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

[Olen]

A pleasant interlude... I can imagine being kicked by a horse wouldn't be a bundle of fun, especially if it had been trained. From Mira's description Blanco is exactly the horsde Julian needs.

I wonder when she'll get to grips with all he can do.

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: That was why I didn’t enter it in the short story competition! Not everyone gets into the technical aspects of horseback riding, let alone appreciate the partnership between horse and rider that makes training of this caliber possible.

@ghastley: Then I’m a bit jealous of you! I’ve never been to Vienna.

@TK: I rather thought you might enjoy the little tidbit about Blanco’s background.

@Grits: You’re welcome!

@Acadian: Thanks for the kind words. I have ridden an upper-level dressage horse a couple of times, and remain impressed by how sensitive these guys are. It really doesn’t take much, a mere thought of an aid, for them to understand what you want next. The best rider/horse combinations have the rider merely sitting on the horse without any visible cues, and the horse is executing complex maneuvers flawlessly. That is the standard at the Spanish Riding School, and it’s impressive to watch when you know what to look for.

@Olen: Having been kicked by a horse myself, I can assure you that it isn’t fun! Yes, I wonder too when Julian will get a handle on all Blanco can do for her!

Chapter 23 showed us what Anvil means to Julian, and some of the reasons why she has avoided her hometown for so long. With a slightly better understanding of the potential of a highly-trained charger, Julian presses on with her Grand Circuit of Cyrodill. She makes a few stops on her way up to Chorrol.

************************************
Chapter 24.1: Return to Kvatch

Blanco snorted as I drew him to a halt. He stood quietly, his ears tipped forward, and I dropped the rein on his neck in a signal to stand. The setting sun cast a soft warm glow over the left side of his neck. I turned to glance behind me.

Sebastian Manus, the rich russet tones of his Anvil surcoat subdued by the dust of the road, caught my gaze and signaled his men to hold. He stepped forward with a susurrus of mail to stand at my left stirrup.

“The camp is just down the road a bit,” I indicated the meadow visible at the base of the mesa. “I’m not certain how they’ll accommodate all of you,” my gaze flickered back over the guard contingent and the tradespeople beyond. “Let me go ahead and talk to Boldon first.” Now I pointed out the glade that sheltered the entrance to Belletor’s Folly. “There’s water there, if you want to refill your canteens. It’s a good place to rest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Manus nodded briskly. “We’ll wait for word from you.”

“Thanks, Manus,” I picked up the rein. Blanco gathered himself, ready for my signal. “Someone will be up shortly.” With a nod of farewell at the Anvil guard lieutenant, I double-kissed at Blanco. He set off in a steady trot that ate up the distance from the abandoned mine to the camp.

The sun winked out behind the bluffs to the west when we reached the outlying tents of the camp. I slowed Blanco to a sedate walk along the road, now the camp’s main street, toward gra-Sharob’s fire. The big Orsimer looked up from her forge when I halted. Next to her, young Avik, his brown eyes rimmed with white in his soot-smeared face, stared at Blanco, the bellows momentarily forgotten.

“Hail, Julian!” gra-Sharob greeted me with the warm heartiness I had grown accustomed to from her. “Welcome back!” Her black eyes moved over Blanco’s form glowing in the dark. “And on a new horse, I see!”

“This is Blanco,” I responded, dropping the reins and dismounting. I paused to dig an apple out of the saddle bag and bit into it. Avik watched with wonder as Blanco took the bite from my hand. “I bought him in Anvil.”

“Never seen anyone like him,” gra-Sharob shook her head as she walked around the motionless stallion. “But he suits you just fine, Julian!” she added, returning to the fire. “Avik, are you forgetting something?”

With a start the young Redguard turned back to the bellows and worked energetically away, sending me a sidelong glance.

“Do you have something for me to repair?” gra-Sharob asked as she reached into the forge with long handled tongs. I recognized the head of a mallet as she drew it out of the fire and set it on the anvil.

“No, not this time,” I answered. “The road between here and Anvil is clear for the moment.” I looked at Avik. “But I’m looking for Boldon. Do you know where he is?”

Avik nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Pa’s west of here. They’re puttin’ in a new well on the west side of the meadow.”

“All right, thanks,” I said to the young boy. He grinned back at me. “I’ll talk to you both later.”

Blanco walked at my shoulder, taking bites of the apple as we wove our way through the tents toward the open area where Paint had spent time two months ago. A milk cow and two goats stared wonderingly at us while we walked toward the tumbled boulders at the western edge.

Torches flared into life in the growing dusk, revealing the location of the work party. The apple gone, I motioned to Blanco to stand in place, and continued forward alone. “Hail, Boldon!” I called.

“Julian?” The reply directed my feet toward a figure that separated from the rest of the work party. He picked up one of the fresh torches and stepped away from the others. “Welcome back!”

“Thanks, Boldon,” I replied. “I bring aid from Anvil.”

“What?” The careworn Redguard stopped before me, his eyes wide. “Aid? And what of Skingrad?”

“I still need to report to the Count,” I answered. “But people in Anvil have been wanting to send aid to you. I told them what I thought you needed, and there are supplies and people here to help you get ready for winter.”

“Where are they?” Boldon looked past me, but saw only Blanco shimmering in the growing dusk.

“I left them near Belletor’s Folly,” I answered as we started walking toward the white stallion. “There’s also eight contubernii on their way to Bruma. The soldiers will be moving on in the morning.” I glanced at Boldon. “I’m certain you’ll want to figure out where to put everyone and everything.”

“Well, the folks from Anvil are welcome to pitch their tents south of the camp,” Boldon said. “There’s still some room, I think. Let’s leave the supplies at Belletor’s Folly, they’ll be safe within the mine.”

“And I’m certain the guardsmen won’t mind camping there, either,” I added. “There’s fresh water and shelter from the wind. They don’t want to overload your resources.”

Boldon paused and cast his gaze around the makeshift pasture. “There’s room for eight tents,” his gesture encompassed the south end of the meadow. “They can come down and camp here. Savlian won’t mind telling them about what to expect in the Deadlands.”

We stopped beside Blanco, who had been watching our progress with interest. “And now you have a new horse as well,” Boldon stated, holding his callused hand out for Blanco to sniff.

“I bought him from Clesa,” I shook my head. “I’m still not certain who got the better deal, her or me.”

“I’d say it is the horse,” Boldon’s grin gleamed. Blanco tossed his head as if agreeing. “Well, find Irinwe and have her run up to Belletor’s Folly. I think she’s helping Lenka Valus with the cooking.” He handed me the torch. “I’ll take care of Blanco, and see that he gets fed.”

“He doesn’t need much, really,” I answered. “Just a handful of grain, or none if you’ve little to spare.” I nodded toward the other animals. “I see you’ve managed to scrounge a few livestock.”

“They were all we could find after the carnage,” Boldon replied, already removing Blanco’s bridle. I took my pack from the saddle before he loosened the girth. “I’ll come by after dinner, and we’ll discuss what we still need after I’ve had a chance to see what the folks from Anvil brought us.”

As Boldon had suggested, I found Irinwe chopping root vegetables for a careworn Imperial woman. The slight Altmer’s melancholic face transformed into a brilliant smile when I spoke her name. “Julian!” She set her knife down and ran to me, flinging her arms around my waist. “You came back!”

