Old Habits Die Hard Part Three, The old dog practices new habits Options

[Remko]

I really enjoyed the briefing, and the desired presence of Julian to keep the young man from bragging the true events out of proportion.

Something is confusing me though. If Oblivion is everyone's personal hell, I'd say it would just be the opposite to what they're used to and more or less comfortable with.
Something I have been wondering about myself; what if you don't want to go heaven? Then what is your hell?

Anyway; the point I am trying to make is: wouldn't a Nord's hell be the scorching heat like Julian encounters? And for Redguards who are accustomed to heat, wouldn't their hell be the bitter cold of Skyrim?

[treydog]

Per Britannica:

Niflheim, Old Norse Niflheimr, in Norse mythology, the cold, dark, misty world of the dead, ruled by the goddess Hel. In some accounts it was the last of nine worlds, a place into which evil men passed after reaching the region of death (Hel).

[haute ecole rider]

I just had a feeling about this . . .

As for the representation of hell, it is very culture dependent. In cultures that live in cold climes, hell is presented as freezing, bone-cracking cold. In hot desert cultures, it is burning, scorching heat that shrivels everything into ash.

I look at it this way - hell is the worst thing you can imagine. If you're an Eskimo or reindeer herder living north of the Arctic Circle, what is the worst thing you can imagine, based on your experiences? Freezing to death of exposure. Alternatively, heaven is a cozy igloo/tent with a warm fire, cooking blubber/reindeer, because warmth means life. Eskimos and reindeer herders have no experience of the dry scorching heat desert dwellers experience. The warmest temperatures they experience is a (relatively) balmy 50 degrees during a two-week period in high summer. Is that uncomfortable for them? Not.

Desert dwellers likewise have no experience of cold or snow. The worst they may experience is a damp rainy evening with temps (again relative) a cool 50's or possibly the 40's. Is that even uncomfortable for them? But they are very familiar with the discomfort of 100+ degree temps, dry air that literally suck the very moisture from your lungs, and death by heat prostration. Easy to visualize hell as an exaggerated version of this.

What is hell for tropical jungle dwellers? I'm not sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was being choked to death by vigorous liana vines while monstrous creatures chew on your fingers, toes and bowels while you are still alive. Or maybe it's a slow death from poison (plant or animal venom). Or being eaten alive by fire ants.

My point is, cultural concepts of hell are based on the worst experiences that culture's environment has to offer.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Sep 24 2010, 03:52 PM

[hazmick]

Burd and Julian! go on, indulge your readers! lol.

A good explanation of the deadlands, Haa-Rei's first visit was fine---Spent a few minutes in the Kvatch gate to collect new ingredients and then left without destroying it.

A brilliant return to Nirn for our heroine, those 25 hours flew past, more please! (Definately more of Burd and Julian )

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa and mALX: Boy, you chicks sure are itchin’ for some romance (or at least some lust)! Don’t you know Julian’s gotta save Nirn first??

@Acadian: Your paladin past shows in your assessment of Burd’s offer of a barracks cot (chicks, read a narrow mattress barely wide enough for a skinny Redguard!). Julian also knows what a barracks is for - after all, she slept in one (when not sleeping in a tent) for twenty years!

@treydoggie: I agree that the “I saw a mudcrab today” is so infuriating when they are standing in front of a screaming Oblivion Gate! How about “I saw a scamp today”????

@Destri: Your comments about Bor and Soren made me laugh out loud! Remember I left out a bit of the lesson (the part from the first set of the fire towers outside to the sigil keep). Trust me that Bor and Soren did get some combat experience in during that part (under Julian’s tutelage, of course), and Burd got to do more with that claymore than stand there looking heroic. As for Julian’s fans chewing on the furniture, better theirs than mine!

@Remko: I’ve listened to enough young men (and women) to know when to take their tales with a grain of salt. I hope I have answered your confusion regarding the Deadlands.

@hazmick: et tu, hazmick? I’m glad to hear Haa-Rei survived his first visit to the Deadlands just fine. They are great for popping in to get ingredients, but it is possible to find ingredients around the gates themselves (like the Chorrol Gate), even after they are closed by the end of the MQ.

So Burd seems to be everyone’s favorite for Julian’s love interest? And I thought he already had a thing going on with Yvara Channitte?

This time, Julian gets not one, but two tasks to carry out. And the one task is going to take a looooong time!

***********************
Chapter 16.6 Two New Assignments

Heading to the Great Hall, I saw Caroline at the sentry post. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” she greeted me.

“Good afternoon, Caroline,” I responded. “Do you know where Grandmaster Jauffre is?”

“Inside, ma’am,” she answered, “in the Great Hall, I think.”

Caroline was right. I discovered Jauffre seated at Martin’s study table, evidently explaining something to the heir apparent. Martin, who faced the front of the Hall, recognized me and waved for me to join them. Jauffre spun on the bench to look at me, then gestured for me to sit next to him.

“Good work, Julian,” he said as I set my bow and katana to one side and joined him on the bench. “I understand Captain Burd feels confident that his guardsmen can handle any new Gates.”

