Old Habits Die Hard Part Two, An old dog learns new tricks Options

[Olen]

More worldbuilding and nicely done. You make the waterfront a living breathing place and give it's inhabitants real personalities. I suspect we'll be seeing more of all of them unless I'm mistaken.

and the staircase that punctured its immensity

Brilliant line.

You caught the slightly wierd behaviour of Malvulis well, she's agressive but too afraid to attack (until you get on the boat when they all go insane). It's a miricle they don't get investigated if she threatens everyone like that - it's not even like they have anything interesting to hide.

I agree that Lex's perfect teeth are priceless, you already know the sort of character he is from that.

My only mild criticism would be that while weaving in the game dialogue was cleverly done it would have been nice to see it expanded so as not to change subject so wildly and quickly.

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: I’ve always thought of Malvulis as being very possessive of all her pirates (and the ship as well). Sometimes I wonder how she gets along with the captain! Now you’ve got me thinking about Adanrel’s brother. What is the real tragedy here? I’m going to go back and make a small adjustment to that tidbit that will tie it better into future events on the Waterfront.

@Acadian: I’m glad you enjoyed Julian’s experiences in the Waterfront and meeting up with some of its denizens.

@Olen: I always thought Malvulis strange. I’m glad you agree that Lex’s perfect teeth are a reflection of the man. As for expanding on the in-game dialogue, it would lead to the chapter being twice as long, and Julian will never get that Daedric artifact!

A little more world-building before Julian hits the road again.

****************
Chapter 12.3 Settling In

I woke before dawn, to a dying fire. Stepping outside, I headed to the harbor-front, where Christophe had told me the woodcutter’s shop was located. As he had said, I found it located in the north end of the harbor-front, across from the Marie Elena. Inside, I found a Breton woman, worn features showing years of hard work, working on a ledger.

“Hello, ma’am,” I greeted her when she squinted up at me. She brushed a stray lock of grey hair behind one ear.

“What can I do for you, ma’am?” she answered.

“I’m Julian of Anvil, I need wood for my fire,” I said. “I just bought old Tormund’s house.”

“Ah, yes, that shack at the end of Dareloth Way,” the woman responded. “I’m Muriel Perielle. I can get a load to you today, for forty drakes.”

“How about in the next hour or so?” I asked. “I’ll pay fifty.”

“Done,” Perielle responded quickly. “And we’ll keep it stocked, as long as you pay in advance.”

“Understood,” I responded. “Do I need to be home to receive the delivery?”

“No, we’ll stack it against your house,” Perielle shook her head.

“All right, I’ll go for breakfast, then,” I said. “Thanks.”

After breakfast at the Bloated Float, I found the woodpile at the side of the house. First, I brought wood to Christophe’s house to replace the the logs he had given me last night. Back in my house, I got the fire going again. My pack dumped out on the bed, I gathered the alchemy equipment I had assembled in my travels - the mortar and pestle, the retort, the calcinator, and the alembic. I laid them out on the table, along with The Fundaments of Alchemy. Then I sorted out my ingredients, surprised at how much I had already collected.

I saw again the strange root I had found on the north shore of City Isle. It no longer glowed or chimed, but I still found its soft texture fascinating. I put it aside.

A review of the first chapter of the Fundaments taught me the effects of the different alchemical equipment. I realized that any potions or poisons I made would be more potent with the additional equipment.

I took some of the lady’s smock leaves and cairn bolete, grinding them first, then rendering them over the fire in the retort, calcinator and alembic. The resulting mixture barely covered the bottom of the glass vial. Swirling it thoughtfully, I poured it into the palm of my hand, then licked it off. Promptly I felt a warmth suffuse through my body from my belly, and the normal aches and pains of every morning disappeared. Restore health, I thought to myself, remembering a page from Sigrid’s little book.

I spent the next couple of hours seated on the floor by the fireplace, my equipment and ingredients spread around me, referring to the Pocket Guide for effects. I made different combinations, tried them on myself to test their effectiveness. Some made me sick, but most improved my health, magicka, or strength. I made notes in the margins of Sigrid’s volume.

Finally weary, I stopped and looked at my collection of potions. Cure Poison, Damage Health, Restore Health, I mused to myself. Paralysis. Hmm, that could be useful, if only it would last longer. Still, it could give me an edge against a stronger enemy.

I put the paralyzing poisons and the poison cures aside, for my own use. The other substances I had created I placed in my belt pouch.

Sell these potions, try to raise some money for furnishings for my house. I knew I wanted some storage in the house, at least. A place to keep my alchemical equipment would be nice.

******************
I headed to the Green Emperor Way, and limped around the White Gold Tower, avoiding the Imperial Palace Guards. It was late afternoon by the time I reached the Market District. Outside Phintias’s First Edition, I looked across the street at the shop directly opposite. The Copious Coinpurse. I decided to try that one and see what the merchant within knew about bartering.

