battles, and your battles like conversations.”

That seems to be a lesson that you know instinctively.

On a final note: YES!!! Julian finally has to sit there and take some praise! I imagine that she would deal with flying arrows with less discomfort!

Chapter 5.4 Thievery and Death

I echo all the comments already made about this chapter. ‘The Kvatch Wolf’, ‘Dagon’s sight’, Martin’s tendency to dive headlong into battle, all of it works extremely well.

Where I thought this chapter shined, though, was in the aftermath; the policing of the bodies of the assassins, Eronor’s insistence on taking care of Paint and taking the loaded cart to Chorrol himself was a far more eloquent statement of his gratitude than words could ever hope to convey. Finally, the disposition of Prior Maborel’s body was so well-rendered that it brought a lump into my throat. When Paint goes over and sniffs the body . . .

Heart-breaking.

Chapter 6.1 Night Ride

Thank you, thank you, thank you! I was wondering when Julian would address herself to fact that Martin seems to leap into battle far too quickly for a man upon whom so much depends. It must be difficult for him, after all. He goes to bed as a priest of Akatosh; he wakes up the Emperor of Tamriel. Nothing that has happened since the daedric invasion of Kvatch has occurred through Martin’s actions. Maybe jumping recklessly into battle is the only way that he can assert some measure of control over his fate.

“I’ve been a priest only for the last five or six years, Julian.” He shrugged. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

*Insert applause here*

Like SubRosa I am struck by the sudden appearance of the raven. That can’t be a good omen.

Chapter 6.2 Dawn Arrival and Chapter 6.3 Captain Steffan

I combine these two chapters because, for me, they are two parts of a whole.

Like Olen said, I was mesmerized by your description of the Temple looming high up in the Jeralls. Martin’s speech when greeted by his new bodyguards held just enough reticence to show us that the reality of his situation has finally started to sink in.

The matter-of-fact way in which Jauffre inducts Julian into the Blades was still effective enough to bring a proud smile to my face. After all, we have followed and rooted for Julian from the depths of the Imperial City Prison to the heights of Cloud Ruler Temple. It almost feels as if our faith in her has been rewarded.

It is at this moment that Captain Steffan steps in. As ever you portray him with just the right amount of gruff confidence. I must confess that I was hoping to see a little more, I don’t know, not resentment but maybe a short, curt attitude towards Julian. I’m sure he, like all the Blades, trust implicitly in the judgment of Grandmaster Jauffre. But deep down it might be nice to see that this is a man who doesn’t think that Julian has earned the right to be a Blade . . . Hero of Kvatch be damned. That is a matter of personal opinion and doesn’t in any way take from the overall quality of your writing in these two chapters.

Chapter 6.4

Awww, I miss the polenta. You say this chapter was an exercise in free typing, eh? In that case you should free type every chance you get. The thing that I liked the most about this was the way you enabled us to get to know each Blade by his/her stances, attitudes, comments, and gestures. By the end of this chapter I had the feeling that Julian had been accepted and welcomed into this very special family who live their lives dedicated to the service of something greater than themselves. As a former member of the Legion, I bet Julian finally feels at home.

Chapter 6.5 A New Task

I remember asking you about Jelin’s Way of the Crane last time so I won’t rehash an old question. What I will comment on is the interplay between Julian and Cyrus, is there something there or should I avoid reading into it? And what about Baurus? Julian calls her feelings for him ‘comradeship’ but they seem to be more than that. I know that right now Julian is lost in the nightmare images of another Kvatch that play havoc with her mind and darken her sleep, but still. Even amidst tragedy we can still find the capacity to love.

Whew! Now I'm all caught up again.

[Olen]

Good couple of parts, I'd never noticed the sun's companion/ son's companion thing before.

I'm enjoying Julian's continuing development, you handle it well letting it happen then drawing attention to it once it's done. It makes her quite a complelling read. And now she's going back to the Imperial City... this could be most interesting and I'm interested to see how it goes.

[haute ecole rider]

@mALX: heh heh he - hiding from the telepathic guards, huh? Such a Maxical thing to do! No wonder your son cracked up!

@SubRosa: Yes, Julian is in for a tough time - she has no idea yet!

@Destri: Thanks for the fantastic review! Oh, and welcome back!

@Olen: Your thoughts and comments are most appreciated!

Nothing much happens in this chapter, just the sheer exhilaration of a fast ride down the mountainside and wandering thoughts. Something nice and quiet before things pick up again. Enjoy.

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

Chapter 6.6 On the Road Again

As I stepped out onto the plaza, I caught Fortis’s wave as he ducked Pelagius’s charge. Waving back, I started for the stable, my limp barely slowing me down. My heart felt heavy, unable to shake the feeling that I was abandoning Martin. Don’t be an idiot. These Blades will keep him safe. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to believe it.

My path intersected Captain Steffan’s patrol. He slowed his stride to match mine, looking down at me from beneath his helm. “How have you settled in here at Cloud Ruler Temple, Julian?”

“Wishing I didn’t have to leave already,” I responded truthfully. “The place is warm inside, and the company even warmer, sir.” With a glance at the distinctive roof line of the Hall of Blades, I shook my head. “This fortress is amazing - unlike any I’ve ever seen.”

