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

[treydog]

Just one more chapter to go... One thing reading your amazing story in this way has shown me is how good it truly is. Certainly there are moments that stand out- and I have called out many of them; but the real take-away is how smoothly it all flows and how professional it is. Way back in my English teacher days, I used the concept of the "well-crafted story," comparing it to cabinet-making or carpentry, where what you see is the completed whole, without being able to spot how the craftsperson did it. OHDH absolutely fits that definition. And now for my specific spamming:

11.4 Julian’s situational awareness, gained on many a field, saves the day. I also appreciate how your wolves act more like real wolves and bluff people, but then retreat if they can. I really wish the AI would give creatures (and NPCs) that option. Although I hear there is a certain amulet available, crafted by a woodcrafty witch, that might help.

Salespeople and Julianos’ Witnesses bothering you? Just use Ancotar’s Patented Go-Away Spell. If they can’t see you, they can’t annoy you.

“Better head to the inn and see if Serethi can be seen.”

Now that’s alliteration I can live with!

11.5- Ah, is Drift a Great Valus or a Great Jerall, perhaps? His presence really made the scene in the sheepfold come to life. And the bickering about who gets to do what for their savior was great fun.

The conversation with the Aleswellian’s is a shining example of Julian’s skills as a peace-maker. Seems to be another aspect of her role as Protector.

11.6 Ontus Vanin is another gem of a character who inhabits Julian’s world- “Now I’m completely useless, and I’m proud of it.” Sounds like what I aspire to!

The conversation with Gwinas shows your “ear” for interactions, as well as providing Julian with the information she needs to make a decision.

11.7 The way you work Julian’s history so perfectly into the story is brilliant. I am rewriting my original ES fiction and noticed that I did an “info dump,” which I highlighted as needing work. Your approach gives me ideas to steal- um, consider. And she buys a house- that is a big deal to someone who has lived in accommodations for the last nearly 30 years.

11.8 Jeelius! First Gwinas and now (one of) our favorite Argonians. Having Julian reconnect with people she has encountered really adds a sense of realism to your story. So does the description of the passageway to the Waterfront.

12.1 The meeting with Armand was interesting; he is willing to be neighborly- but only to a point. And the teasing by the pirate was a fun scene, especially Julian’s response. And a little history and more food! (Quiets rumbling doggie belly with a promise of an apple later).

12.2 Your “European-style” dining arrangements were a pleasing touch of cultural background. I rather wish we in the States were less “territorial” about restaurant space- we would have an opportunity to meet more people that way. And this from a Southerner, where folks are reputed to be “more friendly.”

And Julian’s nature as Protector reappears in response to Adanrel. The whole conversation and Julian’s kindness are delicious- as was the meal.

She also discovers that not everyone on the Waterfront is helpless- and some of them will look for trouble…

12.3 “I’m Julian of Anvil, I need of wood for my fire,” I said. “I just bought old Tormund’s house.”
And already the thieves on the Waterfront have struck, absconding with Julian’s “am in” from before “need.” Those two-letter words are so small and easy to lift…

“I’d like the two drawers here in the corner,”

Did you perhaps mean “two dressers?”

Have to add that having the furnishings delivered and the bit of by-play with the Argonian names was a lovely touch.

12.4 The Inn of Ill Omen appears to have been transformed into the Inn of Ill “Women”- one drunk on ale; the other made queasy by Mannheim’s “cooking.”

Agree with everyone else’s points about the random gates- Bethesda really dropped the ball on making the crisis seem “critical.” Better to have built side quests with random Daedra (of varying difficulty) terrorizing villages or preying on livestock. The sameness (and sheer number) of the Gates was one of my biggest disappointments. That is true even if you ignore the randoms and just deal with the MQ. I mean, come on, each County (and Count/Countess) has different needs. How hard would it have been to write quests that were more “location specific” instead of, “Sure, I’ll be glad to send some of my guards- as soon as someone deals with that darned Gate.” There could even be a moral dilemma invoked by having the Count/Countess ask the player character to do something questionable in return for assistance. Like no politician has ever done anything like THAT before. Apologies, your thread and your story are not really the place for this- but, you do such a brilliant job of world-building that I want you (and Julian) to have an equally brilliant game-world in which to write and live.

Anyhow- I completely accept Julian’s decision-path- “Near habitations or major roads? It goes. Out in the sticks? Let the cougars (but not Nerussa!) and bears (Mannheim?) deal with it.

@ureniashtram- “Macintosh?!” I suppose Julian should have an apple tattooed on her arm instead of a dragon. I love that one- I hope Rachel starts writing again, as I will happily “plant” that idea in her mind.

12.5 I also applaud your decision to give only a brief description of closing the random Gate- “It was like a scamp- ‘short, brutish, and nasty.’”

The conversation with Kaeso was great- “I did it for you.” Woo hoo, Julian!

12.6 “Are you going in there?” “Are you remaining at your post, Frederick?” I asked in response.

Is water wet? Does a Daedra poop in the Deadlands?

Excellent choice to cover the latest sojourn inside a Gate via Julian’s injuries.

12.7 I continue to appreciate your giving the city streets names that make sense and provide context.

And another master-stroke is letting us see the changes in Julian through Frederick’s eyes.