Inside, I found a wide assortment of items, from a striking patterned rug on the floor to a staggering display of clothing of all kinds and colors. Behind the counter, a Bosmer looked up at me, his expression brightening as I walked across the store.

“Hi! I’m Thoronir! What kind of deal can I make for you today?” he asked eagerly. “I have the best prices in town! Why? Because I’m smart, and you’re smart. We know the right people, we get the best deals.”

I found him an easier haggle than Calindil, and soon sold off my potions for a good amount of septims. My purse now heavier, I left the smiling Bosmer and headed across the District towards The Three Brothers Trade and Goods.

Inside, I found more household items and fewer clothes. An Imperial man greeted me from the rear of the store. “Tertullian, Sergius, and Cicero, the three Verus Brothers. I’m Sergius.”

“And I’m Julian, from Anvil,” I answered. “I just bought a house, and Vinicia Melissaeia recommended you for the furnishings.”

“She did, then?” Sergius smiled, his face warming at me. “How is the old girl?”

I considered his question for a moment. “Stressed,” I answered. The shopkeeper’s smile widened into a grin.

“I swear she complains more than the folks who see her!” he exclaimed. “But she recommended me for your house, so let’s see what I can do for you!” He stepped to a nearby lectern, opening it and taking out a sheaf of parchment. “Which house did you buy?”

“A small house in the Waterfront District,” I said. Verus’s face fell slightly.

“Oh, the hovel,” his tone cooled a bit. “Well,” he looked down at the parchment in his hands, and sorted through them. He set aside a small stack, and placed the rest back into the lectern. “This is what I have for you,” he continued, picking up the small stack and riffling through them, reading off each one, “a dining set, a kitchen set, a sitting group, a storage set, and wall hangings to decorate the house. They’re seven septims and thirty-two drakes each.”

Seven and thirty-two! I only have a thousand drakes or so! I swallowed against my dry mouth. “I’ll give you six septims and sixty-eight for the storage set,” I replied. Verus frowned at me, but pulled one of the parchments from his hand and gave it to me. I counted out the agreed amount onto the table between us and thanked him.

“For an additional fifty drakes, I’ll have it sent down to your place right away,” he said, sweeping the coins off the table. “You can have the set by sundown.”

Seven and eighteen. Still less than the original price. “Should I be there, then?” I asked him. He looked up at me, his brown eyes assessing my frame.

“If you want the boys to place it for you,” he answered. “Otherwise, they’ll leave the chests outside your door, and you’ll have to move them in yourself.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said. “I’ll head down right away.”

“I appreciate your business, Julian,” Verus’s tone indicated otherwise, but I decided to not let that bother me.

“I look forward to doing more business with you,” I said to him. “After all, I’ve got a house to furnish!”

*****************
True to Verus’s word, a knock came at my door just a couple of hours later. Three hulking Argonians waited outside, each carrying a blanket-wrapped item on his back.

“Julian of Anvil?” the leader hissed at me. At my nod, he shifted the heavy package on his shoulders. “Your order iss here,” he explained.

“Of course,” I stepped back to let them in. “What are you carrying?”

“I’ve got a chesst of drawerss,” the Argonian replied. “Sso doess Red Clawss,” he nodded at another Argonian, only slightly smaller than himself. “And Blue-Tongue hass a chesst,” he indicated the smallest Argonian.

They shifted their feet, waiting for me to direct them. “I’d like the two drawers here in the corner,” I indicated the open space just past the foot of the bed, “facing each other.” As the two big porters moved to the corner, I looked at the third Argonian. “And Blue-Tongue, if you can put that chest over here,” I indicated the wall on the other side of the fireplace, “that would be fine.”

A few moments later, my new furniture stood in place, unwrapped and ready for use. I looked at the leader. “Your name is, please, sir?”

“I am Word-Sslayer,” he answered. He grinned toothily at me. “On account of my ssinging sskillss.”

Staring at him blankly, I tried to imagine that hissing voice raised in song. Suddenly I understood the irony. “Oh, of course,” I said. “Thank you very much, Word-Slayer,” I slipped three drakes into his hand, “Red-Claws, and Blue-Tongue,” I did the same for each. All three of them blinked at the shining coins in their palms, then nodded happily at me.

“It wass our pleassure, ma’am,” Word-Slayer said warmly, as the other two murmured similar sentiments. They turned and left, Blue-Tongue closing the door softly behind them.

It took me about thirty minutes to put all my gear away. The books, keys and the deed went into one dresser, my clothes into the other dresser, and my alchemy equipment and other assorted items into the chest. I set my weapons in the corner.