“Aye, she’s a beauty, isn’t she?” the captain said, fondness clearly evident in his rough voice. “It’s hard not to admire the stonework. That’s some real craftsmanship.”

“I’m no judge,” I admitted, “but I noticed there is no mortar visible in the joints.”

“That’s because there isn’t any,” Steffan stated. “You can’t fit a knife blade between the stones, they’re so tightly laid.” He gazed proudly around the plaza. “You can travel all of Cyrodiil, nay, all of Tamriel, and never find anything better built than Cloud Ruler Temple.”

“For now, I’ll take your word for it, Captain,” I replied. Pausing outside the stable, I shifted my pack over my shoulder, looking back at the Hall. “Martin will be safe here, won’t he, Captain?” I gave voice to my worry.

Steffan’s gaze, as intensely blue as the sky behind his head, held mine for long seconds. Then he looked away, breathing deeply. “There was a time when I would have assured you of it,” he said quietly. “But after what has happened -” He turned back to me, his eyes and rough voice hard. “But I promise you, there isn’t a single Blade here who won’t die protecting the Emperor.”

“Thank you, Captain,” I said finally. “I believe you.” I did. That worry had eased quite a bit with his words and tone. “Until we meet again, sir.”

“Farewell, Julian,” the captain nodded at me. “Keep your eyes open and your heart true.” He turned from me and resumed his patrol.

“I have Paint ready for you,” Roliand appeared in the doorway of the stable, Paint in tow.

“Thanks,” I said to the tall Nord, hanging my pack from the cantle ring. I checked the bow and the Kvatch Wolf, still attached to the saddle. With a pat on his crested neck, I took Paint’s rein from Roliand.

“Come on, I’ll give you a leg up,” he said, putting his hands together beside Paint’s girth. “Put your left knee in my hands, and I’ll boost you up.”

With a moment’s hesitation, I did as he said. When my hand rested on the pommel, I glanced at Roliand. “Ready, Julian?” he asked me. I nodded.

Then I flew upward, barely keeping the presence of mind to swing my right leg over the cantle before I started returning to earth. Thanks to Roliand’s steadying grip on my left knee, I managed to make a soft landing on Paint’s back. Breathless, I looked down at his laughing grin.

“That was on purpose, wasn’t it?” I commented dryly.

“You’re in the saddle now, sister,” he returned, clapping my left knee. With a step back, he saluted me, fist to chestplate. “May your sword always strike true.”

Chirruping to Paint, I guided him toward the stone stairs leading down to the tall gates. He walked down the steep steps without hesitation, sure-footed and confident. Difficult terrain is easy for him, being mountain-born and -bred. Grateful for Paint’s sturdy bones, I remembered the other horses’ finer limbs.

We reached the tall gates and walked through. I patted Paint’s neck fondly as he stepped onto the mountain road. I’m glad Prior Maborel gave you to me. He tossed his head, as if agreeing with my thoughts, and his back rounded up beneath me.

Curious about what it was he wanted to do, I eased up on the reins. With no further prompting from me, Paint bounded into a wonderful, rocking canter down the steep mountain road. The sheer exhilaration of our rapid descent took my breath away, and my heart pounded as I took hold of the high pommel with my right hand.

After a couple of strides, I relaxed into the rocking motion of Paint’s back, keeping my legs quiet at his sides. Paint slowed a little when we reached the bottom of the slope, but did not break out of the canter as he took the sharp bend. He followed the road towards the North Gate, and faltered only when we approached the fork where the path wound along the city walls. I leaned the rein against the right side of his neck, and Paint smoothly glided left to take the path. His body shifted under me as he took the curves in stride.

Reveling in his powerful canter, I did not stop as we neared the East Gate, only steered the gelding onto the Silver Road. His hooves pounded the cobblestones rhythmically as we followed the road. He did not slow down to a walk until we reached the junction of the Orange and Silver Roads. With a hard snort, he tossed his head and bounced a little, as if to say, well, that was fun, haven’t done that in a long time.

His obvious pleasure made me laugh out loud, even though my eyes automatically scanned the area around us for enemies. The sunlight cascaded warmly around us, and the air grew warmer as we continued onto the southern half of the Silver Road. As Paint settled into a marching walk, I looked up and noticed the vista opening up before us, anchored by the White Gold Tower. It fascinated me that I could look almost directly down into the Imperial City from the heights in the Jeralls.

That’s the mark of the Ayleids, I mused. They built their cities to be visible for miles, as a way to assert their dominance over their slaves. How hard was it for Alessia’s forces to capture that city? How long did they besiege it before it fell? How many warriors died taking it?

The snow faded into green grass and blooming shrubs. Trees changed from towering pines and aspens to spreading beech and oak. The air grew softer, milder. Our breaths became invisible. Bird song changed, from the chirping of sparrows and the croaking of ravens, to the melodies of larks and the laughter of jays. Butterflies became larger and more colorful. Scents rose on the warming air, the scents of honeysuckle and wild roses, rich loam and animal dung.