“Yes, and I didn’t come alone this time,” I hugged the child back. She turned to the Imperial woman, who regarded me with wary curiosity.

“Lenka Valus, this is Julian, the woman I was telling you about!”

“I remember you,” Valus wiped her hands on her apron before taking mine in hers. “You got us safely out of Kvatch.”

“That was Matius,” I shook my head. “I was just along for moral support more than anything else.” I turned back to Irinwe. “I need you to do something for me, all right?”

“What can I do?” The Altmer girl bounced on her toes, her weariness forgotten.

“There’s a group of guards and people from Anvil waiting out near Belletor’s Folly,” I said to her. “Boldon said the guards can camp in the south end of the meadow, and the others can set up just past the southern edge of the tents here. The supplies they brought can be put inside the mine. If you would go and show them where to put everything and where to go, that would be wonderful.”

Irinwe glanced at Valus, who nodded in resignation. “I’ll get Melissada to help!” The slight Altmer girl removed her apron and darted away. I met Valus’s gaze.

“I apologize for stealing your help away from you,” I said quietly.

“Ah, a girl as young as that can’t work all day and not have time to run and have a good time!” Valus shrugged her shoulders. “Besides, it’s a never ending chore, cooking for fifty or more people!” She moved to the counter and began chopping the remaining vegetables. “Now shoo, I’ve got work to do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I inclined my head at her before walking away.

“Hello Julian,” Oleta’s warm voice caught my attention as I worked my way to Sigrid’s tent. I paused to wait for the older Redguard woman. She smiled at me. “You kept your promise and came back.”

“Of course,” I replied. “I have never forgotten Kvatch.” I cast my gaze upwards. “How is Matius doing with the ruins?”

Oleta’s eyes darkened as we turned south along the road. “They’re still digging up bodies. The Guild Plaza has been cleared, and the broken steeple taken down. But they’ve made little headway beyond.”

“I see you have some stones from the buildings here reinforcing your tents,” I gestured at the structures around me. Many of the tents had stone walls up to shoulder height.

“Matius’s idea,” Oleta nodded. “We spent two weeks bringing stones down from up there. Just the smaller ones, mind you!”

“The Countess of Anvil sent help, so you should have more strong arms to help with the hard work,” I said. “And Count Skingrad is waiting to hear what is needed most.”

“Yes, Boldon had mentioned something about that,” Oleta met my gaze briefly. “I gave him my list of the most needed items.”

“The people of Anvil sent along several hundredweights of smoked fish, salt cod, and produce. That should help get you through the winter.”

“That is much appreciated,” Oleta’s weary smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“And Felen Relas sent some healing potions,” I added. He had taken all of the daedra hearts I had, and distilled them into potions of varying strengths. “There’s some Fire of Life potions in the batch.”

Oleta stopped and gazed down the road. We now stood near the edge of the camp, and could see torches swirling in the glade that marked Belletor’s Folly. “Fire of Life?” she repeated. “That is very potent stuff, indeed. She lifted her gaze to the starlit sky above us. “It was developed by a Redguard woman in Anvil, as I recall.”

“The Redguard woman was my mother,” I said quietly. “She and Master Relas collaborated on it.”

Oleta turned to face me. “And now you are walking in her footsteps, Julian.” This time her smile touched her dark eyes. “Your mother would be very proud if she were to see you today.”

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Mar 11 2011, 12:55 AM

[Thomas Kaira]

@TK:

A great deal of trainers in my area teach that you should never allow your horse to get rowdy. If he is pushing you around, push back. If he is pushing you around too much and making you uncomfortable, give him a smack on the cheek.

Madness, you might say. Hit a horse? Here's the low down: What does the lead mare/stallion of a wild herd do if a horse is getting on their nerves? They kick them, hard, as in Capriole hard. The horse's skull is one of the hardest bones in their bodies, and so long as you reserve it for when your mount is seriously misbehaving you will do no damage by giving him a bit of a physical reprimand. Think of it like a mother spanking her child. It's not fun or desirable, but it is occasionally (though rarely) necessary.

Horses are not kitties, they require an involved trainer (and owner) who is not afraid to get his hands dirty. If you wish to own one, study up on how to assert your dominance over them, because the absolute worst thing a rider can do is allow their horse to control them.

<snip>

Reading that, I'd have to say I agree with you. Thankfully for me, I have never had any trouble with my own gelding at this point, for he is quite well behaved. I'm just glad that we at least see eye-to-eye on the occasional, if rare, need to get physical with a badly misbehaving horse.

I will get back to you on your latest as soon as I can.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Mar 10 2011, 10:43 PM

[SubRosa]

I saw gra-Shelob eying Blanco with a hungry look! I bet she is planning a barbecue!

A nice semi-homecoming to Kvatch. I see the survivors are turning their camp into a more permanent settlement. I would have expected as much. It seems more likely they would build a new town where they are, rather than try to rebuild all of Kvatch all by themselves. Although I see in the JF, they are not completely abandoned by the rest of Cyrodiil, as Kvatch is in the game.

Fire of Life potions? Did Julian's mother invent viagra?



nits:
I slowed Blanco to a sedate walk and walked along the road
You have a repetition of walk here. You might try something like:
I slowed Blanco to a sedate walk along the road

[Thomas Kaira]

A hero's welcome back in the Kvatch encampment for our dear Redguard. And this time she didn't come alone. I imagine she will be splitting off from the forces back in Weye, since she does still have business in Chorrol. I also think Paint will be quite interested in meeting Blanco, too! I look forward to that!

“Hail, Julian!” gra-Sharob greeted me with the warm heartiness I had grown accustomed to from her. “Welcome back!” Her black eyes moved over Blanco’s form glowing in the dark. “And on a new horse, I see!”

Quick, Julian! Get Blanco away from her! Horse and fire are two things you must never let an Orsimer see together!

“I see you have some stones from the buildings here reinforcing your tents,” I gestured at the structures around me. Many of the tents had stone walls up to shoulder height.

Step one of rebuilding: clearing away the remains of the old buildings. I hope Julian will be able to see Kvatch restored to its former glory.

[Acadian]

This is loaded with subtle touches that I so enjoyed. Here are just some of the pieces that struck me and contributed to the rich tapestry you weave at the Kvatch encampment -

Help from Skingrad will follow - and I expect Julian may stop there soon. Plenty of help from Countess Anvil. What type of staples would one expect from Julian's beautiful city by the sea but preserved fish? Bolden and his crew digging a new well. Savlian directing heavier clearing operations up inside the walls - and things going slowly. Feeding over fifty people everyday and what it takes to do that. Bolden continuing to try and provide 'stable services' despite the conditions. Help from the guild of mages at Anvil.

I see Julian and Blanco continue to grow closer. The distinctive stallion will no doubt continue to attract attention everywhere he goes.

[Winter Wolf]

Awesome write Haute! The building of your story always feels like a gathering storm.

I am convinced that the Kvatch encampment is Julian's real home. There is a slight change of personality that always comes over her and her horse (Blanco! Wow!) when she goes there. Sure, Anvil will always be where the heart is, but Kvatch will always be the focus of her determination.

Torches flared into life in the growing dusk, revealing the location of the work party. The apple gone, I motioned to Blanco to stand in place, and continued forward alone. “Hail, Boldon!” I called.