Seated on the bed with my armor, I spent the next hour oiling cuirass and greaves, restoring the suppleness that gra-Sharob had worked so hard to instill into the leather. After that, I sharpened and conditioned my katana, as well as Daedra Slayer. I checked my arrows, examining the fletching to make sure none were worn or broken, and eyeing each shaft. I discovered a couple which had become warped, and set them aside. Then it was the bow’s turn to get oiled. I also checked my bowstrings, finding them still good, and packed them away in my pack.

Next I stripped out of my skirt and the stitched green shirt Belisarius had given me. I hung the shirt beside the fireplace to air out, and draped my tan skirt over the foot of the bed. Crawling under the covers, I was soon asleep.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Aug 12 2010, 03:16 PM

[SubRosa]

Pirates killed Adanrel's brother. Now that is more interesting, and it makes me suspect that Julian might be seeing more of the Marie Elena's crew than I had first imagined.

Some made me sick
Shades of Rales here!

So Julian is moving in and getting comfortable. Plus she is finally experimenting with alchemy a bit. This is a nice diversion from the grind of the main quest, as it gives us Julian some time to develop a personal life. It is interesting to see what that will come out to be when things are over and done with. Alchemist to the poor? Pirate-hunter?

nits:
and limped around the White Gold Palace
Not really a nit, just something that caught my eye. Usually it is either The Imperial Palace, or White Gold Tower. I am not sure if you wanted one of those, or combined them on purpose.

[Acadian]

I thoroughly enjoyed spending this ordinary day with Julian as she settles into her new home, dealing with all the things that are necessary. I know she has a task ahead and will return to the road, but you can regale us with these wonderful 'daily life' chapters as often as you like. I, for one, am glad you did.


Wonderful touches as she explores the world of alchemy. Likewise, it was great to see Thoronir and Sergius. I also thoroughly enjoyed the depth you so efficiently infused into the three Argoniansss that delivered her furniture.


Not a nit; rather just a tiny considertion:

My pack dumped out on the bed, I gathered the alchemy equipment I had gathered in my travels - the mortar and pestle, the retort, the calcinator, and the alembic.

The use of 'gathered' in such close proximity caused me just a touch of pause. Would you have preferred something like? '…I gathered the alchemy equipment I had assembled during my travels - …'

[Olen]

I too feel that this mundane section has added a great deal to Julian's character it may otherwise have been hard to show and has also been refreshingly different from the hacking and slashing inherant in the MQ. You caught the sort of fun feel of moving into a new place anyway. Just wait until those alchemy skills get better and she buys a place in Anvil... Then she'll get the less fun of moving out.

The alchemy practise was fun too, I agree with SubRosa about the similarity to Rales.

The resulting mixture barely covered the bottom of the glass vial.

Is that some chemistry experieance talking...

[Destri Melarg]

Chapter 12.2 Dinner Company

Interesting take on Malvulis, I guess her overprotective nature extends to the crew as well as to the ship. I have always had the sneaking suspicion that she and Captain Tussaud are more than just colleagues, but I couldn’t tell you where that comes from. Maybe it’s just the fact that Tussaud made a Dunmer woman his first mate. It says something about his character that he is willing to go against convention like that and give the job to the one most qualified for it. Though it does have some real world correlation, many of the ‘officers’ (and even some of the captains) of the ships that terrorized the Caribbean during the age of piracy were escaped African slaves. Historically speaking a pirate ship was one of the best examples of meritocracy at work.

I have always wondered what prompted someone to petition the Dark Brotherhood to have Tussaud murdered on his ship, in front of his crew. I actually have a rough draft of a short story written about that very thing.

Chapter 12.3 Settling in

Julian’s inherited fascination with alchemy is contagious. It made me want to fire up the PS3 and brew a few potions of my own.

I could just see Verus’ face when he said ‘oh, the hovel.” And ‘Word-Sslayer’ was hilarious! I loved this chapter!

[SubRosa]

Though it does have some real world correlation, many of the ‘officers’ (and even some of the captains) of the ships that terrorized the Caribbean during the age of piracy were escaped African slaves. Historically speaking a pirate ship was one of the best examples of meritocracy at work.

Indeed. IRL pirates elected their captain, and unelected them if they were not happy with the leadership. Not to mention they sailed under ships articles that actually gave the crew rights. It is ironic, and actually very sad, that conditions aboard a pirate ship were much better than they were on a regular one.

[Remko]

A most relaxing chapter.

I couldn't help smiling at this:

Some made me sick

@SubRosa: Unelect.... yeah... that's one way to put it

[Winter Wolf]

I love your writing when you choose to branch off the beaten path. It allows so much room for character exploration. The alchemy lesson was great fun (not for Julian though!) and the house buying and haggling skills of Julian were sublime!

It took me about thirty minutes to put all my gear away.

What, only thirty minutes?? Not possible! A woman?? No way!!