And Cloud Ruler Temple, who built that? It is so different, so unique. I’ve never seen anything like it. Maybe Captain Steffan is right, there’s nothing else like it. I should ask him more about it. I liked looking at buildings, identifying the different styles. I had already noticed the regional variation within Cyrodiil itself, much as I had found it elsewhere during my postings. Yet Cloud Ruler Temple followed its own rules. How did they get those massive stone blocks up that steep mountainside? How did they get stones fitted so tightly that mortar is unneeded? And where did they find such massive timbers for the framing?

“Well, Paint,” I said, rubbing the gelding’s coarse mane affectionately. “I guess we’ll never know, won’t we?” He just flicked an ear back at me without faltering in his stride.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: May 12 2010, 04:03 PM

[SubRosa]

Now I have Willie Nelson on the mind, thanks to your title...

Julian's feeling of abandoning Martin at the beginning was moving. Once again we see she is the Son's Companion.

“You can travel all of Cyrodiil, nay, all of Tamriel, and never find anything better built than Cloud Ruler Temple.”
A certain stringy wood elf still argues that Nerussa is built better...

How hard was it for Alessia’s forces to capture that city? How long did they besiege it before it fell? How many warriors died taking it?
I have been reading some Ayleid stuff lately, and it was basically one guy. Pelinal Whitestrake, who stormed the tower single-handedly and killed the Ayleid King. You can tell that was written by a modern American male...

Ahh, the wild ride down the mountains! This is one of my all time favorite parts of OHDH, featuring my two favorite characters bonding in an experience that would typically be overlooked by most writers. Your riding skillz show through in the writing, and really makes the ride come alive.

You mentioned Paint being mountain-born and bred. Have you ever thought about going into more depth on the breeds of horses in Tamriel? Obviously many modern names could not be used, like Arabians, but some could be squeezed in (I think it reasonable for Bretons to have breeds named Percherons, Brabants, and of course Bretons. Cyrodiil might have the Shire, and generic names like Quarter Horse and Thoroughbred would still work.), and others just invented. I can see the desert horses of Hammerfell (called Alik'rs?) and Elsweyr being the hot bloods, like our Arabians and Barbs. Then cold bloods native to places like Cyrodiil, and warm blood mixes all over. It is something I would go into more depth on in the TF, but being that Teresa does not know how to ride and is not likely to ever learn, horses are not really a focus of mine.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: May 9 2010, 09:06 PM

[Olen]

You show how at home she feels in cloud ruler well with her thoughts and conversations on leaving, it shows quite a lot of her. How she never recovered from being in the Legion then not being and how she's finding herself again.

There was more of her improving mood with the ride down the hill, sounded terrifying to me but she seemed to enjoy it

I'm still looking forward to seeing the Imperial City again.

[minque]

Ahhh, what a good read, now just before bedtime! Calmly you take the story forward, with those utmost superb conversations....it's a sheer pleasure to read, you know!

Btw....do you have a pic of Julian? I've heard she'd be a redguard with white hair? that sounds amazing...

waiting to see Jules!!

[SubRosa]

Ahhh, what a good read, now just before bedtime! Calmly you take the story forward, with those utmost superb conversations....it's a sheer pleasure to read, you know!

Btw....do you have a pic of Julian? I've heard she'd be a redguard with white hair? that sounds amazing...

waiting to see Jules!!

Way back in post #45 there is one

[mALX]

On the road again...just can't wait to get on the road again...the life I love is making music with my friends...and I can't wait to get on the road again!

Try getting it out of your head now!

You have really given Cloud Ruler Temple itself and also its inhabitants such great personalities!!!

[Winter Wolf]

Cloud ruler temple is an amazing place. The only thing that it doesn't seem to have is a lock on the front door. Bloody thing is always open everytime I rock up to the place. With daedra prowling the land it just doesn't make sense.....

I loved the description on the journey south. The birds, the flowers, the fall of the land. Awesome !!

Just a question. What level would Julian be at this point?

[Destri Melarg]

In this chapter I see the same quality in Paint that I imagine exists in the rented mules that ferry people down the trail of the Grand Canyon. You know, that sort of ‘I know the trail’ confidence that makes it seem as if they would much rather the idiot on their back just close his eyes and enjoy the ride than try some feeble attempt at steering. It was nice to see that Julian has developed enough trust in Paint that she is willing to just let go.

A few things that caught my eye:

Steffan’s blue gaze, as intensely blue as the sky behind his head, held mine for long seconds.

This truly is a minor nitpick, but you could probably get rid of the first utterance of the word ‘blue’ in this sentence.

That’s the mark of the Ayleids, I mused. They built their cities to be visible for miles, as a way to assert their dominance over their slaves. How hard was it for Alessia’s forces to capture that city? How long did they besiege it before it fell? How many warriors died taking it?

One of my favorite things about Julian’s story is her fascinating lapses into reverie. Her tendency to wonder at the rich history of Cyrodiil really makes the enormity of her world come to life.

