Old Habits Die Hard Part Five, New habits? Or just old ones recycled? Options

[ureniashtram]

Hey, Hautee! Long time no... See? Or something.

I finally caught up!

And I must say:




So Julian never had a boyfriend since that incident, eh? Quite understandable, seeing as there are fragile women than others. She must've been completely in love with that little good-for-nothing, mother-(beep)ing lame excuse for a man for her to be . . . What's the word, bachelor? A female bachelor for over 30 years!

Grr.. Must.. Resist.. To.. Damnit, who cares anyway?! (rounds up some homies and proceeded to hunt Jared down)

The pain of betrayal portayed here shows deeply how far it can sink into one's heart and how it can affect their persepective on love, so much so that some of the broken-hearted people cannot tell the difference between desire of the body or the desire of the heart!

...

Am I making any sense here? Never mind.


----

Chapter 23.12 Eviction Notice


Wow, that's a bloody homecoming. And I would hazard a guess that with blood being spilled on that house, old wounds are opened. My heart goes out for you, Julian.

Well, atleast she 'evicted' the Sirens from her home. I like what you did at the chapter name, BTW. Appropriate.

[Olen]

Good part, and a good fight. I like how you only write the important ones because you write them well and it makes it more of a treat when you do and keeps everything fresh. Killing them all seemed harsh, even for her, though I suppose they had it coming.

It appears she has some interior decorating to do now, I doubt red drapes would be her thing really.

That shock spell slowed her down quite a bit.

Indeed, I've never understood in game (or a lot of other places) why shocks don't put people down. Big ones (and the magical ones look huge) really hurt, and make all your muscles tired and your chest sore. Good bit of detail there.

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: Of course I was going to work the Sirens into this! They’re squatting in Julian’s house, for heavens’ sake! Oh, and how would you know if an NPC has cast a detect life spell? Especially if there is a solid wall between you and said NPC? I think Julian would have been glad if Domina had set those tapestries on fire!

@ghastley: Maelona and Gogan are disappointed, too!

@Acadian: The ‘pimping’ of the old cottage is not to Julian’s taste. Some serious housecleaning is in order once the Guard is done with it.

@mALX: There’s more going on with the reasons for Julian’s love life than just Jared. Hopefully the next few posts will clarify things a bit for you.

@TK: Your comment made me laugh! As for the worst of men and women, Julian had seen ‘em all in the Legion. These three were old news to her. And don’t worry, we’ll hear about the Anvil SS soon enough!

@Grits: Faustina always seemed a little light to me, while the Khajiit was a wallflower. It was Signy that always gave me the worst trouble of the three. So that’s how I portrayed them in the game. I’m glad that came through for you. As for the red draperies, how about a bonfire?

@ureni: Welcome back! Remember that blackguard on the Waterfront? He reminded her of Jared. Take that blackguard and multiply him about ten times. That’s how smooth and charming the sob was. And at seventeen, still mourning her family, Julian was still pretty vulnerable. Believe me, she hardened her heart PDQ after that. I’m glad you liked the title for the last post. And we’ll see how right you are about old memories . . .

@Olen: I will say this, if those bimbos had had the sense to leave while they could, they would still be alive. But no, they had to fight Julian, even though common sense dictates that a Hero of Kvatch who has closed eighteen Oblivion Gates by then can handle herself against light odds like three to one in a fight.

Another flashback episode. Remember, Julian had just ‘evicted’ the Sirens in her family’s cottage, and blood flows once more. Now we find out the details of her mother’s and brother’s deaths.

*************************
Chapter 23.13: A Thirty-Year Old Sorrow

“Do you think we have enough columbine and pansies, Master Relas?” I asked, checking the sack on my hip for the umpteenth time. We were walking back to Mother’s farm. Deer had eaten Mother’s precious collection of West Weald plants she had painstakingly cultivated for so many years. Felen Relas and I had traveled to Gottshaw Inn to find seeds. A short walk along the Gold Road east of the mesa city had netted us several fresh specimens of seed heads and roots.

“Yes, it’s more than enough for your mother,” Relas said. “As a matter of fact, what doesn’t take in her garden can be used in potions.”

“How can we keep the deer away from these?” I asked. “I’d hate for all our hard work to be for naught.”

“Have your brother make water around the plantings,” Relas answered. He grinned mischievously at my grimace. “Deer don’t like male urine. And I think it’d be harder to get a cat or a fox to urinate there.”

I could feel my nose wrinkle and my cheeks burn at the idea. “Ugh, I’m not certain Mother’s going to go for that.”

“You might be surprised what she will do for her garden,” Relas squinted up at the sky. “Let’s hurry, it’s getting late.”

“Okay,” I agreed, already feeling the cool of night on my skin. “It’ll be good to be home again.”

“It’s the longest you’ve been away from home, hasn’t it?” Relas asked.

“A whole week?” I nodded. “I’ve never even had a sleep over!”

“Ach, those townies aren’t good enough for the likes of you, Julian.” Relas assured me. “I think you scare them sometimes.”

“I scare them?” I glanced at the older Dunmer. “Then why do they make fun of me all the time?”

“It’s because they don’t know what to make of you, Julian,” Relas met my gaze. “You don’t fit neatly into any of the stereotypes they have of Redguards. You’re tall for your age. Your hair is straight like an Altmer’s. Your eyes are light colored, not brown or black like most Redguards.”

“And there’s the fact that my father abandoned us when I was still a baby,” I could not hide the bitterness in my voice.

“He did not abandon you, Julian,” Relas contradicted me. I stopped in the middle of the dusty path leading up the steep hill.

“You knew my father?”