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: Thanks for the nit - it’s been fixed. Alchemist to the poor, pirate hunter, who knows what Julian will end up doing when all is said and done? I’m sure yet another career will be suggested in upcoming chapters.

@Acadian: Thanks for your nit - it has been fixed as well. I had fun exploring the practical aspects of life on the Waterfront - such as where do you get the wood for your fireplace? What to eat when you don’t yet have a kitchen (though Julian will use her kitchen set for the IC shack for her alchemy equipment - with the Bloated Float so near, why cook)? Who takes care of your gear if you don’t? I’m glad you enjoyed her couple of days on the Waterfront.

@Olen: Who said anything about buying a place in Anvil? Or anywhere else, for that matter? As for the alchemy mixture, yes, that was Analytical Chemistry speaking! It’s amazing what you end up with when you distill something from raw into pure form. Kind of like reducing a wine sauce down to a thick substance that coats your steak so lusciously! Yum!

@Destri: Aye, you have it correct - pirate ships were the first real meritocracy. Only flaw in that plan, when the plunder gets light, instead of riding it out, the crew often makes the erstwhile cap’n walk the plank and pick a new one. There have been several historical books on the subject: Under the Black Flag: The Romance and Reality of Life Among the Pirates (David Cordingly) is one of the better books I’ve read on the subject. Yes, the name ‘Word-Sslayer’ was an all-too uncommon stroke of genius.

@Remko: Thanks, I’m glad you enjoyed Julian’s experiments with alchemy. I had already written this scene (first draft) when I read of Rales’s own explorations. Great minds think alike all too often.

@Wolf: I’m glad you enjoyed this brief foray off the beaten path. I had fun writing this interlude between segments of the MQ. Can’t believe Julian only took thirty minutes to put her gear away? Let’s see, she has one outfit (skirt and shirt), one pair of shoes, a few books, a bunch of alchemical ingredients, two swords (one enchanted), one bow, one quiver of arrows, a dagger, a leather cuirass, leather greaves, and leather boots. Honestly, how long does it take to put that away? She took longer than I would have!

On the road again, Julian unconsciously forms a new habit. Sorry, Acadian, no filling meal this time.

****************
Chapter 12.4 A New Habit

The sun was halfway toward the zenith when we passed Pell’s Gate. From my hours of studying the map, I knew that the Red Ring Road followed the shore of Lake Rumare, more or less, while the other roads radiated off of it. The road I wanted, the Green Road, left the Red Ring Road southwards, just east of the settlement we had passed. Paint stopped at the fork, letting me scan the countryside. The Green Road ran up a hill into heavy woods to the south. Turning Paint onto the right fork, I let him pick his pace up the hill. While he didn’t exactly amble, he walked at a brisk but still cautious pace, his head up and ears tipped forward towards the road ahead. His attitude told me that no danger was near.

As we crested the hill, I spotted the distinctive red-and-black clouds that signaled the presence of an Oblivion Gate ahead. Paint slowed down as we started down the other side of the hill. Halfway down the slope, I could see the fiery lens of the Gate, set back from the road where it curved first west, then back south in a lazy S-curve. At the bottom of the hill, bare meters away from the Gate, a doe paced restlessly on the paving stones with an air of confusion.

The roaring of the Gate increased in volume as we reached the bottom of the slope. It stood about six meters away from the road, turning the entire world around it a hot, burning red. The doe alerted at us and fled west, away from the Gate. We continued along the road as I kept my shield toward the Gate against any flares. Paint marched along, his head up and looking to both sides of the road and ahead. I could feel his strong back rounding up beneath me, gathering his muscles in case he needed to bolt.

Nothing stirred around the Gate as we continued on, and I rubbed Paint’s mane slowly with my right hand. He eased down a little, but still continued to watch our surroundings, his ears flicking back and forth, alternating between pinning back flat against his neck, and pointing up to the sides and forward.

Passing the Gate without incident, we continued down the road until we reached a ramshackle inn on the other side of the Gate. I looked at the sign - Inn of Ill Omen. I stopped Paint before it and dismounted, dropping the reins to the ground in a signal for him to stand quietly.

Within the inn, I heard the shuffling of feet before my eyes adjusted to the dimness and saw the two figures within.

“Hello stranger,” a woman’s voice reached me first. “We don’t see many visitors around here.” I turned to see an older Redguard woman, grey hair pulled back into a bun, a large stein in her hand. She swayed slightly, then sat down in a chair behind her. The stein clumped a little heavily on the table, sloshing some of its ale. “Makes things pretty lonely for me, if you know what I mean,” she finished, her speech slurred.

“Not much company here?” I asked her.

“The only people that stay here are stragglers on the Green Road.” The woman took a swig of her ale, then wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Me, I’ve got no place else to be. Besides,” she paused, took another swallow from her stein, “I think Mannheim is sweet on me.”