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: Thanks for your insights. I can not read (or listen to) Steffan's comments about the craftsmanship of Cloud Ruler without your comment echoing in my mind. As for how White Gold Tower fell to Alessia's forces, well, Julian is likely aware of the story of Pelinal Whitestrake. Being Legion herself, she knows all too well how stories of combat become unrecognizable as the truth. Just listen to Farwil Indarys's account of how his Knights of the Thorn decimated the daedra inside the Cheydinhal Gate! As for the breeds of horses, I found basing breed on color to be simplistic, but I recognize that most people can not tell the difference between a piebald and a skewbald, or a Paint and a Pinto, let alone a Thoroughbred and an Arabian. I wanted to highlight some of the other not so obvious differences between the breeds. The Cheydinhal blacks are definitely of a Thoroughbred type, while the chestnuts make me think more of Saddlebreds. The bays are likely reminiscent of generic warmbloods, however the Legion bays are definitely Selle Francais. As for Paints, well, they're most like Paints/Quarter Horses, natch. The white ones are Morgan/Lippizaners - the baroque type. I've seen Slof's horses, and some of them strongly resemble the draft horses (Belgians, Percherons, Clydesdales, Shires). Likely I will expand on bloodlines and breeding for specific types and purposes later in the story.

@Olen: I think you've pretty much summed up her character at this point most precisely. Being out of the Legion has left a void in her soul, and she is trying to fill it back up. The Blades, or at least the garrison at Cloud Ruler Temple, is doing a good job of it. As for the ride down the mountainside, I'm glad I've conveyed the terror of a headlong gallop, and hope that I've conveyed the trust Julian has in this mountain-bred horse of hers. The first time I rode in the mountains (on a rented horse, no less), I pretty much let the horse pick his own way. I just pointed him in the direction I wanted him to go, and left him alone. It's the safest way to do it! One can not micromanage a horse, nor should one try.

@minque: So glad to see your comments! It lets me know you're still reading Julian. As I PM'd you, and as SubRosa pointed out, there is already a screenie earlier in the thread.

@mALX: It's a good thing I'm not familiar with Willie Nelson! I've had problems with earworms in the past, and they're not always enjoyable! I'm glad you still enjoy visiting Cloud Ruler Temple. Julian and I wish we could stay there forever (though my motives are somewhat different from hers - )!

@Winter Wolf: He he! I always wondered why the city gates are always closed, no matter the hour of the day, and Cloud Ruler is always open! Cloud Ruler has a permanent watch on the gate (Achilles), he can always call down to have the gates opened when he recognizes someone in the driveway; yet I can always get in the cities though there isn't always an obvious gate guard. Go figure! As for what level Julian is at this point, I'm not strictly following gameplay. Based on the enemies appearing here, she'd be about a Level 3 or so, and will probably be about 10 or 11 at the end of the MQ. However, I'm not following the strict leveling system of the game, as it feels so artificial to me. Instead, I'm letting Julian develop at her own pace, regardless of what is appearing in the world.

@Destri: I think you have nailed Julian's relationship with Paint (and I think your average mule is way smarter than the majority of the tourists). Paint is the perfect horse for novice riders - confident, sensible, and just plain fun. I'll have to warn you, though, eventually, Julian outgrows Paint, and will have to move on to another horse. At some point in the far future, you will be introduced to her next steed. And this one will gladly run up the Chapel steps and take on the daedra with Julian! However, at her present level of riding, that's just too much horse for her. I have fixed your nit, I agree it reads better without the repetition. And I'm glad you enjoy the peek at Julian's private reveries.


The next chapter describes an encounter with a Legion rider. Being Legion herself, Julian always tries to keep on their good side. Makes life (and traveling) so much easier . . .

************************
Chapter 6.7 Marc Atellus

The sounds of combat reached us as we approached the white arches of an Ayleid ruin to the left, where the Silver Road joined the Red Ring Road. A Legion bay stood in front of the ruin near the road. I stopped Paint next to him and dismounted, collecting the Kvatch Wolf from the cantle. My katana drawn, I followed the sounds into the ruins.

Within a damaged colonnade, I found the tents of a camp. Two men in heavy armor battled a Legion rider, arrows bristling in his steel plate. The twanging of a bowstring to my left drew my attention to a catwalk around the colonnade. Oblivious to my presence, a red-haired Imperial archer notched another arrow to her weapon. Using a nearby broken column as an impromptu step, I hobbled onto the springy boards of the catwalk. She caught my approach and dropped her bow in time to draw her dagger. Without hesitation, I charged her as swiftly as my bum knee would let me.

While I had the advantage with the longer reach of my katana, she was quick, and well armored with a steel cuirass. Ducking my first swing, she closed in with her dagger swooping low. As I skipped back out of its arc, I tapped her in the back of her bare head with the hilt before she could draw away. She staggered, but somehow kept her feet and retreated a couple of steps.

In the corner of my eye, the rider felled one of the two marauders he faced, and took a heavy blow on his shoulder from the remaining fighter. In front of me, the woman made her charge, but I stepped to my right, deflecting her weapon on my shield. As she stumbled past me, I stabbed the tip of my blade into her side, between the front and back of her cuirass. She groaned as I pulled the sword out, her dagger skittering away off the catwalk as she fell. Just to be certain, I stabbed her exposed throat.