I loved this! The character goes from a transition of togetherness (the apple & horse) to a lonely solitude that symbolizes reaching (or nearing) her goal.

[Grits]

I like the way Kvatch is coming along. They seem to have found the balance between the number of people they need to do the work and the amount of work it takes to care for the people. Using the surrounding area for settlement is brilliant. I would never have thought to use the mine!

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: Let gra-Shelob try to make BBQ out of Blanco! He’ll kick her head off! Nit fixed.

@TK: Actually, Julian will split from Manus and his troops sooner, as she will stop off in Skingrad while they continue on to Bruma. She’ll go ahead of them as she can travel faster.

@Acadian: This was another segment where I felt a review of what’s going on was called for. And I’m glad you liked seeing the changes at Kvatch.

@WinterWolf: Welcome back, lupine friend! As for Kvatch and Julian, you’re pretty close to the mark. I’m glad you liked Blanco. I remember you and Destri always wanted Paint to do more. Well, hopefully Blanco will meet your needs for a heroic mount! And I found your Skyrim note absolutely hilarious!

@Grits: From all the reading I’ve done, I know that underground chambers (root cellars, mines, caves, etc) are great places for storing perishable foodstuffs through the winter - they won’t spoil so quickly, and they won’t freeze, either. Now if you want ice cream -

*************************
Chapter 24.2 Taking Stock

“We don’t need charity,” Matius addressed the fire. “What we need are the means to regain our self-sufficiency.” His words had the air of an old argument.

“But we must get through the winter first before we can work at becoming self-reliant again,” Boldon countered.

There were several of us around the small fire in front of Sigrid’s tent - Matius and Boldon as the unofficial leaders of the Kvatch refugees, Sigrid and Oleta who represented the Guilds and the Chapel respectively, and gra-Sharob as the sole surviving craftsperson, as well as Manus and Enilroth, who had accompanied me from Anvil. While Manus intended to continue on with his guardsmen to Bruma, Enilroth planned to return to Anvil once he had a clearer idea of what was still needed.

“There is fresh produce that can be dried and preserved for the winter,” Oleta said. “Also we have plenty of seafood that has been salted or dried to keep easily.”

“What we lack are ingredients of our own to make potions,” Sigrid added, “though the healing potions Felen Relas sent up are much appreciated. The Mages Guild chapter here once had a comprehensive herb garden, all is now lost.”

“I’m certain both Relas and Sinderion will send along seed stock to help you re-establish your garden come spring.” I exchanged glances with Enilroth, who nodded his comprehension.

“We lost much of our livestock,” Boldon added. “If we can get more goats, sheep, or even a few milk cows, it would be much appreciated.”

“I think Skingrad would be glad to provide some sheep to you,” I responded. “As for the rest, we’ll see what we can rustle up.”

Matius met my gaze across the fire. “No stealing, Julian,” he shook a finger at me. When the chuckles subsided, he grew somber. “Most of all, I think we need knowledge. We need people with experience in construction. If we are to rebuild Kvatch, we’ll have to start from the ground up.”

“The more immediate need are muscles,” Boldon added. “Unskilled labor to clear away the rubble, to take care of the dead.”

“We also need fuel for the funeral pyres,” Matius nodded. “Charcoal, firestone, and pitch.” He shook his head. “I hate to cut down all the trees around here, because we’ll have need of them in the future.”

“Don’t cut them down,” I agreed. “Enilroth will tell the Countess what you need. She has already ordered increased shipments of firestone from Hammerfell in anticipation of increased need for heating fuel for the winter.”

“You should also ask Skingrad for spun or woven wool for winter garments,” Enilroth suggested quietly. “Anvil is a more temperate climate, we have little that is suitable for these highland winters such as you get here.”

“Aye, that’s a good point,” Sigrid nodded. “Thread and needles, too.”

“Those we can provide,” Enilroth made a notation on a piece of parchment that rested on his thigh. “Scissors, too. I’ll see if Morvayn will make several pairs for you.” He glanced over at gra-Sharob. “Anything you need from our forge, ma’am?”

“Other than fuel?” At the Bosmer’s nod, gra-Sharob tilted her head back in thought. “Iron ingots would be good. We’re salvaging as much metal as we can from the ruins, but the fire has weakened much of it. We have need for construction tools, and I’d prefer to use virgin iron for that.”

“Steel would be better, wouldn’t it ma’am?” Enilroth’s tone held respect, and not just because of the Orsimer’s massive bulk next to him.

“I have everything else here I need to make steel,” gra-Sharob remarked. “Plenty of carbon in those burnt trees, and tungstenite in Belletor’s Folly.”

“That’s good,” Enilroth nodded. “Then I will tell Morvayn you need more pig iron.”

Manus turned to Matius. “The Countess wants to know if you need more guards here,” he said quietly. I glanced at the lieutenant.

“More would be good,” Matius agreed. “But right now all they’re doing is body collection and care.” He glanced at me. “I think some of them are itching for some action.”

“They can go with Manus’s men to Bruma,” I responded. “Countess Carvain is looking for reinforcements from all the other towns. I know you can’t spare the men, but it’s an option if you’d rather avoid an insurrection.”

“That isn’t a bad idea, if you’re up for it,” Manus said. He slapped his hands on his knees and rose. “It’s getting late, and I’ve got to see my men settled for the night. I’ll see you again in the morning, Matius, Julian.” With a salute, he turned and disappeared into the night.

“I’m turning in, too,” Matius stood. He sent me a dark look. “Julian, if I may have a few moments with you?”

I excused myself from the others, who had already returned to the question of supplies and materials needed for the winter. Matius and I walked north, toward the black shadow of the mesa bulking against the northern stars. He didn’t speak again until we reached the point where the road started climbing. He stopped and looked back at the scattered torchlights of the camp.

“I’ve sent to the Imperial City asking for aid several times - men, material, skilled craftsmen. I’ve had no response from them.”

“The Legion is stretched pretty thin,” I remarked. “The patrols have been decimated by these Oblivion Gates, and the provinces are hard hit as well.”

“They’ve always been stretched thin,” Matius’s tone held bitterness. “But I’m glad that we have Anvil and Skingrad for neighbors. I’d rather we were beholden to them than to the Elder Council.” I sensed his head turn to me. “Julian, would you have asked me for those men if Manus had not brought the subject up?”

I considered his question. “I’m not certain,” I said finally. “I know you’re tight on resources, and security is a problem. I’ve noticed bandits have become more prevalent on the roads since this crisis started, and it’s because of the daedra attacking everything and anything. Skingrad lost two contubernii worth of men to that Gate, and Anvil nearly as many.”

“And we lost one of the legionaries when we took Kvatch back,” Matius added. “It can add up over time.” We stood silently for a few moments. “Julian, tell me the truth?”

“Of course, Matius,” I responded.

“Will this ever end? Will we survive Dagon, or will we fall to him?”

I closed my eyes against the despair I heard in Matius’s voice. The past couple of months have taken their toll on him. I had been dismayed by how gaunt and worn he had appeared when he joined us for dinner. Though he had been glad to see me, I could see the nightmares that still shadowed his eyes. What can I tell him to give him the courage he needs to go on?