Relas stopped a few paces away and turned his gaze toward the mouth of the Strid and the sea beyond. “I promised your mother never to speak of him, but those things the town kids are saying about him are untrue. Believe me.”

I walked toward him. “Why does Mother never speak of my father?”

“That is for her to tell you, Julian,” Relas did not meet my gaze, but turned back to the path and the climb to the farm. “It’s not my place to say anything about him.”

We walked on in silence as the last of the sunlight faded from the western sky behind us. The double moons hung heavy in front of us when we finally reached the top of the bluff and turned for the small cottage some distance away.

“Why is it dark?” I asked as we drew near the gate. No smoke rose from the chimney, either. Then I noticed the trampled plants in my mother’s garden, the uprooted shrubs. “Have the deer come back?” I exclaimed softly.

Relas’s arm stopped me from entering the garden. His gaze was on the ground, darting here and there. “It was no deer,” he said softly, his voice cold like the riptide. I followed his gaze back to the cottage, and realized the door was ajar, hanging off broken hinges. “Stay back,” Relas said, spiking his left hand into the air. Between us and the cottage, a faint shimmer coalesced into a wraith. At a gesture from Relas’s fingers, the ancestor spirit floated through the door of the cottage.

No sound came from inside for several moments, then we heard the sound of the spell dissipating. I dropped the bag and darted forward, entering the cottage before Relas could stop me.

The smell struck me as I stood within the dark interior. Metallic, like cold iron. Foul, like an overflowing privy. Then I heard an odd buzzing sound.

Green light bloomed from behind me. I looked back to see Relas, his face even greener in the cast of the starlight spell. His gaze roamed the cottage, then widened at something. He reached for me, but I turned back toward the fireplace.

In the dim green glow, dark chunks lay everywhere, black splatters covering the walls and floor of the main room. The table where we ate our meals, where Mother prepared her ingredients for sale, was tipped over on its side. One chair lay half-burned in the hearth, two others were broken into bits and scattered around the floor.

“Julian, come outside,” Relas’s voice sent a shiver up my spine. “Now.”

I ignored him, trying to make sense of the strange things before me. Then I saw my mother’s face, eye sockets empty, hair spread in a wild spray from a torn scalp. There was nothing attached to her neck. An arm rested nearby, the healed scars on its wrist marking it as Cieran’s right limb. The air rushed out of my chest when I realized the chunks were pieces of flesh, of limbs and bodies, and the black splatters were blood. Moving specks proved to be flesh flies, the origin of the buzzing, and they were everywhere.

“Mother?” I muttered, my voice strangling my breathing. “Cieran?”

“Julian, out,” Relas took hold of my arm and drew me implacably after him. I struggled against him, trying to remain in the cottage, trying to make sense of the carnage within. A high-pitched sound filled my ears and blocked out all other sound.

Then we were outside, and I was screaming. We reached the gate before my knees gave way and I fell beside the abandoned sack. My stomach heaved, and I stopped keening as the remains of a road supper left my body and landed on the ground.

Relas knelt beside me, his arms around my shoulders as my gagging gave way to sobbing.

The pain in my neck and shoulder from the Khajiit’s scratches brought me back to the present. I found myself facing the fire, and touched the wounds to send healing energy into them.

“Julian?” The voice at the door whipped my head and my katana toward the front of the house. Felen Relas stepped into the light, his gaze on the three bodies on the floor. “Are you all right?” His eyes lifted to meet mine. I shook the memories away.

“Master, you always show up just a little too late,” I muttered, slumping onto the edge of the wide bed facing the fire. I wiped my katana clean with the refresh spell and sheathed it.

“I’m sorry, Julian,” Relas’s voice remained calm, imperturbable. “But you know I’m no fighter. I wouldn’t be of any use in such a situation as this.”

I twisted around to look at him over my shoulder. “Long time no see, Master.”

“Call me Felen, we’re equals now. I kept missing you, Julian,” Relas smiled crookedly at me. “Finally I went to see Morvayn. He told me you had received the title to this farm, and were going up to look at it.” He frowned slightly, his gaze steady on my face. “I have to admit I was a little concerned about you being here alone.”

I looked around the place. “This is nothing like I remember it,” I said quietly. My gaze moved to the floor at my feet, and I saw the necklace Signy had been holding. I reached down and picked it up. This looks familiar. A green gem set in an elaborate gold filigree setting hung from a delicate golden chain. The image of Astia in Jared’s arms, his lips on her neck, the green gem at the base of her throat, superimposed on the gem in my hand. This is Astia’s amulet? The one Jared gave her?

“Where is Astia Calventia now?” I asked out loud.

“What?” Relas stepped over the bodies to sit on the bed next to me. “Astia? She’s still living in Anvil. Married to Pinarus Inventius now.”

“Jared left her, too?” I muttered, more to myself than for Relas’s benefit.

“Of course,” Relas nodded. He plucked the amulet from my fingers. “She hasn’t worn this for thirty years. Wonder how it ended up here?”

I recalled the nude man who had fled the scene. “I wonder if that was Pinarus -“ Quickly I explained the events to my old friend. He hefted the amulet in his palm thoughtfully.

“Pinarus must have taken this from his wife’s jewelry box,” he mused. “I wonder who else gave these women their valuables.”

“Well,” I reclaimed the amulet and dropped it onto the table next to the bed. “I suppose I’d better report this to the guard, then see about getting those bodies taken care of.” I rose to my feet. “I’m tired and am looking forward to bed at the Mages Guild tonight. Care to accompany me to the guard barracks?”