My good knee flexed to absorb the shock of my landing, I jumped down and hobbled toward the two men still battling it out. The Nord towered over me, his bare head higher than my own. My katana moved low and slashed across the exposed backs of his knees. When he staggered and dropped to his knees, the horseman’s blade flashed across the marauder’s exposed throat. As the Nord dropped with a clatter of steel plate, I locked eyes with the rider.

Distrust flared in the other’s eyes, and I quickly put my katana away. “Are you hurt, sir?” I asked breathlessly. He inhaled deeply, taking a wary look around before sheathing his sword. Without answer, he started yanking arrows out of his steel plate in disgust. When he pulled on one embedded in his left greave, he caught his breath. The rider limped to the broken column I had used previously, and half-sat, half leaned against it, dropping his shield with a clatter. Following him, I took a closer look at the wound. Blood seeped through the quilted underpinning of the steel plate, around the shaft of the arrow.

“My name is Julian,” I offered. “May I help you, sir?”

“Just pull it out,” he growled between clenched teeth. As I knelt next to him, I lowered the Kvatch Wolf to the ground. My left hand braced against the padding around the arrow, I gripped the shaft with my right.

“Count to three, sir,” I said.

“One, OW!” he bellowed as I yanked the arrowhead out. With a groan he leaned against the stone arch behind him. “Oh, frick, what happened to two?”

My dagger made quick work of cleaning the padding from around the wound as I carefully picked out the fibers that had embedded into the flesh with the arrowhead. I kept pressure on the gash while I groped beneath my leather cuirass for some of the red wool from the assassin’s robe. Folded down, it made a suitable, if colorful, dressing, the long ends tied around his thigh. The rider looked at me as I leaned back.

He had removed his helm, and his craggy, weathered face registered pain. His grey eyes considered me in appraisement. While I returned his regard, I found him to be about my own age, though he still had strength and agility to spare in his movements.

“I’m surprised you would help me, ma’am,” he remarked, still breathing hard. Wiping the sweat from his face, he locked gazes with me again. “Not that I’m ungrateful, mind.”

“Why wouldn’t I help you, sir?” I rose to my feet and reached into my belt pouch. “After all, we both serve the Emperor.”

The last vestiges of distrust faded from the horseman’s eyes, to be replaced by sadness. “We did,” he corrected. “Now we serve no one.”

Not I - I serve the Emperor still. “But isn’t the Emperor more than just the man?” I asked, drawing out a vial of healing potion. “Isn’t the Emperor an idea, too, the idea of empire, an empire of peace and prosperity?”

He tilted his head thoughtfully at me, scrubbing at his bristled salt-and-pepper scalp. “Odd hearing such talk from a Redguard,” he muttered. Silently, I handed him the potion. On a sudden smile, his grey eyes warmed at me. “Thanks for helping me, ma’am. I would have been hurt much worse had you not come along and finished that archer for me.” He gave me a loose salute, brushing his right fist against his chestplate. “Marc Atellus, at your service.” He uncorked the vial and gulped down the vile liquid.

“Hey, us Legion soldiers have to stick together, don’t we?” I returned his smile as he handed the vial back to me.

“You’re Legion?” his eyes sharpened at me. “Carrying a Kvatch Wolf,” he pointed at my shield, “and, if I’m not mistaken, an Akaviri katana?”

“Well, I was discharged a few years ago,” I admitted. “But old habits die hard, sir.” I picked up the shield and slid it onto my left forearm. “I got this for assisting the Kvatch Guard.”

His gaze darkened. “Terrible news, that,” he muttered. “The whole town destroyed, overrun by daedra.”

Still winded, I leaned against an upturned stone block next to Atellus. “Not anymore, sir.” I remarked, avoiding his stare.

“So that’s how you assisted the Guard?” Now Atellus regarded the hilt of the katana at my side. “May I see that blade, Julian?” he asked, addressing me by name for the first time. “I’ve seen them, but never handled one.”

Initially I hesitated, but saw only open curiosity on the rider’s face. The katana whispered as I drew it. I handed it to him, hilt first. He hefted the blade thoughtfully, then swished it experimentally through the air. Its song as the weapon carved intricate figures of reflected sunlight was almost audible from where I sat. Flipping the weapon, he caught the blade in his gauntleted hand and extended the grip back to me.

“Thanks, ma’am,” he said. “Pretty light, but that blade looks wicked keen. I’m told it keeps its edge better than our own silver longswords,” he slapped his own hilt for emphasis. “What did you do to get an Akaviri katana?”

The sword put away, I glanced sidelong at him. “Assisted the Blades, sir,” I answered after a moment. Atellus rubbed at the stubble along his jaw.

“Is there anyone you didn’t assist?” he remarked, his tone deceptively casual. I pointed at the marauders.

“Them, sir,” I responded. Atellus guffawed loudly, clapping me on the shoulder and nearly knocking me off my block.

“Ach, you’re all right,” he grinned at me. Then his smile faded into somberness. “The Blades were supposed to protect the Emperor. They failed.” It took considerable self control to bite my tongue against the inclination to defend Baurus and the others. “That’s not to say the Legion would have fared better,” Atellus added softly. Silently I regarded the armor encasing the dead marauders.

