Old Habits Die Hard Part Four, old habits really do die hard Options

[Acadian]

Oh noes. I didn't mean to cause concern with my carbonari comment. I was joshin' ya. You know me and chow!

The old veteran doing what she does. Well done, Julian!

Nice touch regarding the goblins of Derelict Mine.

“You would endanger the Countess Bruma’s mission that much?” Dion’s voice held a slight edge of skepticism.
“I’ve closed enough Gates by now to know what to expect,” I adjusted the hilts at my left hip and drew the plain katana. “And my mission can not be accomplished if I don’t close this Gate.” I can’t expect the Count Skingrad to release any of his Guard with this so close to the Castle.
Wonderfully done. This shows Julian's experience here. She knows the first thing the Count would do before considering help would be to send her to this very gate.

Dion clapped my shoulder. My stride barely faltered, though Dion’s gesture was hearty enough. Once upon a time that would have knocked me off my feet. I’m still getting stronger.
Boy, she sure is. She carries quite the arsenal now - and each piece with its own rich story.

Wonderful descriptions of the humming and thrumming and aliveness of sigil stones.

[Olen]

She's certainly tough, walk twenty miles with a pack then fight for twenty two hours and still be able to go to a meeting. Impressive, she's becoming stronger and much tougher.

And have you come to tell us how to do our job?

I liked how you showed the captain, he's clearly pleased she's appeared but he's also a bit grumpy and tired as his rather unwelcoming first comment shows. It makes him real that after manning a barricade for a month he's a bit short tempered.

Also changing the order - clever stuff. It's still true to the gme but rather than talking to the count first she just closes the gate which keeps things fresh.

'aliveness' - inspired description for the stone, it fits so well.

Nit:
You use 'roseate' twice to describe the sunlight in the first six paragraphs. I found it slightly distracting because it's quite an unusual word, though a good one for infrequent use, I might have to give it a go

[Thomas Kaira]

*pant*

finally...

*pant*

caught...

*pant*

up....

*faints*

Paint had watched me leave him behind at Weye, his head over the top rail of the fence that enclosed the little paddock as I walked westward.

Farewell, Paint! you shall be sorely missed!
I really love how you gave Paint such a distinct personality, they can be such characters sometimes! His exit from the story was also drawn out just long enough for the reader to understand just how much he meant to our angelic-haired Redguard. Bravo! (Grr! no applause smilie!)

I took in his gaunt expression, the thick beard blurring his jawline, the prominent shadows beneath his eyes.

Loved this one, I'm a sucker for atmosphere!

[haute ecole rider]

@Sage Rose: Yes, it is strange to be hiking cross country after riding horseback for two months! But Julian was a footsoldier first, and ground pounders have a certain pride in their ability to hump a quarter of their body weight thirty miles a day. You can be certain she took advantage of the opportunity to collect quite a few plant specimens for alchemy practice!. I'm glad you approved of how I addressed the power of the sigil stones. I expand on that idea in a few posts from now. And thanks again for the nits - they've been fixed.

@Grits: Thanks for reading! Yes, it was sad to leave Paint behind. My own gelding would do that (put his head over the fence and watch me) whenever I left the farm. He was a great saddle horse and really loved the time we had together. It's been almost ten years, and I still miss him terribly. If you can't decide which is scarier, the Count or the Cautious, let me leave you with this - how about meeting both of them in one night?

@Acadian: I knew you were joshing about the contabarri comment! But it made me realize that others might not get the joke. I thought it was a good time to clarify things a bit. (More than one person have told me I should have gone into teaching!) As for closing the Gate at Skingrad, well, it's motivated more by her concern for the men of the Skingrad guard, though her experience with the wily Count Leyawiin certainly has been a learning one! It's always good to see how much you enjoy Julian's journey through Cyrodiil.

@Olen: Your impression of Dion is exactly what I was going for - being on increased duty and fighting incessant hordes of Daedra (though I see this more as a process of attrition than an all-out attack) for a month has got to have a big impact. He is one of those NPC's that I have a particular fondness for - not because he's nice and friendly, but because he's serious, brisk, professional, and you always know where you stand with him. As for closing the gates first, I learned pretty quickly the first time through that Counts/tesses aren't going to send their guards kiting off to some remote mountain town just because I said pretty please; and it makes sense from a strategic standpoint to want the immediate threat to their own towns eliminated before they will think of someone else. For a military pro like Julian, it's got to be a no-brainer. As for the use of the word roseate, well, it's one of those things that's difficult to find a synonym for. In the game (I play XBox, remember) the late afternoon sunlight has such a wonderful, amazing quality that can only be described as roseate. Pink just doesn't cut it, and no other word captures the atmosphere as well. So I'll think on it for a bit, and if anyone has any suggestions for alternatives, I'm open! But I will keep your comment in mind and avoid using it again so close together.

@TK: Finally caught up? I'm impressed. Did you actually read the whole thing?? Yes, Paint is sorely missed already! We'll see him again briefly when Julian stops by on her way to Chorrol (and let's not forget Sancre Tor beyond). As for Dion's scruffy appearance, I suppose it's obvious that I've watched way too many gritty war movies (and read even more war books) depicting soldiers on the front line (or behind enemy lines, for that matter) for days or weeks. Shaving is one of the first things to go under such circumstances, I've noticed. Sleep seems to be the second. So that's the impression I wanted to convey, as Olen (as well as you) so aptly pointed out.