The whole scene with Marz was a shining example of how to tell a story, how to write conversation, how to let characters reveal themselves…

12.8 Ursanne Loche and Daenlin. Followed by a less pleasant meeting, but one which provides more needed background.

This post has been edited by treydog: Aug 11 2010, 09:04 PM

[haute ecole rider]

@Foxy: You might want to take some lidocaine (to slow down your ventricular tachycardia, aka rapid heartbeat) before reading on. . .

@SubRosa: I always felt the Nord and Imperial hunters were a joke, and those traps were harder! As for drinking the wine, well, you’ll see why she didn’t in 13.11.

@Destri: Not only movies have been written about the most dangerous game, but novels also. Yes, I agree, this is one of the more satisfying quests, though it ends . . . Well, not quite the way we want it to.

@Olen: The fights with the first two were glossed over because in the game those two guys were pretty much a joke. Now the one in the basement . . .

@Doggie!: I spent a few minutes chuckling over your humorous synopsis of Julian’s story thus far. More than twice! It's funny that you should compare my story to a cabinet - my grandfather was a cabinet-maker in his spare time - he learned it from his father.

@Acadian: I figured Fort Grief was a good place for Julian to practice her summoning skills with Bones. I doubt she’ll ever get as handy with spells as Buffy, but she’s finding certain ones useful!

Julian encounters an opponent that is as well-trained a fighter as she is.

****************
Chapter 13.9 Hunter’s Prey

Eventually, I found a door leading me deeper, into a second level. This level was much smaller, a short passageway leading me past more lethal gas traps into an open room with a flooded center. My life detection spell showed me the bulk of an Orsimer pacing around the water. Crouching down, my gaze never left the orc as I slowly crept behind him and attacked.

It did cross my mind that this was gro-Dragol, but the weapon he swung at me wasn’t an axe, it was a hammer. I managed to duck the first blow and moved to slash him as the hammer went down, but the big Orc handled it like it was a cane, recovering much faster than I expected. His rising back knocked my katana away like it was a twig, spinning my arm to my right until the muscles in the front of my chest complained. I managed to dance back in time to avoid his counterstrike, and caught his left biceps, beneath the edge of his pauldron, with the tip of my blade, drawing first blood.

We drew back from each other, circling to gain advantage. The Orc held the hammer athwart his face, ready to block anything I sent his way. I kept my shield side towards him, prepared to deflect his weapon. It is starting to show signs of metal fatigue, Daenlin’s voice sounded softly in my mind. I wondered if that hammer would be the finish of my Kvatch Wolf. In the weeks since Savlian Matius had given it to me, I had carried it with an unspoken pride. While the shield made me recognizable as the Hero of Kvatch, it served as a constant reminder of the bravery of the men who had faced the daedra alone, protecting unarmed civilians who knew nothing of combat. I could not look at the Wolf without thinking of Matius, of Vonius, of gra-Sharob and the other brave souls living with loss and tragedy.

All of this flashed through my mind in an instant. Beyond the Orc’s shoulder, I spotted the stairs that led back to the corridor through which I had entered. I kept circling, until the stairs were behind me, then spun to my left and ran up the first couple of steps. It gave me some height, above the big Orsimer, and got me out from under that hammer.

He recognized the tactic and snarled at me, sweeping the hammer sideways at my knees. At a disadvantage because of the limited space to maneuver on the steps, I skipped backwards out of his reach, then hopped down to slice through his left arm again, turning the blade on contact to carve out a chunk of muscle. He roared and backhanded me into the wall.

The wind knocked out of me, I dropped the Wolf with a clatter. The round shield slid down the stairs to lie against the Orc’s booted feet. We both glanced down at it, then he looked back at me, a snarling grin on his face. He kicked the buckler away and leapt onto the stairs, raising his hammer.

I jumped forward, slamming my left shoulder into his chest. He barely staggered, but the hammer hit the stone behind me. With a turn beneath his arm, I sank the edge of the blade near the hilt, where it was strongest, into his left elbow. I felt the steel bite into bone, then his fist smashed into the top of my back, driving me into the stairs. I felt my right knee give way, and I tumbled backwards off the side of the stairs, somehow holding on to the katana.

Landing near the Wolf, I rolled over it, managing to slip my left arm into its straps and rise onto my left knee with the shield before me. I couldn’t stand, not with my bum knee throbbing so badly. Warm fluid trickled down the back of my neck from when I had hit my skull on unyielding stone somewhere. My head spun, and my back hurt when I breathed. I looked up to see, not one, but two Orcs coming at me, those accursed hammers lifted one-handed.

I ducked to the side, falling onto my right hip, and managed to deflect the hammer with the Wolf. There was just barely enough room for me to point the katana at his side and ram it home, through the chink in the side of his cuirass. His momentum trapped my blade against the edge of his backplate, and the katana tore out of my hand as he crashed to the ground. The hammer -hammers?- skittered out of his hand and splashed into the water.

As I forced my body up on my left knee, I reached for the hilt of the katana, still protruding out of the Orc’s side and quivering with his gasping breaths. I twisted the blade while I pulled it out, blood cascading black in the unsteady torchlight. I stabbed his side again, angling the tip of the blade upwards within the rib cage, again twisting it as I pulled it back out. This time, I heard hissing, and knew I had punctured a lung. More blood followed my blade, frothy this time. The Orc’s breath rattled one more time, then the iron clad mountain fell silent.

Crouched near him, gasping for breath, I held my katana ready for another stab, the blade flickering wildly with my shaking. The Orc did not move, did not breathe. Finally convinced he was dead, I looked up, scanning the area for more enemies. Instead, I saw double torches, and realized I’d been concussed. Damn. The smith’s hammer pounded again in my head, amplifying the pain in my knee and my back where the Orsimer had hit me between the shoulder blades.