“I think so, sir,” I responded. “As long as they don’t go charging in there waving their swords.” Jauffre spluttered klah into his hand.

“That’s how they do it in the Legion, isn’t it?” he asked when he had cleared his throat. I slid him a sidelong glance.

“Yes, sir, and that didn’t get Savlian Matius and his men anywhere,” I remarked. Jauffre’s good humor dissolved at the reminder. “I’ve had to unlearn a lot of things when I went into that first Gate.”

“Actually, Julian,” Jauffre poured some klah from the steaming pot into a cup that Belisarius brought to the study table and pushed the mug at me. “That’s how the foresters operate. They’re typically on their own, and they use stealth as their primary weapon.” He nodded for me to drink the klah. “They know how to assess their environment and utilize cover as much as possible.”

“But the riders also work alone, too,” Martin had been listening intently to Jauffre. The Grandmaster nodded agreement.

“The job of the riders is to draw trouble to themselves,” he clarified. “But the job of the foresters is to find trouble and nip it in the bud.” The Grandmaster glanced at me. “I’m certain you’ll agree that the foresters are the most underrated, underestimated and underutilized soldiers in the Legion.”

I nodded, thinking of Kaeso Marsias. “Those daedra are quite nasty. I’d rather stick with wolves, bears, and minotaurs, thank you.” His voice echoed in my mind. “Yes, they are on their own for much of their assignment as foresters, sir,” I agreed. “They have to survive solely by their wits.” I glanced over at Martin. “I’ve only met a couple, and they tend to be loners.”

“They have to be,” Jauffre confirmed. “And most Blades, as well,” he continued. I glanced at him, startled. “Yes, most of the Blades work alone,” he smiled at my confusion. “What you see here are but a small fraction. What Captain Steffan and his garrison do here is maintain the visible headquarters of the Blades, but the bulk of our ranks are scattered far and wide.”

“Right, you’ve got an agent in every city and town, sir,” I muttered into the steaming klah.

“Aye, that we do,” Jauffre nodded emphatically. “They keep their ears to the ground, and listen and watch for any threat to the Emperor, be it from a skooma addict in Bravil,” here he locked gazes with me - did I ever speak ill of the Emperor when I was out of it? flashed through my mind - “to the highest ranking noble on the Elder Council.”

I set the cup down carefully on the table. “And where did I fall in that spectrum of threats, sir?” I wondered aloud, suddenly anxious.

“Nowhere,” Jauffre assured me with a crooked smile. “You were just a skooma addict with a propensity for getting into fights with any one who dared slur the Legion.” Now he gripped my shoulder. “That’s why I trusted you to find Martin. As sick and unwell as you were, you managed to get the Amulet to me safely. I knew you wouldn’t take unnecessary risks. Besides, you were the most clear-eyed soldier I ever met, and believe me, just about everyone in the Blades is clear-eyed.” He nodded at the impassive Blade behind Martin. “And when Baurus’s report reached my desk, I knew as long as you had a purpose, you would remain sober.”

“Is that why you kept giving me missions, sir?” I asked, reeling inside from Jauffre’s words.

“Ach, I don’t think that reason applies anymore,” Jauffre responded. “You’ve managed to accomplish so much more than the missions you’ve been assigned. Joining the Mages Guild shows that you are capable of constructing an effective cover. Helping Marc Atellus at Sercen, clearing Kvatch of daedra, reporting to Viera Lerus when she requested it of you, those indicate you have a strong sense of loyalty, which can be easily transferred to the Blades, and ultimately, your Emperor.” His eyes twinkled when he caught my stare. “And your assistance to Jeelius, to the poor townsfolk of Aleswell, to a grieving widow in Bravil, is only proof of your dedication to the tenets of the Nine.”

“Huh,” my tone was muted, while my head spun. I could feel the heat in my cheeks, the heat of embarrassment. Embarrassment of a different kind.

“And in spite of all the little side trips and investigations you’ve undertaken,” Jauffre continued, rubbing things in a little more, “you’ve remained steadfast to Martin’s cause.” He straightened up, setting his fists on the table and meeting Martin’s gaze. “Now Martin and I have been discussing the situation at Bruma. They can not hold off these Gates forever. Losses are inevitable, and they are few against the hordes of Oblivion.”

I thought about the situation as he described it. “Neither can the Blades,” I volunteered. “As much as Baurus would like to think otherwise.” I met Jauffre’s gaze. “What should we do, sir?”

“Go to the other cities, speak to the Counts and Countesses, and ask them to send some of their garrisons to Bruma.” His eyes were steady on mine.

Wait a minute.

“Wh - who m- me?” I stammered. “I’m just a centurion, I don’t know how to talk to Counts and Countesses, sir.”

“Just talk to them as if they are the legates in your Legion,” Martin volunteered, smiling at my discomfiture. The smile faded from his face as he considered me. “You’re courteous enough to avoid offense, Julian, and modest enough to avoid distrust.”

