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

[haute ecole rider]

@Fox: I borrowed a great deal from Art of War for Julian’s new combat philosophy. It’s a far cry from Legion fighting, in my humble opinion. And we wouldn’t want Foxee to be anything other than nautee!

@Sage Rosa: I suppose Fathis will keep his reasons for staying out of that Gate to himself, at least for now . . .

@Acadian: Julian will get stylin’ advice, but not from Ms. Delphine, unfortunately. And it won’t happen until Chapter 19. And I’m always glad to feed someone who is so appreciative of my cooking!

@Destri: Well, getting Julian to run into the skooma denizens may be a challenge - after all, they don’t go out, and she’s going to try her damnedest to stay away from the den. But Young Terentius, hmm . . . Oh, and we both miss Maxical . . .

@Olen: I’m glad you share my feeling about His Arrogance! Whether or not Julian bothers to tell him to take a long walk into a Gate is up to her, though.

Julian meets Lerus again, and the two women come to a new understanding.

****************
13.3 A Conversation with Lerus

First, Viera Lerus. I didn’t want to keep the Captain waiting long. I wasn’t sure when she ate dinner, but the Mages Guild kept late hours, and I knew the sun had gone down a long time ago. My slow limp carried me down Canal Street past the Warlock’s Luck and the skooma den, toward the Fighters Guild chapter-house standing at the east end. With careful steps I avoided slipping on the slick cobblestones, for it was still raining.

At the Fighters Guild, I turned right, where a narrow street ran across the canal on another rope suspension bridge towards the Castle, the only stone structure in Bravil other than the Chapel. This bridge did not hurt my knee as much as the others had earlier, and I knew that the healing spells were taking effect. Still, I intended to see Marz again in the morning.

In the courtyard leading to the Great Hall, my limping stride faltered as the fragrances of the gardens hit my nose in spite of the rain, which had eased up a little during my walk across town. I paused and looked around, but the rain and the darkness kept me from seeing much of the plantings.

Ahead, I saw two Bravil Watchmen standing beside the doors leading into the Great Hall. Their eyes followed me as I entered through the left hand panel. Inside, two more guards turned their heads to look me over. I met the gaze of the nearer one.

“I’m here to see Captain Lerus, at her request,” I said to him. “Do you know where she is, sir?”

“She’d be in the barracks, ma’am,” the guard responded. His gaze sharpened at me. “Hey, I know you, you’re -” he stopped when I shook my head at him. Grinning, he took a breath and finished “- Frederick’s friend.”

I returned his smile with some relief. “Maybe I am,” I answered. I looked forward into the Great Hall, seeing the empty throne at the opposite end. “Where are the barracks, sir?”

“Oh, upstairs,” the guard pointed out the left hand stairs leading to the balcony across the rear of the Great Hall. “Door on the left.”

“Thanks, sir,” I said to him, then limped to the indicated flight. Taking my time up the stone steps, I managed to make it to the top without making my knee much worse. At the top, I cast a single healing spell, just to be sure. Then I opened the door.

Long strides brought me into the barracks, and I struck the frame of each cot sharply with my steel-wrapped oaken cane. “Get up, meat!” My command voice was powerful in the close quarters. “Rise and shine! The day’s half gone and you’re still abed! Call yourselves tironii? You’ll never make munifex at this rate! Get your sorry behinds off the mattresses or you’ll find yourselves parked on the floor! MOVE!”

Grumbling, moaning, and groaning greeted me, but the bodies still rolled out from under their thin covers. Sleep still in their eyes, the tironii stumbled to their feet and shuffled to stand at attention at the foot of each cot. It was the third day of recruit training and they were beginning to get a clue.

I blinked at the sudden memory, swallowing the sudden knot in my throat. What in Oblivion, I’m getting misty-eyed over those years I spent in the Ninth Cohort? Why now? I knew why. The sight of the young men and women gathered around the common table, laying on their cots reading, writing letters, or sleeping, had woken those long-buried memories.

One of the men turned from his meal at the common table at my entrance. I recognized Frederick at the same time he recognized me. “Julian!” he exclaimed. “How are you feeling?” He rose from the table and extended his sword hand to me in greeting. I took his hand in mine, hiding the wince at the strength in his grip. He frowned at the limp in my step. “Marz couldn’t fix that?”

“She fixed everything else,” I answered. “I’m grateful for that, because just wearing the leathers was getting unbearable with the constant rubbing.”

He tapped his quilted linen tunic. “Then you need to wear one of these underneath,” he said. I shook my head.

“The leathers are lined,” I informed him. “They are very comfortable, when my skin isn’t burned.” I shrugged. “Besides, Marz ran out of Magicka before she could heal my knee. She wants to try again in the morning.”

“Ran out of Magicka?” Frederick exclaimed. “Those are some serious injuries, Julian, you never told me.”

“What was there to tell?” I responded. “I’d love to chat more with you,” I continued, growing aware of the increasing interest emanating from the other guards. “But I’m actually here to see Captain Lerus.”

“This way,” Frederick said, leading me to a door in the back wall. “I take it you met her already?” When I nodded, he slid a sidelong glance at me. “Sorry, I had to report your arrival to the Captain. But I waited until you came back from that Gate, like I promised.”

“I understand,” I assured him. I would have expected no less, as pilus prior of a cohort, from one of my subordinates. “Captain Lerus is your superior, not I.”

Frederick rapped his knuckles on the wooden panel. “Captain, it’s Julian of Anvil to see you.”

I heard Lerus’s voice call “Enter.” Frederick turned the latch and opened the door for me, his face now serious, but his dark eyes glinted at me in good humor.

I stepped through into a small room. Lerus, seated at her desk, turned her chair around to look at me. She waved me to a nearby chair, placed against the wall beside the desk. “I’m glad you kept your word,” she said quietly, her voice and eyes just as cold as always. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I just sat quietly in the indicated seat, my healed hands in my lap, my back straight.

Lerus turned back to the parchment on her desk. She riffled them, then wrote some notes on a piece and set it aside. Putting her quill down, she leaned back and looked at me. “Frederick says you’ve changed,” she said finally. “For the better, he insists.”

“It’s hard to believe, ma’am,” I spoke to her skepticism, which was palpable in her tone. As I waited for her response, I looked around the small room. It was as lean and spare as the woman, with a narrow cot against the opposite corner, a battered chest at its foot, a cupboard beside the door, and the desk overflowing with parchment sheets. My gaze moved back to Lerus, who was still watching me with cold green eyes.

“I checked out the gear you left with Daenlin,” she said after a moment. “You took quite a beating, judging by that shield, but you gave as good as you got, according to Daenlin. He claims your katana was just as beat up. He’s pretty impressed that you’re still walking after all of that.”

“Barely,” with a shake my head, I held Lerus’s gaze, speaking as soldier to soldier. “The Deadlands is a hostile place, ma’am, the enemies very dangerous.”