After walking all day from Weye and spending another day in the Deadlands, Julian faces her toughest obstacle yet - Mercator Hosidus. Fortunately, her knack for finding allies in the unlikeliest places still holds true.

********************
Chapter 22.2 Count Janus Hassildor

Unencumbered by my pack and most of my weapons, which I had left with Dion at the City Guard barracks, I adjusted the hilt of my plain katana at my hip. The massive doors of the Great Hall swung open silently at my push, their hinges operating smoothly. Two Castle Guardsmen turned to face me as I paused on the top of the stairs leading down to the grand expanse of the stone floor.

I nodded at the sentries, then cast my gaze around the Great Hall. It was the grandest of the county halls I had visited so far, dwarfing even that of Leyawiin. I stifled a smile at the thought. Wonder if Countess Caro has ever seen this place. She’d be green with envy. Unlike the other county seats, though, no throne marked this as the seat of Skingrad.

Unlike the dark and sooty hall of Bruma, Skingrad’s Great Hall was well lit with clean-burning candles that filled numerous chandeliers suspended from the high roof and tall candelabras set around the walls. Beautiful tapestries in rich greens and golds hung on the walls, and plush carpets covered the floor. Several tables with chairs were scattered around the hall.

Where does Count Skingrad hold audience? I wondered. My gaze fell on a middle-aged Imperial, his green brocade stretched over a noticeable paunch, seated at one of the tables. He glanced up as I descended the stairs, and his lips curved into a sneer.

“Do you want to see the Count?” He cast a scornful glance up and down my frame. “You won’t get to see him. Not now, not ever.” He took a sip from the chased silver goblet in his hand. “I should know. I’m Mercator Hosidus, his steward.”

But Captain Dion said that he would see me! “I come with a message from Countess Carvain of Bruma, sir,” I kept my voice even.

“Give me the message, and I shall pass it along to the Count,” Hosidus leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. My eyes narrowed at his tone.

“I am to give the message to the Count directly,” my voice turned icy. “With all due respect to you, sir.”

“Ah, but the Count trusts me,” Hosidus rose to his feet. He seemed slightly miffed by the fact that he still needed to look up to meet my gaze.

“Maybe so,” I countered. “But it is the Countess whose orders I am following, sir. And her orders are to deliver her message directly to the Count himself.”

“Feel free to wait,” Hosidus waved at the tables. “Make yourself comfortable, for it will be an interminable wait.” He drained the goblet and set it back on the polished wooden surface, then turned and walked away from me. I stared after him as he disappeared through a door on the far side of the hall.

Did you know what you were asking of me, Grandmaster, when you sent me on this wild goose chase across all of Cyrodiil? I sighed in frustration and unbuckled my katana from my hip. I selected a nearby table, laid my weapon down across it and pulled a chair out. Count Cheydinhal has been the most reasonable so far, but only because I pulled his idiot son out of the lava - literally! Seated on its comfortable cushion, I leaned back and stretched my legs beneath the table. And Count Leyawiin with his conditions upon conditions! And let’s not forget Count Bravil and his lily-white principles! I closed my eyes. Now I can’t even get past that supercilious twit of a steward to see Count Skingrad! Akatosh! Please let Countess Anvil be the most approachable of them all!

“Would you like some refreshment, ma’am?” I opened my eyes to see a nattily dressed Orsimer standing beside me. His green linens nearly matched his skin as he bowed to me. “I am Shum gro-Yarug, Count Hassildor’s butler. Shall I provide some wine?”

“No thanks,” I shook my head. “I’m here to see the Count, not partake of his hospitality.” He stepped back as I straightened up in the chair. “When does he hold audience?”

“Ah, Count Hassildor never holds audience,” gro-Yarug responded. “He’s not like other Counts and Countesses, see.” He leaned conspiratorially toward me. “You have to go through his stewards, see. And that Hosidus, he’ll never let you see the Count.”

“It’s important that I see him,” I could feel the frustration beginning to creep into my voice and took a deep breath. “What do you recommend?”

“Ah, you leave that to old gro-Yarug, see,” the Orsimer laid a finger alongside his nose. “I’ll take right good care of you.” He grinned toothily at me. “You just sit quietly like, and wait just a bit, ma’am.” With a courtly bow the butler turned and walked away from me.

I’m too tired to do anything but sit quietly like, I grumbled silently to myself and leaned back in the chair. I’ll just close my eyes while I wait.

“Julian of Anvil?” The soft hiss roused me from dreams of blood and fire. I opened my eyes to see an Argonian woman bending over me. Like the others, she wore green, this time a lush velvet that did nothing to hide her curves. “I am Hal-Liurz, Count Hassildor’ss perssonal ssteward.”

“Isn’t Hosidus the steward?” Momentarily confused, I forgot to control my tongue. The Argonian smiled sweetly at me.

“He iss the Casstle ssteward,” she replied. “I am the Count’ss perssonal ssteward.” She straightened up as I rose from the chair, mentally shaking the last of the grogginess from my mind. “I undersstand you clossed the Gate just outsside the Casstle.”

“It was the least I could do for Dion’s Guard,” I picked up my katana. I suppose there’s a difference between the two stewards, but I’m too tired to figure it out.

“Of coursse,” Hal-Liurz nodded. “If you will follow me, I will take you to the Count.”

I hesitated. “It’s late, ma’am -“

“I assure you, the Count keepss very late hourss.” Hal-Liurz smiled again at me. “Come, he wantss to ssee you.” She led me toward the grand staircase that led up to a balcony across the rear of the Hall. As I fell into step behind her, gro-Yarug stepped out of the shadows beneath the stairs and winked at me, his yellow teeth gleaming softly in the candlelight.