My katana in my left hand, I cast a life detection spell, but no pink flared up anywhere. Truly alone, I collapsed to my left side, shield held in front of me. With violent tremors, I laid my katana down on the floor, ready to my hand. From my belt pouch I fumbled out a couple of healing potions, recognizable by the distinctive shape of their vials. I managed to uncork one without spilling the precious fluid, and drank it greedily. My eyes closed, and I waited as its warmth spread from my gut through my body. My shaking calmed down, my breathing slowed, but the damned smith’s hammer still battered my skull. As I downed the other potion, I prayed for the banging to stop. It slowed down, but persisted.

I searched the Orc’s body, and found a key, much like the ones I had found on the other two hunters. I rolled to my hands and knees and straightened my right leg out to the side, avoiding the deep flexing that always aggravated the old injury. The throbbing in my knee subsided to the point that I felt I could stand on it. With a pause to sheathe my katana, I struggled to my feet, groaning as the torches spun faster around me. I staggered to the wall, leaned carefully against it, and wiped the cold sweat off my face with trembling hands. I couldn’t take a deep breath without pain stabbing into my back, and wondered if the Orc’s blow had broken a rib.

Focused on the pain, I cast the healing spell Jeelius had taught me. The piercing agony in my back subsided to a dull ache, and my right knee stopped throbbing, though it still hurt to walk on it. Unfortunately, it did nothing for the pounding in my head, or the double vision. I waited for my Magicka to replenish itself, and when I felt less shaky, I tried again. This time, the double vision disappeared, though things still remained blurry, and the damned smith kept working. But I was out of Magicka, and needed to get back to Aleron. I had three keys now, at least one of them should work . . .

The rest of the Hunter’s Run was a blurred mosaic of torchlight, shadows, and rough, unyielding stone. I encountered no more enemies, fortunately, and found a shortcut that led me back to a point in the upper level that bypassed all the traps. It involved jumping down onto a bridge, though. By this time, my magicka had replenished enough to let me use my childhood healing spell before I jumped, and again after I landed.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Aug 12 2010, 05:30 PM

[treydog]

I am glad that my poor jokes did not fall on deaf ears... Of course, if I had been keeping up, I likely would not have thought of them. Anyway, the last of the spamming- for I am officially caught up! Yup, we definitely need a :twirl emoticon.

13.1 Got to love your version of Kud-Ei.

“perpetuators?” Is that how you want Kud-Ei to say it, or do you mean “perpetrators”?

Beyond that- add me to the list of those who absolutely admire that sentence.

13.2 Doeskin shoes- wonder if the material was supplied by a certain blonde Bosmeri archer?

Fathis Aren- somehow, I always render that as “His Fathead Arrogance.”

And again, much is revealed in a conversation over a meal.

13.3 The barracks scene was detailed and moving, especially as it brought back those Legion memories.

“…I looked around the small room. It was as lean and spare as the woman…” Example number 1,958 of how to write beautifully, presented by haute ecole rider.

The conversation or “interview” or perhaps “interrogation” with Captain Lerus provides a great deal of insight into both women.

13.4 You give a good view of the contradiction that is Vamori- he is a supposed master of words, yet he cannot find a way to apologize….

Poetry… must defend myself as a member of the Professional Order of English Majors. I think most of you would like Robert Service:

The Cremation of Sam McGee

And I imagine at least Acadian and Foxy are familiar with certain gems by a fellow named Kipling:

Chant Pagan

And a bit of The Ballad of East and West just for haute:

The Colonel's son has taken horse, and a raw rough dun was he,
With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell and the head of a gallows-tree.
The Colonel's son to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to eat
Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat.
He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly,
Till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of the Tongue of Jagai,
Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal upon her back,
And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the Pistol crack.
He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide.
“Ye shoot like a soldier," Kamal said. " Show now if ye can ride!
It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust-devils go
The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren doe.
The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head above,
But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars, as a maiden plays with a glove.
There was rock to the left and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between,
And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho' never a man was seen.

They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the dawn,
The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn.
The dun he fell at a water-course - in a woeful heap fell he,
And Kamal. has turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider free.
He has knocked the pistol out of his hand - small room was there to strive,
“ 'Twas only by favour of mine," quoth he, " ye rode so long alive:
"There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree,
"But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee.
"If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low,
"The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all in a row.
"If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high,
"The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly."
Lightly answered the Colonel's son: "Do good to bird and beast,
"But count who come for the broken meats before thou makest a feast.
"If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away.
"Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a thief could pay.
"They will feed their horse on the standing crop, their men on the garnered grain.
"The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the cattle are slain.
"But if thou thinkest the price be fair - thy brethren wait to sup,
"The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn - howl, dog, and call them up!
"And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and stack,
"Give me my father's mare again, and I'll fight my own way back! "

By all means, read the whole thing- anyone who likes TES should enjoy it. And it almost makes us want TES V to take place in Hammerfell and the Alik'r Desert.

13.5 The whole scene with Carandial- as delicious as the spiced cider. Rather makes me long for the wet, cold days of January so I can build a fire and bake a loaf of apple-raisin bread…

13.6 And you seamlessly slip a bit of Carandial’s history into the conversation…

The meetings with Marz and Daenlin were up to your high standards, to no one’s surprise. And I like the realism that the Kvatch Wolf cannot last forever.