“I can only tell you what I keep telling myself, sir,” I took a deep breath. “We can beat him. Some of the best people in Cyrodiil -“ Martin’s worn visage bent over dusty tomes crossed my mind. “- are hard at work on finding the way to close these Gates for good. I have no doubt in their ability to find the means to do so.”

Matius looked down at the ground, scuffing the dry dirt. “You sound like you believe it, too,” he muttered. “I don’t think about it when I’m up there,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the mesa behind us, “but at night, when I’m trying to sleep -“

“Matius, I’ve cleaned up enough battlefields to know what you’re dealing with up there,” I put a firmness I didn’t feel into my voice. “These are your friends, your family, your neighbors that you’re pulling out of the ruins. Some of them you can’t even recognize anymore.” Matius’s stillness told me I had hit a nerve. “And when you let yourself have a quiet moment, that’s when it hits you. Hard.”

“Then how do you keep going?” Now I could hear strain in his voice, the strain I saw in his face when he greeted me earlier that evening. “What keeps you from giving up?”

“The thought of what will happen if we give up,” I could hear the fatalism in my voice. “I’d rather try with the chance of failing, than never try, for that way is certain failure.”

“Wish someone would tell Ilav Dralgoner that,” Matius remarked. I glanced sharply at him again. “He’s the only surviving priest here, since Brother Martin left with you.”

“And he has given up?” I asked. Matius shrugged.

“He says the Covenant between Alessia and Akatosh has been broken,” the former bodyguard looked away. “He believes the Enemy has won. I imagine he means Mehrunes Dagon.”

“Dagon hasn’t won yet,” I replied automatically. After a few moments’ consideration, I took a deep breath. “Has Dralgoner been telling people it’s no use?”

“More or less,” Matius rubbed at his close-cropped hair. “He stands on the switchback to the gates of Kvatch and waylays people. The guards ignore him, but some of the refugees that are helping clear the ruins are being affected by his despair.” His dark profile turned toward me. “Not everyone, who needed to, heard you speak of Kvatch as being triumphant as long as there are people.”

“I can see how that would make it so much harder for you and Boldon to keep morale up.” I tilted my face toward the double moons. “Hopefully the aid from Anvil and Skingrad will go a long way toward convincing your people they are not alone.”

“I hope so,” the fervent whisper was barely audible from behind the visible sigh that escaped Matius’s lips.

[SubRosa]

Firestone was an excellent bit of world-building.

A nice little episode showing the tribulations of the Kvatchites, who have a lot of hard work ahead of them, and little to look forward too. It is enough to make anyone give up. Especially the way they are completely abandoned by the Elder Council, Legion, and the rest of the government.

“Julian, if I may have a few moments with you?”
Hubba, hubba... Does Matius have blue eyes?

So Ilav Dralgoner is the local doomsayer eh? I wonder if he is really a priest of Akatosh, or one of Marooned Dragon?

[Acadian]

More rich and somber detail of the Kvatch rebuilding process, the requirements and toll.

It is wonderful that Anvil and Skingrad can be counted on for some help.

Dralgoner is like a cancer. Methinks perhaps he needs to be formally conscripted and sent to Bruma to man the front lines there.

[Winter Wolf]

I had a vision of Red Dead Redemption while reading this chapter- the gathering darkness, the flaring torches, the campfire, the grazing horses on the outside, the gruff voices and the quiet reasoning of Julian.

The way you write helps paint a picture for the reader. Awesome!

I can see that you put a lot of work into it- asking yourself what the people would have to do to rebuild a whole town. The different sides of the argument came across very well.

[Destri Melarg]

I had to go all the way back to Chapter 21.1 in Thread #4, but after an enjoyable session of reading I am finally making headway toward being fully caught up. Let me start this (over-long) post by eating some delayed crow. I, like Commander Phillida, was of the opinion that Lerus was just marking time in Bravil. While her journey with Julian gave me some much needed insight into her character, it wasn’t until her wonderfully described report to the primus legate that I really got a feel for how much she has truly done on her post. I also liked how you tied the events at Fort Grief with the corruption that is strangling the city. Finishing that chapter by recalling the events in Solsthiem reminds us all of Julian’s dealings with Athlain. I so love a well done crossover!

Something else that struck me was the regard in which others hold Julian’s actions. Lerus and Forenze trying to tally how many gates Julian has closed gives a clear indication of just how difficult such a task must be to even the experienced soldier. It’s nice to see Julian afforded such respect after sallying for too long in the mud.

This caught my eye:

Newest Champion? I felt my own brows rise at the Altmer’s words. It is true Emperor Uriel tasked me with delivering the Amulet, but that is all he entrusted to me. Everything else - - but did he foresee the path I would tread once I passed the Amulet into Jauffre’s hands?

‘There will be blood and death before the end, Sun’s/Son’s Companion.’ I also think it’s telling that Julian regards the ruler of all Tamriel as ‘Emperor Uriel’ rather than ‘Emperor Septim.’

After all the intrigue and political machinations in the city, it was slightly jarring to see Julian leave on foot. In the long interim of both my absence and your hiatus I had almost forgotten Paint’s heartbreaking condition. Being reminded of it was not fun . . . but I know it was necessary.

After the trials of closing the Skingrad Gate Julian is met by the further slights of everyone’s favorite Castle Steward. I agree with Cardboard Box and SubRosa, calling him a corpse-humper just seems to sum him up. I wondered if Julian would get wise to the Count’s secret. The way you handled that, on the balcony overlooking the remnants of both Kvatch and the recently closed Oblivion Gate, was excellent. I guess it’s no wonder the Count doesn’t give audience. Anyone who spends even a short time in his company seems to learn that he is a vampire.

And then we come to Julian’s memorable night in the Skingrad Mages Guild. I think the name Vigge the Cautious was meant as a joke, because the man is anything but. I also like how, for the first time, Julian ruminates on the civility of the Argonians she has met along the way.

Perhaps Erthor is secretly the most gifted mage in all Tamriel! Think about it, he discovered a way to make his summons permanent (that didn’t require a mod or a cheat). If Julian really gets desperate for bodies to stand with her in Bruma she could always bring Erthor and his army of perma-zombies!

The closing of the second gate in Skingrad was even more compelling than the first one. Maybe it was getting to see the closing (for all too brief a time) through Fortran’s eyes, or maybe it was the subtle reminder of the detail that you take your own Oblivion through those gates with you. Whatever it was, I found myself more invested in this Gate’s closing than I was with the first.

And that ends Thread #4.

Julian’s return to Anvil:

I am so glad that you chose to begin Thread #5 (already?!) with the closing of that Gate on the Gold Road, the one just southeast of the Brina Cross Inn. [rant] I have closed that one in several of my games because every time it opens a poor legion horse (not a Black Horse Courier horse) drops dead on the Gold Road and his rider spends the rest of the game stranded in that spot (ostensibly so that he can avenge his departed mount). It makes it a real pain to do the Anvil Mages Guild recommendation because that soldier winds up killing Aurielle and Roliand every time. Like it was their fault that his horse is dead! ‘Way to take up for the icicle bandit, dude!! Now I don’t even bother with the Oblivion Crisis until after I’ve done the faction quests. [/rant]

I like your explanation of the strength magnitude of Sigil Stones. Julian wondering if enchanting with such stones sets the souls free just continues to mark her as the (goody two-shoes) hero that she is.