“Of course, Julian.” As I expected, Relas didn’t hesitate. I banked the fire, then we headed back out into the chilly night. We were silent as we started down the overgrown path. My thoughts returned to that horrible night when my childhood ended.

I was still sobbing violently when Relas drew me up to my feet. Supporting me with an arm around my shoulders, he walked me down the hill. When we reached Northgate, one of the two guards on duty outside ran toward us. “Master Relas! Miss Julian!” He looked from the alchemist to me. “What happened?”

“I’m taking her to the chapterhouse first,” Relas’s grim voice matched my grief. “Please have the captain of the guard meet me there.”

The guardsman nodded curtly and ran through the open gates ahead of us, turning right toward the barracks. I stumbled across the Guild Plaza, blind to the city around me as we moved toward the building marked with the banner of the Mages Guild.

“Felen!” a woman called from Morvayn’s shop door. “What is wrong?”

“Get Varel and meet us in the chapterhouse, Athesi,” Relas responded over his shoulder, not faltering in his stride. “It’s urgent.”

When we entered the lobby, Master Wizard Traven stepped out of the sitting room at the sound of my sobs. “What happened?”

Relas didn’t answer, but instead led me into his workroom, where he set me down behind the counter. He poured a small amount of golden brandy into a glass cup, then held it to my lips. “Drink it, Julian,” he commanded, just as Athesi and Morvayn rushed into the lobby.

The liquid burned my throat, causing me to splutter and gasp, but it stopped my hysterics. Though the tears still flowed freely down my cheeks, I could breathe again. I closed my eyes and slumped my shoulders. I sensed Relas turn away from me, the quick steps that indicated Carahil’s arrival.

“Julian’s mother and brother are dead,” Relas said quietly. “The cottage is a charnel house. There is Goblin sign everywhere.”

The oppressive silence opened my heavy eyelids. I looked up to see Traven staring at Relas, his face paler than the alchemist’s ancestor spirit. Carahil’s green eyes were nearly black and her lips were parted in shock. Athesi had clutched Morvayn’s arm, their skin turned ashen. Her wide ruby eyes shifted from Relas to me, then she rushed to my side, kneeling beside the chair and throwing her arms around me. “Oh, Julian!” Her voice caught, triggering more sobbing on my part.

“I’ve sent for the captain of the guard,” Relas continued, his voice drifting as he herded the others out into the lobby. “It’s a terrible mess, and Julian saw what was left -“ his voice faded away as they stepped outside.

Already I was feeling the effect of the strong drink. It numbed my heart enough that my sobs were quiet. Still the grief was overpowering. Athesi rocked me in her arms, her hands pressing my cheek onto her thin shoulder, as if I was a small child again rather than a nearly seventeen-year old woman.

She stayed with me while the others, Master Wizard Traven, Relas, Carahil, and Morvayn went to the old Gweden farm with the guard captain and a few of the off-duty guards. It was dawn when they returned, the mages’s faces haggard and drawn, and Morvayn grim as I had never seen him before. Carahil sat with me, encouraging me to drink some soothing potion while Morvayn and Athesi murmured in the lobby. I could not hear what they said, but I could hear the agreement in Traven and Relas’s voices. Then Athesi was back.

“Julian,” she drew me up out of the chair and enfolded me again in her arms. “You’ll be staying with us at least until you reach your majority. We’ll be your parents as long as you want us.”

I looked from her to Morvayn. His jaw tight, the smith nodded. “I don’t think you want to go back to that farm for a while, Julian,” he managed to choke out.

My own throat closing again, I could only nod in agreement.

“What are you going to do with the farm, Julian?” Relas’s question brought me back to the present with a start. I looked up to see we had passed Fort Strand and were nearly at the bottom of the slope.

“When this crisis is over,” I hunched my shoulders against the cold night, “I plan to enter the University and study alchemy and restoration. I’m thinking of coming back here to restore Mother’s garden after a year or so.”

“You’re going to be an alchemist?” Relas’s brows lifted in surprise. “So all my attempts to interest you weren’t in vain?”

I smiled at his gentle humor. “Seems I’ve come full circle, doesn’t it?” I stopped and looked at him. “What about my father?”

“Your father?” Relas repeated. “There’s nothing for me to tell you about him, except that he was a good man. He left you because he had to, not because he wanted to. That’s all.”

[ureniashtram]

...

Damn. If this happened after what Jared did to Julian, then.. No words can describe what she must've felt.

This is one of the most powerful chapters I have read to date and I must say that the way you weave this chapter was very,very awe-inspiring but at the same time melancholic and gave one goosebumps!
--
Awaiting the next chapter, as always.

[mALX]

Thank you for explaining that, I appreciate that. I wasn't wanting to push you into revealing your plot too soon, it just left me wondering.

I was tickled at how you revealed the siren's actions by having Julian witness the man being pushed out the door - and that she let them speak before revealing they were trespassing on her land - Awesome !!

The last line of that chapter was chilling!

***

ROFL !! - We use Fox Urine all the time to keep rodentia off our property, lol. - Why do I picture Foxy popping on here to say something about THAT, lol.

Oooh, the mystery about her father continues!

Heart wrenching scenes of finding her mother dead; shockingly well written, it felt like being there and witnessing it all.

This chapter was powerfully written, the feeling of having been through it lingers after reading it - Awesome Write !

[SubRosa]

You can tell an NPC did not cast detect life because you turn invisible after attacking them, and they cannot find you.

Deer don’t like male urine.
Deer are not alone in this category!

A very intriguing little discussion with Master Relas. Hmmm, now I am wondering if Julian's father was an Altmer? Given the last line, I am guessing he was not the King of Worms, or Mankar Camoran.