13.7 Brilliant writing throughout the scene with Dragol. Loved Julian’s approach and her savvy tactics, even if she is about to fall victim to the gangster’s trick. And I believe our good veteran knows a trick is in play, even if she cannot see all of its angles. So she will walk into the trap, eyes open and sword ready, showing that sometimes the game has teeth, as well.

13.8 And now we are inside the aptly-named Fort Grief (Charlie Brown). Clever Julian scouts the ground before committing herself. Her method of reaching the isolated sections shows ingenuity and skill.

Again, I concur with your decision to keep the discussion of the actual fights minimal. First, we have seen Julian fight, so we know she can; second, what is new here is the traps, which get more attention in the narrative. Surprised she has not considered sending “Uncle Boney” in to trip the dart traps…

Nit:

“He looked around himself, as if looking for a place to flee to.” Two “looks” and two “to’s” in close proximity- how about: “He looked around himself, as if seeking somewhere to flee.”

13.9 The fight with the Orc should satisfy anyone- I hurt from just reading it. The pounding in Julian’s head is a more frightening enemy than the Orc, though; I fear what measures she might be tempted to take to get it to go away.

[SubRosa]

As the dog said, a very intense scene fighting the orc. Glossing over the previous fights paid off here, as it would have felt redundant if this were the third battle scene. Especially seeing that we know there is at least one more to go...

It seems to be that the fight with the orc would have been a good time for Julian to have used her summon? A skeleton might only absorb one blow from that orc, but that still would have bought Julian time.


nits:

He kicked the buckler away
You might want to rethink describing the Kvatch Wolf as a buckler. A buckler is small, usually about the size of a dinner plate, although some were a little bigger. I was under the impression that the Kvatch Wolf was much larger, something like the size of a Viking shield, as you describe it having straps. A small shield like a buckler just had a handgrip in the center.

You might find this to be a useful resource regarding shields. Not all-encompassing by far, but chock full of good info and pictures.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Aug 13 2010, 02:09 AM

[Acadian]

This was superb, and my heart is still pounding! Such a powerful fight and so skillfully described.

It is a challenge to pause for rumination during an intense fight, but Julian's flashing recollections about Kvatch and her shield were magnificently done. Woohoo!

Those unstoppable green mountains of flesh are very scary indeed. Oooh! I hope Julian is healed up enough for what I fear comes next.

It didn't occur to me until trey mentioned it, but I too hope Julian will not resort to desperate measures to control that pounding in her head. Marz can help once you get back to Bravil, gurl!


Nit?

Crouching down and moving slowly, my gaze on him, I crept behind him and attacked him.

'Him' x 3 in close proximity surprised me. Might you consider something like: 'Crouching down, my gaze never left the orc as I slowly crept behind him and attacked.'

This post has been edited by Acadian: Aug 12 2010, 05:10 PM

[Olen]

Oooh fighting, and well described. Exciting stuff there and well written. The continued mention of the knee tied it well to the story and makes such details important so I enjoyed it getting a part even if Julian didn't. Certainly my hopes for action have been well sated (indeed I suspected there might be, as SubRosa said three fights in a row would get repetitive).

SubRosa got the only nit I saw. As for not using the skeliton that worked for me, I'd assumed that it just hadn't really occurred to her in the heat of the moment (not being a mage and all).

Still I see the end coming... unless...

Is water wet? Does a Daedra poop in the Deadlands?

*sniggers* Well it is lore specific...

This post has been edited by Olen: Aug 12 2010, 07:17 PM

[Destri Melarg]

That moment after Julian drops her shield, when both she and the Orc look down at it, is one of those cinematic moments in which a thousand words is encompassed in a single glance and I thought that you just nailed it! When I read it my breath literally caught in my throat and the first thought that came unbidden into my consciousness was “Oh No!” But then Julian’s wonderfully described recovery filled me with admiration for her yet again. Then she looks up and sees not one, but TWO Orcs coming at her! I admit to feeling like Buffy when confronted with her first zombie! Julian’s eventual victory elicited from me a sigh of relief even as I sympathized with the toll that the battle had taken on her.

Did I say that I liked this chapter?

[D.Foxy]

HAUTEE AND TREY...


First, Trey. DANG but you HAD to quote Service and Kipling...Don't you know that I am under an uncontrollable compulsion to quote nearly ANY Kipling, especially "The BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST" at the top of my lungs while stamping my feet and waving my fists???

NOT a very dignified thing for a secretary to see....GRRRR

*and if she even THINKS about repeating what she saw - watch out, Miss, there's this thing called a recession going around, huh?*

HAUTEE - again, DANG. WHAT a battle scene! (I locked the door and switched off the phone this time. Frigging messages be damned.)

Heart was pounding all right.

Now let's give that other Orc what he's got coming! Hey Hautee, do me a favour - do us all a favour - get Julian to make a witty wisecrack as she finishes him off, hey?

[haute ecole rider]

@Augie Doggie!: All caught up now? Whew! Thanks for the poetry, though the title “Cremation of Sam McGee” made me think of the Lord of the Rings! I especially liked the The Ballad of East and West. Thanks for pointing out your nits.