“Thank you,” I whispered as we passed him. The Orsimer inclined his head to me, his black eyes sparkling. Why do I get the feeling he rather enjoyed the opportunity to go behind Hosidus’s back?

The Argonian steward led me through a maze of hallways and passages into the depths of the castle. As we moved deeper into the private quarters, the candles became fewer and further between. Still, the air remained fresh and clean. There must be a ventilation system here.

At the top of a flight of winding stairs, Hal-Liurz led me into a round room. I shivered in the cool night air and realized we stood at the top of one of the towers, its sides open beneath the conical roof. I cast my gaze around the dark space, my eyes drawn to the vista outside. Off to the west, I could see the silhouette of burned Kvatch on its mesa black against the starlit sky. Below us, the spire of the Chapel of Julianos gleamed softly in the double moonlight.

A flame flared and caught the wick of a fat candle, drawing my attention back to the center of the room. I could make out a table, a shadow seated beside it. A narrow hand gestured in the candlelight, and small sparks leaped from its fingertips toward a candelabra standing beside the table. A broad-shouldered man emerged from the shadows as the glow widened to fill the space beneath the roof.

“Forgive me for meeting you here,” a smooth, cultured voice reached me as the man waved me to the chair opposite him. “You are Julian of Anvil, Hero of Kvatch?”

“Just Julian of Anvil would be fine, sir,” I couldn’t keep the exhaustion out of my voice as I sat down a little too heavily for grace.

“I am Janus Hassildor, Count Skingrad,” the man met my gaze. His face, pale in the candlelight, showed the well-defined bone structure typical of Colovian Imperials. Shadows still hid his eyes. “I take my fresh air here at night. Pleasant view, isn’t it?”

Again I looked around. I could see the still-smoldering ruins of the Oblivion Gate to the east. He knew when the Gate was closed. “I’m certain it’s more pleasant now than it was earlier.”

“Of course,” the Count responded. “That portal to Oblivion was a blight on the landscape.” He shifted slightly in his chair and crooked a beringed finger at Hal-Liurz. “Would you like some refreshment? A glass of Tamika’s, perhaps?”

“I’m a recovering drunk,” I shook my head. “Water would be fine, if you have some ready.”

“Of course.” That finger flickered, and Hal-Liurz moved to a sideboard near the stairs. I heard her pouring something, then she returned with a fine crystal goblet which she set before me. “You must be weary after spending the last day in the Deadlands,” the Count continued as I took a sip. “Let’s get to the point, shall we? I understand you have a message for me from Countess Carvain of Bruma.”

“Yes, sir, I do,” I set the goblet down carefully, considering my next words. “Countess Carvain is facing a serious threat, one potentially more serious than the one you have faced for the past month. There is evidence that the Mythic Dawn plans to open a Great Gate at Bruma. If they succeed, it will allow them to send a siege engine through that can destroy the city, as it did Kvatch.” When I paused for breath, Count Hassildor turned his gaze to the fine silver-trimmed crystal goblet in his hand.

“I remember the night Kvatch burned,” he spoke quietly. “It was a terrifying sight to see.”

My eyes moved of their own volition to the charred remains of the city visible on the horizon. “Yes, it was, sir,” I kept my own voice soft.

“Why Bruma?” Again the Count shifted in his seat and drew my gaze back to him. “Why not Skingrad? Or Anvil?”

As I had with High Chancellor Ocato, I kept my silence. After a moment, Hassildor nodded to himself. “I see. And how may I be of assistance to Countess Carvain?”

“Her City Guard has learned to close Oblivion Gates as soon as they open. Three must be open at the same time in order to bring up a Great Gate, that is how it was done at Kvatch.” Hassildor kept his shadowed gaze unwavering on me. “Yet her Guard will take casualties, it is inevitable. She asks for reinforcements from her fellow Counts and Countesses to bolster her Guard and buy time for others to find a way to end this Crisis for good.”

“Who are these others seeking a way to end this?” Hassildor’s voice turned cool.

“Those who are familiar with the workings of daedric magic,” I answered. Hassildor nodded at my evasiveness and didn’t press the matter further. Instead, he regarded the burgundy colored fluid in his goblet, cupping its bowl in the palm of his hand and swirling the wine, as if reading portents of the future in its depths. I waited silently, sipping at the cool water that finally moistened my dry throat.

Hassildor drank down the last of the wine and set the goblet down on the table with deliberate movements. “Mehrunes Dagon has no more love for my kind than for my mortal subjects,” he leaned forward, the candlelight chasing the shadows away from his eyes. With a sharp inhalation, I recognized the same pale red irises I had seen in Seridur’s eyes. Janus Hassildor is a vampire? My body stiffened involuntarily, and my right hand caught the hilt of my katana before I could stop myself. Hassildor smiled humorlessly at my reaction. “Less perhaps, as we make poor slaves,” he continued calmly. “You have helped me by closing the Oblivion Gate here. I will likewise help you by granting the Countess’s request.”

Slowly I forced my right hand away from my weapon. He isn’t threatening me. And he’s been the Count of Skingrad for a very long time. Longer than I’ve been in the Legion. “On behalf of Countess Bruma, I thank you for your assistance, sir.” I managed to keep the tremor in my fingers out of my voice.