“Mannheim?” I repeated. In answer, the Redguard pointed towards a tall Nord man at the innkeeper’s counter. As I followed her gesture, I heard a thump behind me. I looked back to see she had slumped face down on the table.

I walked to the counter. The Nord -Mannheim- greeted me. “Well, I’ll be a spotted snow bear! A customer!”

I smiled at his turn of phrase. “I’ve actually seen one of those,” I commented, as I set the Kvatch Wolf down, leaning it against the counter. I sat on a stool. “I’d like some lunch, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure!” The Nord turned to the fire behind him, spooning a thin soup into a bowl and placing it in front of me. “What to drink?” he asked.

“Water?” I asked, sampling the soup. I barely managed to rid my face of the grimace before he turned back to me with a tumbler of water. Too salty, and something else is off. I took a swallow of the lukewarm water, washing the last of the rancid taste out of my mouth.

“Ill Omen?” I asked, pointing behind me out the door.

“It’s a horrible name for an inn, I know. But I just can’t bring myself to change it. Besides, I like the sign.” He smiled at me. “Mannheim Maulhand, at your service ma’am. I like Minerva fine,” he waved at the unconscious woman, “but it’s good to have a new face here!”

I managed to choke down a couple more swallows of the soup. “How’s business these days?” I asked him, thinking of the Oblivion Gate just up the hill behind the inn. Maulhand frowned at me.

“Not so good,” he answered. “Only Minerva and Kaeso Marsias, the forester. Even less now that that damn Gate has opened up behind us. Marsias has already tangled with some of the daedra that came out of that place.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what will happen to us if he gets killed!”

I met the Nord’s open gaze. “Are there any other Legion soldiers around here?”

Maulhand shook his head vigorously. “No, Kaeso’s the only one we’ve got. He did send a request for reinforcements, but so far nothing!” I considered his words, not liking the idea of one man against swarming daedra.

I managed to down the last of the fetid soup without gagging. After a long draught of the water, I looked at Maulhand. The soup sat heavily in my stomach, but stayed down, thanks to the water.

“I have a horse, sir,” I said to him. “I’ll be gone for a short bit, would you mind keeping an eye on him, and making sure he has some water?” I put a drake on the counter.

“Oh, certainly!” Maulhand nodded vigorously. “What’s his name?”

“Paint,” I answered. Maulhand grinned good-humoredly, already reaching for a bucket next to the fire.

I went out, and Paint pricked his ears at me. “No, you stay here,” I said to him, whispering into his trim ear. “I’ve got to go take care of that Gate. I’ll be back.”

With a glance at the Wolf in my left hand, I whispered a prayer to Talos and Akatosh. Behind the inn, I started up the slope, angling just to the south of the Gate, trying to reconnoiter the area. I circled the Gate and made my approach from uphill, spotting several scamps and avoiding their flares. It became clear to me that after throwing a few flares, they seemed to run out of Magicka, for they would attack with their claws. I just had to keep from being swarmed by them. Finally, I cleared the area, and turned toward the Gate.

Walking up to that fire tested my resolve. I hated doing it, but I liked the idea of the lone forester facing wave after wave of daedra invaders even less. Matius had managed to do so, but he had more men. I couldn’t continue down the road, knowing my Legion brother had to fend for himself alone.

I reached out to that inferno, and was sucked into it . . .

[SubRosa]

I had fun exploring the practical aspects of life on the Waterfront - such as where do you get the wood for your fireplace? What to eat when you don’t yet have a kitchen (though Julian will use her kitchen set for the IC shack for her alchemy equipment - with the Bloated Float so near, why cook)? Who takes care of your gear if you don’t?

Those are things I have thought about too. I especially wonder about firewood. There do not seem to be too many trees near the IC for people to be cutting them down. That was one reason I invented heat stones in the TF (although poor people like those on the Waterfront would not be able to afford them). Charcoal would be a reasonable thought too. I have tossed around the idea of using coal as well, as it was being used as far back as the Bronze age (and might also help explain how some of those Dwemer robots work, as they look very steam-punk).

The Romans tackled the issue of how to cook when you have no kitchen. Most Romans lived in apartments that had no cooking facilities (and if they did, they would probably would have burned down the tenement!), so they ate at hot food stands called thermopolia (which we will see in the next chapter of the TF).

For your gear, go to A Fighting Chance, Rohssan will take care of you.

So Julian came across her first random Oblivion Gate? The reason I left those completely out of the TF is because they are so anti-climatic. Why did Marooned Dragon and the mystic dawn even bother creating them, when they are no threat to anyone? If a city is laid waste every time a Gate opens, that is scary. If the local bears can kill the one or two daedra who bother to show themselves, what's the big deal? IMHO, they make the Oblivion Crisis not feel like a crisis at all.