“It will take you a long time to accomplish all this,” Jauffre added. “But the more we can reinforce the garrison here at Bruma, the easier it will be to hold off the daedra until Martin can complete his research in that evil book.”

“Of course, you can say no,” Martin glanced at Jauffre. “After all, I’ve made some progress in the Xarxes, and have need of your services yet again.”

“Those are your orders, Grandmaster?” I asked Jauffre. “To gather aid for Bruma?”

“Not orders,” he replied. “Rather, a request.” He nodded at Martin. “The Emperor’s needs are greater.”

“If Bruma is to be the focus of the Oblivion invasion, Sire, sir,” I said, glancing from one to the other, “then we must not let them gain a foothold here. Once they open that Great Gate, and that siege crawler comes through, Bruma is lost, as was Kvatch.” I looked down at the cooling klah in my mug. “After that, all the other cities will fall. Cyrodiil must unite here, at Bruma. Piecemeal, it will die.”

There was silence for several moments. “That was very well said, Julian,” Martin’s voice slipped through the quiet air. “Be sure to tell the Counts and Countesses that.”

I looked up to see Martin’s respectful gaze on me. I shifted uneasily. “You said you made some progress on the Xarxes, Sire?”

“Yes, I have, Julian,” his face brightened. “The second item needed to open the portal to Paradise is the counterpart to the first - the blood of a Divine.” He smiled at the scowl I sent him. “Yes, that puzzled me at first, too. The Divines leave no artifacts like the Daedric Princes do. So how? Jauffre solved it.” My right eyebrow rose as I shot a glance at Jauffre, who was intently studying the cover of a small volume on the table in front of him.

“He told me of Tiber Septim,” Martin’ soft tone drew my attention back to him, “who shed blood for the Blades long before he became one of the Divines. It is a secret known only to the Blades, and has been handed down for years.”

“I really wish there was another way,” Jauffre commented, his gaze still on the little book. “The armor of Tiber Septim is in his shrine, deep in the heart of Sancre Tor.”

Sancre Tor? Where did I hear that name before? “Then there’s Sancre Tor - That place’s haunted!” Brugels that first day I was in Bruma. I also recalled a tidbit of ancient history from my years in the Legion: it had once been a city which had been captured by High Rock and Skyrim forces; Tiber Septim had taken it back, well over four hundred years ago.

“The shrine of Tiber Septim is there?” I asked, wondering why it was not better known.

“Tiber Septim gave the Blades his bloodstained armor in honor of our service in the victory at Sancre Tor. The Blades built a shrine around it, known only to ourselves.” Jauffre sighed. “But evil overtook the place.”

“What evil?” Shivers passed up my spine, and I could feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck. Jauffre shook his head.

“I do not know,” he replied, his voice that of an old man’s. “The first and greatest of the Blades, Alain, Valdemar, Rielus, and Casnar, went there to drive it out, but they never returned. The first Grandmaster then sealed the catacombs.” He picked a long steel object up from the table and handed it to me. “Here is the key to Sancre Tor. I fear I am sending you to your death, but there is no other recourse. We must obtain the blood of a Divine.”

“Where is Sancre Tor?” I asked. If it is going to be so dangerous, I’d better get as many reinforcements for Bruma as possible before I go there.

“It is on the unmarked road that runs through the Jeralls, from west of Bruma, through the mountains, down to the Northgate at Chorrol,” Jauffre answered. “Sancre Tor is the biggest ruin on that road, in the style of the Imperial forts.”

My elbows on the table, I studied the ring of klah in the bottom of my mug, and considered the options. Go to Cheydinhal first, then loop south to Leyawiin. Stop at Bravil, head over to Skingrad. Anvil beyond that, and check in with Matius at Kvatch - maybe he will lend help. Then on up to Chorrol. After that, Sancre Tor. That will take time, maybe as much as several weeks. The roads are getting worse. Cross-country is not likely to be much better. I’ll need Paint.

“All right, Sire,” I said finally, looking up at Martin. “I’d best see about getting reinforcements for Bruma first,” I sensed Jauffre’s easing at my side, but kept my gaze steady on Martin’s hazel eyes. “Then I’ll go to Sancre Tor before I come back here.” I shook my head. “It’s going to take me a while.”

“I understand,” Martin answered. “Things are urgent, but you must do what you need to do.”

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Sep 25 2010, 09:19 PM

[hazmick]

Si, Si. . Julian is formulating a plan that will take her on a full circuit of Cyrodiil! I can't wait to see what little adventures she will find on her trip!

Make sure she doesn't start the quest involving Ulrich Leyland in Cheydinhal, his 'Essentiality' is quite handy for the up-coming battle.

[SubRosa]

I would not say Burd is my favorite for a love interest for Julian. I would go with Selena Orania for that I think. (I am saving Nerussa for Teresa!) Still, anything at this point would be good.

I must say, the real gem here is Jauffre's assessment of Julian and the revelation of how much he knew about her before he even met her. This all makes him sending her out to find Martin much more believable. At the same time it adds much more to his own character. Here we see him as very much the fat spider sitting in the midst of a web.