“So, tell me about it,” Lerus ordered, a Legion officer expecting a report from one of her legionaries. With a deep breath, I complied. I watched her green eyes as I described the heat and fire of the Deadlands, the lava sea surrounding the rocky island, the detour I had to take to find a way to open the great war gates before the sigil keep. Her eyes tightened when I told her about the mines, the fire turrets, the claw traps within the keep. Her lips thinned while I talked about the different varieties of daedra, their different modes of attack, their strengths and weaknesses as I knew them.

She rose and started pacing as I described the sigil keep, with the sigil stone at the top, related how taking the stone out of its pillar of fire brought me back to where I started, in the ruins of the old Fort.

I fell silent, my throat dry with all the talking, my vision full again of fire and blood. I blinked, swallowed, and looked at Lerus, to see her standing, watching me with an intent gaze in her green eyes. After a moment, she went to the door and called for two tumblers and a pitcher of water. She glanced back at me.

“Have you eaten yet, Julian?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am, before I came here,” I answered. She took the pewter tumblers in one hand and the pitcher in the other from the off-duty guard that brought them, thanking the younger woman with a swift glance, and nudged the door closed with her foot. She returned to the desk, setting the tumblers down between us and filling them from the pitcher. Back in her seat, she handed one of the glasses to me, and sipped from the other.

Gratefully, I took a couple of swallows of the cool, fresh water. “Thank you, ma’am,” I said.

Lerus picked up one of the parchment sheets, slipping it out from under the top sheets. She looked it over, then met my gaze.

“The last time you were here,” she said, her tone ruthless, “you were in a very bad way, and took an even worse turn. You may not remember it, but we’ve met before.”

“I do remember, ma’am,” I set the pewter tumbler down carefully near the edge of the desk, sour bile rising in my throat. “I’m not proud of it.”

“You’re not supposed to be,” Lerus agreed. “You were pilus prior once. What happened?”

I inhaled sharply against the old memories. Suddenly I knew what Lerus held in her hand. Unclenching my jaw, I shook my head. “If you have my Legion record there, ma’am,” I nodded at the parchment in her hand, “you know the circumstances of my discharge.”

“Just the bare bones of it,” she answered. “I want to hear it from you.”

“My cohort was involved in clearing Goblins from an area in Skyrim,” I said after a moment to settle my nerves. “I was badly injured in the skirmish, and my optio pulled me out. I don’t remember much of it, ma’am -” only blood, pain, and betrayal, “- but the surgeons were drained dry. One of their discens tried to heal my wounds, but botched it badly. My knee never healed right, and the one in my left side festered.” I shook my head. “I was deemed unfit for further service and discharged out of the Sixth four years ago.”

“Then what?” Lerus prompted me when I stopped. “How did you get from there to here?”

“Sailed back to Anvil, ma’am,” I answered, looking down at my hands. “But the pain was so bad, I was drinking by then to numb it. I didn’t stay in Anvil, but started walking on the Gold Road. Stopped at a couple of inns along the road, found nothing but pain there, came to Skingrad, found more pain there, then came here -”

“And you found skooma,” Lerus stated flatly. “Am I right?” I only nodded. Lerus sighed and placed the parchment on the desk, the paper rustling slightly. “I’ve seen enough people become addicted to the stuff to know what happens afterwards. People in that situation usually die - eventually.” I raised my gaze to see her own watching me, her eyes much less cold than before. “So what happened?”

I looked away, afraid to see pity in the Captain’s expression. Somehow her distaste and contempt had been easier to bear. “I did come pretty close to dying, ma’am,” I admitted. “If not for Legion riders who came to my aid numerous times, I would have.” My right hand started massaging my throbbing knee, trying to rub the pain away. I didn’t want to share my final moments with the Emperor with this woman, or with anyone else. It still hurts so much to think of him.

“And what are you doing here now, Julian?” Lerus asked after a few moments. I met her gaze, glad to return to the present.

“I’ve joined the Mages Guild, ma’am,” I answered, “and I’m in the process of obtaining recommendations from the different Guild chapters. I’d like to enter the Arcane University and study Restoration and Alchemy.” I watched the finely arched brows climb up Lerus’s forehead.

“The Mages Guild?” she repeated, incredulous. “That’s a far cry from the Legion.”

“We had battlemages in the Legion, ma’am,” I responded quietly. “I got to see what they are capable of. One of them saved my life, in Skyrim.” I shrugged. “And my mother was an alchemist, though she wasn’t part of the Guild.” I tapped my knee for emphasis. “Now that I’ve remembered the healing spell she taught me, and visited a couple of competent healers, I’m starting to wonder if I could hope to be free of pain again.”

“It was the pain that drove you to drink and skooma, wasn’t it?” Lerus asked me. I nodded.

“And I’m afraid I may go back to it if the pain becomes unbearable again, ma’am.” I shook my head. “I really don’t want to relapse, and I’m told that once an addict, always an addict.”

“Then you don’t want to stay here in Bravil,” Lerus returned, her voice becoming cold again. I understood her warning.

“I have a couple of things to do here first, ma’am,” I replied. “Ursanne Loche has asked me to help find her husband Aleron, and I have to find Varon Vamori for Kud-Ei.” I met her gaze steadily. “Any help you can give me in those two tasks would be greatly appreciated, ma’am.”

Lerus had scowled at the mention of the Loches. “Yes, Ursanne came to me this morning when Aleron hadn’t returned all night. I spoke to Kurdan gro-Dragol, but he denies knowing anything about Aleron.”

“If he is the sort I suspect he is, ma’am,” I spoke carefully, “he may not want to assist the City Watch in uncovering any illicit activity he may be engaged in.”

Lerus regarded me steadily for several moments, her eyes turning from ice to fire. “Exactly what I thought at the time,” she said. “If you get any useful information from him, I hope you’ll share it with me.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will,” I answered. Lerus rose to her feet and moved to the door, opening it and looking back at me. Her dismissal was clear.

“Varon Vamori is usually at Silverhome on the Water, this hour of the night.” Lerus said quietly as I passed her, out into the common room. I looked back at her.

“Thanks, ma’am,” I responded. “Good night.”

“Good night, Julian,” she answered, closing the door behind me.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Jul 31 2010, 06:58 PM

[Acadian]

This was great! Julian confirmed and richened her past for us. The meeting with Viera Lerus was superbly done and did credit to both women.

“The Mages Guild?” she repeated, incredulous. “That’s a far cry from the Legion.”

A fair question, and one that I was comfortable with. After all, she needs enough healing knowledge to walk and function. What Julian did for me with her answer was to add why she would want to go so far as to enter the University. Suddenly, her interest in MG recommendations makes all the sense in the world. Her mother's influence, healing to prevent a return to skooma and drink, . . . . Well done!

I love your descriptions of Bravil and how you are integrating the characters I know and love from the city into this.