Poor Julian, to have seen the horrors of that farmhouse. No wonder she never wanted to go back there. All throughout, it was an excellent flashback, showing us more than one thing. You are really good at using them to add depth to your characters.

his face paler than the alchemist’s ancestor spirit.
An excellent phrase!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Feb 28 2011, 07:08 PM

[Acadian]

Very powerful.

Your use of flashbacks is really effective, and the transitions back and forth are seamless.

Well, that fills in lots of gaps about Julian's mother, brother and history with goblins, then opens more mystery about her father.

Plenty of depth added here to Julian and several Anvil residents.

[Thomas Kaira]

I echo above, quite a gut-wrenching read.

Well, at least we know her father didn't just run off to Stirk to drink his life away. I do hope Julian can finally figure out what happened to him, even if he may have passed by now.

Reliving that must have been especially hard. No matter what the Legion may tell you, you can never get used to death.

[Grits]

That was so powerful, and so heartbreaking. The excitement over returning home, confusion over what she was seeing, and then the horror of recognizing her family by their parts. Moving back and forth between the flashbacks felt so natural. If Felen still isn’t talking about dad, well, he probably has a good reason.

Still think he should tell, though.

[haute ecole rider]

@ureniashtram: Thanks for the great words. Jared actually happened about a year after the events in the last post. Her recollection of those two events were reversed, because the triggers (Fort Strand came before the blood on the floor of her old home) occurred in reverse order. I wanted to convey the strength of the emotions that have kept Julian out of Anvil for so long.

@mALX: When I worked in wildlife rehab, we actually advised people to have a man urinate on the flowerbeds to keep the ‘coons and the deer away! I was smiling as I wrote that comment of Felen’s because I was thinking of you and Foxy! And if you ask me, Felen was the perfect person to say that! And I wanted to recapture the power of Julian’s vision in Chapter 15 once more here. I hope now that we know what that place means to her, it gives the message from Akatosh even greater impact.

@SageRose: Julian’s father King of Worms or Mankar Camoran? Uh, no.

@Acadian: You’ll have to wait quite a bit to have the mystery of her father explained. We won’t find out before the end of the MQ. As Old Habits Die Hard ends with the MQ, we won’t know all the details in this story.

@TK: Death is harder when it’s someone you know and love. And I’m glad you too felt the emotion in this chapter. I wanted to leave my readers as shaken as Julian when she lived through that (and relived it).

@Grits: Julian thinks Felen should tell her, too. But that won’t happen. Not anytime soon. Felen has his own compelling reasons.

Now things come back to normal. Sort of.

*****************************
Chapter 23.14: A Quiet Day

“Don’t worry, we’ll clean up the mess for you,” Lieutenant Varus assured me as we sat at the table. He offered Sparky another piece of orange while I sipped at my klah. We were alone in the dining hall, but Sparky had recognized Varus as a soft touch and hung around us while his master sat just out of earshot in the sitting room. “It’s the least we can do for your help with the Gate.”

He had stopped by the next morning on orders to follow up on my report of the three women. “Did you know that we’ve been trying to catch them in the act?” he added as Sparky munched on the soft flesh. I glanced at him as he sipped at the klah. “Maelona and Gogan were planning to go undercover and try to entrap them. The two of them are new in town and could pass as immigrants. But it seems you have beaten them to it.”

“I apologize,” I murmured. Varus laughed.

“Oh, they’ll find something else to do. Already they’re talking about the fight club that takes place every night on the docks.”

“They don’t want to shut that down,” I leaned back in my chair. “It’s what keeps the sailors from bringing trouble into town.”

“Aye, but Gogan thinks they’re luring young boys into the fights.” Varus caught my startled gaze. “And that’s illegal.”

I thought of Midave Sendal. “Yes, it would be, if they catch the organizers at it.” I shifted in my chair. “Well, I wish them the best of luck.”

“I’ll be certain to pass that along, Julian.” Varus smiled. “And we will take a look at what stolen goods we find. Perhaps we can return them.”

I heard the doubt in his voice. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“All the victims were married men,” Varus explained. “You’re not married, are you, Julian?”

“Never,” I shook my head.

“Well, maybe you’ll understand anyway.” Varus shrugged. “The one thing a married man fears is his wife. And if that wife were to find out that he was thinking or intending to - you know - with another woman -“

“I used to be a pilus, Varus,” I spoke with irony. “You can speak plainly with me. After all, I had to give my recruits ‘the talk’ many times. And I know which expectations are unrealistic.”

Varus spluttered a moment, then wiped the klah from his chin with a sheepish grin. “Ah, right,” he nodded. “Well, like I said, if that wife were to find out that her husband was intending to have sex with another woman -“

“And a loose one, to boot,” I added. “That’s further insult to injury.”

“Right,” Varus agreed. “Her outrage would be -“

“Unbearable?” I filled in.

“Unbearable may be putting it mildly -“

“Ah, yes, denial of services,” I remarked, hiding my amusement behind my mug. “I think I understand. These victimized men haven’t reported the thefts to you because they were more afraid of what their wives would do if they found out.”

“Exactly,” Varus nodded. “That’s why Maelona and Gogan were going undercover. But like I said, you beat them to the punch. So now we’ll clean it up and tie up loose ends. It will take a day or so before we’re done with the cottage.” He caught my gaze. “Are you going to stay in town a couple more days?”

I shifted in my seat. I really need to get to Chorrol. Sancre Tor is after that. I’ve been away from Cloud Ruler Temple too long. “I can stay a day or two, but I really should get going,” I answered finally.