“Stay a bit in Skingrad, rest and recover,” Hassildor leaned back, his eyes disappearing again into darkness. “See Agnete the Pickled for your armor repair. I’ll send a message to Dion about sending some men to Bruma. I’ll defer to his judgment concerning the number of men we can spare.” His hands folded in front of his brocaded robe. “Good night, Julian of Anvil.”

[SubRosa]

So Julian comes face to face with Count Hasslehof -dor. I liked your presentation of the corpse-humper Hosidus (that is what I get for reading Cardboard Box's story), and the rivalry between him and the butler that is bubbling just below the surface.

Likewise, the tower was an excellent place for the reclusive Count to meet with Julian, rather than the hall, or even his private chambers. It shows us a bit of his personality, and it also allows you to use the view of both Kvatch and the newly shut Oblivion Gate to move the story along.

Now that Julian knows that the Count is a vampire (I bet Bethesda just could not resist a Count being a vampire... ) I wonder what she will do with that information? I expect she will keep the secret, given that he is sending support to Bruma. To betray it would be a breach of faith. In spite of what Hassildor is.

[Olen]

Why do I get the feeling he rather enjoyed the opportunity to go behind Hosidus’s back?

I liked the real feeling of resentment and rivalry you have bubbling in the castle, it makes a good reason for the butler to help and also says a lot about the whole place. Hassildor, though strong and old and clever, is still at the limit of his depth. He's trying to hide his vamirism and you really caught how this has affected his ability to keep his own house in order, and how he seems tired in this part. You managed to give him a lot of character in a relitivly short part.

And a while longer in Skingrad... well given she won't partake in the wine I suppose there's grape juice, and that mad tomato woman... And the mad alchemist, and mad bosmer... in fact I can see Julian fitting in with Skingrad really well

[Grits]

Have you ever read Interregnum? Destri’s depiction of Hoag Merkiller was my inspiration for Marcus Camillus.

I am reading it now, in fact since no one is around at the moment I have the next hour blocked off as Interregnum time. I have discovered that if anyone disturbs me when I'm reading it, I become uncharacteristically peevish!

“I remember the night Kvatch burned,” he spoke quietly. “It was a terrifying sight to see.”

My eyes moved of their own volition to the charred remains of the city visible on the horizon. “Yes, it was, sir,” I kept my own voice soft.

The candle lit room with a view has stayed in my mind. Kvatch is up close and burning for me right now, so the thought of the Count watching from his tower is especially chilling!

[Thomas Kaira]

I try my best to finish what I start, and I would consider it an insult to an author's hard work and dedication to start their story part-way through. IMHO, that is a way of stating that the work is only partially worth reading, and how would you feel if some came up and told you that? This is simply my way of saying "Your story is worth every word."

Besides, if I'm planning to have yours occurring in the background of mine, I need to do my homework, right?

Instead, he regarded the burgundy colored fluid in his goblet, cupping its bowl in the palm of his hand and swirling the wine

Some strange portent tells me that that may not have been wine in his goblet....

and that mad tomato woman... And the mad alchemist, and mad bosmer...

Makes me wonder why Sheogorath opened the gate to his Realm all the way on the other side of Tamriel, but then again, as Haskill would say... to comprehend the Lord's will is an exercise in futility.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Jan 22 2011, 01:51 AM

[Acadian]

'Did you know what you were asking of me, Grandmaster, when you sent me on this wild goose chase across all of Cyrodiil?'
I hear ya, Julian!

I like the nice suggestions of internal politics among Hassildor's staff that marked what it took for Julian to get an audience.

And meeting Hassildor! You did not disappoint. I agree that the open high tower location and views at night were spectacularly appropriate. The scene just dripped with atmosphere, and was expertly presented with rich and evocative description. Wonderful touch, Julian's hand and the hilt of her katana. Well done!

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: I'm tempted to use Boxee's epithet for all necromancers from now on! But somehow I just can't see Julian adopting Aussie slang. Maybe someone else will use it in her hearing . . . I've always felt that there were some interstaff politics going on in that castle (as at Anvil). Hosidus was easy to write, but then when I introduced gro-Yarug (the butler), he just beat Hosidus over the head and took off running with the keyboard. Then Hal-Liurz wrested it from him! Julian had to use her pilus voice to get it back from those three!

Julian will have a chance to consider the quandary of a vampiric Count. Just not right now - she has enough on her mind between closing OG's and getting the last of the recommendations she needs to get into the University.

@Olen: Skingrad also has really nice artesian water (yes, water can taste differently from locale to locale, and not just because there is a dead Mages Apprentice in the well!). As for the mad folks, well, that'll be later . . .

@Grits: It always struck me that you can see Kvatch from the bridge leading to the castle at Skingrad, yet no one ever talks about what happened there. You would think that would be a huge topic - "where were you the night Kvatch burned?" - "Oh, I was busy with Servilia the Serpent."

@TK: Maybe good ol' Sheo figured Bravil was just a little too uptight and needed a little loosening up. Being the skooma capital of Cyrodiil just doesn't cut it.

@Acadian: About the wild goose chase, I think that's why Jauffre sent Julian - "Better her than me!" I'm glad Count Hassildor came across well for you and quite a few others. Following mALX can be a real challenge at times.

Has anyone ever noticed that there is a shortage of beds at the Skingrad chapter? For a long time I have been waiting to write about the goings-on at the Skingrad Mages Guild, especially late at night. This chapter is my reward for waiting for the right moment to introduce Julian to this particular group of mages. I had a great deal of fun writing this, though Julian did not find it so amusing at the time.