I think that involving Viera into Ursanne's quest to find Aleron is brilliant, and so very Julian.


A question:

I didn’t stay in Anvil, but started walking on the Silver Road. Stopped at a couple of inns along the road, found nothing but pain there, came to Skingrad, found more pain there, then came here -”

Are you doing some world building here by moving the Silver Road (IC to Bruma) or did you perhaps intend to stay with the in game Gold Road that connects Anvil to IC via Skingrad? Forgive me if you are intentionally incorporating a change to support JF; I just wondered if it may have just been a simple oversight like I can sometimes make with those roads. I have to keep this handy: http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Oblivion:Roads

[SubRosa]

Wonderful flashback of Julian's time as a drill instructor! I love every one of these little windows into Julian's past that you grace us with.

I am not sure what to make of Viera Lerus. She seems like a real hardcase. I was hoping for Julian to tell her to get stuffed when she got pushy about her service record! Of course Julian is much too good a soldier to mouth off to an authority figure. Still it would have been nice to see Julian just stand up and walk out. Obviously Julian has a bad past in Bravil. But actions talk, and b.s. walks, and Julian doing the Bravil Guard's job by closing the gate speaks volumes about both.

I am not sure if it is a nit, but the Lerus you presented does not square with the leader of a city guard that does nothing but sit on its rear end while a stranger in town has to do all the work of actually protecting the citizens. I think you are trying to present the Bravil Guard as better than that, but I am a bottom line kind of girl. The bottom line is that it was Julian who actually did something and shut the gate, not them. Likewise, I suspect it will be Julian who does something about Aleron Loche, not them. If I were the Count, I would fire the lot of them and hire Julian. But of course we know that the Count is where all Bravil's problems start from.

At least you did show us that Lerus went through the motions of talking to Kurdan. But if she really does suspect him (and who would not?) why didn't she haul him to the dungeons and get serious about getting some answers? Obviously we have not seen all there is to this yet. Perhaps she has someone doing undercover work to get to the bottom of it? Or maybe she is going gentle because Kurdan is paying off the Count? Or maybe Kurdan has some dirt on her? Or maybe when it comes down it she really just does not give a damn? (which appears to be the case in the game)

I know I sound critical, and I am not trying to lambaste you. But it is accurate, and one of the biggest faults of the game. You are just following along with what the game presents you with, so I am not faulting your writing. It is more that I am faulting Bethesda for not really thinking through on its setting. I do not think you want to present Lerus and the Bravil Guard as being either incompetent or corrupt, but to portray them otherwise and have it all be believable is a Herculean task. How can you explain why they ignore the skooma den? If they really were dedicated to upholding justice, they would shut it down and throw the lot of its denizens in jail, starting with the Count's son. Of course the next day the den would be open again and all of them free, while the city guard would be looking for new jobs, or perhaps floating face-down in the Niben...

I live in one of the suburbs of Detroit, and the Detroit PD are exactly like what you see in Bravil. I have an ex who lives there, and I worked there for years, so I know the city. The only way to get the police to your house is to say there were gunshots fired. Otherwise the police will never come. That is not an exaggeration, people have to lie to get the police to come in an emergency. The sad truth is that the honest people of Detroit are at best scornful of the police, and see them not as a protector, but as an enemy. Everyone loves to see them with egg on their face. The reasons they are so bad are several. First due to budget problems they are incredibly understaffed and underpaid. The leadership is a disaster, not only from incompetence, but especially corruption. All of that filters down to a force that cannot keep up with the amount of crimes in the neighborhoods it has to patrol, is never thanked or appreciated by the public, and has no motivation to do their jobs. It is no surprise they spend their time playing baseball or at the casinos when they are supposed to be on their shifts (no exaggeration, the DPD has been caught doing both).

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Aug 1 2010, 05:43 PM

[Destri Melarg]

Authority is the only thing of permanence in Bravil. The idea that the castle and the chapel are the only stone buildings is something that never really occurred to me until reading this chapter. I think it speaks volumes about the town, and the priorities of the citizenry.

“Have you eaten yet, Julian?” she asked.

This question by Lerus really stands out to me because it notes a marked shift in her attitude (while also being the first time that she calls Julian by name, if memory serves). From this moment forward, even when she is subtly warning Julian to get out of town, she seems to do so with a grudging respect. I like the fact that she questioned Kurdan. But, without evidence to the contrary, it is easy to see why her hands would be tied. Also, the fact that she knows Vamori’s whereabouts at any given hour is a nice way of showing that she does pay attention to detail in the performance of her duties. Now, if only she had done something (anything) about that gate before Julian arrived . . .

Acadian illustrated my feelings perfectly about the wonderful logic that now attends Julian’s decision to join the Mages Guild. This is an emotionally dense chapter that admirably bridges the gaps between Julian’s past and her present. Now let’s go find Aleron!

[haute ecole rider]

@Acadian: I always like Lerus, especially how she greets me on the roadside after the Battle for Bruma (‘Hail, daedra-slayer!’). Thanks for your catch on the Gold Road. Sometimes I have a hard time remembering which is which!

@SubRosa: Your assessment of Lerus as a real hardcase is pretty much spot on. Your peeve about the city guard that does nothing is an accurate criticism. We’ll see why Lerus and the guard did nothing about the gate later on in the MQ. Your description of the Detroit PD isn’t all that different from Chicago! Some things never change, do they? I always felt the character of Lerus as presented by the devs just didn’t jive with the seedy climate of Bravil and the dissolute personality that is Count Terentius.

@Destri: I see you are looking forward to Julian meeting Kurdan and rescuing Aleron! But first, Varon Vamori . . .

Julian is tortured by bad poetry - bad in her estimation, that is. Others may disagree.

*********
Chapter 13.4 Poetry Night

Within Silverhome on the Water, I was met by a Khajiit. “Drro’shanji grreets you. His worrk is the Castle grrounds, grrand garrdens grreen.”

“They smelled beautiful,” I answered. “I’ll have to go back and see them sometime.”

“If you do,” Dro’shanji purred, his fangs baring in a toothy grin, “ask forr Drro’shanji, and he will show you arround.”

“I’d love it, sir,” I smiled at him. “I’ll remember that.”

In the common room, set back from the entrance, a dour Altmer stood behind the bar, and a soused Orsimer waved a clay tankard in his hand. The big green mer greeted me first.

“I am Brrokil grro-Shakurr,” he growled, his words heavily slurred. “Lorrd High Warrden of th’ Tapsh. Gilgondorrin’sh most prized customer. I taste ev’rything. Overr and overr. And overr agin . . .” His voice faded off.

“I didn’t know Bravil had such a position open,” I commented, trying not to flinch at the odor of his heavy breathing.

“It ish a terrible rreshponsibility, bein’ Brravil’s Firrst Citizen of th’ Ale Tub,” gro-Shakur slurred. “But I sufferr under th’ burden like a Surre-Grreen Orrc.” He belched loudly.

