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

[mALX]

I only meant the Sirens as a joke, as that farm is where they meet you.

“That’s almost enough to buy the old Benirus manor from young Velwyn!” she exclaimed. “He’s been trying to sell it for the past year!”
Speaking of old ghosts...

“She understands the real value of horses!”
Horseburgers!

So Julian is at her latest fetch and carry mission for the Mages Guild. Or this time, a fetch and kill mission.

As Olen said, you breathed quite a bit of life into the playful stallion. Although it seems unlikely that Julian will wind up buying him, as Clesa said that she brought him all the way from Vienna, Austria High Rock to breed her stock. So it is doubtful she would part with him.

Unless he suddenly went sterile. Julian, (being good at alchemy) could tiptoe out in the night and slip some Salt Peter in his oats. Then, after Clesa sells Blanco to Julian ... Julian stops doing it. The stud is back, and Julian can sell his "services" to fund her adventuring after the Oblivion Crisis is over ... Later on she can buy a mare and sell the foals .... Oh! Er ... did I say that?

This post has been edited by mALX: Feb 18 2011, 07:07 AM

[haute ecole rider]

@Olen: Yes, I assure you, all the conformation traits Julian spotted in Blanco are desirable, especially in a saddle horse. As for ‘study’ vs. ‘studying’, it may be a Midwestern dialect here. We often complain that we’ve ‘got so much studying to do to pass this course!’ So that’s what I went with.

@TK: I would normally not write a sentence like the one you pointed out, but as many people in conversation don’t edit themselves, and this is part of Carahil’s dialogue, I decided to leave it be. And I’m a bit envious of Clesa too. That Blanco is something else! I actually modeled his behavior after a Morgan stallion I knew that was full of mischief.

@SubRosa: I’m not really certain that Gweden Farm is actually haunted the way Benirus Manor is. I think it’s called ‘haunted’ mainly because of the deaths that occurred there thirty years ago. I’m glad you enjoyed Blanco too.

@Cap’n H: Why do I have Robert Duvall taking a deep breath and exclaiming “God! I love the smell of napalm in the morning!” going through my head since reading your comment? As for Benirus Manor, it’s just not Julian’s style.

@Acadian: I agree that this recommendation is the only one with the Guild’s welfare in mind, not the personal tush of the chapter head involved. And you might win that bet!

@Grits: I stand with you in your disappointment in being unable to go back into that house. That alone is one reason I’m considering installing a second hard drive in my Intel Mac, putting Windows 7 on it, and buying the PC version of the game. I’d love to be able to tinker with Gweden Farm and make it Julian’s farm! Restorations will have to wait, though. Julian’s got to save Nirn and get an education, in that order, first! As for Blanco, I don’t think you’re so far off the mark there --

@mALX: Ah, no.

I really struggled with this quest. After all, according to the script, success hinges on the PC being anonymous to other members of the Mages Guild. Yet Julian has quite the reputation by now. How can she maintain anonymity with that white hair, height and grey-green eyes? I ended up borrowing a little from Robert Ludlum, John LeCarre, et. al.

******************************
Chapter 23.8: Brina Cross Inn

“Hail, Hero of Kvatch!” The barkeep greeted me when I entered. I nodded sheepishly at him and scanned the common room. A Breton woman and an Imperial man sat together at a table near the counter, murmuring softly between themselves. An aged Altmer woman, resplendent in blue velvet, turned from holding her hands over the fire to regard me. Next to her, I recognized Pollus seated by the fire and nursing a tankard of ale.

The Breton woman looked up from her conversation, then nodded at her companion. She stood up and approached me. “Hello, friend!” she greeted me. Though her voice was light and airy, and her youthful face seemed welcoming enough, I caught the hard look of a warrior in her brown eyes. Arielle Jurard? “I take it you are Julian of Anvil?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” I responded. She leaned slightly toward me and whispered, “Carahil sent you, didn’t she?” She saw something in my gaze and straightened up. “I’m glad you’re here, Julian!” She resumed her normal voice. “We’ve been in need of an escort. Are you headed east along the road by any chance?”

Arielle Jurard. She’s trying to tell me something. I decided to play along. “Yes, ma’am.”

“We’d like to pay you to accompany us as far as Skingrad,” the Breton woman continued, as the Imperial man joined her to stand before me. “I’m Arielle Jurard, and this is my partner Roliand Hanus. We’re merchants with gems intended for the Skingrad court.”

“We’re prepared to pay you five septims for your work,” Hanus volunteered.

“When do you wish to leave?” I asked, still playing along. Undercover? As myself? Unless I change my hair color, it’s now impossible to go unrecognized.