The first and greatest of the Blades, Alain, Valdemar, Rielus, and Casnar, went there to drive it out, but they never returned.
Hmmm, I think I have heard of those guys from somewhere else...


nits:
Yes, they are on their own for much of their assignation
The word assignation often means a secret, sexual encounter. Perhaps assignment would be better?

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Sep 25 2010, 05:48 PM

[mALX]

I would not say Burd is my favorite for a love interest for Julian. I would go with Selena Orania for that I think. (I am saving Nerussa for Teresa!) Still, anything at this point would be good.

Or the Countess, they could lay the relics on the floor and roll in them. I like that little Redguard girl that paints too, she is very sweet if you don't turn her in, and she could do a portrait of Julian. What about Caroline in CRT?

Burd is good, or maybe that nice Cirroc - OH! Martin could succumb to her beauty and allure one night...

Yes, they are on their own for much of their assignation
The word assignation often means a secret, sexual encounter.

AHA !!! So she is having an encounter !!!!!

SubRosa and mALX: Boy, you chicks sure are itchin’ for some romance (or at least some lust)! Don’t you know Julian’s gotta save Nirn first??

...Save Nirn FIRST????? No way, in the heat and adrenalin after battles people always give in to temptation !!!!


PS: SANCRE TOR !!!!!!!! WOOOOOOOOOT !!!!!





This post has been edited by mALX: Sep 25 2010, 06:39 PM

[treydog]

Many hooks are set in this episode- aid for Bruma, Sancre Tor, etc.

Some of my favorite moments are when Jauffre reveals the depth of his knowledge about Julian and the foreshadowing of the guardians of Sancre Tor.

This was an excellent bit of writing, as we see the symbolism of Julian "but I'm just a centurion!" sitting with the Emperor and the Grandmaster. It is ironic that she can protest that she doesn't know how to deal with nobles while sharing a companionable table with the Emperor. Of course, Martin was not raised as a noble, so he is more "comfortable."

This post has been edited by treydog: Sep 27 2010, 09:36 PM

[Acadian]

Some nice insights and, it seems, somewhat of a road map indicating Julian's intermediate plans.

I also enjoyed Jauffre's assessment of Julian.

I quite liked your analysis of Legion Foresters and Riders and their strengths/roles. I agree with your observations here.

As you said, gathering allies will take a very long time - especially with Julian's propensity to stop and help folks along the way. I was delighted to hear that she still considers Kvatch a valid city - at least in some ways. Yay Julian!

I am hoping to hear some of her observations on the various courts of Cyrodiil.

[Destri Melarg]

Jauffre continues to play his role well within your story, and I continue to despise him for it. Just once I would like to see Martin 'go Septim' on him and smack him like he was his daddy! That said, Jauffre's knowledge of Julian’s character and activities before she was thrown into the dungeons gives much needed logic to his decision to trust her with what has to be one of the most vital missions of the Third Era. I’m sure that, as the story progresses, we will learn that he secretly dispatched an entire company (or maybe a century) of Blades to secure the heir in the event that Julian failed. They were probably playing dice down in the camp while Julian was in Oblivion closing the gate.

As much as it pains me to say it, I agree with his choice of sending Julian to panhandle for troops up and down Cyrodiil. If nothing else, his intelligence (the network I mean) has given him ample evidence of Julian’s innate ability to sow trust wherever she goes. I would weep for Bruma if this were a task he decided to handle personally. I doubt he would be successful at anything other than blackmailing the Count of Bravil into sending Viera Lerus to Bruma.

“The first and greatest of the Blades, Alain, Valdemar, Rielus, and Casnar, went there to drive it out, but they never returned.”

Ask Julian to tell the boys that Destri says hi when she sees them.

[D.Foxy]

I'll turn all French and say this: Sancre Tor = Sacre Bleu!!!

[Cardboard Box]

And 181,533 words later, Julian's off to bang heads with the Knights of Ni the Thorn as part of her grand tour. And end up dealing with Mazoga, And knocking some sense into Count whatsisface of Bravil. And... well, should be fun.

Any chance she might visit Cropsford on the way?

[haute ecole rider]

@hazmick: Don’t worry - we will get the benefit of Ulrich’s sharp sword and equally sharp tongue before she investigates him in Cheydinhal.

@SubRosa: Settle down! It’ll be a long wait for that love interest! As for Jauffre as the fat spider, that is EXACTLY how I’ve pictured him all along.

@mALX: You need to take a cold shower, too!

@treydoggie: Your catch of the symbolism of Julian sitting with the Emperor and Grandmaster made me laugh. You’re right about the irony of that scene!

@Acadian: I think you will find her experiences interesting as Julian proceeds through her Grand Tour of Cyrodiil. And yes, she’ll stop and help a few folks along the way!

@Destri: If Julian ever finds out there were a cohort of Blades playing dice in the Kvatch camp while Matius was holding the barricades and she was closing the gates, there’d be Oblivion to pay! I will be sure Julian passes on the message before she hightails it out of Sancre Tor!