“What would Bravil do without you?” I smiled against the fumes. “But I’m looking for a Varon Vamori, do you know him?”

“Shertainly!” gro-Shakur exclaimed, pointing at a slender Dunmer seated in the corner, a modest dinner spread before him. “There iss yer frien’ Vamor’.”

“Thanks, sir,” I said to the drunken Orsimer. Limping over to the table, I caught Vamori’s gaze.

“Hail, friend!” he looked up at me. “What can I do for you?”

I pointed at the chair opposite him with a question in my eyes. He nodded vigorously, waving for me to sit. “I just arrived in Bravil today,” I began.

Vamori stopped me, hand held up, palm outwards. Assuming a dramatic expression, he took a deep breath. “Old, worn, and wicked,” he intoned. “Wet, wounded and wild. Empty as the eastern horizon, dusk on the Niben. Solemn and bitter as the grave.”

I sat back, trying to make sense of his words. Kud-Ei did say he had a way with words, but this - Oh! It’s supposed to be poetry! I found poetry overflowing at best, incomprehensible more often than not. “Very interesting interpretation of the town, sir,” I said finally.

Vamori smiled boyishly at me. “Thanks!” he exclaimed. “I love poetry, and I can see you do, too!”

Inwardly, I groaned to myself. I hated poetry. Still, I needed to talk to this - this foolish young Dunmer. I needed to get Ardaline’s Staff back. “I get to listen to it little enough,” I said finally. “Do you have any interesting news?”

“Oh, I’ve sighted the Forlorn Watchman again,” Vamori said, his voice returning to its normal timbre. I stifled a sigh of relief. “Every time I see that ghost, it gives me the creeps.”

“Ghost?” I repeated. “The Forlorn Watchman is a ghost?”

“Yes,” Vamori nodded emphatically. “No one knows who he is, but we see him all the time.” He jerked his chin at the dour Altmer. “Ask Gilgondorin about him.”

“All right.” Looking over my shoulder at Gilgondorin, I decided to do so - later. I remembered hearing snatches of conversation about him during my last visit, when I was too inebriated to care. Turning back to Vamori, I decided to try and get to the point of my conversation. “I came to Bravil today because I just joined the Mages Guild, and I’m working on getting my recommendations from all the chapter heads.”

Vamori looked me up and down, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. “Kind of old to start learning, no?” he commented, his expression guileless. I decided he meant no offense.

I shrugged. “After half a lifetime in the Legion,” I answered, “I figured it was time for something new.” I sat back in my chair. “I’m still getting acquainted with all the Mages here. I liked the Alchemist, what was her name, Ardaline?” I saw Vamori’s face change subtly at the mention of her name. Yes, he has a crush on her. A bad one, judging from his reaction.

“She’s nice,” he admitted grudgingly, his gaze turning down to his dinner. “Pretty.”

“Yes,” I agreed, though I hadn’t yet met her. Or was she one of the younger mages at the dinner table tonight? “But she seems so shy,” I continued. “I could barely get a word from her.” I was rewarded with a flash from his ruby eyes. “I’m told you have a way with words, maybe you could help me?” His mouth stopped its chewing motions as he stared at me.

“I - I think you’re talking to the wrong person,” he stammered finally. I leaned forward.

“Do you like her?” I asked him point-blank. “Seems to this old soldier that you have some feelings for her.” His face went ashen, as only Dunmer skin could.

“I - I- “ he began, his expression turning miserable. “I - I don’t know what to say!” he blurted finally. “All I want is for her to care about me the way that I care about her!” He took a deep draught from the wine glass at his elbow. Reaching for the wine flagon, I topped off the glass without a word. “I try, and try,” he continued, misery clear in his face, “but I can’t succeed. It makes me furious that I can’t get anywhere with her!”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You haven’t hurt her, have you?” I could hear the frost in my tone. Vamori grew alarmed at my question, shook his head violently.

“No! No, I’ve never laid a hand on her!” he held up his own, palms open towards me in a placating gesture. “Either in anger or . . .” He swallowed. “I’ve never hurt her, understood?”

I decided to go for the point. “But you stole her Mages’ Staff from her, didn’t you?”

His face grew positively pale. “All right, all right, I admit it!” he leaned back defensively. “I took it from her. I just wanted her to talk to me! I was so angry when she wouldn’t!” He stopped, but I cocked my head at him, as I used to do with my recruits when they were trying to explain their unacceptable behavior. “I was a little ashamed afterwards,” Vamori’s voice dropped to a whisper, as he hung his head, wilting under my steady gaze. “But I didn’t know how to give it back, or apologize.”

“You didn’t know how to apologize?” I repeated, putting more than a little skepticism in my low tone. “You, the man of the silver tongue?” He shook his head, and I could see he was feeling thoroughly miserable. “All right, where is the Staff?”

“I - I - sold it to a friend of mine, Soris Arenim.” Vamori continued to avoid my eyes as I sat back in my chair.

“You sold Ardaline’s Staff?” My voice had dropped even further, and I could feel the familiar coldness in it, the coldness I used when chastising recalcitrant tironii, so long ago. Vamori looked like he wanted to drop through the floor. Careful, he’s no recruit. You’re scaring him. Badly. With a sigh, I forced my voice to warm a little. “All right, Vamori, where is this Soris Arenim?”

“He lives in the Talos Plaza District in the Imperial City,” Vamori’s voice was very, very small now. He looked up at me. “Believe me, if I still had it, I’d gladly give it back! You’ve got to believe me!”

“What did you do with the money Arenim paid you?” Again, I heard the chill creep back into my voice.

“Spent it,” he answered. With a tilt of my head at Vamori, I lifted my right eyebrow. “Some of it,” he added hastily. His hands fumbled at his belt, and he drew his purse out and placed it on the table between us.

“How much is left?” my gaze on the small leather pouch, I asked Vamori.

He shrugged. “About half -?”

Taking the purse, I opened it and counted out the septims. Two hundred and fifty. If I’m to believe this s’wit, he sold Ardaline’s Staff for five hundred septims! I left fifty on the table and took the rest.

“I’ll go get that Staff back,” I said, rising to my feet. “In the meantime, you need to apologize to Ardaline. I’m not returning it until you do so.” Vamori looked down again. I hardened my voice again. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do!” he returned smartly, his face flushing a dusky purple.

I did a quick mental calculation. “You’ve got a week to apologize,” I finished. “That should give you enough time to think up some silver words or maybe a poem.” Though if Ardaline is really that shy, she would be painfully embarrassed! Ah well, like Kud-Ei said, she needs to get over it.

[Acadian]

This was very fun. I enjoyed your interpretation of Khajiit and drunken Orsimer.

I found poetry overflowing at best, incomprehensible more often than not.

I must confess that I'm 100% with Julian on this one.

You did a nice job of having everything with Varon flow logically and make sense, yet preserve that wonderfully familiar feel of the game. Julian is pretty darn good at using and balancing her DI capability with a touch of compassion for effect when required. Nice.