Finally Julian receives the hero’s welcome that she has long deserved! This chapter was definitely worth the wait. I agree with Olen though, Carahill choosing that moment to pester Julian about some relatively mundane task for the Mages Guild was beneath her usually sterling character.

*Also let me reiterate: Please get Julian some nookie soon, if only to keep mALX, ‘Rosa, and now TK from chewing on their keyboards!*

I enjoyed the quiet interlude of the night Julian spends in the Anvil Mages Guild with Thauron and his slave pet, Sparky. The act of healing the imp long ago may have been noble. But the fact that he crafts drain magicka spells to get it to do what he wants while deciding what it eats and when is just wrong to me. FREE SPARKY!

Master Wizard Traven’s puckish complaints about the sound of my feet lent speed to my passing.

Grrr! Another of those brilliantly crafted sentences that has me gnashing my teeth with envy.

I also noticed that, in Julian’s flashback to her time spent with Felen Relas, that he definitely told her the G rated version of Barenziah’s story.

There is one thing that I had a problem with. You have Julian being reprimanded in a flashback for stealing a glance into the play The Lusty Argonian Maid. That particular opus was written by Crassius Curio of Morrowind. Now I know that in Morrowind we are told about his ‘new play’ (presumably titled The Dance of the Three-Legged Guar ). But I doubt very much that he wrote Argonian forty+ years before the Oblivion Crisis so that Julian could get in trouble for reading it as a child. Curio’s an old lech, but he’s not that old.

That’s all I’ve got for you right now. I’ll be back when I’ve caught up.

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: Matius has brown eyes. Sorry. You know, speaking for myself, I adore the guy. He is the heroic lead I always have a crush on.

@Acadian: I think sticking Ilav Dralgoner in the front lines at Bruma would be disastrous! He’s like you said, a cancer, and the battlefront at Bruma’s the last place I’d want a cancer of despair!

@Winter Wolf: I’m glad the atmosphere of Kvatch in the early post-Gate days came through for you. We will see more of Kvatch after the MQ ends and Julian begins the next stage of her life. As for the arguments (self-sufficiency versus outside aid), both are valid, IMHO. I see the aid from Skingrad and Anvil as micro-loans - not only just enough to get through the winter and until the next harvest, but also enough to permit them to bootstrap themselves out of the ruins once again. According to the Lore, it’s not the first time Kvatch’s done it.

@Destri: Welcome back! :twirl: Your commentary has refreshed some events in my mind. As always, your insight is invaluable. I’m sorry that you missed Paint, and I hope that you will come to enjoy Blanco as much as you loved the Prior’s gelding. As for Erthor’s perma-summons, I think that was a mistake on his part, and something he’s still trying to figure out! “What the 'blivion did I do differently that time!” You bet he went back to that cave to try and replicate that particular spell he screwed up! As for the timing of the Argonian Maid, I’m going along with Athlain’s timeline. It’s stretched out between Morrowind and Oblivion, but to me it makes more sense than the few years’s separation we see in-game. So it may be less of a problem for you if you keep that in mind.

*****************
Chapter 24.3: Return to Skingrad

Tilmo took the tack I stripped from Blanco. He shooed me away from the horse. “I can see you’re tired, Julian,” he urged me toward the West Gate. “Go in and get some sleep.”

“It has been a long day,” I admitted, picking up my pack and patting Blanco farewell. He tossed his head as Tilmo began currying the road dust from his coat.

One of the guards outside the West Gate greeted me with an assessing gaze at the soot on my Wolf surcoat. “Been closing more Oblivion Gates, ma’am?” I recognized him as one of the men who stood the barricades while Fortran and I closed the Gate in the cemetery.

“Unfortunately, a new one opened just past that bandit camp on ridge there,” I jerked my thumb northwestward. “It’s not there anymore.”

“That explains why there had been no traffic from that direction,” the guard remarked. “I’ll tell Dion.”

Again they opened the heavily reinforced gates for me. I trudged into Hightown, toward the Mages Guild.

I had left Kvatch early the morning after my conversation with Matius, leaving the Anvil contingent behind. Boldon had given me a list for Count Skingrad. The ride from Kvatch had been mostly quiet, the animals leaving me alone. We had been ambushed by a lone bandit, but when Blanco gathered himself beneath me, the Khajiit had hesitated doubtfully. As Clesa had taught me, I had asked for the levade. Blanco’s rear, which he had held for several moments, allowed me to scan the sides of the road for more bandits, as did the detect life spell I had cast at the same time.

Blanco’s striking foreleg as he came down had convinced the Khajiit that we were not easy game. The bandit had backed away and faded into the brush without attacking us. As we had walked away from the failed ambush, I considered Clesa’s parting words. "Trust Blanco with your life. When you confront danger, he will be your partner. Whether you fight on foot or on horseback, trust that he will guard you always.”

As we headed eastward and climbed the steep hill that rose to the ridge west of Skingrad, I had noticed the telltale thunderheads that signaled another Oblivion Gate. It’s not far from that bandit camp. I’ll see if it’s safe to leave Blanco there while I close the Gate. With Blanco a safe distance away, I had come upon four daedra swarming a lone bandit during my customary sweep of the surrounding area. His three comrades lay motionless nearby.

I sent Berene’s fireball spell after one of the scamps and knocked a clannfear down with an arrow from Akatosh’s Fury. The Redguard fell before the second clannfear and the scamp. They tore into him savagely, eliciting horrifying screams that brought back memories of massacre to me. Without thought for the bandit’s choice of career, I tore into the daedra with my enchanted katana, giving no quarter.

With the daedra dead, I turned to the bandit. He lay shaking violently, his dark skin pallid from shock and pain. The flesh was torn from both legs below the knee, and a foot was missing below one ankle. He dragged himself toward his discarded short sword before I caught up to him.

“Lie still, sir,” I knelt beside him and called up the convalescence spell that now came so easily to me. He knocked my hand away with his one good arm, groaning as the gesture brought more unbearable pain.

“I’m finished,” his voice was a bare husk. “You save my life for what?” He jerked his head toward Skingrad. “Jail? Begging in the streets? No, that’s not the life for me.”

Beneath the pain that masked his face, I could see the fierce pride still lingering in his eyes, the pride that made Redguards famous for our independent spirits. Though he was a bandit, that pride touched a nerve in me. Yet my mother’s example would not let me back down. “Let me help you, sir -“ I tried again.

“Not like that!” I stopped, startled at the force in his objection. He locked gazes with me "Finish what they started. Just make it quick.”

I stared at him, feeling my jaw tighten. Kill him? My eyes drifted over his injuries. He’s right. I can’t give him back his legs, his mobility. Without it, he’s dependent on others. And the folks in Skingrad are not likely to treat him kindly, bandit that he is. I nodded reluctantly and rose to my feet, bringing my plain katana out of its scabbard. The Redguard lay back and closed his eyes.

His death as swift and merciful as my Legion training could make it, I left the bandit and returned to Blanco. I managed to bring him past the Gate to the camp, where I provided water for him and stripped him of his tack. Briefly I considered resting, but I hated the idea of trying to sleep with that immense screeching portal so close by. With a admonition to a nervous Blanco to stay put, I went into that Gate.