**************************
Chapter 22.3 Musical Beds

The slender Argonian stepped into the entrance hall from the left when I entered the Mages Guild chapterhouse. Clad in a simple blue mage’s robe, her orange eyes met my gaze as I reached the stone floor. “Hello, Associate,” she greeted me with the characteristic Argonian hiss. “Welcome to the Sskingrad Magess Guild. My name is Druja.”

“Hello,” I lowered my pack to the floor. “I’m Julian of Anvil. I’m an Associate in the Guild, gathering recommendations to enter the Arcane University.”

“And clossing Oblivion Gatess while you’re at it, too,” Druja nodded. “Thank you.” Her gaze flickered over my battered gear. “You musst be tired and weary.” She moved to a room that opened off the hall to the right. “Come thiss way, put your gear down and ssit. I’ll get you ssomething to eat.”

“No, thanks,” I stopped her, picking up my pack. “I’d much rather get some sleep first. I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep into the food!”

“Upsstairss, then,” Druja pointed toward the double staircase that marked the rear wall of the entry. “On the third floor. Take any open bed. We don’t sstand much on ownersship here.”

“Thanks, ma’am,” I gave Druja a nod before heading for the stairs.

The second floor turned out to be a large, open room with diamond-paned windows letting in a flood of moonlight that competed with the generous candlelight. The walls were lined with book shelves, and a large round table sat in the center of the space, surrounded by comfortable chairs. An elegant woman, her blond hair neatly pulled back in an intricate braided coif, did not look up from a book laying open on the table. Silently, I passed her and found the stairs leading to the third floor.

The third floor consisted of a simple passageway with three doors, two against the south wall, and the last adjacent to the door leading to the stairs. I approached the door directly opposite from the entry and knocked softly on it. Hearing no response, I opened it slowly.

A dark form lay on the double bed, illuminated only by the moonlight slanting in through the uncovered windows. I withdrew without disturbing the sleeper and softly closed the door.

The second room was empty, softly glowing candles revealing another wide bed. I set my gear down on the chest that sat against the wall next to the door. With quiet movements to avoid rousing the sleeper next door, I drew out my civilian garments and changed. My cuirass rolled into its sooty surcoat and my worn leathers folded next to it, I set the plain katana on top. I will see this Agnete the Pickled tomorrow and have this repaired. My two bows and Daedra Slayer, on the other hand, were still in good condition, for I had barely used them.

Finally I gave in to my exhaustion and collapsed into that inviting bed. The wide mattress welcomed me in its soft embrace, and I was soon asleep.

I found myself climbing the winding ramp that led to the top of the Kvatch Sigil Keep. Above me, the huge Dremora screeched his challenge at me, his mace lifting high. Neatly sidestepping his charge, I spun on my healed right leg and sliced the keen blade of my katana across the backs of his thighs. His mace spun at me as he fell to his knees, but I avoided it easily. I stabbed at his exposed throat, but he turned inside my reach and grabbed me around the waist. Before I could struggle free, he had staggered to his feet, lifting me off the floor in a bone-crunching bear hug.

My eyes flew open as I broke free and rolled out of the entangling coverlet, away from the arm that had encircled my waist. The hilt of the sheathed katana settled into my right palm as I spun to face the bed, my feet braced for any assault.

“Wha -?” The plump Nord blinked beady eyes at me, sitting up on the far side of the mattress. “Can’t we share a bed peacefully like?” He held his hands out, palms facing me, in a placating manner.

“Sh - share a bed?” I stammered, staring at him as my katana’s tip lowered to the floor. “I don’t share a bed with someone I’ve never met!”

“That’s easy to rectify, ma’am,” the Nord clambered out of the bed, rising to his full height. His knee-length nightshirt barely concealed his readiness for more than sleep. My sheathed weapon rose again as I struggled to keep my eyes on his face. “I am Vigge the Cautious, Conjurer in the Skingrad Chapter of the Mages Guild. And you must be the famous Julian of Anvil, Hero of Kvatch.” He bowed deeply with a flourish of his right arm. “Now that we’ve properly met, let’s to bed, shall we?”

I found myself shaking my head. “I don’t think so, sir,” I backed to the chest where my gear still lay. “You go back to bed, I’ll find someplace else to sleep.”

A snicker from the door whipped my head around. An Imperial man lounged, his left shoulder against the jamb, mischief sparking in his brown eyes. “You may have won the coin toss, Vigge, but you lost the bet, it seems!”

My eyes narrowed at his words. A bet? A bet on who sleeps with me? We’ll see about that! “Who are you?” I challenged the Imperial. He shifted his gaze to me and bowed.

“Sulinus Vassinus, Evoker,” he straightened his blue robe over his trim frame. “Perhaps you would like to sleep in my bed?” He shrugged. “I doubt you’d want to sleep with the chapter head, Adrienne Berene.” His brows rose quizzically. “Unless you bend that way -?”

“See, there isn’t a spare bed here,” Vigge volunteered from the far side of the bed. “So that means someone has to double up with someone.” He tipped his head at Vassinus. “Neither of us are fond of sleeping with Adrienne. That’s Erthor’s job, when he’s here.”

“I’ll find someplace else, then,” I turned and gathered my gear.

“Oh, come on, don’t be a prude!” Vigge’s voice took on a cajoling tone. “I promise I’ll be good, really good!” My gaze flickered downward briefly.