The Forlorn Watchman? Bravil quest number three and counting. Somehow, I think Julian will not be able to resist that one since I know it is one of Rider's faves. As Julian says though, if it is later, that is ok too.

[SubRosa]

Brrokil was lots of fun. I always did like him. Baron Vamori on the other hand is proof that not only male Bosmer are annoying. I always feel like punching his lights out. The awful poetry only makes it worse. Frost, Whitman, Dickinson, they would all roll over in their graves at his dribble (which is to say, I like poetry. Good poetry at least.)

Edit, since Destri started it, I think Julian would perhaps appreciate this one by Robert Frost:

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Aug 3 2010, 02:28 AM

[Olen]

Nope I'm with Julian, I've read a fair bit of poetry and I find it varies from pointless to nausiating. Though Vamori's takes it towards the pathetic end of the spectrum.

Good couple of parts (I didn't comment last time because I hadn't really got anything constructive to say and don't get much time to read and write just now). Vamori is exactly as in game though Julian shuld have done something terrible to him. The conversation was well scripted and flowed well though, Julian has more of a gift for speachcraft than she knows.

Very interesting interpretation of the town

And there was I thinking he was talking about Julain ;P

His face went ashen, as only Dunmer skin could.

Great lore friendly metaphor.

The drunken orc was well done too, sounds much like the level of conversation where I drink by halfway through the evening.

[Destri Melarg]

I have to line up with Sage ‘Rosa. Most poetry can quickly make the eyeballs bleed, but good poetry makes slogging through the bad worth it. I will stop what I’m doing to read The Eve of St. Agnes:

Northward he turneth through a little door,
And scarce three steps ere Music’s golden tongue
Flatter’d to tears this aged man and poor;
But no – already had his death bell rung;
The joys of all his life were said and sung:
His was harsh penance on St. Agnes’ Eve:
Another way he went, and soon among
Rough ashes sat he for his soul’s reprieve,
And all night stayed awake, for sinner’s sake, to grieve.

Sorry, I love that poem!

The way that Julian finesses information out of Vamori makes one wonder just who is the expert in speechcraft. Once again she goes all ‘hard-case’ on one of the guys. At least this one deserves it.

Brokil is hilarious. The way you present him is spot-on. Is it just me or is there something a little disconcerting about an orc in russet felt?

[Ornamental Nonsense]

I've just started reading your story, and by that, I mean that I just finished Chapter 1.1b Escape. Here I thought that Melarg's story would take a bit to catch up with, but this one's going to take even longer. Of course, I won't mind since your story is so engaging.

One part that I particularly like is the flashback to Julian's accident. I love how you describe the use of a healing spell through both the mother's words and Julian's recollection. I've read books where the description of magic felt bland and incredibly impersonal. Sometimes writers make it sound almost too academic, like it's merely A+B=C and some concentration. Needless to say, I find your approach much more interesting and preferable. It was also a nice touch to let the reader see into Julian's past. The tender memory clashed so beautifully with the rough surroundings.

Alright. It's onto the next chapter now.

[haute ecole rider]

@All: my personal taste in poetry runs more to song lyrics and dirty limericks, but here’s one of my favorites:
The Tyger

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire in thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art?
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand, and what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb, make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
--William Blake

@Acadian: Thanks! I was focused on bringing up more of Julian’s past as a DI during the Bravil chapters. Dealing with self-absorbed youngsters is something she has a great deal of experience in. The Watchman has waited a long time, he can wait a little while more, methinks.

@SubRosa: I remember that Frost poem - it is probably the most famous one of his (or was it ‘through the woods to Grandma’s we go’?). I love this one because of the time of day (night), the season (winter), and the little horse. Snowfall at night is something special. Even more so when you're on horseback.

@Olen: you know, when I talk to Vamori, no matter what character I’m playing, I’ve never needed the charm scrolls that Kud-Ei gives me. I think the devs make this quest a little easier than it needs to be. Or maybe it’s because I play with the slider a little bit over to the left . . .

@Destri: I don’t recall the poem you quoted. Depressing, but well done! Don’t worry, Julian does go ‘hard-case’ on the girls when they need it. And yes, an orc in russet felt just looks - odd.

@Nonsense: Welcome! I’m glad you decided to dive into this story! I hope you find this as enjoyable to read as I am finding yours!

Julian discovers an unexpected side to a certain Altmer mage. This is another instance where an NPC just took over my keyboard and caught me completely off guard.

****************
13.5 Spiced Cider

The double moons floated overhead in the clearing sky. It’s getting late. I’ll go to bed, see Marz after breakfast in the morning. Pick up my gear from Daenlin. Go see this gro-Dragol about Aleron. The slog through the cold, slick mud back to the Mages Guild left me feeling tired again.

Back in the Guild, I encountered Carandial heading to the front door, ready to lock it for the night. “Hello, Julian,” he greeted me as I stomped the mud off of my shoes. “Leave them here to dry,” he suggested, closing the door behind me. “The mud will just break off in the morning.”

As I leaned against the half-wall, I struggled to get my right foot high enough to remove my shoe, but my knee protested the deep bend in the joint. With a stifled groan, I lowered my foot to the floor. Carandial startled me when he knelt before me and, steadying me with his left hand on my thigh, slipped the muddy shoe off with his right hand. I caught my breath at the tall Altmer on one knee in front of me, like a knight before his lady. I could feel the blush coming up in my cheeks at the errant thought.

Carandial caught my expression and smiled, the crookedness of his mouth charming in its coy gallantry. “Forgive me for startling you, ma’am,” he said quietly, easing my right foot back to the floor. He gestured for me to raise my left foot so he could repeat his action with the opposite shoe. Carefully I eased my weight onto my right foot, still speechless at this courtesy so unaccustomed for me.

“I - I -” I stammered as he removed my left shoe and placed it gently on the floor next to its mate. Carandial rose to his full height, a white glow appearing in his cupped, mud-streaked palms. As the glow dissipated, so did the sludge. I looked at his spotless hands, then at the shoes.

“Sorry, I haven’t yet figured how to cast the refresh spell onto dirty targets,” he read my mind, amusement in his voice. “If I did, you’d be wearing clean shoes before you even stepped in the door!”

“Well,” I caught my breath again. “Forgive me, I’m not used to this kind of treatment from an Altmer.” Or from any man, really.

Carandial’s crooked smile widened as he stepped back from me, giving me a little space to breathe. “Kud-Ei expects all of us male mages to treat every woman with courtesy,” he explained. As I considered his words, my mind went to Aren. Carandial bowed gracefully to me, waving his arm in an elegant gesture. “Would milady care to join me for a cup of spiced cider before bed?” His twinkling dark eyes became serious. “Kud-Ei has filled me on your past visit, ma’am,” he added, “the spiced cider I speak of is non-alcoholic.”