“Lowest scum,” Atellus had caught my gaze. “But good source of heavy armor, if you can kill ‘em for it.”

I slapped my own cuirass. “No, thanks, sir, I like Batul gra-Sharob’s work too well.”

Again that hearty guffaw. Atellus rose, careful of his injured leg. Tentatively he tested it, then grinned at me. “Just a flesh wound, it’ll heal in a heartbeat.”

Thoughtfully I regarded him, then reached into my belt pouch again. “Do you have any more healing potions, sir?” He shook his head.

“Nay, I used the last of it up by Fingerbowl Cave, and haven’t had a chance to resupply.” His eyes lit up when I handed him my last two vials. “By the Nine, you would share your healing potions?”

“I don’t have the willpower to cast a convalescence spell on you yet,” I answered dryly. “Though I’m told that with a little practice on myself, I ought to be able to.”

His eyes on my face, Atellus drank down the potions and handed back the empty vials. Gesturing at my left cheek, he grinned. “There’s some practice right there. That archer got you with her dagger, it seems.”

My fingertips felt the blood where he had indicated. “I didn’t notice,” I muttered, quickly casting a healing spell on myself.

“Aye, the way you fight,” Atellus’s tone took on an admiring note, “you wouldn’t notice anything so slight. You have more grievous wounds that hurt like the dickens, the way you move.” He started out of the camp. I rose to my feet and trailed him back to where the horses waited. “I’m headed to Roxey Inn,” he continued, waving eastward. “Are you going that way, ma’am?”

“No, sir, I’m headed to the Imperial City,” I answered, picking up Paint’s rein and leading him to one of the interminable blocks scattered around the ruin. “I think I’m going west.”

Atellus mounted his horse slowly, with some effort. With a slow exhalation, he waited until I had clambered onto Paint. “I’ve cleared the road as far as Aleswell,” he pointed up the hill to the west of us. “Nice inn there,” he frowned at a sudden thought, “though I haven’t seen anyone there for a while. I’m starting to hear stories from travelers that the place is haunted. Don’t make sense, though,” he added that last to himself. Grinning at me, he gave me a casual Legion salute. “Travel safe, and by the Nine, stay on the roads!”

“All right, Atellus, I will,” I answered.

“And thanks again, Julian, for your unexpected assistance!” he called back as we parted ways.

[Destri Melarg]

Once again we see the easy fashion in which Julian makes friends. I am with Atellus, is there anyone that Julian doesn't assist (apart from the marauders, I mean)? Your description of the battle was terrific, I always wondered why an archer would draw a dagger on an opponent with a sword and shield. Talk about bringing a knife to a sword fight!

“Count to three, sir,” I said.

“One, OW!” he bellowed as I yanked the arrowhead out. With a groan he leaned against the stone arch behind him. “Oh, frick, what happened to two?”

You have just described the removal of every loose tooth, splinter, and burr of my youth. I cringed reading it!

He tilted his head thoughtfully at me, scrubbing at his bristled salt-and-pepper scalp. “Odd hearing such talk from a Redguard,” he muttered.

I really like how you are able to sum up hundreds of years of lingering animosity with a sentence of seven words. Being from Anvil, I doubt that Julian would foster the hatred in her heart that someone born into a Crown household in Hegathe might have.

“Well, I was discharged a few years ago,” I admitted. “But old habits die hard, sir.”

*Insert applause here*

Initially I hesitated, but saw only open curiosity on the rider’s face. The katana whispered as I drew it.

Her initial hesitation tells us all we need to know about how Julian feels about surrendering her weapon. I am a little surprised that Atellus would even ask, knowing her to be former Legion (of course, that might be why he feels comfortable asking).

“Ach, you’re all right,” he grinned at me. Then his smile faded into somberness. “The Blades were supposed to protect the Emperor. They failed.”

I like how you incorporated the in game dialogue here.

This was an excellent chapter the first time I read it. Familiarity does not diminish my enjoyment. More please!

[mALX]

Julian ROCKS! She comes across so natural the reader can't help but become attached to her!

[SubRosa]

Chapter 6 has been all about laying foundations. This installment is no different, in that we see Julian creating solid relationships with the legionaries who patrol the roads. Something I am sure we will see more of in the future, given how much she will have to travel during the MQ.


a red-haired Imperial archer notched another arrow to her weapon
So is Athynae making her OHDH appearance here?

Another exciting battle. I was wondering if you might have gone back and edited in that brilliant move that the one left-handed samurai used in When The Last Sword Is Drawn, where he struck the guy in the chest, and then moved behind him and stabbed him through the back before he could fall. I would have to watch that scene again to remember exactly what he did, but I am sure you recall the one I mean.

I see Julian is also practicing her jumping. Good thing, considering what is ahead of her in the sewer!

“Oh, frick, what happened to two?”
Indeed, most people at least wait until two to pull it out on a three count! That Julian is a tricksy hobbit...

I’m told it keeps its edge better than our own silver longswords,
Just an idea that you can use or freely ignore, but I have decided not to use silver weapons in the TF, as the metal is really not suited to it. Instead I am replacing them with mithril ones. It goes with the armor that is already out there, looks the same (for screenshots), and is a lot more believable.