“I’m not so certain about your dagger,” I locked gazes with the Nord again. “I’ll pass.” Vassinus grinned as I passed him and stepped out into the hallway. “And I will politely decline your offer as well, sir,” I said to him before heading for the stairs.

It took all of my self control not to run away from the two lechers. I’m no prude, but I certainly won’t sleep with just anyone! What do they take me for? The memory of the singing Redguard pirate surfaced in my whirling thoughts as I descended to the second floor. He’s more tempting than these two mages!

The blond woman looked up from her book as I rounded the corner, irritation in her gaze. “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” I bowed to her and headed for the stairs leading to the ground floor.

Druja was nowhere to be seen when I reached the end of the staircase. I entered the dining hall and set my gear down next to the crackling fire. A large, cushioned chair proved to be comfortable, and I pulled up a stool for my feet. Leaning my head against the high back, I closed my eyes.

Footsteps drove away the sleep I sought so desperately. “Julian?” Druja’s voice reached me. “Couldn’t you find a place to ssleep?”

“This is fine,” I replied, rocking my shoulders against the upholstered back of the chair. “I don’t have to share it with anyone else.”

“Oh, I’m ssorry, ma’am,” Druja exclaimed softly. “But they outrank me, so there’ss not much I can do —“ She hesitated, and I opened my eyes to look at her. “Ssleep in my bed,” she said finally. “It’s a narrow one, they won’t be able to ssqueeze in with you! I’ll ssleep out here.”

“No thanks, Druja,” I shook my head. “Go back to bed. I’m used to roughing it. I’ve got the fire, a cushion under my behind, and a soft spot for my head. I’m fine.” I closed my eyes in tacit dismissal.

A moment later, I felt the soft embrace of a quilt draping over my body. I looked up into Druja’s face as she tucked the coverlet around my shoulders. She withdrew without a word, and I listened to her footsteps fading across the entrance hall. Why is it every single Argonian I meet treats me with such kindness? Tar-Meena. Jeelius. Sakeepa at Aleswell. Kud-Ei and Marz in Bravil. Deetsan in Cheydinhal. Now Druja? The Countess of Leyawiin needs to get out more. Fat chance of that ever happening, though!

This time, when I sought sleep, I caught it. And this time, I had no disturbing visions of grasping Dremora.

[D.Foxy]

His knee-length nightshirt barely concealed his readiness for more than sleep. My sheathed weapon rose again as I struggled to keep my eyes on his face.


Nautee Hautee!!!

[ureniashtram]

Looks like someone experienced the 'Big Vigge's Big Dig', eh! I still get goosebumps everytime I see that Nord! Sleeping with ...

(groans as a disturbing image no doubt sent by the new Daedric Lord Theen-Aged Hhor-Moans invaded his teenaged mind.)

I FINALLY caught up! Loved how you potray Awamus Philliwa, Count Marius and even the Big Vigge himself! Still ROFLing over here!

[Olen]

Well youn certainly make the Skingrad guildhall sound like a... welcoming place... As if Skingrad didn't already have enough crazy the guild has sent all the leches there to be together.

You pointed out a couple of peculiarities quite neatly too. The lack of beds is an odd one (though perhaps not so odd as the Cheydinhal beds in the living room thing), also all argonians seem to be rather friendly. The observations on the game help keep the fiction linked to it ratgher than running away on a course of better worldbuilding so improves on it. I certainly won't see the Skingrad guild in quite the same light again...

[Thomas Kaira]

Don'cha just love it when you settle down for a nap in a public bed in-game and awaken with some creepy NPC staring at you because you took his spot? The moment I started this chapter, I began to wonder if that would happen to dear Julian... you never fail to disappoint, Haute.

[SubRosa]

Using the nightmare of the grasping Dremora to lead into Julian's encounter with the grasping Imperial was a good touch. I am still trying to figure out why they call him the "the Cautious" when he sleeps with everything that moves!

mischief sparking in his brown eyes
This is a wonderfully evocative passage!

“Neither of us are fond of sleeping with Adrienne. That’s Erthor’s job, when he’s here.”
I loved this!

Well, looks like Julian struck out again. 22 Chapters and she has still not gotten any action!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jan 23 2011, 09:42 PM

[Thomas Kaira]

Well, looks like Julian struck out again. 22 Chapters and she has still not gotten any action!

I almost forgot about how you and mALX were clamoring over yourselves about Julian's "special someone" over the last couple threads.



This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Jan 23 2011, 11:28 PM

[Acadian]

What a fun! I'm so glad you decided to grace us with a full story on the nocturnal quirks of the Skingrad guild!

Like SubRosa, I loved how you transitioned Julian from her dream to reality.

'It took all of my self control not to run away from the two lechers. I’m no prude, but I certainly won’t sleep with just anyone! What do they take me for? The memory of the singing Redguard pirate surfaced in my whirling thoughts as I descended to the second floor. He’s more tempting than these two mages!'
You go, girl!

'Why is it every single Argonian I meet treats me with such kindness? Tar-Meena. Jeelius. Sakeepa at Aleswell. Kud-Ei and Marz in Bravil. Deetsan in Cheydinhal. Now Druja? The Countess of Leyawiin needs to get out more. Fat chance of that ever happening, though!'
So very right, on both counts! Druja is a tiny bit cranky when you first meet her, but she warms right up. When Buffy goes somewhere new and hopes for a friendly face, she always looks first for an Argonian. And yes, it is such a shame that Alessia Caro will never understand that. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful observation, Julian! *contented sigh*

Buffy has also endured trying to find a safe place to sleep at the Skingrad guild of musical beds. She has never had to do the walk of shame down to breakfast in the morning, but sometimes she has had to do this:
Back off guild mate, or I'll turn you into a chicken!