With a push of my shoulder off the wall, I looked up at Carandial. “I’d be pleased to join you for a cup,” I found myself saying. “But I must be off to bed soon.”

“Of course,” Carandial led me to the comfortable sitting area off the dining room. A steaming flagon, a pewter cup next to it, sat waiting on the small table between two comfortable chairs. The Altmer held up a finger at me and disappeared into the dining room. I took the moment’s reprieve to sit down and sniff at the flagon. Wonderful aromas assailed my nose - apples, cinnamon, cloves. Lots of cloves.

Carandial soon returned with a second pewter cup. Setting it next to me, he poured the spiced cider into both cups before sitting in the other chair. He picked up both cups, and handed one to me. My chilled fingers cradled the pewter, heated by the cider, and I inhaled deeply of the spices.

“I love cloves,” Carandial commented as I took my first sip. “Such a versatile spice,” he continued after doing the same with the cup in his long fingers. “It brings a wonderful body to sweet delicacies, decreases the unpleasant acidity of tart fruits without taking away their tang, and adds an amazing depth to savory dishes, especially smoked meats.” His eyes twinkled at me again. “It is a very strong spice, to be partaken sparingly.”

“Hmm, it is wonderful,” I murmured into the steam wafting up from my cup. “Reminds me of the Gold Coast - warm, dry, sunny -” my voice trailed off into a sudden wave of homesickness. My eyes closed, I put the painful memories away. Home isn’t there anymore, I reminded myself. After another sip at the cider, I opened my eyes to see Carandial regarding me over the rim of his own mug.

“I hope you weren’t offended by Fathis Aren’s behavior at dinner,” he commented, his dark eyes somber. “He is not officially part of this chapter, so he does not come under Kud-Ei’s authority, but rather answers directly to Raminus Polus at the Arcane University.”

That explains why he was allowed to get away with his behavior, where Carandial is careful to obey Kud-Ei. Or is that just Carandial’s nature, to be kind and courteous? Somehow I found myself hoping the latter was the truth. “He did catch me a little off guard,” I admitted. “Is it because I’m new to the Guild? Because I’m a Redguard? Or -” I clenched my jaw at the unwelcome thought, “- because of my age?”

“All of these things, a little bit, yes,” Carandial admitted. He looked down at the pewter cup in his hands. “But mostly because you’re a woman. Fathis Aren is not - kind - to women, even Kud-Ei.” I glanced sharply at Carandial. Some of Aren’s words started to make sense to me. “If you’ve closed two Oblivion Gates, they must not be so difficult a challenge to face.” I remembered the contempt in his voice and eyes clearly. I set my cup carefully down on the table and leaned back in the comfortable chair, my left elbow on its arm and my chin in my palm.

“How do you mean, not kind to women?” I asked Carandial. He looked away, clearly uncomfortable with my direct question.

“He considers women weak,” he said finally. “Not just physically, but in magical power, heart and soul, and morally.”

“So I’m a second-class citizen to him?” Not about to let Carandial off the hook, I pressed him to elaborate further.

“Worse,” the Altmer met my gaze unhappily. “Women are a bare step on the social ladder above Orcs and the beast-races, who are meant to be slaves.”

“I see.” As I considered the prevalence of Khajiit and Argonians here in Bravil, I reflected a moment on the irony of Aren’s posting here. “Ironic, then, isn’t it,” I remarked, keeping my tone neutral. “Aren’s stuck with a town full of beings that should be slaves, not free citizens.”

Carandial’s black eyes flashed at me, then he laughed. “To be honest, I thought you handled him rather well at dinner tonight,” he commented. “For a moment, I thought you were going to whip out your sword and slice his throat.”

“You did?” I was honestly surprised. “Even though I wore no weapons?”

“I watched you go into that Gate with your katana drawn,” he admitted. “The way you looked then, you were afraid of nothing!” Again that charming crooked smile. “But then, I’m young, I know nothing of combat!”

I felt my eyes narrowing at the Altmer again. Just how young is he? I wondered. Altmer lived long lives, longer than men. His face was hard to age, though. “Just how young are you?” I asked him.

That crooked smile widened further. “Ninety-eight years,” he answered. “Sixty-three of them here in the Bravil chapter.”

Mentally grappling with the idea that this ‘young’ mage was fifty years older than me, I regarded him thoughtfully. “Will you teach me that spell that cleans your hands, then?” I wonder if it will work on blood as well as mud.

“Well, if you don’t have much Magicka,” Carandial mused thoughtfully, “you might find yourself depleted using this spell. I wouldn’t recommend doing so in the middle of combat, ma’am.”

“Well, if it gives you any idea, I can cast a small healing spell on myself four times in a row before I run out,” I said. With a shrug, I looked down at my hands. “Maybe if I keep practicing. Someone told me that if I do so, my Magicka will grow.”

“Yes, it will, up to a point,” Carandial agreed. “And there are enchanted items that can amplify your Magicka and reduce the cost of casting spells.” He drained his cup, and I realized that mine was empty. The Altmer rose to his feet. “Do you want more spiced cider, ma’am?”

I met his gaze and shook my head. “It’s getting late, and I’d best be off to bed now,” I told him. “But thanks for the company, it was nice sharing a cup with you, sir.”

Carandial smiled crookedly. “It was my pleasure,” he responded. “I am glad you came back when you did. Will you lock the door after me, please? I live across from the Warlock’s Luck.”

Below the skooma den. I nodded. Carandial held his hand out to me. Again startled by his unexpected courtesy, I took his hand and let him help me up out of the chair. He must be doing this because I’m so old and creaky. I followed him to the front door, waiting as he unlocked the weathered panel.

“Good night, Julian of Anvil,” Carandial nodded at me as he stepped outside.

“Good night, Carandial of Bravil,” I answered, smiling in response to his crooked grin. He turned and stepped off into the night, and I closed the door quietly behind him, making sure to throw the deadbolt.

[Destri Melarg]

@Destri: I don’t recall the poem you quoted. Depressing, but well done!

The poem is the third stanza from The Eve of St. Agnes by John Keats, the hip-hop artist of his day. His rhythmic use of language still inspires me every time I read his work.

I see what you mean by Carandial taking over your keyboard!

Every once in a while you present us with a chapter in which Julian is reminded of her own femininity. True to her nature, even the motives for Carandial’s gallantry are called into question. I imagine the look on her face when entering the Oblivion Gate was much the same as the one that challenged Carandial for more information about Fathis. I am left wondering how this will color her future encounters with both of the mer.

I am still waiting for her to lay the smackdown on Kurdan! I hate that orc!

[Acadian]

I'm glad you shared with us a character that struck your fancy. It is such fun to develop an NPC that 'sings' to you or your character.
A wonderful interlude and some insight into Fathis.

As Carandial magically cleaned his hands, I wondered why he didn't just clean Julian's shoes. A millisecond later you answered my question. Brilliant!