@SubRosa: I thought about having Julian use the summons, but I wanted to demonstrate the rapidity of events. Julian is still new at spellcasting that she has to think her way through. It’s like learning a new language - first you have to think what you want to say in your native language, then translate it to the new language before you can finally say it. It’s only after practice that it becomes second nature. When I played the game, I found the first two guys easy to sneak up on, which meant I could think to cast the spells; but the orc was harder, so I didn’t fight with magic, just straight up melee fighting. As for buckler, I’m aware that it usually means a small fist-sized shield, but I have seen it refer to larger shields on occasion. I wanted to avoid using ‘shield’ too often. It’s a hard one to find synonyms for.

@Acadian: I’m glad you felt the fight here. It was gritty in the game, and I kept that gritty feel in the story. Besides, Julian has to encounter scary situations from time to time, otherwise the story would get boring!

@Olen: You’re right about why Julian didn’t use the summons during her fight with the Orc. And yes, treydog’s comment is priceless!

@Destri: That is exactly how I write my fights (and almost everything else) - I visualize it as a movie first. It’s all pictured in my head beforehand, right down to the cinematic glances. I’m glad you felt this combat as well. It is one of the hardest chapters I’ve written thus far, and subsequently one of the chapters I’m most proud of.

@Foxy: I agree, that Ballad of East and West has a great rhythm to it when read out loud, which I did! Thanks for the rousing approval on my fight scene. I take it your secretary didn’t have to call the medic for some lidocaine, heh? Sorry, no wisecrack this time, but would an insult suffice?

Julian is unable to save Aleron, but she manages to finish things with gro-Dragol.

******************
13.10 Hunter’s Revenge

Finally I reached the door leading out of the Fort. I opened it and stepped out into fresh air, pulling it deep into my lungs. A scream pulled my attention out into the far side of the keep, where two blurry figures stood. I saw a green, iron clad mountain swing a heavy weapon against the smaller figure, and heard the sickening sound of a skull being splattered.

Didn’t I just kill that fetcher? Then it hit me. Kurdan gro-Dragol! I drew my katana and moved out. A sudden sound above distracted me, and I saw a lithe form moving on the second walkway above. I sidled into the cover the walkway provided, and looked back at gro-Dragol, where he stood with his face turned down at the still form at his feet. Standing up, I limped to where he would see me.

The big Orsimer did not act surprised when he spotted me. Though my vision remained blurred, I could recognize him by the way he walked up to me. “So, Julian,” he greeted me heartily. “You’ve managed to kill all my clients.” He shrugged. “No worry. More will come with their heavy purses and their insatiable thirst for blood.” He laughed shortly. “Too bad about Aleron, at least his debt is paid!” As he turned away from me, he started walking around the pile of debris in the middle and headed for the door. “Yer stuck here, friend.”

I thought of the three keys in my belt purse, and limped back deeper in the cover of the walkway, acutely aware of the other above me. “I have the key,” I called after gro-Dragol, his form less blurred in my vision. He paused, turning to look back at me, his black eyes sparkling in the shadows thrown by the late afternoon sun.

“The key you have is fake!” he called back. “Too bad. It’s my game, and I’m changing the rules!” He turned away again.

He has the real key! I can’t let him leave the Fort! The thought flashed through my mind, and heat built up in my right fingers. The Wolf slid up my forearm, and I placed the katana in my left hand, clenching my right fist and holding in my anger. “So you’re not the biggest, meanest, toughest butterfly whacker I’ve ever met, gro-Dragol,” I growled, pitching my voice to carry across the keep. The big Orsimer came to an abrupt halt. My fist raised, I waited for him to turn around. “That Orc in the Hunter’s Run at least could beat a rabbit.” Got him. I flung the flare full into his face as he spun around.

“Gah!” he spat as the fire streamed around his face. Unslinging his axe, gro-Dragol ran at me. Though he was bigger than the Orsimer down in the lowest level of the Hunter’s Run, I could tell by the way he moved that Kurdan gro-Dragol was no trained fighter, but rather a street bully.

The hilt of the katana dropped into my right hand, the straps on the back of the Wolf slid into my left, and I waited, watching that crescent blade as it started its descent towards me. Unlike the Orsimer hunter, gro-Dragol let the inertia of the heavy weapon pull him off balance when I dodged the axe. The katana whipped down in a chop, slicing into his right elbow until the blade bit bone. Then I skipped away, ignoring the pain in my right knee.

My actions drew me out from the cover of the walkway, and an arrow whizzed past my left ear. Before I could react, a second one embedded into my left shoulder, staggering me sideways. A startled cry escaped my lips, and I moved back again, under the walkway. My left arm couldn’t hold the shield up to protect my side, though I still clutched the straps.

I could hear booted footsteps as the archer ran around the walkway, trying to find a clear shot at me. I forced my attention back to gro-Dragol, who had switched his axe to his left hand. A place under the walkway where the ground rose nearly to the underside of the walkway, its arched support providing additional cover, appeared in the corner of my eye. I retreated into the corner created by the exterior wall of the keep and the support pillar.

The space restricted my movements, but it also restricted gro-Dragol’s one-handed swings. Additionally, he stood between me and that archer. Gro-Dragol could not get his bulk behind his axe as he liked to do, while I could keep him at arm’s distance by darting my sword at the weak points in his armor. While each bite of the katana was not disabling, the effects of each added up, wearing his stamina and his not-considerable patience down.

With a roar of pain and rage, gro-Dragol started hammering the stone pillar with his axe, as if trying to bring the walkway down on my head. The axe rebounded unpredictably off the stone, throwing sparks everywhere. I just kept jabbing at him with my sword, pushing at gro-Dragol’s rage until he became blind to the damage he was causing his axe.