[mALX]

Oh yes, the musical beds at the Skingrad Mages Guild - I did a take on them in my original story on the BGSF, lol. Great rendition of it, especially Vigge - ROFL !!! Lucky Julian didn't try to share Druja's bed - she was quite "active" as well, lol.

[Grits]

"Oh, I was busy with Servilia the Serpent."

“That’s easy to rectify, ma’am,” the Nord clambered out of the bed, rising to his full height.
And then he stood up. I am so glad Vigge wears a nightshirt!

“Neither of us are fond of sleeping with Adrienne. That’s Erthor’s job, when he’s here.”
My most puzzling moment in the Skingrad MG apart from waking up with Vigge was playing around before bed on the empty third floor, so all of the doors were open. Along came Vigge and Adrienne, and they both went in and got in bed together. And they left the door open. Hmm. So I fooled around with my inventory some more, learned that the red velvet outfit is not a good look for a Nord, and about an hour game time later they both got up and went separately to the two other rooms and got into the beds. I thought, WTF, in someone else’s bed!? Maybe that was Erthor’s bed, and Vigge was just standing in for him.

I’m sure I enjoyed Julian’s late night adventure far more than she did! And someone would like to point out that a cushion under the behind is a handy thing to have in Skingrad.

[haute ecole rider]

@Foxy: The juxtaposition of those two sentences you quoted was very deliberate! Yes, I’m Nautee Hautee, and right damn proud of it!

@ureni: I’m glad you caught up and ended up ROFLing. That was my intent with the last chapter. Julian insists it wasn’t that funny at the time!

@Olen: Yes, it’s so welcoming at the Skingrad chapterhouse!

@TK: Thanks!

@SubRosa: I think the Nords have an underrated sense of irony when it comes to names, especially those that end in “the Something-or-the-other.” As for getting action, well . . .

@Acadian: I had to chuckle at your screenie of Buffy in the Mages Guild when she found out Vigge’s “cautious propensities!” For Julian it was a case of “my sword is bigger than your dagger.” That’s how Vigge lived up to the epithet “the Cautious!”

@mALX: Druja has the only single bed in the whole place. And I don’t blame Druja for not wanting to go upstairs. After all, the two men probably read “The Lusty Argonian Maid” before bed!

@Grits: I think Vigge was already up before he stood up!

After a night of bed-hopping, Julian learns what she has to do for yet another recommendation.

********************************
Chapter 22.4 The Missing Mage

The faint chiming of the Chapel bells through the leaded glass windows roused me in the morning. What time is it? The sky above the tall stone buildings across the street gleamed with the soft rose of dawn. Stiffly I rose from my makeshift bed, shaking out the quilted coverlet and folding it neatly.

The front door snicked softly, then the smell of fresh pastries and bread wafted into the dining hall ahead of Druja. She set the laden basket on the dining table and glanced at me. “Did you ssleep well?” she asked as she began unpacking.

“Yes, well enough,” I answered, ignoring the creaking of my joints as I joined her at the table. I watched, my mouth watering, as she set platters of sweet rolls and fresh baked bread onto the table, next to wedges of soft white cheese and bowls of fresh fruit. “Anything I can do to help?”

Druja glanced at me, her gaze mildly startled. “You can bring the klah pot from the fireplace,” she said, nodding at the hearth behind me. I turned and found the black kettle hanging off to one side of the massive stone structure. As I returned to the table with the pot in hand, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. I looked up in time to see Vigge, now dressed in a luxurious burgundy brocaded garment with black fur trim on the neckline, enter the dining hall with a yawn splitting his pudgy face. His gaze fell on me, and red ascended from his collar to the top of his bald head.

“Good morning, Vigge,” Druja greeted him, not looking up from her arranging. “I think you’ve met Julian of Anvil.”

“Ermm, yes, we have - met,” Vigge mumbled and averted his eyes from mine. “I apologize for the misunderstanding, ma’am.”

“Oh, there was no misunderstanding,” I kept my voice quiet. Druja shot a glance from me to Vigge. “The situation is quite understandable under the circumstances.”

Vigge met my gaze cautiously. “Then you’ll forgive and forget?”

“Oh, I suppose I’ll forgive - for now,” I shrugged. “But I won’t forget.” To soften my words, I poured a cup of klah and offered it to Vigge. His brows rose as the Nord mage accepted the mug.

“What will you do today?” Druja asked as Vigge sat down at the table. I took the chair across from him and helped myself to some of the soft cheese and fresh bread.

“I’ve got to get my weapons and armor repaired,” I replied. “I’m not good enough yet to repair enchanted armor.”

Vigge glanced up from spreading the cheese on a chunk of bread. “Armor?” he repeated. “You’re a battlemage?”

I smiled at the incredulity in his tone. “No,” I replied. “Legion for many years. I’m much more comfortable with plain weapons. But I’m learning the advantages magic can give you in combat.”

“Do you use destruction spells, then?” Vigge forgot his embarrassment. I nodded around a mouthful of cheese and bread. After I swallowed the delicious morsel, I reached for the bowl of grapes. “Which spells do you use?”