“We should wrap things up by then.” Varus rose to his feet and tipped his mug at me before draining the last of the klah. “I’ll check with you when we’re done.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant,” I smiled up at him as he left. Sparky followed him out of the dining hall, and I heard him murmur something to the other mages.

Carahil entered the room. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said to me. “You’re leaving in a couple of days?”

“Yes, I should,” I replied reluctantly. “I have tasks to complete, and one more recommendation before I can enter the University.”

“So I shouldn’t expect to see you again until after the Crisis is over?” Carahil kept her green eyes on mine.

I like the way she’s thinking - when, not if. “Maybe,” I shrugged. “If I’m out this way again, I promise to stop in and see you, though. I’ve already promised Morvayn the same.”

“I’m going to hold you to that promise,” Carahil shook her finger warningly at me. Then she considered me thoughtfully a few moments more while I finished the last of the klah. “Go to Clesa’s and buy that stallion of hers. Take the time to learn about him before you leave!”

“What?” I stared at her, then remembered to close my mouth. “How did you know about that?”

“Morvayn told me,” Carahil winked at me. “And I agree with him for once. That horse would be a good one for you, what with all the traveling you need to do. And forty-five septims for a one of that caliber is cheap!”

************************
A short time later, I stood at the gate leading into the courtyard of the Horse Whisperer. Thoughtfully I hefted the blue silk purse in my right hand. Am I certain I want to spend all of my pension on one horse? I have so much to do with my mother’s farm. And there’s the house in the Waterfront. And there’s the tuition for the Arcane University, certainly it must be expensive.

Within the open-sided stable, divided into stalls within, one of the white horses standing one of the rear stalls picked his head up and met my gaze, his small ears pricked. He reached his head over the partition, past the gelding that stood between us, and fluttered his nostrils at me.

All right, Blanco. Be patient. I have money from other sources as well. I had over twenty-five septims I had accumulated during my travels, mostly from the Deadlands. That’ll cover my living expenses. I opened the gate and turned for the stable office. As I stepped onto the open stoop, the door swung open and Clesa stepped out.

“Good morning, Julian!” she greeted me with a smile. “What can I do for you today?”

“You said forty-five septims for Blanco?” I hefted the blue silk purse before her. Her gaze flickered from my palm to my eyes.

“With exclusive breeding rights every spring,” she responded.

“That can be a problem, Clesa,” I answered. “My first priority is this crisis. There is plenty of work ahead before Dagon can be defeated.”

“I know,” Clesa’s smile disappeared and her eyes turned grim. “I was there when you gave your speech in the Guild Plaza the other day. Believe me, I understand the immensity of the task you undertake.”

“I can’t promise that I will bring Blanco back to you next spring,” I continued. “I can’t even promise that I’ll stay alive through what comes next for me. But if the crisis is over, and I’m able, I will bring Blanco back to you.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Clesa nodded.

“One other thing, Clesa,” I added. “Why me? Why are you selling him to me?”

Her dark gaze flickered briefly. “Why not? He picked you. You’re the only one he’s approached on his own. That tells me he’d rather be with you than here as my stud.” I regarded her thoughtfully. That can’t be the real reason. But I can’t stop thinking about him.

“Then here’s forty-five septims, as we discussed,” I set the bag into her palm. “I have a few days before I have to leave, perhaps you can give me a few more lessons with him like you did the other day?”

“You’ve got the basics down,” Clesa remarked, tucking the bag between her bound breasts. “I suggest if you have no other plans today, to take him out and ride him along the coast. Get to know his walk, trot and gallop. Keep things simple. Practice stopping and dismounting. Then come back to me and we’ll go over what you need to know next.” She turned and opened the door behind her. “Ernest! Get Blanco saddled and ready to go!”

Before long, I was on my own white stallion and riding out of the courtyard. Clesa watched me go. “Don’t forget to breathe!” she called after me as we headed west, the morning sun warm on our backs.

Blanco picked his way carefully between the tumbled boulders. I steered him gently toward the high knoll west of the city, where a tumulus much like the Aetherius Stone stood. After what Erthor had told me about them, I was much more curious about these stones with the glowing red runes. It's daylight, though, and the stone will be inert. Still, it’s a good landmark.

Before long I gained enough confidence to let Blanco pick his own pace. He settled into a long-strided walk that ate the distance at a good clip. Blanco marched up the knoll to the bluff where the doom stone stood waiting for us. He stopped just outside the ring of smaller standing stones and stood quietly as I dismounted. I examined the tumulus, then took a few moments to gaze out at the sea.

I turned back to Blanco. His head shot up from the seagrass at his feet, golden stems poking out both sides of his mouth. His black eyes sparkled, his ears flickered back and forth, then he resumed chewing as if to say you caught me!

You are so much more mischievous than Paint. I found myself smiling at him as I walked toward my new horse. Blanco finished his mouthful of grass and nosed me as I patted his shoulder preparatory to mounting him.

We continued west, but I let him pick his way down the steep sea side of the knoll toward the beach. We turned to follow the coastline as it wound in a general northwestward direction. I asked Blanco to trot on the firm ground between the soft sand and the hard clay beneath the seagrass. He picked up the gait readily, his ears forward. I found his trot a little hard to sit, for he was much bouncier than Paint. But soon I found his rhythm and was able to relax into it. In response, his stride lengthened and smoothed out.

So this is what Clesa means by his sensitivity and responsiveness. I leaned back slightly, and immediately he slowed down to a walk, the transition so smooth and seamless it barely jostled my balance. Again I double-kissed as Clesa had said, and again he resumed the trot. This time I was able to maintain my relaxed seat, and had no trouble sitting his trot.