“Will you teach me that spell that cleans your hands, then?” I wonder if it will work on blood as well as mud.

That's our Julian's way of thinking!

I took his hand and let him help me up out of the chair. He must be doing this because I’m so old and creaky.

Again, trying to deny that perhaps the Altmer may have taken a fancy to her.

Thank you for the delightful spiced cider you served on this lovely rainy night.

[Olen]

I suspect we will be seeing Carandial again if only because he clearly leapt out of the screen and wrote himself in and such characters are fun and let you concentrate on other things, like gently revealing a bit more about Julian and showing her own fustration at being female (or more correctly at being treated differently because of it) which has appeared before but never so clearly.

I also suspect that he will not be whatever love interest appears in spite of his flirtations. His waxing lyrical on the joys of cloves was unexpected but most amusing, personally however I prefer my cider fermented. Otherwise it's just apple juice.

[SubRosa]

I must say that Carandial was a treat. A true gentleman in spirit and behaviour. If Varon Vamori had been taking lessons from him, he might have gotten somewhere with Ardaline. Well, maybe not, but he certainly would not have come off like such an english ship.

Home isn’t there anymore,
Another tantalizing hint at Julian's past. More!


“Ninety-eight years,” he answered. “Sixty-three of them here in the Bravil chapter.”
A mere stripling! Seriously, I love how you put emphasis the very real differences between the life-spans of the various races.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Aug 4 2010, 09:26 PM

[treydog]

Your ability to describe events, people, and locales is exceeded only by your skill at making them compelling and real. Julian is so fully-drawn that my knee aches in sympathy, and I cheer her every small triumph.

I am reading everything from the beginning (with great pleasure) and will comment on more specific moments as I get caught up on the new material. For now, it is like enjoying a long talk with an old friend.

Still reading the earlier material, and I again find myself amazed by your skill in describing the refugee camp and its inhabitants. The bonding with Paint is also a treat, adding a new central character to the story and also giving us insight into Julian’s personality.

Your introduction of Savlian is outstanding, painting a deeply textured word picture of a man strained beyond the limit- and refusing to give in. That strength and sense of duty resonates with Julian, of course. And we see her respond to the implicit challenge in the only way she can.

The hard choice of leaving Menien Goneld is a wrenching moment, one of the worst in the game. I want so badly to save him….

The scene with the dremora does so many things at once- it shows us a bit of Julian’s history, giving a context for her knowledge of alchemy; it shows us her willingness to get the job done; and it showcases your brilliant descriptive writing.

I still love the scene with Batul, and the fact that clever Haute allows the heroes of Kvatch a chance to rest before clearing the ruins. While I appreciate the fact that the game does not force the player to rest (which would be annoying), your take on things is much more realistic.

As before, the camp scene just sings- in a quiet, restful way.

The battle for Kvatch is as exciting as ever. As many times as I have played it, I still feel overwhelmed by the devastation and the threats that come from everywhere. And you depict that perfectly.

Your description of how Julian obtains her “Kvatch wolf” provides a lot more emotional depth than the in-game version, where Savlian just happens to have a spare lying around.

And I have commented before on you much more realistic treatment of Martin. He is a priest, not a warrior monk- so why should he insist on joining the fighting, rather than care for his parishioners? And if he did, I imagine Julian would smack him down in a hurry! (Although the fact that he is “unkillable” at this point in the game makes him handy to have around….)

Echoing others, the scene around the camp-fire, especially Julian’s inspiring discussion of the difference between soldiers and heroes, is one of my favorites.

The scene with Julian telling Martin who he really is was one of your best- filled with vivid description and emotion and silences in the right places.


This post has been edited by treydog: Aug 5 2010, 09:36 PM

[haute ecole rider]

@Destri: Have patience! Julian meets Kurdan for the first time in the segment after this one! I will give you a heads-up, though. This upcoming quest is probably the most grueling one I’ve written so far.

@Acadian: I think you have just right - Julian is so unused to being seen (and treated) as an attractive female that when Carandial is flirting so openly with her, she just can’t accept it at face value. And you’re welcome for the spiced cider!

@Olen: You’re right, Carandial is not Julian’s love interest, but he is still such a charmer, isn’t he? The spiced cider is out of respect for Julian’s present teetotaling status (which makes me regret never having the chance to vicariously enjoy Tamika’s).

@SubRosa: I’m very glad you enjoyed Carandial. I’m strongly partial to him because of his interest in Ayleid ruins. As you know, Julian will be making the Grand Circuit of Cyrodiil in upcoming chapters. When she reaches Anvil, brace yourself! Her past will really come out then.

@Treydoggie!: So good of you to drop in and visit! I’m glad you’re enjoying revisiting this story from the beginning. Julian has changed so much since those early chapters, I’m just awed by her progress. Do drop back in when you feel like commenting on something.

Julian takes care of a few odds and ends before heading off to be a hero again.

********************
Chapter 13.6 Another Bravil Morning

In the morning, my knee felt better after my usual healing spells, but it still hurt to walk on it. Slowly I made my way downstairs. Kud-Ei sat at the common table, with a couple of Mages I had not yet met.

“Good morning, Julian,” Kud-Ei greeted me. “I’d like you to meet Ardaline,” she pointed at the Altmer sitting across from her, “and Ita Rienuss,” she indicated the older Imperial seated next to the Argonian. “Come, join uss.”

“Thank you, I will,” I answered, sitting down next to Ardaline. Trying not to be obvious, I greeted the shy Altmer first. “Good morning, Ardaline. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“As am I, ma’am,” Ardaline ducked her head in reply. I could see her wide eyes, kind, innocent and shy. Thick blond hair cascaded down either side of her high-cheekboned face. Pretty enough.

“I’m interested in furthering my alchemy knowledge,” I recalled the strange plant in my pack. “Perhaps you could help me?”

“I’d like to,” she murmured, so quietly I had to lean towards her to hear her whisper.

Ita Rienus, the Imperial woman, smiled fondly at Ardaline. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Carandial,” she said to me. I raised my brows at her. The square-jawed woman only smiled wider at me, and again, I felt a heat rising in my cheeks. “He seems to think you’re the bravest person he ever saw.”

Spluttering on the tea, I shook my head. “That seems to be common among those who have never seen combat,” I muttered. Rienus laughed heartily. “Honestly, I was pretty scared the whole time I was in there,” I added.

“You can protest that as much as you like,” Rienus assured me, “but that won’t change Carandial’s opinion of you. You see, his aunt was a Battlemage in the Legion, and he wanted to become one like her.” She shook her head sadly. “Unfortunately he is better at alteration than he is at destruction.”

To my relief, Kud-Ei changed the conversation to more mundane topics, discussing the garden behind the Guild chapterhouse, where Ardaline apparently grew several ingredients for her alchemy. It didn’t take me long to finish my breakfast, but Ardaline and Rienus left the table before I did.