“The basic flare spell I’ve known since I was little,” I answered. “I’ve also started using a shock on touch spell. It helps with the big Dremoras and spares my katana. Ducking their magic spells is still tricky, though.”

“You want a drain magicka spell, then,” Vigge became enthusiastic. I caught Druja’s eyeroll as she handed me a cup of fresh klah. “Follow it up with a strong shock spell.”

“I’m not sure I have enough magicka for that,” I remarked.

“After you drop off your armor and weapons at Agnete’s,” Vigge said, “come back and I’ll give you some instruction.”

I shot him a look. Instruction in what?

“In destruction magic, of course,” he added hastily. “First I’ll evaluate your skills and your magicka, then we’ll study some new spells you can use in the Deadlands.”

“Anything to improve my odds of survival,” I remarked dryly, tilting my half-filled cup in his direction. His smile transformed Vigge’s face from that of a middle-aged lecher into one of a pleased boy.

“But that is not why you came here, iss it?” Druja sat next to me and began buttering a sweet roll. “You’re alsso looking for a recommendation from our chapter head, aren’t you?”

I popped the handful of grapes into my mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Yes, I’d like to study restoration and alchemy at the University.”

“Not destruction?” Vigge helped himself to his second sweet roll.

“No, I’m getting too old to keep fighting like this for much longer,” I answered. “My mother was an alchemist, and I’l like to learn what she knew.”

“I take it your mother has passed away, then?” Druja refilled my mug. Silently, I nodded. “I’m ssorry to hear that. But alchemy’ss an honorable profession, if ussed to help people.”

“That’s how my mother regarded it,” I nodded agreement. “And I’m getting tired of seeing my friends get hurt, while I’m unable to do anything about it.”

“Having some restoration skills can be invaluable when you’re out in the wilderness,” Vigge agreed, tipping his mug at me. “You can’t find mandrake just anywhere, you know. Cure poison and cure disease spells certainly come in handy when you’re far from a Chapel.”

“And I won’t have to carry those potions around so much, either,” I added. “Without a horse, the lighter I can travel, the better.”

“Then you’ll want to sspeak to Adrienne Berene about the recommendation,” Druja commented, nibbling on some strawberries. “But don’t be surprised if she acts annoyed. She doesn’t like being interrupted when she’s reading.”

“And she’s always reading!” Vigge waved the butter knife before spreading it on yet another sweet roll. No wonder he’s a bit on the heavy side. He must be addicted to those things. I decided to try it myself and began tearing one into bite-sized pieces. “So you can’t help but interrupt her. But don’t mind it, don’t mind it at all. She’s like that with all of us.” Then he winked at me. “Except maybe Erthor.”

“Sspeaking of which,” Druja turned to him. “Have you sseen Erthor lately?”

“Can’t recall if I have,” Vigge’s eyes grew thoughtful. He shook his head before popping the last of the sweet roll into his mouth. “Nope, it’s been a while.”

I remained silent, savoring the sweet roll I had claimed for myself. Druja caught the look on my face as I tasted the rich cinnamon flavoring of the soft dough. “Thosse are Ssalmo’ss ssweet rollss. He’ss quite famouss for them. I get them from hiss bakery every morning, otherwisse I’d never hear the end of it from Vigge!”

“And he’d better leave some for the rest of us!” The sharp voice drew my attention to the elegant Breton woman I had seen last night. She took a seat next to the Nord, her slight frame dwarfed by his bulk, and slapped his hand away from the remaining sweet rolls. “And you must be Julian of Anvil,” she said to me. “There can’t be too many Redguard women with long white hair running about Tamriel.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I nodded, finishing the last of the sweet roll. I resisted the temptation to help myself to another by filling my palm with strawberries instead.

“I’m Adrienne Berene,” the Breton woman spread some of the cheese on a piece of bread. “I’m the head of the Skingrad chapter, but I don’t like to be bothered with guild details. I’d rather study than administer to a bunch of childish mages.”

“I see,” I murmured, averting my gaze from her. “I’m here for a recommendation to the Arcane University.”

“I haven’t considered anything for you, Julian of Anvil,” Berene took a bite of her bread and chewed it thoughtfully. “I’ve been too busy with other matters. But come to think of it, I have a small problem concerning Erthor. He’s one of the mages here. Do you think you can do something about it?”

Vigge hid his grin behind his klah, and Druja rose to her feet and left the table. As she disappeared into the entry hall, I met Berene’s gaze. Another hunt for a missing mage? Am I going to have to bust someone for playing practical jokes? “What can I do, ma’am?”

“Excellent!” Berene leaned back in her chair. “I just don’t have the time to search for him again. I need to consult with him concerning some research notes he borrowed from me. If you ask around with the other mages, they might tell you where to find him. I’ll write your recommendation as soon as I speak to him again.”

“Erthor?” I repeated. “I understand the others haven’t seen him for some time.”

“Yes, yes,” she waved her hand impatiently. “He’s - well, he’s an interesting fellow. Sulinus Vassinus can tell you more about Erthor, if you wish to know. He’s around here somewhere.”

I glanced at Vigge, who shrugged. “I don’t know where Erthor is,” he waved his hands defensively, then tried to sneak another sweet roll. I rose to my feet.

“You might get lucky in bed if you cut back on those sweet rolls, sir,” I said quietly as Berene slapped his hand soundly. Again the big Nord colored brightly and averted his gaze sheepishly. “I’ll see what I can do about Erthor, ma’am,” I added as I left the table. Berene waved me away with an imperious gesture, not looking up from her plate.