I found it difficult at first to keep my hands still, but hours of riding Paint with a shield helped me to relax my shoulders and elbows so that I could maintain a light contact with Blanco’s mouth and still follow the movements of his head with quiet hands.

A soft chiming sound alerted me to something along the coast. As I sat down in the saddle, I turned my head to scan the waterline. A nirnroot! I didn’t know they grew along the sea! I closed my fingers on the reins and Blanco came to a quiet halt. I dismounted and walked back the few steps to where the strange plant glowed in the late morning sun. I knelt beside it and examined it. It grew next to a clump of boulders, sheltered from the sea breeze. I remembered something from the journal article Sinderion had given me. The sea is a sizable body of water indeed. Gently I dug up the plant and brought it back to Blanco. He nosed it curiously, then pinned his ears back and swung his head away.

“Of course, I didn’t pick it so you could eat it,” I said to him, folding it within its leaves and tucking it into my belt purse. “Let’s go on, maybe there’s more along the coast.”

Blanco turned out to be surprisingly patient, and he soon learned to halt as soon as we heard the chiming of another nirnroot plant. It was mid-afternoon before I stopped and glanced at the sun. I now had ten of the rare plants. Suddenly I wondered if they would replenish themselves. According to Sinderion’s notes, they wouldn’t. I began to feel sick about contributing to their extinction.

What’s done is done. Maybe I can figure out a way to propagate these plants. Finally I turned Blanco’s head east. I knew from this point on the coast, we would soon strike the Gold Road on the highlands, near where it made the bend to run south back to Anvil. Silently I thanked all those expeditions with Felen Relas to collect alchemical ingredients.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Mar 3 2011, 01:30 AM

[SubRosa]

Varus? Give me back my legions!

The first part is a nice little piece to let us catch our breath after the bloodbaths of the last few posts. What struck me was Carahil (I ain't been dropping no eaves, honest! ). Suddenly now I see her, and her relationship with Julian, in an entirely new light. All thanks to showing us those scenes of little Julian scampering about underfoot at the guild.

Julian is paying for her living expenses with money from the Deadlands? Talk about irony!

That can’t be the real reason.
I keep thinking that too. Maybe Clesa is an old softie at heart and recognizes that Julian needs a friend right now?

I began to feel sick about contributing to their extinction.
This is why I stopped doing that quest with any of my characters.

[ghastley]

Varus? Give me back my legions!

Are you quoting Augustus, or Suetonius quoting Augustus, or Harry Turtledove quoting Suetonius quoting Augustus?

-----

So Maelona and Gogan were that late! Didn't even get into their uniforms this time!

I liked the Nirnroot musings, too. Nice way to bring in that quest and dismiss it it early, so it doesn't keep intruding. Although you take the whole plant with the Nirnroot, unlike the other plants in the game, I'd always played it that they grew from seed and took a whole year or more to re-appear. I'm betting that Sinderion will have his own theory about them.

This post has been edited by ghastley: Mar 2 2011, 11:52 PM

[Thomas Kaira]

Hello, Blanco! You've stolen my heart already, you have.

“Oh, they’ll find something else to do. Already they’re talking about the fight club that takes place every night on the docks.”

First rule about Fight Club, you don't talk about Fight Club!

His black eyes sparkled, his ears flickered back and forth, then he resumed chewing as if to say you caught me!

I see my own horse (in real life, as well) is not the only one with imps in his eyes!

It's great to see Julian relaxing into Blanco's stride. Very important to have a confident, but relaxed posture when riding. It helps relax them and eases the weight they carry.

Nit:

“That can be a problem, Clesa,” I answered. “My first priority is this crisis. There are plenty of work ahead before Dagon can be defeated.”

I think you meant "is" here.

[D.Foxy]

Ummm....just to point out that I think Husbands usually cheat on their wives with not loose, but TIGHT woment..

[Acadian]

A delightfully gentle episode.

It was wonderful to see my mate Sparky again, especially as he enjoyed savoring an orange.

You continue to present Carahil in a very nice way, and one that I find quite agrees with my own favorable vision of her.

Ahah! I knew Clessa was a softy rather than an astute breeder. I applaud Julian's choice to buy the stallion. The two of them clearly belong together. What a pleasant ride near the beach!

Nice detail you lavished upon the Nirnroot quest with some interesting considerations.

[Olen]

Good couple of parts, quite a contrast. I think that's partly why the flashbacks work so well, they offer some darkness and conflict in a fairly quiet section of the story. I suspect this is rather the calm before the storm though.

23.13 created as many mysteries as it solved, it was a very good part in showing what made her what she is though.

He left you because he had to, not because he wanted to

This rather makes me wonder. Who was he? Relas seems to respect him, but there's clearly something massive there he's hiding... I suspect we'll come accross more of her father.

the healed scars on its wrist marking it as Cieran’s right limb - this struck me as a bit odd, is there a reason we should know his right wrist would be scarred?

23.14 was good fun. I like Blanco, he's every bit as much a character as Paint was, but so different.

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: I figured everyone needed a little break from the blood and darkness of the previous segments, and Blanco was the perfect little foil for that. We’ll see more of his personality emerge as they spend more time on the road. As for Clesa’s real reason, we’ll see about that.

@ghastley: Yes, Maelona and Gogan were very late this time!

@TK: Thanks for your endorsement of my portrayal of Blanco. Even more than Paint, he is proving to be quite the foil for our melancholic Redguard. I’m already three chapters ahead, and his role is growing by leaps and bounds.

@Foxy: ROFL!

@Acadian: So you think Clesa is a softie, too?