As usual, another day had gone by while I spent time in the Deadlands. After a day’s ride and another day closing the Gate, I now felt more than ready for bed. I’ll see Sinderion tomorrow, and Count Hassildor tomorrow night. Then it’s on to Chorrol.

*****************************
“Oh, Julian, ten nirnroot so quickly?” Sinderion exclaimed as I handed over the parchment-wrapped packet. “Really?”

“Found them along the coast north of Anvil,” I answered. “It’s pretty remote there. Tell me, do they regrow once you harvest them?”

“I don’t think so,” Sinderion shook his head. “They are growing increasingly rare through the years.”

“I wonder why,” I mused.

“That’s an excellent question!” Sinderion exclaimed. “Perhaps it would be worth studying, if I wasn’t so busy keeping track of the wine here!”

I regarded the tall Altmer. “It must be difficult, sir,” I remarked dryly.

Sinderion laughed heartily. “Yes, I admit it, I love my wine! And right here with Tamika’s and Surilie’s vineyards is heaven for me!” He picked up a wine glass. “Have you tried any of it?”

“I’m an addict and a drunk,” I shook my head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.”

Sinderion’s face fell. “That’s too bad, Julian. I hear S’drassa in Leyawiin is working on a cure for skooma addiction.”

“Right now I’m fine,” I assured him. “But if the cravings come back, I’ll speak to him about it.” I shook my head. “But it’s been a while.”

****************************
“You want to see the Count again?” gro-Yarug greeted me, cutting off Hosidus. “The Count left explicit instructions to have you brought to him when you returned, see.”

As the older Imperial stalked away, his face suffused, I turned to the Orsimer. “Yes, sir, I’m here to report to him as he requested.”

“I will take you to Hal-Liurz,” gro-Yarug motioned for me to follow him.

“I’m a bit early, aren’t I?” I asked. It was not yet sundown. “I can wait, if that’s better.”

“You can wait with Hal-Liurz, see,” gro-Yarug grunted, insistently waving me to the grand staircase. “She’s eating dinner before the Count calls for her. You can have a bite to eat with her.”

He led me to the steward’s sitting room, a small chamber buried somewhere in the maze that was the castle living quarters. A small window faced westward, showing the setting sun. The Argonian greeted me warmly and insisted on sharing her modest dinner of lentil soup and bread with me.

“The Count hass been anxiously awaiting your return,” she assured me. “He knowss winter is coming and Kvatch iss ill-prepared for it.”

“Actually, Anvil has sent some aid,” I said. “Mostly seafood dried and salted, and fresh produce that they can dry themselves. But there are some things Anvil can not provide.”

“Wool,” Hal-Liurz guessed, nodding to herself. “We have plenty of that. Alchemical ingredients not common to the Gold Coasst. Wine to chasse the chill away and to lift sspiritss after a hard day’ss work. Cheesse that lies soft on the tongue and providess sstrength.”

“Things like that,” I agreed, smiling at the steward’s astuteness. “I have the list with me.”

“Excellent,” Hal-Liurz nodded emphatically. “Be certain to give it to Count Hassildor.”

A bell tinkled somewhere in the depths of the castle. Hal-Liurz glanced out the window. “The Count iss up now. Wait here, I will let him know you have returned.” She rose and left the chamber.

I did not have to wait long before she returned. Again she led me through the maze of hallways to the tower room where Hassildor awaited me. This time, there was a glass of clear water waiting for me.

“Good to see you again, Julian of Anvil,” he greeted me, again waving me courteously to the chair opposite him. “How are things in Kvatch?”

“Better than when I left them two months ago.” I told Hassildor of the progress the refugees had made in fortifying the camp against the oncoming winter, of the recovery of the bodies and the cleaning of the ruins. He seemed pleased when I mentioned the aid Anvil sent.

“I knew Countess Umbranox would not ignore their plight, either. But I understand the Gold Road was closed between Anvil and Kvatch?”

“Two Oblivion Gates and a rogue mage,” I nodded. “They have been cleared, and the road is open all the way to Skingrad.”

“And I think I know who is responsible for that,” Hassildor inclined his head, unnerving eyes on me. “I shall not ask for details. I only need to know what you have told me.” He took a sip of his wine. “Do you have the list of needs for us?”

“Yes, and I can give you a quick rundown. Wool would be appreciated, as they have little in the way of warm clothing for winter. Leather for boots. Pig iron. Morvayn in Anvil will see about getting as much as he can for gra-Sharob, but there is already a great demand for iron and steel. If Skingrad can also provide iron −”

“Not a problem,” Hassildor waved me into momentary silence. “Our mines are still productive. I’ll have Agnete select the iron to send along. Anything else?”

I worked through the rest of the list. Hassildor murmured to Hal-Liurz from time to time, giving instructions based on what I described. Finally I fell silent, sipping at the water to moisten my throat.

“Who is in charge there?” Hassildor asked me.

“A Redguard named Boldon is organizing the camp,” I answered. “He was a laborer before, but he has leadership qualities and is widely respected. And Savlian Matius is leading the clean up and body recovery in the city. He is already planning the reconstruction.”

“Obviously they need laborers,” Hassildor mused. He met my gaze again. “Who is this Savlian Matius?”

“He was one of Count Goldwine’s bodyguards,” I replied. “He became leader of the guard by default.”

“What sort of man is he?”

I considered his question. What sort of man, indeed? “Speaking as a former pilus,” I said slowly, “if he were my Legion officer, I’d follow him to Oblivion and back without question. He’s young, but very canny, quick to size up a situation and quick to act. He does not hesitate to ask for help, but he does not wait for it.”

“Impatient?” Hassildor asked. I shook my head.

“No, decisive.”

Hassildor regarded me thoughtfully. “Hmm, that’s interesting.” He rose to his feet and turned to face west. I knew he was studying the ruined city visible from this vantage point. “Kvatch will rebuild, I don’t doubt that anymore,” his voice was soft in the chilly night. “But it needs a leader, and with Count Goldwine and his family gone --"

“Matius holds the Count’s signet ring,” I answered. “He keeps it safe for the next Count, whomever he or she may be.”

“Do you trust him with it?” Hassildor turned his head so I saw his profile against the stars.

“I’ve seen no reason not to so far,” I answered. “He is not wearing it on his finger, if that’s what you’re wondering. And he works alongside the others. If he has any ambitions in that direction, they’re very well hidden.”

“Is he capable of such ambition?”

“He’s smart enough for it,” I shrugged. “But I doubt it’s even crossed his mind to take advantage of his possession of the ring. The man is too honest and open to even think about subterfuge.”

“And you can recognize that?” Hassildor turned to face me.

“I’ve had officers, legates capable of scheming to gain position, rank and privilege,” I replied. “Yes, I think I have the experience to see that. I recognize the ability to weave plots in Count Indarys and Count Caro, in High Chancellor Ocato, and in a few other people I’ve met in the last few months. But I don’t count Matius among them.”

“High Chancellor Ocato?” Hassildor repeated. “Do you think he is using recent events to his advantage?”

“He’s capable of it,” I nodded. “But whether or not he is doing so, I don’t know. I’d like to think he has the best interests of the Empire at heart. To do less than that would be to betray Emperor Uriel’s memory.”

“Hmm, I see,” Hassildor’s tone was impassive. “Thank you, Julian of Anvil. I’m certain you have much yet to do, so I shall not keep you. Let me assure you that we will send what aid Kvatch needs in the next few days.”