@Foxy: Sorry, don’t speak French myself. But I’ll assume it’s a warning and take it accordingly!

@Boxee: I think you described upcoming chapters quite well. BTW, have you been counting??

On the way to Cheydinhal, Julian checks out that overgrown path leading off the Blue Road. This is one of the shortest chapters I’ve ever written, only two segments. But once more, this is one of those things where I thought it would be just a little scene, and the NPC ends up monopolizing an entire chapter.

*******************
Chapter 17.1 Finding Jenseric

Paint tossed his head and pawed at the ground. Absent-mindedly patting his neck, I studied the overgrown path leading north of the Blue Road. Time to walk down that path, see if Roland Jenseric is at the other end of it. I reined Paint off the cobblestoned road and through the rundown gateway. His hoofbeats thumped softly on the hard-packed dirt that wound north, up into the forest blanketing the foothills of the Jeralls.

By the time I began to wonder if I had been misled, I spotted the squat form of a cabin through the branches ahead. The trees opened out into a meadow. A well with a bucket perched on its rim stood before the cabin. Water. Time for Paint to have some water. We had been traveling all day, and it was getting late in the afternoon. The westering sun sent golden beams between the trunks of the trees. The shafts of light picked out the shingled roof of the cabin, the profusion of azalea and roses around the door, and the small windows in the front wall, shutters thrown wide open. No smoke rose from its stone chimney.

Dismounted, I led Paint to the well, where I dropped the bucket down the shaft. When it had filled noisily, I worked the windlass to draw it back up. The screeching of the rusty mechanism was loud in the stillness of the forest, but no life stirred from the cabin.

Paint plunged his nose into the bucket when I set it down, and I walked towards the cabin. A knock on the front door elicited no response from within, and I found the handle locked. Widdershins around the structure, I heard rattling snores from an open back window. Continuing my walk around the small cabin, I found another door in the side. This one was open, and I entered.

The interior was dim except for the sunbeams that fell through dirty windows in the front wall of the house. Where the light hit the floor, I spotted empty bottles of various sizes and shapes - beer, ale, wine, all drink. The fireplace at the opposite wall was dark and cold. I moved past the littered table, shuffling to kick bottles out of my way, and headed for the bed. The rumpled covers were empty, and the snores emanated from the far side of the bed. Past the foot of the bed, I discovered the source. He lay slumped among a litter of more bottles, and the reek coming off of him sent me reeling back. Between the breath, the vomit and his own soaked pants, the odor was vilely overpowering.

Something clicked in my mind as I looked around the filthy cabin. Of course! No wonder I don’t trust Seridur! The memory of Jenseric’s house in the City, its uncovered windows letting unfettered moonlight into its interior, crept into my mind. The open shutters here provided the same function. I compared them to Seridur’s stuffy home, lit only by smoking torches, heavy tapestries blocking out the sun. We meet only at night, Seridur’s voice. The shadows hiding his eyes. Would I see the vampire in his eyes?

Best to sober up Jenseric and talk to him about Relfina. First I’ve got to air out this place. I unlocked the front door and opened it, then moved to the side entry and threw it back. I took a few minutes to raise the filthy glass panes of the windows as well.

Paint lifted his head from the grass as I stepped outside and moved to him. “We’ll be staying here for the night,” I said, unbuckling the girth and slipping the saddle off. After I set it on a nearby fence fragment, I removed the bit from Paint’s mouth, leaving the headstall in place. Tying up the reins so he wouldn’t step on them, I left him loose. By now, I trusted him to stay close to me, or where ever I told him to stay. The meadow had plenty of good grazing, which I knew he would appreciate after days of grain and dry hay.

Back in the cabin, I found a burlap sack, and started filling it with the empty bottles. Among them, I discovered a couple of vials of skooma, now empty. Either he is hiding from himself, or he is hiding from grief, if he loved this Relfina. The sack was not large enough for all of the bottles, but fortunately I found another bag that took care of the remaining junk. I took them outside and placed them next to the outdoor privy.

Paint was grazing again when I took the water bucket and brought it inside. As I held my breath against the stench, I emptied the half-full container over the man’s head.

“Wha -” he spluttered, rolled over, and resumed snoring. With a sigh, I returned to the well and refilled the bucket. Again, I emptied it over the man. This time, he flailed at me, cursing unintelligibly. I stepped past him and threw a log onto the fireplace, then piled tinder and kindling against it. My back to his stream of swearing and his ineffectual movements, I lit the fire. Ground klah rested on the mantel. I placed some of the powder in the kettle and filled it with yet another bucketful of water from the well. Placing the klah pot over the fire to simmer, I looked at the man.

Medium brown hair waved unkempt above an unshaven face formed of regular features. He was slightly pudgy around the jaw, none of the sunken cheeks, prominent bones, and pale skin typical of long-term addiction. His unfocused eyes were hazel and bloodshot.