@Olen: Hmm, what storm do you refer to? And yes, the question of her father will be revisited. As for Cieran’s wrist being scarred, it’s only to identify one dismembered limb from another in that carnage. I’m so glad you like Blanco. Yes, he is very, very different from Paint. Just how different will be hinted at in future chapters.

Julian encounters one of the pitfalls of riding a horse who knows more than the rider. She also learns the cardinal rule of horseback riding.

******************************
Chapter 23.15: If You Fall, You Get Up Again

Blanco walked down the cobblestones, as relaxed as I felt. His ribs swayed in rhythm with his long strides. The sun shone warm on my right cheek, my left turning chilly in the late afternoon. My stomach grumbled with hunger. I knew Blanco was looking forward to dinner in his stall as much as I was looking forward to the same meal at Morvayn’s.

Suddenly Blanco’s ears shot forward, and his head came up. I felt his rump drop behind me as his head turned to our left. What’s there? Hrota Cave. But there’s nothing there. Right? The brush rustled, and I remembered the way Paint had alerted to the presence of the wolf the first day I rode him.

A tawny blur leaped out at us, faster than any wolf I had ever seen. As I recognized the sinuous movements of a mountain lion, I tightened up on the reins to halt Blanco, leaning back in the saddle at the same time.

What happened next caught both me and the lion by surprise. As the big cat crouched before us, Blanco’s neck rose before me, and I felt his back lift up, up and up. He snorted violently, and I felt his shoulders move forwards and upwards.

Fighting for my balance, I gripped his round barrel with my calves. His front end still impossibly high, Blanco’s hind end dropped down momentarily, then he bounced forward, still holding the rearing pose. I fell backwards, my feet sliding out of the stirrups. Desperate to avoid pulling on his mouth, I released the reins and slid off his rump.

My teeth slammed together on my tongue as I landed on my behind. Before me Blanco belled, still up on his hind legs. I caught a flash of his legs above the snarling cat, then he dropped his front feet down savagely on the predator’s ribs. With a loud yowl the lion rolled away, vainly trying to slash at Blanco with exposed claws. My heart in my bloodied mouth, I tried to stand and draw my sword to protect the horse. But Blanco reared again, pulling his front legs out of the cat’s reach. He struck again at the lion, landing another two solid blows on the predator’s body. This time the cat turned and ran back into the brush.

I stared as Blanco reared one last time and jumped forward from his hind limbs, slamming the ground once more with his front hooves for emphasis. He tossed his head and belled again, as if to say and don’t come back around here again! He snorted, then executed a slow spin on his hindquarters until he faced me. He stared at me, his ears forward, and I could almost hear him saying what in Oblivion are you doing on the ground instead of sitting on my back?

Blanco walked toward me and lowered his head to my face. I felt the warm fluid on my lips and wiped the blood away. “You made me bite my tongue, Blanco,” I muttered as I struggled to my feet. My behind hurt, but fortunately no bones felt broken. I cast a healing spell to take the soreness out of my mouth and from my rump. Anxiously, I examined his forelegs, and found a few superficial scratches on the front of them. Another surge of healing energy from my fingers closed up the wounds and stopped the bleeding.

Well, you are a lot of horse. And I don’t really understand what just happened. Do I return you to Clesa and ask for my money back? Blanco nudged my shoulder with his muzzle and sidled so that the saddle was in front of me. Are you hinting I should get back on you? After you just dumped me?

Instead of mounting him, as he so obviously wanted, I patted him on the neck and picked up the rein. We started down the hill, following the same path I had walked just a few days ago. Only this time no column of black smoke rose from beyond the trees, no clot of bloody thunderclouds marred the clear sky.

Blanco walked quietly beside me, occasionally nudging my elbow. He showed none of the insouciance I had observed earlier. Instead, it seemed as if he was trying to apologize for something. What does he need to apologize for? He just saved me from a mountain lion. It’s not his fault I fell off of him.

Ernest looked up from his raking when I opened the gate. “Julian? Why aren’t you riding that horse?” He paused as the stallion followed me into the courtyard with a dejected air. “What happened?”

Clesa ran out from the office. “Yes, Julian, what happened?”

“I don’t think he’s the right horse for me,” I spoke past the knot in my throat. “I think it’s best you take him back.”

“But I thought you liked each other!” Clesa exclaimed. Her gaze traveled over my figure, then her dark eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

I told her. She and Ernest stared at me, speechless. Blanco rubbed his head against my back, almost knocking me over. I turned and patted him on the neck, using it more as an excuse to hide my face from the others.

Clesa started laughing. I forgot my sadness and stared at her. She was leaning on Ernest’s wide shoulder, eyes scrunched shut. He looked as bemused as I felt.

“That’s exactly what he’s supposed to do!” Clesa managed to stop laughing long enough to catch her breath. “That’s why you should keep him!”

“Keep him?” I repeated. “But I can’t even stay on his back!”

“Oh yes, you can!” Clesa took me by the shoulder and turned me to face Blanco. “Get back on the horse right now!”

“But Clesa -“ I protested.

“Never mind!” Clesa shook her finger at me. “Every time you fall off a horse, you get right back on. Otherwise, you’ll never be able to ride again. Understood?”

I didn’t quite understand, but I understood the tone in her voice, the same tone old Carius had adopted when laying down the law to his recruits, myself among them.

Ernest moved to Blanco’s head and took hold of the reins. “Hop on, Julian,” he encouraged me. I placed my left foot in the stirrup, took hold of the saddle by the cantle in my right hand and grasped a handful of Blanco’s mane in my left. A moment later I was seated in the saddle again. Blanco tossed his head and swung his nose around to bump my right boot. This is where you belong.