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Mar 15 2011, 01:27 PM

[SubRosa]

A bandit thought better of attacking the protagonist? Yaay! I think that is a first for fan fiction. You even beat me to it! It is so nice to see realistic behaviour from the bad guys.

Even better was the scene between Julian and the bandit at the gate. Her desire to aid the maimed man was very natural and well portrayed. Of course she would want to do whatever she could. You would have to be really cold not to (like John Wayne in The Searchers). The end was likewise natural, and expected. What else would the bandit want, with no hope and no future?

Finally, an intriguing discussion between Julian and Count Skingrad. The part about Matius I expected, as the Count will want to take the measure of the man who will most likely be the new Count Kvatch. The digression into Ocato was as delightful as it was unexpected.

Wouldn't Ocato be a fool not to take advantage of the situation for his own ends? That would not necessarily mean for the ill of the Empire. Someone stepping up to the plate to fill the vacuum of power left after Uriel's death would not only been good, but I should think necessary for keeping the Empire together. The real question would be whether or not Ocato would relinquish that power to Martin when the times comes... However, the way the Elder Council seems to be sitting on its tush and not taking decisive action suggests that he is not though.


nits:
“You want to see the Count again?”gro-Yarug greeted me
Looks like a hungry orc ate your space here. Better throw a few more horses on the fire!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 15 2011, 04:26 PM

[Grits]

From 24.2
“We don’t need charity,” Matius addressed the fire. “What we need are the means to regain our self-sufficiency.”

Perfect, I have actually been waiting to hear him say something like this! That’s how real you've made him.

“As for the rest, we’ll see what we can rustle up.”

Julian the sheep rustler! Somehow I don’t think that’s one of her old habits.

I found the quiet conversation under the moons quite moving, including the reminder that Martin is still hard at work among the Blades, and probably could use a little pep talk himself.

24.3
One of the guards outside the West Gate greeted me with an assessing gaze at the soot on my Wolf surcoat. “Been closing more Oblivion Gates, ma’am?”

So Julian had a side trip into Oblivion, and her memory of the bandit’s horrific injuries reminds us not to take it lightly.

It’s not far from that bandit camp. I’ll see if it’s safe to leave Blanco there while I close the Gate.

What to do with your horse while you’re in the Gate is a big issue. I’m glad to see Julian address it.

I like it when Julian is in Kvatch. It’s hard to pin down exactly why. And Chorrol next, another of my favorite places.

[Acadian]

Once again you effectively use time sequencing here. In this case opening at the stables with Tilmo, then catching us up with the recent past, then rejoining the present.

I enjoy seeing how fully Julian integrates the needs of her companion, Blanco into her days. Things like ensuring he is in good hands with Tilmo for the night or taking pains to find a safe spot for him to wait as she clears an Oblivion Gate are delightfully welcome reminders of the responsibility entailed.

Julian was forced into several decisions regarding that bandit outside the Oblivion Gate, the most difficult of course was whether to give him the relief of death. You effectively portrayed the pain and grayness of this. More importantly, you showed us what Julian was thinking as she reluctantly made the best choice of a couple imperfect options. A hard choice I'm sure, but I really think she did exactly the right thing.

'Tell me, do they regrow once you harvest them?”
“I don’t think so,” Sinderion shook his head. “They are growing increasingly rare through the years.”
“I wonder why,” I mused.'
Brilliant!

This post has been edited by Acadian: Mar 15 2011, 03:20 AM

[Thomas Kaira]

Chapter 24.2:

A very good look back into what Kvatch has been through, and what they might need to get back on their feet.

Also, if they need fuel in a pinch, bone works quite well. It's hard to start, but burns hot and long.

Nit:

“We can beat him. Some of the best people in Cyrodiil -“

You're dastardly quote mark here decided to point the wrong way!

Chapter 24-3:

Back in Skingrad. Nice to show some humility for the bandit and give him a quick death. I also enjoyed the one who ambushed you, but then discovered that he had a little something called gray matter and thought the better of it.

Glad to see Hassildor is willing to lend a hand. We just might have this town rebuilt before the crisis ends! Well, maybe not... it's a big city, after all.

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: I’m glad you liked my portrayal of the two bandits. Somehow Blanco is more intimidating than Paint at his best. I just watched Ladyhawke last night to refresh my memory how to use such horses in combat. That fight scene between Navarre and Marquet in the cathedral is quite inspirational, and we might see some elements later in OHDH. As for Ocato, well, it’s not easy leading an Elder Council as divisive as I imagine this one to be. I’ll keep your comments in mind as I develop the High Chancellor further.

@Grits: I’m glad our fondness and respect for Matius comes through so well for you. I enjoy it too when Julian is in Kvatch. I think there she has a chance to drop her pilus persona. They’ve all seen her when she was weak and sick from her addiction, so she doesn't have to be so tough and strong when she's there.

@Acadian: I have to be careful with the time sequencing here. I’ve become so comfortable with transitioning back and forth it’s easy for me to over do it. I knew people were going to respond fairly strongly to that Redguard bandit Julian helped (though not quite in the way she originally intended to).

@TK: I’m glad you enjoyed the two segments - Kvatch and Skingrad. As for the wayward closing quote, it’s a problem with the forum’s formatting. In Scrivener (the app I use for writing) it points the correct way following the dash. However it seems the dash is invisible to the forum editor, and it sees only the space preceding it, which is the signal to convert to an opening quote. I’ll have to figure out the formatting rules specific to the forum editor . . .

After a visit at Kvatch to check up on cleanup and rebuilding progress, closing yet another Gate near Skingrad, and another visit with the Count of Skingrad, Julian finally returns to Weye and introduces her newest friend to a couple of old ones.

*******************************
Chapter 24.4 Introductions

Paint whinnied as we walked toward his paddock, and moved down to the fence. “Julian, is that ye?” Merowald exclaimed, stepping from his garden into the road. Paint stretched his head over the top rail toward me, snorting and blowing at Blanco.

The stallion stood quietly, but I noticed his ears twitching toward the gelding. I dropped the rein on his neck, and Blanco shook his mane before turning his gaze to Paint. He remained otherwise motionless until I dismounted, then took a step toward the fence, arching his neck and puffing up.

Sensible Paint did not seem impressed by Blanco’s showing off, but instead bumped muzzles with the stallion. He then turned his brown eyes at me and whinnied again, softer this time.

“I see ye have a new ‘orse,” Merowald stepped forward and held his hand out to Blanco. “‘E’s a beaut!” While the stallion and the retired fisherman became acquainted with each other, I slipped between the rails and greeted Paint. He nosed me over, as if to make certain I was still in one piece. His eyes sparkled when I pulled an apple out of my belt purse and bit into it.

At the sound of my teeth crunching the fruit, Blanco alerted on me. I lifted my hand in the Legion hold signal. He remained where he stood, but watched as I fed Paint the apple.

“Does ‘e know Legion signals, too?” Merowald had noticed the exchange between us.

“Something I taught him, on the way from Anvil,” I replied between bites. “His name is Blanco, by the way. He’s High Rock bred and trained, and he’s my horse, not just on loan like Paint was.”

“So ye will return Paint, then?” Merowald asked. I shrugged.