You could of course make them more dangerous by actually having a horde of daedra come out of each random gate. But the problem there is that Cyrodiil would be annihilated in short order since there are 60 gates turning up in an area that is only about 20 miles across.

I suggest taking the random gates out of your story completely, and only use the ones in the Allies for Bruma quest. Have small armies of daedra come out of those and attack the cities. Without the siege crawler o course because they need a Great Gate for that. But still enough to trap the people inside and kill anyone who comes out. That will make them seem like a threat, and keep the Crisis feeling like an actual crisis.

Sorry if it sounds like I am ranting at you. I am just trying to offer a constructive viewpoint to make your story seem more believable and engaging. There are many things in the game that simply do not translate to fiction, because it is a game after all. Bethesda does not have to convince us it is real. As writers however, we do.

I always liked the Inn of Ill Omen, especially the sign. Although I of course cannot see what a raven has to do with a bad omen...

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jul 17 2010, 08:11 PM

[Acadian]

I agree that the soup was less than great. I figure Manheim's recipe was probably some water, an onion, a fistfull of salt and a stone. Yep, we usually have what Minerva was having there. 'Course, Julian wisely avoided that. It felt comfy and right at home being in the Inn - that is because your prose nailed it so nicely.

Paint is so cool, and such fun to read! You well captured that ominous feeling when the sky begins to darken with distant rolls of thunder.

The Oblivion gate brings up a dilemma. Julian has other things to do, but some of those infernal gates really do threaten innocents. I know what she is feeling - it is hard to walk away under those circumstances. Sometimes you find a dead soldier and his bay along the road where there is a nearby gate - how can you just let that go? Or the corpses of a poor little Black Horse Courier and her steed. Good on you Julian - you truly are a hero in our book. You capture what many of feel as we deal with those gates.

I figure Marooned Dragon just pops a slew of those things randomly, realizing that some of them will land where they will really do some harm. Others don't really produce hordes; perhaps they are just for terror / harrassment, and powered by different sigil stones. Perhaps his intent is to wear down the Empire before his major effort. Who can fathom the purposes of a Daedra Lord?

I bet Julian is not the only intrepid one or ones closing those darn things. In fact, I would imagine the Empire is probably enticing many adventurers with a large bounty on sigil stones.

[Olen]

Hmm a random Oblivion Gate, I always just ignore them but I can see why Julian might not. I can see why you want to include one though even if they were of little consequence in game the story allows them to be a greater threat and I can imagine it showing how nasty things get when trade routes are closed.

Good description of the Inn, and it's inhabitants. I look forward to Manheim's reaction when Julian comes back with the gate closed...

[ureniashtram]

Marooned Dragon and the mystic dawn

Marooned Dragon? Bwahaha, nice one, 'Rosa! What's next? Akatosh being mistakened for Macintosh and Mara renamed Mariah Carey? (cackles madly)

Anyways, I finally caught up. And let me tell you. Wow. Outstanding. And random Oblvion Gates? gotta agree with SubRosa there. It seems Big M planned on giving his Storm Atronachs and Dremoras medals for burning down a legion of trees or torturing hapless and mindless deers.

He is after all the Daedra prince of Destruction, not Planning! (cackles again)

[SubRosa]

Marooned Dragon and the mystic dawn

Marooned Dragon? Bwahaha, nice one, 'Rosa! What's next? Akatosh being mistakened for Macintosh and Mara renamed Mariah Carey? (cackles madly)

Marooned Dragon is not mine. Rachel the Breton came up with that in her hilarious Edward the Imperial fan fic.

[Remko]

Shame Rachel (and some others too) never made their way over here too. Reading the fics on that other forum is neigh impossible because of the loading times. (could be becuause of hugely outdated internetexplorer we are using at work)

I agree with SubRosa on the randomness of the gates. They don't make sense, however, creating confusion might well be Marooned Dragon's™ motivation behind them. Who knows the mind of a Daeda?

[D.Foxy]

Maroooooooooned Dwagon@HilariousHelena.com! Now that brings back Memories - and I ain't referring to Ole Andy....

As for figuring out the mind of a Daedra, I give up. I can't even figure out the mind of Deidre. I can, however, figure out her figure, mind.

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: In the game, I tend to leave those Gates alone, but it just doesn’t sit well with Julian to leave those next to the roads open. They serve as ideal ambush points (in her military mindset) should a Legion troop or trading caravan pass by. As there are comments in-game that the Legion is spread so thin, I figure these random gates are part of it. Speaking of which, the one gate not associated with any city but makes no sense to me as a quest is Fort Sutch. Why are the Legion soldiers so intent on closing that one Gate in the middle of nowhere, when there are so many sitting virtually on top of roads elsewhere in Cyrodiil? Thanks for the input - I will leave the random gates in there, but Julian will not purposely go looking for them, and as she sticks mostly to the roads for the duration of the MQ, the gates she does close do pose a danger from her perspective. I figure Marooned Dragon just decided to open a bunch of smaller gates wherever he could because he could. As for whether or not they actually serve as a point of attack, I’ll address that in upcoming chapters.