[Olen]

I can't really think of what to say except excellent as always. It shows how far Julian has come since escaping in many ways that she can (and does) wade in and help out a legionaire. She'll be getting quite a name among them...

The fight was well done and a clear demonstration of why it is vastly preferable to have two people in a fight rather than one (it always puzzled me that the road patrols travelled alone).

Interesting point on the silver longswords, I'm quite sure steel would hold a better edge... unless magic was involved . Saying that I'd always imagined them to be some sort of combination, like a steel sword but with silver decor on the blade (though that would be extremely difficult to do giving the tempertaure required to melt silver is similar to that to temper steel).

[Acadian]

Just caught up again with 6.4 - 6.7. Julian's story continues to be a wonderful read. Very rich. I love your first person POV of course.

[haute ecole rider]

@Destri: I'm glad you picked up on the multiple layers in this interchange between Julian and Atellus. He's relatively uncomplicated, and a good man to know (unlike a certain rider near Skingrad). He does bring out the best in Julian's character i.e. her tendency to help others that need it.

@mALX and Acadian: Thanks for continuing to read this!

@SubRosa: The red-headed Imperial archer is not Athynae - I wouldn't make Trey's wonderful lady into a mere marauder in my fiction! As for the maneuver you described from the movie, I think I know the one you mean. That left handed swordsman is amazing in those fight scenes, I think. As for silver weapons, I find them quite useless for the most part. They do as much damage as steel, if I remember correctly, yet weigh much more than steel. Julian ends up keeping her katana throughout the MQ.

@Olen: It shows how far Julian has come since escaping in many ways that she can (and does) wade in and help out a legionaire. She'll be getting quite a name among them... More prophetic words have not been spoken! As for the steel vs. silver debate, as I said above, I find silver to be awfully heavy for the amount of damage it inflicts. Though not necessarily true in-game, I've always visualized the katanas (and dai-katanas) as being of better quality manufacture than the standard steel swords, the way the samurai or the Damascene blades were better than the standard swords - it's all in the forging. Oh, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter, considering how you've been looking forward to her return to the Imperial City.

Now Julian confronts her worry about whether or not she will be recognized as the brawling drunk that got herself kicked out of the City, only to be arrested in Weye and thrown into the Prison. She also sees the City through sober eyes for the first time.

*********************
Chapter 7.1: A Walk Through the City

Leaving Paint with Merowald in Weye, I limped across the Great Bridge and trudged up the steep road to the Imperial City entrance. A Watchman met my gaze, and I saw recognition in his eyes.

“Hello, Julian,” he greeted me. “That was a nice thing you did for Merowald, ma’am.” The Watchman I met at the Wawnet Inn.

“It was the least I could do, since he took such good care of Paint,” I answered. “I know next to nothing about horses, and that was my first day in the saddle.”

His eyebrows lifted under the steel helm. “Really?” he remarked. “Could’ve fooled me.” He tilted his head at the open gates just behind him. “Business in the City?”

“Yes, sir.” My eyes moved to the massive portal before me as I nodded. Here goes nothing. Either I get thrown into jail, or I find Baurus.

“See you around, Julian,” the Watchman said, his eyes already scanning the traffic moving in and out of the City. I let the flow carry me within the white walls.

Moving to the curb, I paused to take a look around. Ahead, wide steps led up to a circular colonnade which sheltered a rearing dragon. Tall mansions surrounded the statue, their ornate facades complementing the style of the rotunda, their bronze doors gleaming in the late afternoon light.

The smell of stone dust, sun on lichen, the sweat from numerous bodies assailed my nose after the clean air on the road. Heat shimmered off the pavements and marble walls, overcoming the slight lake breeze that crept in the open gates.

Voices and footsteps swirled between the buildings and crested along the high walls like the high tide running through the coastal chimneys of my childhood in Anvil. High Rock, Skyrim, Wrothgarian accents competed with myriad other dialects I didn’t recognize. Street urchins and ragged Khajiits darted through the chaos.

Stop gawking like a country bumpkin, Julian, I told myself. It’s not like it’s the first large city you’ve ever been in. Looking for someone I could ask for directions, I locked gazes with a Watchman, his plate armor adding to the commotion as he clanked toward me. My heart started pounding, and my palms collected all the moisture from my mouth. Please, Akatosh, let him be going somewhere else. He stopped in front of me, his gaze traveling from my white hair to the Kvatch Wolf on my left arm to my dusty boots. I ignored the voice in my head screaming Run! and held my ground, breathing deeply.

His level gaze returned to mine, containing only a neutral alertness. His sword remained sheathed at his side. “Good day, ma’am,” he said, his quiet voice carrying well in the babble of the street. “What brings you to the Imperial City?”

“I’ve been traveling all day, sir,” hoping the nerves I felt didn’t show in my voice, I answered as quietly. “I’ve been told that Luther Broad’s Boarding House is a good place to stay, but I don’t know where it is.”