I pulled a chair from the table to the foot of the bed and sat down, straddling its back and crossing my arms on the top crossbar. The flailing settled down, the swearing died into grumbling, but the snoring did not return. Years of waking inebriated tironii had taught me that while I could wake a drunk up, he or she would become coherent only at his or her own pace.

The sun sank below the western horizon, and cold air seeped in through the open windows. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, warming the air closest to the fireplace. Moonlight soon appeared at the eastern windows, along the back wall. I moved around the cabin again, lighting candles and lamps. A tousled head appeared above the edge of the bed with a groan.

“Who’re ya?” he mumbled. “How’d ya get in?”

“You left your back door unlocked, sir,” I replied, hearing the pilus prior in my voice. I picked up a battered pewter cup from the table and headed to the fire to pour the klah into it.

The Breton cringed from me when I extended the cup down towards him. After a moment, he reached out a shaking hand and accepted the offering, drawing his knees up with a shiver. Drawing the blanket off the bed, I tossed it at him so he could cover himself. Back to the chair, I sat down and waited while he fumbled the coverlet around his shoulders while trying not to spill the hot klah. He managed to keep most of the liquid inside the pewter mug, and cupped it in both hands, huddling around it. “You’re Roland Jenseric, aren’t you?” I asked, more to make sure of his identity than anything else.

He drank before looking at me where I sat. His gaze took in my mail cuirass, the katana at my left hip, the white hair on my head. Oh boy, here we go again. His next words caught me off guard. “Go ‘way!” he shouted at me, fear in his gaze. “I know wha’ ya’re here for! Leave me ‘lone!”

“What am I here for, sir?” I asked, feeling the icy calm in my tone.

“Ya’re goin’ to kill me, ain’t a?” Jenseric began shuddering violently, closing his eyes. “Gods! The headache!”

“Pipe down, Jenseric,” I said quietly. “All your shouting isn’t helping you at all. Now tell me, why should I kill you? Know anything about vampires?”

He shot me a look. “Vampires? Why woul’ ya ask me ‘bout those filthy creatures?”

“Seridur says you’re one,” I answered. The cup dropped from Jenseric’s hands as he shot up to his feet, fists clenched, the blanket falling from one shoulder.

“Tha’ filthy bas’ard!” he shouted again. “He ha’ some nerve to accuse me of bein’ a vampire! He’s tha ‘un tha’s a vampire!” His clumsy feet kicked the spilled cup into the fire and he fell back onto the bed with a groan, his hands holding his head as if it was going to explode. Probably feels like his head is splitting in two. Part of me was sympathetic to what Jenseric was likely experiencing, but the pilus prior remained foremost in my awareness.”I can’ believe him!” Jenseric moaned. “I knew he would try to pin thi’ on me!” He dropped his fists and slammed them together. “If I could only get my hands on ‘im -”

“Settle down, Jenseric,” the familiar tones of authority crept into my voice. I went to the fire and pulled the pewter cup out with the poker. Rolling it to one side to cool, I turned and picked up the blanket, tossing it at him again. “Cover yourself before you catch your death of pneumonia.” After I poured more klah into another cup and emptied a vial of restore health into it, I handed it to Jenseric and returned to my seat. “My name is Julian, of Anvil,” I introduced myself. “I was contacted by the Order of the Virtuous Blood, which is supposed to hunt vampires in the Imperial City. Seridur, who is their leader, told me you had killed Relfina as a vampire.” I held up my hand when Jenseric shot up again. “Whoa, whoa, sit down, Jenseric,” I ordered.

When he was seated again on the bed, huddled into his blanket, I continued. “But it’s obvious to me that you’re no vampire. You have no covering on your windows at your house in the City, and here I found your shutters wide open, with the sun pouring in.” After a few moments, Jenseric seemed calmer. “Now, I’d appreciate it if you would tell me what happened.”

Jenseric hung his head, hunching over the steaming mug. “I’m shorry,” he mumbled. “I’ve been hidin’ in thi’ cabin and I’ve forgot my manners.” He inhaled shakily, drinking from the cup. “Relfina was the love of my life,” his voice cracked a little, but already the potion I had put in the cup was taking effect on his speech. “She gave me a positive new look on life.” His gaze grew unfocused, as if he saw something that was not here in the cabin. “She had taken to walking in the garden at night. I became concerned when I noticed Seridur watching her with covetous eyes. If only I had trusted her - oh, Relfina!” he sobbed.

While Jenseric wept himself out, I moved around, closing the shutters and the doors against the night air, which was growing colder. Finding clean clothes in a dresser, I brought them to Jenseric, laying them on the mattress next to him. “Get out of those filthy clothes. You’ll get warm faster if you’re wearing dry clothes.” I pointed at the mug in his hands. “And drink up. I’ll wait outside. Let me know when you’ve finished, and we’ll talk some more.”

[Acadian]

I'm so glad Julian's path allowed her to continue this quest!

What a picturesque scene you painted throughout.