@Acadian: Actually, I figure the soup was made with swamp water, a fistful of salt, a rotten piece of pork rind, and a moldy onion. Be sure Julian won’t eat there again! Your thoughts on the random gates are spot on - that is pretty much how Julian sees them, and her responsibility as a Legion soldier/Blade agent.

@Olen: I’m with you - I usually ignore the random ones anyway when I play the game. Apparently Julian’s a better woman than I am.

@Ureniashtram: I think you’re right - Marooned Dragon is not known for strategic planning. That’s why he has Mankar Camoran. The big red guy just likes to bash things up, kind of like the guys on Mythbusters.

@Remko: I don’t try to understand the mind of a Daedra Lord. After all, look at Sheogorath!

@Foxy: Yes, I miss the Marooned Dragon and Neveragaine Helena, too. But we have Boxee’s Ra’jirra, and he is comic relief galore all on his own furry self!

Here Julian discovers an alternative to Ill Omen for her next trip through the area, and meets the forester that motivated her to close this particular random gate.

***************
Chapter 12.5 Legion Brother

. . . And twelve hours later, I was back, standing on that rocky, forested hillside, sucking in lungfuls of cool night air. While the Gate had opened to a much smaller island than the one at Kvatch, with a half-sized sigil keep, it had been tougher to get through, thanks to a winding path littered with deadly mines. I looked down ruefully at the scorch marks in my leather cuirass, left behind by the first two mines before I had figured out their deadly attacks.

My flare spell had proved to be very valuable, for I had used it to set off each mine as I saw it, getting some practice in spellcasting and improving my aim at the same time. I had to remember to duck the fireballs thrown by each mine as it exploded, so that short but winding path up to the keep kept me occupied for quite some time. By the time I had reached the keep, I was soaked in sweat and panting with exertion.

Now that I stood in Cyrodiil again, warm sigil stone clutched in my shield hand, I looked around me. Glad of the absence of the red-and-black clouds, I studied the clear night sky above me. A snuffling warned me of a surviving scamp. Ducking his flare, I searched for its point of origin. Another flare gave away his position, and I drew my sword and ran for him. He quickly ran out of Magicka, leaving himself vulnerable to my katana.

With no more enemies in sight, I looked around again. I saw a Wayshrine below the Green Road, almost directly opposite the Inn of Ill Omen. As I walked towards it, cutting across the road, I spotted another inn, this one a little better kept-up in appearance, near the Wayshrine. Faregyl Inn, this one said. I decided to visit it the next time I passed this way. Maybe the food here is better than Maulhand’s. I could understand why travelers avoided the Nord’s inn, between the ominous sign and the horrendous food.

Zenithar. The writing on the altar was barely visible in the dim light of the stars. The moons had already set, making it early in the morning, likely about an hour before dawn. I reached down and touched the altar, feeling its healing power surge through me, my cuts, scrapes, burns and aches dissipating in the white glow of confidence.

Turning away from the shrine, I hiked my way uphill back to the Inn of Ill Omen. Paint turned his head as I approached, his ears up in the dim light. I smooched at him, and he shook his head, the trembling working down his body to his tail. He then tossed his head and turned to face me, again giving me the once-over with his nose. I smiled at him, wondering if he was checking to see if I was still whole. I rubbed his mane fondly, noticing the bucket half-full of water nearby.

Rhythmic twanging and thumping drew my attention to the far side of the inn. The sigil stone went into the pack, and my quiver and bow onto the cantle. I gave Paint another pat on his neck before walking around the inn.

A black-haired Imperial stood a few meters in front of an archery target, drawing arrows from his quiver and shooting them from his bow in quick, smooth motions. He hesitated as I walked up and turned to face me, his high-cheekboned face young in the dim predawn light.

“Well met, citizen,” he greeted me. “I see few new faces these days, it seems. With the Emperor’s murder, a shadow has fallen across all of Cyrodiil.”

I eyed him. “Kaeso Marsias?” I asked. He nodded, his level gaze narrowing at me. “I’m Julian of Anvil,” I hastened to add. “Yes, I think you’re right about the shadow.” I nodded at the hillside behind the inn, now dark. “At least you don’t have to worry about that Oblivion Gate any more, sir.”

“What a relief that is,” Marsias nodded. “Those daedra are quite nasty. I’d rather stick with wolves, bears, and minotaurs, thank you.” He smiled at me. “And thank you, Hero of Kvatch.”