“That’s in the Elven Gardens District, ma’am,” he responded. “You’re in the Talos Plaza District.” He pointed at the tall dragon statue in the center of the round piazza ahead. “Turn left at the Dragon, follow Talos Way. Go through the gates at the end, you’ll be in the Elven Gardens then. Continue down Garden Way, that’s what the main street is called there, to the center. You’ll find Luther’s on the left hand side at the intersection with Home Street.”

“Thanks, sir,” I nodded, recalling that the Imperial City was laid out like a wheel.

“You’ll find Luther’s to be comfortable,” he assured me, before turning to the Watchmen standing near the gates in the outer wall. With a stifled sigh of relief, I headed toward the plaza.

Diving back into the traffic, I trudged up the steps to the towering statue of Akatosh. Turning left at the open rotunda, I identified Talos Way by its gentle curve and started northward. The daylight faded fast, brought on by the overcast gathering above. The air grew more oppressive, more humid. Around me, the streetlights began glowing, set alit one by one. A petite Breton woman, clad in a mage apprentice robe, cast a pinpoint flare at the next lantern. The glowing flame settled within its iron cage and grew into a snapping, crackling torch fire that filled the entire fixture. She caught me watching and smiled, not pausing in her task.

The open gates dividing the two quarters appeared before me as I limped along Talos Way. The traffic of people trickled away, and I realized that the dinner hour was upon us. It was full dark by the time I reached the gates and passed through, avoiding the gazes of the Watchmen standing guard on either side of the portal.

“It’s going to storm,” one guard said to his counterpart on the other side of the portal. “I can feel it in my joints.”

“You can feel everything in your joints,” the other growled back. “I think it’s just your rhoomatik talking.”

“And my rhoomatik knows everything,” the first shot back. He caught my involuntary glance as I walked past. “Ma’am.”

My limping stride paused as I regarded the weathered face of the older Watchman, the boyish visage of the other. I couldn’t resist the repartee. “Actually, my nose says it’s going to storm,” I added, laying my finger along my thrice-broken appendage. “I can smell it.”

The younger Watchman grumbled something about old folks as I winked at the weathered face and continued on. They don’t recognize me, or they don’t care, as long as I don’t make any trouble. Smiling to myself, I continued deeper into the Elven Gardens.

The air here was softer, less oppressive, the buildings set back from the streets. Small gardens fronted each residence, smaller than those in the Talos Plaza, but still ornate in their decorations and design. The doors here were clad in copper, rather than the bronze of the more wealthy district, but still beautiful with that distinctive verdigris patina. Lush roses, fragrant jasmine, and showy morning glory climbed the lower levels of the residences, while perky primroses bloomed alongside the curb.

Dark green magnolias and brilliant red dwarf maples arched over the street and stood guard beside the stoops leading to those copper doors. In spite of the overcast, the atmosphere of the district was inviting, clean, and cheerful.

Ahead, triple-armed streetlamps marked the center of the district, casting a warm yellow light on the surrounding plantings. On one corner, a sign above a large double door announced The King and Queen Tavern. Across the smaller Home Street, Luther Broad’s Boarding House topped a single green-patinaed door. The rain started falling as I crossed the street and opened the door.

[Olen]

I good description of the Imperial City but still no Baurus, I want to see how you potray him .

The smell of stone dust, sun on lichen

Brilliant. Especially the sun of lichen, an unusual observation but all the more evocative for it. I'd have never thought of mentioning that smell but it really brings the place alive.

I liked the gate guards. rhoomatik , a little homage to Pratchett per chance?

Good stuff.

[SubRosa]

A Watchman met my gaze
So was that The Comedian? Nite Owl? Ozymandius?

I ignored the voice in my head screaming Run! and held my ground, breathing deeply.
Reminds me of a certain stringy Bosmer her first time back in the IC as well. I think we were all there our first time playing the game, when we had no idea what would happen the first time we met a guardsman after escaping from the prison.

One of the things I liked in this was how you created street names. Talos Way, Garden Way, Elm Street (watch for the burned guy with the claws...), etc... It is a small thing, but little things like that, and the apprentice lighting the lamps, add up to weave a strong setting.

And now on to Luther, I hear he has the best broads in the city! Then of course Baurus, James Baurus...

This post has been edited by SubRosa: May 14 2010, 07:53 PM

[Destri Melarg]

My first impression upon reading this chapter was that I, like Olen, was drawn in by your description of the Imperial City, but it did raise a question. Is this Julian’s first time in the city proper? I know that you made a point of saying that her last visit to the city was done under the debilitating effect of skooma. And we have all witnessed the fact that she has a great familiarity with the dungeon and the catacombs beneath it. It comes as a surprise to me that she describes the city as if she were coming into it for the first time in her life. I would imagine that even under a skooma haze, familiar surroundings remain familiar.

Then I read this line:

Stop gawking like a country bumpkin, Julian, I told myself. It’s not like it’s the first large city you’ve ever been in.

Isn’t it nice when reading something raises a question in your mind that is answered only a few paragraphs down the page?

SubRosa already addressed the wonderful detail of the street names. Let me add to her praise by saying that the Breton woman lighting the street lamps was an especially nice touch.

“It’s going to storm,” one guard said to his counterpart on the other side of the portal. “I can feel it in my joints.”

This poor guard has no idea just how true that statement is!