“I think he still belongs to Weynon Priory,” I answered. “Though the Prior himself has passed away, I should return Paint there.”

“‘E’s stronger now,” Merowald’s eyes were sad.

“I see he’s been good company for you, Merowald,” I smiled at him. “He was good company for me, too.” I turned back to Paint and laid my hands on his ribs. Closing my eyes, I sought his magicka. The fire was larger than before, but not nearly as strong as Blanco’s. But do horses have differing magnitudes of magicka like we do? I don’t know how strong Paint’s was before that will o’wisp.

Paint nudged my shoulder, breaking the contact. I blinked, and rubbed his shoulder in response. “You look better,” I said to him. He did look better, his eye brighter with more of a spark. He had put on weight, as well, though he wasn’t yet back to his old condition.

“I agree, Julian,” Merowald said after a moment. “‘E’s good company and all, but I think ‘e’ll be glad to be back home.” He turned back to Blanco, running his hand along the horse’s arched neck. “Well, this one’s trained to stand quietly with geldings?”

“I think so,” I responded. “Paint is used to being around stallions, he’s pretty low key with them.” I thought of how he ignored Red’s impertinence. Somehow I couldn’t see Blanco being so insouciant with the gelding. I opened the gate for Blanco. “Let’s see how they behave.”

“Aye, let’s!” Merowald agreed. He reached for Blanco’s rein, but the stallion had been watching me intently. I signaled him to come to me, and he walked carefully past the limping fisherman and paused just outside the open gate. His ears swiveled toward Paint, and his nostrils fluttered.

Paint stood his ground a few strides away, his eyes on Blanco. After a few moments, the gelding shook his head and shifted into the relaxed three-legged stance. At that moment, Blanco stepped past me and entered the paddock. He turned to face me, waiting alertly. I removed his bridle and saddle and rubbed his forehead firmly, ruffling his long forelock in the process.

“I’ll take these,” Merowald took the tack from me and carrying them into his cottage. I remained a few moments more, but Blanco turned away from me and began grazing. After a few moments, Paint dropped his head and did the same.

They’re deliberately ignoring each other. For the moment. Is that good? I closed the gate behind me and moved to the garden, where I sat on the bench. Merowald came out a few moments later with a tumbler of water for me.

“I was watchin’ them through the window,” he said, seating himself next to me and lighting his pipe. “Seems to me they’ll get along fine.”

“I hope so,” I replied. “I’ll be leading Paint back to Weynon Priory from the saddle.”

“If Paint ‘ad been one of those obnoxious geldin’s,” Merowald blew a long stream of blue smoke, “then we’d ‘ave a problem. But ‘e’s so laid back, I don’t think Blanco will feel the need to put ‘im in his place.” He turned his head and watched the pair for a few moments longer. “And Blanco doesn’t seem like one of those stallions that ‘as to show ‘is balls to everyone all the time.”

“I was nervous about getting a stallion,” I admitted. “I’d seen them in the Legion, and they always seemed to be difficult to handle. But he’s been easy.”

“Ye’ve taught him a signal or two,” Merowald remarked. “How long ‘ave ye ‘ad ‘im?”

I tipped my head back against the plaster of the cottage, cool in the gathering dusk. “Let’s see, six days now.”

“And the two of ye ‘ave learned a lot in that short a time,” the old Breton grinned at me. He took a long puff on his pipe before speaking again. “I could tell when I saw ye ridin’ up that both of ye’re comfortable with each other.”

“Thanks, Merowald,” I smiled back, taking another sip of the cool water. “But if not for Paint, I would never have dreamed of riding a horse like Blanco. I had to learn new things so I would know what to expect! He’s not trained like Paint, you see.”

“Really? ‘Ow’s that?”

I told him of our encounter with the mountain lion, and how Blanco had responded so differently to the same cues I had used with Paint. He listened raptly as I described the grueling lessons Clesa had given me until I could ask for the levade, the courbette or the rear and forward jump that he had used to return the lion’s attack, and the capriole, the high leap with the backwards kick that could be useful when being attacked from behind.

“That’ll be handy with goblins and bandits and the like!” he exclaimed. “I’d ‘ate to be on the receivin’ end of those back feet!”

“It can be quite devastating, I’m told.” I glanced at Merowald. “Someone of your height, those hooves would be right in your face. For a Nord or Altmer, it’s right here,” I drew my hand across the base of my neck, level with my collarbones. “Deadly either way.”

“Ye’d have to be a male Bosmer to avoid that, then!” the fisherman nodded emphatically.

“A male Bosmer might get scalped,” I corrected. “If he’s lucky, that is. Blanco can adjust the height of his kick to get the most damage.” I shook my head. “We’ve been practicing on the road from Kvatch. He’s taught me a lot.”

“‘E’d be a good fightin’ partner, at that,” Merowald shook his head in wonder.

“I’m still a little nervous about letting him fight alongside me, though,” I smiled at myself. “I’m in the habit of keeping my horse out of danger.”

“But danger can sneak up on ye at times,” Merowald spoke ruefully, tapping his gimp leg for emphasis. “It’d be good to ‘ave someone like Blanco then.” He met my gaze. “By the way, ‘ow can ye afford a ‘igh Rock stallion?”

“Clesa made me a deal - half what she paid for him as long as I bring him back every spring for breeding.” I recalled Morvayn’s comment. “That was the main reason she imported him - for breeding to her own bloodlines. This way, she gets out of feeding him for most of the year!”

Merowald chuckled. “And ‘ow is your friend, ah, Brother Martin?”

“He was fine when I last saw him.” I counted days for a few moments. “It’s been about six weeks now. I’ll probably see him again in a couple more weeks.” And I hope he has the Xarxes fully translated by then. Though what he’ll ask me to do next remains to be seen. And somehow I have the feeling Sancre Tor won’t be the end of it.

“Ye’ve been travelin’ all over Cyrodiil, Julian,” Merowald puffed on his pipe one last time, then tapped it against the edge of the bench, spilling the ashes onto the ground. “That’s more than I’ve ever seen!”

“I’ve seen more of Cyrodiil in the past two months than I have in my entire life!” I exclaimed. “Bruma, Cheydinhal, and Leyawiin. Kvatch and Skingrad.” And the Deadlands, too. But let’s not speak of that.

“‘Ow was it goin’ back to Anvil?” Merowald turned the smooth wood of the pipe in his hands, as if considering refilling and relighting it.

“I was dreading it at first, but once I was back and saw some old friends, it was fine.” For the most part. I caught myself fingering the silver circlet on my left wrist, tucked up beneath the padded sleeve of the quilted tunic. Its enchantment remained a mystery, and though I caught it glowing softly at times, I still felt no effects from it.

With a glance at the evening sky, I rose to my feet. “I’d best be getting off to bed, Merowald. I’ll be back early in the morning to take these two on to Weynon Priory.”

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Mar 17 2011, 01:23 AM

[SubRosa]

A nice little pause, and a wonderful reunion with an old friend! Aelwin was nice to see as well . As ever, I love the cockney accent you give him. Someday we will have to get him and Aia together, the dialogue will be marvelous!

It has only been six weeks since Julian began her grand circuit of Cyrodiil? It seems like six months, given how much has happened. I doubt that Martin and Jauffree will recognize her when she returns!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 16 2011, 10:17 PM