At Clesa’s instruction, I asked Blanco to step forward. Before long we were circling the courtyard at a trot to the right. After a few turns deosil Clesa had me turn widdershins. As we followed Clesa’s instructions, I regained my confidence on Blanco. Finally she asked me to halt Blanco. As he had on the coast, the stallion stopped quietly.

“Do you remember how you reacted when that lion jumped out?” Clesa asked me. At my blank look, she grinned. “What did you do with your hands, your legs, your seat?”

“I sat back and tightened the reins -“ my eyes widened at the realization.

“If you had been riding Paint, he would have stopped. But because Blanco is trained differently, he responded differently. And when he reared, what did you do?”

“Clamped his sides with my legs,” it was starting to make a little sense to me. “What did that tell him to do?”

“It increased his impulsion.”

“Clesa!” Ernest growled. “Speak plainly! None of that fancy haughty echo talk!”

“Ernest,” Clesa smooched him on the cheek, “be a dear and take care of Blanco. Julian and I are going to sit down and have a chat.” She waved for me to follow her. I gave Blanco a final pat on his neck, dismounted and followed the ostler into the neat building.

Inside a fire chuckled merrily to itself on the hearth, sending a welcome warmth through the interior. Clesa pulled up a chair. “Sit, if you’re not too sore.”

“I’m all right,” I spoke nearly automatically, but still I took my seat gingerly. Clesa chuckled as she straddled the other chair and crossed her arms over its back.

“Impulsion is forward energy,” she explained. “It comes from the hindquarters and propels the horse forward. It comes from your seat first, then your legs second.”

“Then why didn’t the reins stop it?”

“But they did. They stopped Blanco from moving forward. So he went up instead. That’s what he’s trained to do. And when faced with a threat to you, he turned it into an aggressive action.”

“The striking with the front feet?” I asked. “I’ve never seen that before.”

“Mira Renoir trains her stallions to channel their natural behavior into something that can be useful in combat. And she breeds them for courage. Blanco is the product of six generations of careful breeding and training.” Clesa reached to the table and rummaged among the pile of books. She found the volume she wanted and handed it to me. “Take this, and read this. Renoir’s entire philosophy of war chargers is based on this.”

I glanced at the title. The Art of Horsemanship. “Xenophonus?” I asked. Clesa nodded.

“He was a paladin that lived in the First Era. He studied horses, their natural behavior, and how they responded to different training methods.” Clesa flicked her fingers at the book when I held it back to her. “Keep it. I already know it forwards and backwards. It’s helped me a lot with Blanco, I know it will be useful for you.”

I met her gaze. “Kind of like an instruction manual on how to ride a war charger?”

Clesa laughed. “Something like that!”

“Well, I still think he’s a lot of horse for me,” I mused.

“He’s a far cry from Paint, that much is certain,” Clesa reminded me. “But read that book before you decide whether to return him.”

“All right,” I said dubiously. I rose stiffly to my feet and gave Clesa a final glance. “I’ll let you know in the morning.” I tucked the book under my elbow. “Thanks for this.”

“Get out of here, Julian,” Clesa chuckled, pulling a parchment to her and picking up a quill. “I’ve got paperwork to do.”

I went back outside. The shadows stretched long before me, and Blanco, his tack removed, lifted his head and looked at me. He remained in place, though, while Ernest brushed him down. I walked up to them and rubbed the top of Blanco’s neck, ruffling his mane.

“Clesa thinks I just need to learn more.” Blanco tossed his head as if agreeing, then rubbed the side of his face against my shoulder. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

**************************
A/N: There is an actual treatise on horsemanship by a Greek named Xenophon, called The Art of Horsemanship, of course. Though he lived about 2500 years ago, his observations and comments about horses and their training are still considered the basis of dressage.

[Grits]

Blanco is amazing! He came to life right before my eyes. He is so expressive. I mean, I adore Paint, but… wow! Quick question. What does “belled” mean?

[Captain Hammer]

Wow. I disappear for a few days, and suddenly I'm four posts behind. Time to rectify that.

I agree with Julian about the sorrow at the loss of Nirnroots. If only there were a way to propagate them, or conserve them. Too bad harvested samples can't be duplicated, even if there were such a device that could multiply any alchemy ingredient sample by 10... (And that Nirnroots won't get duplicated in such a chest is equally problematic).

I have to ask, why would Relas still not reveal to Julian the information about her father. Whatever Julian's mother's wishes, the knowledge of that time, and the secrets that she held, are as much the rightful inheritance of Julian as Gweden Farm. Have the years truly diminished her desire to know about her own father?

Lastly, Xenophon. While I'm the type of guy that normally doesn't throw in a real-world figure for something completely fictional, I do have to admit that this was a nice touch. I have copies of Anabasis, Symposium, and Apology on my bookshelf, and while my hobbies have never included horsemanship, I also have a copy of the man's work on hunting with hounds (Hunting with Dogs for those interested on a great look at ancient Greek hunting practices). Seeing a similar presence in the Old Habits story gives me a great sense of how old equestrian mastery is in Tamriel. I don't know whether you wanted to use the paladin status as a differentiation, but the real Xenophon was a supporter of Socrates and his own secular views (plus assorted deeds and acts) led to his temporary exile from Athens, since he was considered something of a bad influence and possible heretic.

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Mar 4 2011, 06:52 PM

[Acadian]

What a delightful episode where Julian learns so much more about her stallion!

How neat to see him take on that lion. It seems hooves are a major skill for Blanco.

I'm glad it seems Clessa is talking Julian into keeping Blanco.