Finally the axe blade shattered, leaving him with half a shaft in his two fists. The katana fell into my shield hand, and I called up the flare and flung it into his face. At this close range, the flare sizzled on his skin, and gro-Dragol reeled back, screaming. The light color of the padded linen shirt he wore appeared beneath the dark iron cuirass, exposed by the Orc’s arching back, and I had my opening.

The katana back in my right hand, I darted forward, careful to keep as much weight off the right knee as possible, and aimed the blade at that light sliver beneath the cuirass. Again, I twisted the blade as I pulled it back out, all the while my senses straining for sight or sound of that irritating archer. As gro-Dragol crumpled forward, my blade became momentarily trapped between the edges of his cuirass and greaves.

In that moment, a twang from the bow warned me of another shot from the pesky bowman. This one thudded into my left arm, just above the rim of the Kvatch Wolf. I was knocked down, my right wrist wrenching as I hung on grimly to the sword. My teeth gritted in pain, I managed to get the katana out of gro-Dragol’s side, and scrambled further back beneath the walkway, groaning as the arrowheads in my left shoulder and arm grated into the muscles.

Panting hard against the pain, I switched the katana back to my left hand, focused for a moment and reached out with my senses as Edgar had taught me, then cast my life detection spell.

The pink blob that gave the bowman away shimmered above the walkway to my left, inching towards the stairs at the far side of the keep. My eyes closed, I visualized the clanking skeleton, armed with sword and shield, and summoned it. The spells, cast in rapid succession, left me shaking even harder than before.

As the archer crept down the stairs, sidling for a clear shot at me, my summoned skeleton started, then ran flat-footed at him, bones and shield clanking. The pink glow disappeared in time for me to recognize the lithe form of a male Khajiit as he shot arrow after arrow into Bones.

Hurriedly, for Bones didn’t have much time before the spell ran out, I fumbled for the single vial of magicka replenishment I had found in the Hunter’s Run. I managed to choke it down as the skeleton disappeared. The archer, still standing, though he bled from several wounds, inched closer to me, his bow ready.

My shaking steadied, and I let the rage build up again in my fingers. The Khajiit was within two meters when I cast the flare directly into his eyes. I followed with two more flares into his body before my magicka fizzled.

While he staggered with the flames licking at his face and chest, I struggled forward, my katana right-handed again, and sliced the tip of the blade across his exposed throat. A bubbling hiss escaped through the new breathing orifice as the Khajiit dropped to his knees, his large eyes wide in shock in the midst of scorched fur.

Depleted of everything - my strength, my Magicka, my will, I echoed the bowman’s slump and fell onto my back, panting hard. With a groan I pulled my right foot out from underneath me to ease the throbbing in my knee. Pain and weakness overwhelmed me, and I closed my eyes, silently cursing the untiring smith in my skull.

[Acadian]

This was fabulous. As always, so much to like!

The katana whipped down in a chop, slicing into his right elbow until the blade bit bone. Then I skipped away, ignoring the pain in my right knee.

I love how you obviously 'feel' Julian and that she helps you write. The first half of this passage had me thinking about Julian's poor knee. The second half of the passage made it clear that you and Julian felt the same thing. You are so in touch with her that I don't think it is possible for you to overlook or miss her knee pain if she were to do something that aggravates it. It is clear that you 'feel' every move she makes.

The katana fell into my shield hand, and I called up the flare and flung it into his face.

I love that Julian cannot cast a fire spell with a blade in her hand. I guess perhaps some accomplished battlemages can do that, but not Julian. Don't feel bad, Julian. Buffy can't cast a fire spell when she has her bow nocked either.

I also liked how you portrayed the archer. Those arrows knocked the crap out of Julian, yet she managed a couple tricks that allowed her to get within biting range of that darn archer. Yup, a pissed off Redguard with a katana in your face is the stuff archer nightmares are made of. We know.

Again, this was a real joy to read. I don't envy Julian now though. I'm know it will pain her greatly to report Aleron's death to poor Ursanne.

[treydog]

Glad you and the Fox enjoyed the poetry- my father was a sergeant during WWII and introduced me to Service and Kipling early. That is one of the many wonderful things he did for me that I will never be able to repay. The best tribute I can manage is to pass it on.

Yup, I have a tendency to allow my characters to lug around summoning scrolls and rings and amulets- which they never remember to use... I just don't play magic-based characters enough.

After the fight with the final hunter, I thought you would have a hard time doing better when Dragol showed up. And that's what I get for thinking! What a brilliant, crunching, cinematic battle that was. Julian dodging that great axe which, even inexpertly handled, is still deadly. And having to remain aware of the pesky archer all the time, as well.

This was a Hall of Fame fight scene- training and determination overcoming muscle and avarice.

Sorry Aleron could not be kept alive, but it saves Ursanne from having to kill him herself. And it adds a realism that is often lacking- a reminder that no matter how heroic your character, s/he can't save everyone.

Brilliant work.

[D.Foxy]

I will say only this.

I couldn't have plotted, and written, that fight scene better myself.

nuff said.

[SubRosa]

I like how Dragol was just going to leave Julian locked up in the Fort. Even better yet, how she taunted him into turning to fight.

Now that was an exciting fight! Especially so that Dragol was not a trained fighter, and made rookie mistakes. It is nice to see a villain who is not an uber-fighter, but rather a leader. Julian, otoh, shows her experience in the way she picks her ground and takes her time, wearing him down until she can find an opening to exploit.