By the time I began to wonder if I had been misled, I spotted the squat form of a cabin through the branches ahead. The trees opened out into a meadow. A well with a bucket perched on its rim stood before the cabin. Water. Time for Paint to have some water. We had been traveling all day, and it was getting late in the afternoon. The westering sun sent golden beams between the trunks of the trees. The shafts of light picked out the shingled roof of the cabin, the profusion of azalea and roses around the door, and the small windows in the front wall, shutters thrown wide open. No smoke rose from its stone chimney.

This is just one example of many compelling descriptions that drew me right in.

As ever, I love reading (and learning) as you write Paint.

Everything flowed very naturally and at what seemed a perfect pace.

Well done!

[SubRosa]

The westering sun sent golden beams between the trunks of the trees.
This was a wonderful description.

Between the breath, the vomit and his own soaked pants, the odor was vilely overpowering.
Ewwwww!

I do not envy Julian for doing this quest! Not the way you have described Jenseric's bender. It is right up there on the disgusto-meter with Olen's tale of Firen doing the same. Which is to say, well done! It sounds like you have some personal experience in cleaning up drunks.

It was not only good to see Julian come back to this, but also to see the gears finally click into place in her head concerning the windows. So now I guess the question is does she go to the Imperial City to deal with Seridur? or on to Cheydinhal to deal with the gate and allies quest there? After she hears Roland's sad tale at least.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Sep 28 2010, 01:08 AM

[treydog]

Hooray for Julian's excellent observation skills! (Although Athlain may not feel that way...)

There are several subtexts here- Julian's experience rousting drunken soldiers is the obvious one. But I believe there also may be a bit of inward cringing at the thought that- "There, but for the grace of Akatosh, go I." Not so long ago, Julian was the one collapsed in a drunken stupor. And she has certainly not forgotten.

I do not think it is a matter of whether she will go to deal with Seridur, only a question of when...

As always, your descriptions are vivid and immersive- which is a compliment, even when what you describe is squalid and unappealing.

[mALX]

@mALX: You need to take a cold shower, too!

SPEW !!!! I've been laughing at this since it popped up in my email !!!! I couldn't get online then, but had to tell you - you made my day with this line !!!!

and the snores emanated from the far side of the bed. Past the foot of the bed, I discovered the source. He lay slumped among a litter of more bottles, and the reek coming off of him sent me reeling back. Between the breath, the vomit and his own soaked pants, the odor was vilely overpowering.

SPEW !!!!! It's...It's...Andronicus...only male !!!!!!


WOO HOO! Julian pieced together the window shades clue (something I never would have thought of looking at, BTW) - AWESOME !!!!

[Destri Melarg]

I loved being taken step by step through Julian’s thought process in this chapter. By the time she wakes Jenseric we already know that she isn’t going to kill him, and that she already suspects the truth.

I also like the fact that, when presented with the path toward the cabin, Julian doesn’t hesitate to continue this quest. Given that she is currently embarked on not one, but two vital missions for the Blades, one could excuse her if she thought there were bigger fish to fry. But, thankfully, our Julian just isn’t built that way.

And, since Foxy is currently unavailable, it falls to me to tell you that Sacre Bleu is an old French profanity, meant as a cry of anger or surprise.

[haute ecole rider]

@Acadian: So you liked the descriptions of Jenseric’s place? I loved the location - it’s so peaceful and quiet, an ideal vacation home. I tried to capture that.

@SubRosa: As I was writing this scene that grew into an entire short chapter, I realized that Julian was used to seeing this sort of scene from her years of dealing with raw recruits. Julian has far more experience with cleaning up hungover sots than I have, so I listened very carefully to her advice here. As for what she does after hearing Jenseric’s tale, you’ll soon find out.

@treydoggie: You’re right, there are quite a few subtexts here, and I think you picked up on most of them. Thanks for the comment about the squalid and unappealing descriptions. It’s nice to know I can get the dark side of things as well as the pretty stuff.

@mALX: I’ve been laughing every time you pounce on the merest hint of lust in perfectly innocent interactions between Julian and the men around her. She just shakes her head and smiles sheepishly. We both know who he is, and I for one enjoy keeping everyone guessing.

@Destri: thanks for the translation of Sacre Bleu. I know it’s usually uttered only under the most dire of circumstances.

Julian’s suspicions are fortified by the tale Jenseric has to tell.

*******************
Chapter 17.2 Jenseric’s Story

The door opened when I nearly finished brushing Paint down. He turned his head, tipping his ears towards the cabin, but remained relaxed, so I gave him a last swipe with the soft brush before stowing it away in my traveling bag.

Jenseric stood slumped against the door jamb. He still looked terrible, but at least he felt awake enough to shave himself and brush his hair back from his high forehead. The clean clothes made a considerable improvement in his appearance, as well.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes moving from Paint, to the water bucket I had set down for him, to the saddle on the last portion of the fence still standing. “I’m not much of a host -” his voice trailed off.

“Don’t apologize for the same thing more than once, Jenseric,” I said quietly. “How’s that headache?”

“Tolerable,” Jenseric responded.