I shushed him automatically, but Marsias only shrugged. “As long as you’re carrying that Wolf,” he pointed at my shield, “everyone in the Legion will recognize you on sight. The story of how you went into that Great Gate at Kvatch alone and closed it by yourself -” he shook his head. “That’s the stuff of legends, ma’am.”

“No,” I shook my head. “That’s the stuff of ‘things that must be done,’ nothing unusual or magical about it.”

“I went into the Gate here, you know,” Marsias admitted to me. “Looked around, got scared, and hopped back out.” He shook his head again. “I just couldn’t go through with it.” His gaze fixed on me. “But you,” his black eyes flickered at my white hair, “you just went in there and closed it, just like you did at Kvatch,” he jerked his head behind him, up the hill.

I regarded him thoughtfully. “How long have you been a forester?” I asked him quietly. He looked away, shifting his feet.

“Ten years, since I joined the Legion.” Ah, I thought. Never fought in combat, only served as a forester. “Why?”

“You’ve been in the Legion long enough,” I answered quietly, “to know that you’re only mortal, and can be killed easily enough. You’re not ashamed to admit that something scares you, and that only comes with experience.” Now it was my turn to tip my head in the direction of the now-closed Gate. “I will be the first to tell you that I was terrified the whole time I was in there.”

“Terrified?” Marsias repeated, incredulous. “You?” He regarded me for a moment longer, while the light grew around us. “Yes, I guess you were terrified, too,” he said finally. “So how did you manage to get through it?”

I held his gaze for several long seconds. “You,” I said finally. “I did it for you.” I watched his thick black brows climb his forehead.

“M- me?” he stammered. “But I never met you until just this moment!”

“You’re my Legion brother,” I said quietly. “After twenty-five years in the Legion, I just can’t abandon another Legion soldier to face this alone.” I tapped the battered Wolf in emphasis. “We stick together, for we are Legion, no? I look out for you, you look out for me, that’s how we survive anything war throws at us. And believe me, this so-called Oblivion Crisis is war, too.”

Marsias stared at me, stunned. Finally, he dragged a breath in through his mouth and closed it. With a slow exhalation, he smiled. “I’ve never been so proud to be Legion until now,” he said quietly. “Thanks, Julian of Anvil.”

I gripped his wide shoulder in return, then turned for the inn door. Behind me, I heard the thwap-thunk as Marsias returned to his archery practice.

Inside, Minerva still slept face-down on the table. At first, I didn’t see anyone behind the counter, but heard a scuffling. A tousled-haired head appeared, rose to Maulhand’s full height.

“I’m sorry to wake you, sir,” I hastened to speak. “I just need to sit down by your fire and mend some armor, if that’s okay with you.”

“You found trouble, then?” Maulhand stepped from behind the counter and set a pot on the fire, stoking it until it roared. He pulled a chair from the nearby table and set it next to the fireplace, waving me to sit there.

“You could say that, sir,” I said, sitting down and bringing out my hammer. I set to work on the battered Wolf, knocking out the dents left by Dremora maces. Eyeing the katana, I decided to leave the fine steel for a better smith. Still, I felt more confident with my hammer, and managed to restore the Wolf to a close resemblance of his former self. I could do nothing about the scratched paint, though.

The sun was just breaking through the branches overhead when I stepped out of the inn and returned to Paint. Time to continue on to Bravil.

[Acadian]

This was extremely well done!

Your sense of how much of her gate ordeal to include and how much to gloss over was just right. You very efficiently gave us the full feel in a few paragraphs.

I loved how she set off those mines in the gate with her flare spell!

The highlight of this episode, of course, was the wonderful converstation with the young Legion Forrester. You portray Julian at her best here. The old Redguard certainly understands that courage is not the absence of fear; rather, action in its presence.

I see Julian also wrestles with a too slowly improving ability to repair her equipment.

Everything was nicely woven together with your rich detail and continuity when it came to Paint, both inns, Manheim and Minerva.

I know she must continue on to the fair bayside City of Mara, but I do hope she will indeed return to the Faregyl Inn for some of that wonderful potato bread.

This post has been edited by Acadian: Jul 19 2010, 07:06 PM

[SubRosa]

Using a Flare spell to set off the Daedric torpedoes (I have been reading a lot of Civil War history lately, so I think torpedoes instead of mines these days) was brilliant! I usually use arrows. I had no idea that magic attacks would work too!

“No,” I shook my head. “That’s the stuff of ‘things that must be done,’ nothing unusual or magical about it.” This gave me a chuckle. Now that is our no-nonsense Julian!

Good pacing throughout the piece. You did not spend too much time on the gate itself. Just enough to let us know it was a trial, but not so much to let it bog down the piece. Julian's conversation with the forester is the real gem here, as it shows the old pilus in her, and makes her motivations plain. An excellent example of how to show rather than tell when you write.

On her way to Bravil? Might she bump into a certain blond Bosmer bowgirl by chance?