“In the morning, an hour past dawn,” Jurard responded. “Will you escort us?”

“Yes, I will,” I answered. Jurard smiled brightly, but that hard edge still remained in her eyes.

“Excellent! Rent a room from Christophe tonight, get some rest! We’ll pay for your dinner and drinks if you’ll join us!”

“Let me get the room first,” I said. “I’ll be with you in a moment.” As the pair returned to their seats, I caught the assessing regard from the Altmer woman. Pollus regarded me thoughtfully over his tankard. I nodded once at him in greeting, surreptitiously sending the military signal to hold position. His eyes returned to his ale in acknowledgement.

Christophe smiled at me when I approached the bar. “What will you have, friend? Food? Drink? A bed for the night?”

“Whatever’s on the fire for dinner,” I answered, “anything hot to drink that’s not alcoholic, and a bed.”

“That’ll be thirteen drakes,” Christophe said. I counted out the coins and laid them on the counter between us.

He swept them off into his hand and pocketed the money. “Terrific!” he turned for the big soup pot simmering behind him. “It’s ham stew with peas and carrots,” he continued over his shoulder as he ladled something steaming into a wooden bowl. “And would hot spiced cider be good for you? Otherwise I’ve got klah.”

“Cider’s fine,” I accepted the bowl and pewter spoon from Christophe. He wiped a pewter tumbler with a towel and set it on the counter before me.

“You’re going to escort those two merchants?” he asked as he poured the cider. I nodded. “We used to get a lot of merchants through here, but that was before the deaths started occurring. And when those two Oblivion Gates opened, I’ve hardly had any business at all!”

“Deaths?” I repeated when he set the pitcher down.

Christophe straightened up. “I don’t like to talk about them, it’s bad for business.” He placed a key next to the bowl. “Here’s your room key. It’s upstairs, last door on the right.”

“Thank you, sir,” I pocketed the key and collected the meal. The Altmer woman slowly and gingerly approached the table as I joined my new comrades.

“Did I hear you’re merchants?” she asked Jurard. “On the way to Skingrad?”

“Now we are!” Jurard’s voice took on a brittle brightness. “Now that we have a proper escort!” I glanced at her as I took the first mouthful of stew. I’m a proper escort? Why do I get the feeling that it’s going to be you protecting me, rather than the other way around?

“Aren’t you worried?” the Altmer asked, sliding a cool glance at me. My right hand twitched with longing to reach for Daedra Slayer at my hip, but I kept it on the table. Easy Julian, she’s just an old woman. “I’d be scared, if I were you,” she continued, her gaze flickering at Hanus before returning to Jurard. “What with all the recent deaths lately, I’ve been too terrified to leave the inn!”

“That’s why we waited for an escort,” Jurard nodded pleasantly at me. “I’m certain the Hero of Kvatch will be more than a match for what awaits us down the road!”

The stooping woman turned to me. “Do you know magic, Hero of Kvatch?”

“Julian of Anvil, and I know little restoration,” I chose to ignore the sarcasm I could hear in her voice. “I’ve always relied on my Legion training. It’s gotten me this far, ma’am.”

“Well, let’s hope it continues to serve you well, Hero!” the Altmer’s concern rang false. “I hear those killings have not been by blade or bow, but rather by magic!”

“Like half the daedra I’ve faced in the Deadlands,” I mumbled to myself. The Altmer drew in her breath sharply, then smiled broadly, her deeply lined face crinkling further.

“You’re right, of course! Well, it’s late, and I’m off to bed. Take care, all of you,” she included Jurard and Hanus in her well-wishes. “I’d hate to hear of more senseless deaths!” She turned and walked with care toward the stairs that led past the entry to the second floor.

“That’s Caminalda,” Jurard said to me. “She’s been staying here for the last several weeks. Typical stuck up Altmer.”

“I’ve met more nice Altmeri than stuck up ones,” I remarked, glancing over my shoulder to see the last vestige of blue velvet disappear around the corner. “But Caminalda certainly fits the stereotype.”

Hanus chuckled into his tumbler. “You got that right, ma’am,” he mumbled.

“Did you get the room?” Jurard asked. I nodded silently. She laid a few coins on the table and pushed them across to me. “That’s for the food and drink, as well as the room. Do you have a map?” Now she lowered her voice. “When Carahil sent a message that she had someone coming to aid us, someone new to the guild, we thought we could have that person masquerade as a merchant, and we would ambush the mage. But since it’s you -“

“You’re too recognizable,” Hanus added softly as I drew my map from my belt pouch. “No one would believe it if you claimed to be a merchant.”

“I’m sorry,” we put our heads together over the map in an appearance of consulting on the route for the morrow. “But it seems to me that you made a rather effective change of plans. Any idea who the mage might be?”