With a final pat on Paint’s back, I walked towards the Breton. “How does food sound to you?” I asked him. He shook his head. Still nauseated. It’ll be a while yet before he gets his appetite back. “All right, then let’s have another cup of klah,” I suggested.

“Oh, come in, then,” Jenseric shook himself and stumbled back inside the cabin. He picked up the pewter mug that had been in the fire, inspected it, and swished it in the half-full bucket of water sitting beside the hearth. He repeated the same with the other mug, then placed them on the table.

Noticing that his hands still shook, I motioned him to sit at the table, and picked up the klah pot. I poured slowly to minimize the grounds in the cups, then set the pot aside and drew up the chair I had been using. Seated opposite Jenseric, I poured a second vial of healing potion into his cup.

“What happened the night Relfina was killed?” I asked quietly after each of us had taken a sip of the strong klah. “You said you should have trusted her?”

Jenseric slumped over his klah. “I decided to follow her,” he spoke softly, his voice still ragged from his hangover and grief. “I saw Seridur leap from his hiding place and put his mouth to her neck. He flung her aside when he saw me, and I heard her head hit a stone with a sickening crack -” again, his voice caught, and his hands clenched on the pewter mug, the knuckles showing white. While he fought for control, I took another sip of the klah.

He looked up at me, anguish and shame in his face. “I tried to stop him, but I was no match for him - he knocked me unconscious. The last thing I remember was his sickening laugh.”

“Why didn’t you tell the Watch?” I asked him. He shook his head, wincing at the movement.

“By the time I awoke, her body was gone,” he answered. “I knew he had taken her. I panicked. So I came here to collect my thoughts.”

And drown yourself in drink and skooma, I added silently. Way to collect your thoughts. Somehow I couldn’t be judgmental - I had been in his place not so long ago. I appreciated all too well the appeal of inebriation. So Seridur is a vampire, according to Jenseric. I’ve seen evidence that indicates that Jenseric himself is not a vampire, but where is the proof for Seridur? Just because he covers his windows and hides his eyes does not make him one.

“What will you do now?” Jenseric watched me warily.

“I’ll need to talk to some people,” I answered slowly. “But first, I have errands in Cheydinhal.” I looked around the cabin. “How are you for food?”

“I’m okay for three or four days -” Jenseric’s voice trailed off.

“Well, you can’t go back to the Imperial City until I get to the bottom of this,” I told him. “If what you say about Seridur is true, he’s likely to attack you, or turn the Watch on you, if he knows you’re back in town. I’ll get you some fresh grub for another week or so when I come back this way from Cheydinhal.”

“You - you would?” Jenseric stared at me, startled. “I can go in Cheydinhal myself -”

“Better not,” I answered. “Seridur has spoken with the Imperial Watch, they are looking for you. It’s possible they have notified the Guard in the other cities, as well.”

Jenseric paled. “The Watch thinks I killed Relfina?”

Recalling Forenze’s words, I shook my head. “I think they just want to question you at this point.”

“Question me!” Jenseric exclaimed. “Beat a confession, true or false, out of me, more like!”

Maybe so, maybe not. I shrugged my shoulders. “That’s why I think you should stay here. I’ll try to get this wrapped up as quickly as possible, but it could take a couple of weeks.” Add another week or two to my Grand Circuit of Cyrodiil, I thought ironically.

I rose to my feet and picked up the bucket, carrying it outside and leaving Jenseric staring at his mug. The last of the klah tossed to the side, I rinsed the cup in the water remaining in the pail, then upended it at the base of the azalea bush. After I refilled the container, I returned to the cabin.

Jenseric looked up at me. “You know vampires can’t stand sunlight, right?” he asked me. With a nod, I found a clay tumbler and filled it with the fresh water, setting it in front of Jenseric.

“What about it?” I asked him.

“I bet you’ll never see Seridur outside during the day,” Jenseric took a gulp of the water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Talk to Phintias at the First Edition. I doubt Gilen and Grey Throat know anything, but talk to them, too.”

“All right, I will,” I answered. I set the bucket beside the bed. “Now, you need to get some sleep. Part of the reason you feel like fresh caca right now is because you’re dehydrated. Drink that glass up, go to bed. You won’t sleep well, I assure you, but every time you wake up, have another glass of water before you go back to sleep.”

Jenseric gulped at the glass greedily. He looked up at me. “What about you, ma’am?”

“I’ve got a bedroll,” I answered. “I’ll get a fire going outside and bed down by it. Paint sleeps light,” I added firmly. “He’ll wake me up if trouble comes this way.”

“Drink water every time I wake up?” Jenseric repeated uncertainly. I nodded. “But I’ll be peeing every hour!”

“Not right away,” I answered. “You’re still dehydrated, so you won’t be making urine for a while yet.” Assuming my pilus prior persona, I shook my finger at him. “Best cure for a hangover is rest and water. Lots of both. I’ll see you in the morning, maybe you’ll be ready for some real food.” When I reached the doorway, I paused and looked back at Jenseric. “By the way, I hope you don’t mind Legion cooking. That’s all I know.”