Finally, we see a good use of her skeleton. Bones! That was the same name my character Saya used for her skeleton (whom I eventually made into a companion with the CM Partners mod).

nits:
A place under the walkway where the ground rose nearly to the underside of the walkway, its arched support providing additional cover, appeared in the corner of my eye.
You have walkway twice here, and sentence that rather runs on as well. How about:
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a place where the ground rose nearly to the underside of the walkway. Its arched support provided additional cover, so I retreated there. Placing my back to the wall in the corner created by the exterior wall of the keep and the support pillar, I let the orc come to me.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Aug 15 2010, 06:53 PM

[Olen]

A grand ending, very well choreographed and written, it felt like I was there watching. I agree having Dragol unskilled (but still a massive orc with an axe) was a good move, it adds realism that the main boss was a better mobster than fighter.

The archer was a nice addition to even things up, I would say that her injuries seemed a bit severe to be doing much swinging of swords, though perhaps being shot isn't as bad if you're halfway though a fight (and she is the hero of kvatch ;P).

And I suspect we'll be seeing more skelitons in the future, the inclusion of magic into her style is great, and the development is slow enough to be convincing.

[haute ecole rider]

@Acadian: Yes, Julian helps me write. That’s the fun of writing - getting inside someone else’s head and experiencing what they experience. I had to laugh at your description of an archer nightmare!

@treydog:

I have a tendency to allow my characters to lug around summoning scrolls and rings and amulets - which they never remember to use . . .

Exactly the way I play! Writing this segment was rather easy considering my adrenaline was already pumping after the previous one!

@Foxy: Your comment = music to my ears!

@SubRosa: I figured why would Dragol kill Julian? Leave her there for the next clients! Bones will accompany Julian only for a while longer, until she gets proficient enough for the next level. I’ll think about how I want to rewrite that sentence you pointed out. Thanks for the input.

@Olen: The archer hit Julian twice in the left shoulder/arm, and she was wielding the katana in the right hand. I know how I can keep going after getting bit/kicked/stepped on thanks to adrenaline. Not to brag, but I’ve groomed and tacked out a horse (and drove him on an obstacle course) after having a rib broken by my rambunctious colt (horse kick), rode my mare after she kicked me in the thigh and did something to my hip (not quite broken or dislocated), and wrestled a mean Rottie onto the Xray table after he bit my left wrist. All those things hurt like heck the next morning. If only I had Marz around at those times . . .

Julian confronts her painful injuries and figures out how to escape Fort Grief. This is the last segment of Chapter 13.

****************
Chapter 13.11 Escape from Fort Grief

The shadows were considerably longer when I opened my eyes. With a gasp, I realized that I had lost consciousness for an unknown amount of time. I could feel the growing chill in the air that signaled nightfall. With some difficulty, I sat up, and became aware of the two arrows in my left arm and shoulder. Briefly I considered pulling them out, but decided to leave that for a healer. Marz. She can help me. Gods, I hope she can silence this headache.

The Khajiit bowman lay next to me, deader than I. Reaching over, I examined his quiver. He had about ten arrows. How many do I have? Twenty-four? I decided to leave his arrows. In his pocket, I found ten drakes and took them. I also discovered two vials of healing potions in his belt pouch, and drank them hastily. The headache still persisted, but my left arm and right knee felt better.

After a couple of healing spells, I sheathed my katana and struggled to my feet. I limped over to gro-Dragol’s body and knelt awkwardly next to him, searching his pockets. I found about twenty septims and a key, different from the ones I had removed from the hunters. The big Orc had little else of value, so I left him with his shattered axe. The nearby pillar provided support as I pulled myself back onto my feet and limped to Loche’s body. I looked down at what was left of his face - gro-Dragol’s axe had done its job a little too well. The old Breton was unrecognizable.

I knelt next to him and recovered his house key, six drakes, and a brass ring with an inset pearl. Slipping them into my belt purse, I sat quietly next to the body. Now I have to go back and tell his wife he is dead. What she has feared the most has come to pass, and I couldn’t stop it. I dreaded the look on her face when she learned the news. The smith hammered harder at the thought.

Getting back to my feet was a struggle, and I started walking towards the gate. I found it locked, as Loche had said. An examination of the barrier revealed no lock for the key I had removed from gro-Dragol. As I leaned against it, I could see the rowboat with the taciturn Argonian sitting on his haunches next to it. The man was gazing out across the Niben, as motionless as a statue. Do I call out to him? He works for gro-Dragol, am I going to have to kill him too? I hated the thought of it, since he seemed thin and unhealthy in worn sackcloth clothing.

The key heavy in my hand, I turned it in my fingers thoughtfully. Where does this key go? How do I get this damned gate open? Wait, it opened by a crank handle outside, there has to be another one in here somewhere. I searched my memory as I looked around the keep. This key must allow me access to an interior crank to open that gate. But where?

Not out here, I decided, for I hadn’t seen anything like a door or a gate. With a glance at the heavy door leading into the Hunter’s Run, I regarded it thoughtfully. Inside. It has to be inside there. Past those traps? But I had explored every passage, every doorway in there, except . . . Wait, there was a locked gate with a room beyond, just within the entrance. I wonder . . .

I pushed myself off the wall and limped slowly to the door to re-enter the Hunter’s Run. Just a few paces down the corridor, in the shadows between the front door and the first pair of wall torches, I spotted the half-remembered bronze gate. I checked it - still locked. It was too dark to see how it was secured.