For a moment, it was only Kud-Ei and I left. She looked at me meaningfully.

“I spoke to Varon Vamori last night, ma’am,” I said quietly, looking into my tea. “He has sold the Staff to a person in the Imperial City, a man named Soris Arenim.”

Kud-Ei inhaled slowly, her breath hissing softly through clenched teeth. “That iss mosst unfortunate, indeed,” she growled softly. “You undersstand, we musst get that Sstaff back!”

I nodded. “I have an outstanding task that will take me south from here,” I explained. “But once it is completed, I will see this Soris Arenim and get the Staff back from him.”

Slowly Kud-Ei rose from the table. She left the dining room without a word. Aware of her anger, I remained in my chair, drinking the last of my tea slowly. I heard her moving around in another room, then she returned to me. A small sack clinked as it hit the table in front of me, and she met my gaze. “It iss all I have,” she said, her tone neutral again. “I trusst you will make it enough.”

“It will be,” I agreed, not bothering to count.

****************
Marz was happy to see me when I limped into the Chapel. “Good morning, Julian,” she greeted me. “I ssee you are not limping sso badly.”

“No, I’m not,” I agreed, taking the indicated pew. “But I can still use your skills, ma’am.” Again, I placed my hands into Marz’s long-fingered ones. This time, she clasped my hands gently as she closed her eyes. I could feel the healing warmth gathering in my right knee, as Marz concentrated on her spell. This time, she stopped just as her fingers started shaking. The pain in my knee decreased to a dull ache, not enough to slow me down, but just enough to remind me of the injury. As Marz released my hands, I smiled at her. “Oh, that was wonderful, Marz,” I said. “I wish I could do that.”

“Ah, but that iss why you joined the Magess Guild, iss it not?” Marz returned my smile. I nodded and rose to my feet, testing the strength in my knee. It felt sturdy enough, strong enough for me to walk into another Oblivion Gate. Honestly, though, I hoped I wouldn’t have to do that again for a while. “Now, Julian,” Marz continued, “be careful when fighting. Don’t brace yoursself on that leg. Fight off the other one, if you musst.”

“Yes, I will be careful,” I agreed with her assessment. While Marz had decreased the pain considerably, the old injury still remained, leaving my knee permanently weakened. Still, I could walk more than limp, which was a considerable improvement.

**********************
Daenlin greeted me with a cheerful “I’m so happy to see you I could burst!” His turn of phrase caused my step to falter.

“Don’t burst, please,” I smiled in response to his infectious mood. “I’d hate the thought of having to clean up the shop after you.”

Daenlin laughed heartily, and brought up my armor from beneath the counter. “Here you go, ma’am,” he said, still cheerful. “All ready for your use.” I held up the cuirass and inspected it. As he had said the scorch marks had buffed out well, and he had tightened up gra-Sharob’s handiwork. “Whoever did the custom work on this did an excellent job,” Daenlin commented.

“As did you,” I responded. Daenlin’s face brightened even more. “I’m happy with what you did with this,” looking at the greaves and boots, I noted that they were in the same condition - not quite brand spanking new, but still very solid. “And with these, too.”

Daenlin handed me my bow and a couple of new strings. “The old one you had on it was badly stretched,” he remarked. “I’ve thrown in a couple of extra ones, free of charge.”

“It must have been the heat,” I commented, taking the strings gratefully and tucking them into my belt purse. I tested the bow and found its spring restored. “This feels good,” I assured him.

Now Daenlin handed over the Kvatch Wolf. The shield was restored to its original shape, but the Wolf bore several scratches in the paint that nearly obscured its eyes. “Be careful with that,” he warned me. “It is starting to show signs of metal fatigue.” I glanced at him, alarmed. He nodded. “You may want to find a replacement for it soon.” My heart twinged at the thought of losing the Kvatch Wolf - it had saved my life on numerous occasions. “I’d recommend Stonewall Shields, in the Imperial City,” Daenlin said somberly. “They have an excellent selection of shields there.”

“All right, I’ll look into it the next time I’m there,” I agreed. “And my swords?”

“Well, Daedra Slayer just needed a buff and a quick wiping, but you may want to see Ita to have it recharged,” he commented. “You don’t want it running out of Magicka in the middle of a fight, now, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” I admitted. “And the katana?” After his comment about the Kvatch Wolf, I was concerned about the katana, which had taken as much a beating as the light iron shield.

“Ah, still good,” he handed me the sheathed blade. “No damage to the blade, just a few nicks that were easily smoothed out. You’ll find it just as well-balanced and keen as ever.”

He was right about the balance, I noted, weaving the blade through the Sunbird Dance I had learned from Jelin all those years ago. The katana felt light and musical in my hand, as it did the day I drew it out of the armory chest at Cloud Ruler Temple. I finished the movements with a sword-salute to Daenlin for his smithing work. “I’m impressed,” I told the delighted Bosmer. “That was a lot of work, and I appreciate it.”

“That was mighty fine blade-dancing,” he complimented me. “I’ve never seen anyone swing one quite like that.”

“It’s an old art,” I responded. “I was lucky that my pilus prior, back when I was a munifex, was a master in the Sunbird Bladework.” Sheathing the katana, I gave Daenlin a little bow of appreciation. “And your work is just as good. Thanks.”

“Will you be in Bravil much longer?” Daenlin asked me, nearly wistful. I shrugged.

“Ursanne Loche has asked me to speak to gro-Dragol about her husband.” Dismayed to see Daenlin’s smile disappear, I cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Be careful, Julian,” he said to me, his voice dark. “That man’s a bad one to cross.”

“I’ve already heard that about him,” I agreed. “I’ll be careful. ‘Til the next time, Daenlin.” I gathered my things and headed to the curtained alcove. I wanted to have my battle gear on before I went to see this gro-Dragol.

[Acadian]

What a delightful morning in Bravil! You are bringing so many of the wonderful residents there to life.

It's wonderful to see the old warhorse's knee gradually continuing to improve.

Julian can't escape her 'hero' title it seems. And my goodness, she does have quite the list of tasks now. Seems like Kurdan is next. He is one scary orc - I'm with Daenlin, Julian; be careful!

[Remko]

Ah, a bit of foreshadowing on the 'Wolf of Kvatch' you told me about after my installment where Rales loses Wretched. Very nice having the smith warning her of metal fatigue I hope it doesn't break up on her on the worst timing possible.

[SubRosa]

Poor Julian, people are calling her bad names - like hero - again!

Ahh, Ardaline. She is one of my favorite Altmer. I thought you did an excellent job of portraying her shyness. Her voice being so quiet that Julian could barely hear her was the perfect touch.

“Don’t burst, please,” I smiled in response to his infectious mood. “I’d hate the thought of having to clean up the shop after you.”
Julian made a joke?!? Well it is about time she stopped being such a stick in the mud and had some fun!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Aug 6 2010, 04:33 PM