I wrestled a nearby torch out of its socket. Its light fell on the gate, and I could see the lockplate on its right side. Gro-Dragol’s key fit, and the tumblers turned with a satisfying click. The gate now open, I held the torch in front of me to cast light into the space beyond.

The room was small, barely bigger than an alcove, and in the center, on the floor, was a crank handle much like the one I had turned outside the keep. The torch in my left hand, I reached for it and turned it clockwise. It didn’t shift. The other direction was more successful, and I felt a click within the handle.

I looked around the room one more time, not finding anything of interest, and returned the torch to its sconce. Back outside, I could just barely see the gateway out of the keep, and saw that the double gates stood open. Did it! I started towards it, then remembered the wine! Loche stashed the bottles in that lean to.

Detouring to the shack, I found the faded silk robe folded beneath the weathered boards. The bottles were still underneath the red fabric. As I picked them up, a sudden urge - an urge to uncork one bottle and take a deep draught of the wine - overwhelmed me.

The force of the sudden craving dropped me to my knees, breathless. I closed my eyes and put the bottles carefully down on the silk robe. The smith’s hammer was pounding in my skull now, and a metallic, horrid taste developed in my mouth, a taste that only drink or skooma could wash away.

I’ve been fine for weeks! Why now? Then it hit me. The headaches. They had stopped when the Emperor first spoke to me, and only returned when I hit my head fighting that Orc hunter in the flooded room. With the smith’s hammer the craving for drink had slowly increased, until now my hands were sweaty and shaking.

I need healing. Badly. Akatosh, let Marz heal me. Something stirred in my gut. Slowly, I wrapped the bottles in the silken robe, using the sleeves to tie the bundle together. That dreadful taste resisted my efforts to swallow it away, so I limped to the gates and looked through them. The thin Argonian still sat on the dock, his haunches on his heels, tail extended behind him as a brace. His back to me, he gave no indication that he was aware of the combat that had occurred within the keep.

My improvised sack clenched in my left hand behind the Kvatch Wolf, I drew the katana and limped out. I watched the Argonian as I picked my way carefully along the short, rocky path to the dock. He did not move, but continued gazing towards Bravil.

Once on the weathered boards, I stopped and cleared my throat. The scaled head whipped around, then his body followed as he whirled to stand facing me. His eyes widened when he spotted me, and widened further when he glanced behind me at the open gates of the keep.

“gro-Dragol let you out?” he hissed, incredulous. I shook my head. His eyes narrowed at me, and I raised the tip of my katana. “You killed him,” it was a statement. When I nodded, his tense posture relaxed, and he grinned. “Good, I am free of him at lasst.”

“What?” I asked him, still wary of subterfuge on his part. He put his long-fingered hands together and bowed slightly.

“I owed gro-Dragol much, much drakess,” he answered. “He had me working for him, ferrying clientss, prey, and him here. I had to be at hiss beck and call.”

“Obviously he never paid you enough,” I said after a moment. We regarded each other silently for several long seconds, as the sun lowered further towards the western horizon.

“Come, it iss late,” the Argonian said. “I will bring you back to Bravil.” He looked at me up and down. “You need healing, and resst.”

[D.Foxy]

That touch...of the sudden, unexpected craving for a drug - I have seen that happen to addicts in real life. Kudos for realism, Hautee!

[SubRosa]

At .11, this is one of your larger chapters. Looks like a lot of people came to grief in that fort...

I had forgotten about Julian having the drinking problem as well as the skooma one. The skooma tends to be overwhelming in the mind. I liked how it was the Emperor who "cured" her of her addictions, albeit only temporarily. It helps reinforce that he was a larger-than-life person, someone who changes everyone he meets.

Hopefully Julian will get some of that well-needed rest and healing, she certainly needs it!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Aug 16 2010, 09:47 PM

[Acadian]

I'm so glad Julian figured out how to get that gate open.

You really put me in Julian's head as she wrestled with the tempting relief of the wine. I was holding my breath, unsure what to expect - even from our strong Redguard - until she managed to choose as she did. I'm so proud of you, Julian. I so hope Marz can help.

To make matters worse, Julian must deliver the tragic news to Ursanne.

I was worried about how you were going to handle the Argonian 'driver'. I should not have worried, for the answer is 'brilliantly'. Your explanation not only made perfect sense, but it was also very satisfying. I'm glad he did not have to join the body count at Fort Grief. Of course I'm also a little selfish in wanting to spare poor Julian's arrow-pierced left shoulder the challenge of trying to row to Bravil by herself.

[hazmick]

Greetings.

There are so many chapters to praise you on so I will stick with: OMG! this is awesome. The realism of your character is brilliant. Most of the time I forget that you are following a quest because your writing is so natural. Another congratulations is in order for your descriptions of food. I hopw Julian can resist that wine, I hear S'drassa at the Leyawiin mages guild is developing a cure for skooma addiction Keep up the good work.

[Olen]

And we leave Fort Grief... I suspect Marz will have some tutting to do after healing her (and we may discover more about those headaches). And it looks like another Argonian likes her now, perhaps she could get him to drop her off on a little sunny island in the Nibben for a break after she's done beating up Dagon...

I can see there being some rest anyway, if she goes where I expect at least.

Great stuff, and pleanty drawing it on though I am looking forward to the next (?) quest. A lot.