Jurard shook her head. “It could be anyone from that Legion soldier,” she nodded at Pollus still nursing his ale next to the fire, “to Christophe, even the stableboy!” She regarded me thoughtfully. “But with you as escort, we can still ambush him.”

“You might be escorting me instead of the other way around!” I whispered softly into my stew. Jurard chuckled, that hard edge in her eyes softening a little.

“You didn’t join the Mages Guild for a joke, I don’t think,” she responded softly. “I’ve heard stories of your summons. I believe you can now call up a flame atronach?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I matched her quiet tone. “She’s saved my keister more than a few times.” I shook my head. “But I’m still slow to cast spells. It’s not second nature to me yet, not like my blade is.”

“Then it should be good practice for you tomorrow,” Jurard smiled at me. “And I believe that’s a fire enchantment on that blade of yours?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is,” I nodded. “It should give me the slightest edge against that mage.”

“Don’t underestimate the effectiveness of an enchanted weapon,” Hanus advised me.

“Well, that’s it for now,” Jurard leaned back, resuming a normal tone. “We’ll start out an hour after dawn tomorrow. Till then, sleep well!”

“Thanks,” I replied as the pair rose from the table and headed away. As they disappeared upstairs, Pollus rose ponderously from his seat and walked over to me with a soft clanking of his plate.

“Hello, Julian,” he greeted me quietly. “I see you’re working.”

“A job for the Mages Guild,” I answered. “More than that I can’t say. Sorry.” I waved at the seat just vacated by Hanus. “But I thought you were going to return to your patrol?”

“Soon,” he nodded. “My captain wants me to hang around until that rogue mage has been caught.” His gaze sharpened on me. “I presume it’s not you, Julian.”

I smiled and shook my head. “I’m certain it’s not you, either, Pollus.”

[Olen]

Clever, I always thought sending a hero to be disguised as a merchant was silly, but this works. Though Caminalda would still be a bit of an idiot knowing that someone who shut so many oblivion gates is accompanying the merchants, but then she is fairly arrogant.

The parting lines with Pollus were good, more tying the world together and making the whole setting a single entity.

[Thomas Kaira]

Very clever flip-flop on that quest, and quite logical, too!

Caminalda has got a very rough day ahead of her tomorrow, perhaps even her last. If she had any sense about what she was getting into (knowing that the Hero of Kvatch, Anvil, Skingrad, The Inn of Ill Omen, etc.) it would probably be in her best interest to scoot her overlarge ego out that door and never return. But considering she is a "typical stuck up Altmer" going against a Redguard (whom most consider magic to be a sign of weakness), that is highly doubtful.

Give her soul to Oblivion, Julian! Let that ice queen never harm another soul again!

[ghastley]

I'm left a bit confused as to how you're going to explain what Arielle and Roliand were posing as before they revealed themselves as merchants. One assumes it's a new idea, or they could have just tried it on their own before. Hopefully they'll tell us after the next day's events have taken place.

Caminalda's inquiry about Julian's magic skills is a nice touch, especially with the answer implying that she has little defense against frost, (fire and shock being the choices of the Deadlands foes).

[SubRosa]

Undercover? As myself?
Brilliant!

Julian of Anvil, and I know little restoration,
Not to mention a bit of everything else as well! I think our rogue mage is going to be a little surprised when the mule she thinks she's attacking turns out to be a battle-mage!

I smiled and shook my head. “I’m certain it’s not you, either, Pollus.”
This was just a perfect way to end the scene!

[Acadian]

Hmm, I see Arielle's dilemma. Expecting some newbie and the Hero of Kvatch walks in! Very quick thinking by Arielle in adjusting her plan. I hadn't really thought about it before, but I can see the challenge this quest created for you. Fine job adjusting it to fit!

[Captain Hammer]

Why do I have Robert Duvall taking a deep breath and exclaiming “God! I love the smell of napalm in the morning!” going through my head since reading your comment? As for Benirus Manor, it’s just not Julian’s style.

Because Napalm is like an applied version of Wizard's Fury, for those less gifted in the magical arts. It's my second favorite spell in the game (right after the Supreme Magicka mod's version of Finger of the Mountain).

And yes, Wizard's Fury does smell like victory. Particularly since it can kill a maxed-level Storm Atronach, who happens to be immune to my awesome lightning spells. Annoying buggers. They don't even have the loot drops that you can get off a Valkynaz...

Where was I? Oh, right, your installment. Ahem.

<Insert Generic Praise Words Here> for your handling of Julian's fame. Add my remarks to <Insert Other Applicable Board Member> that thought it was a good idea. <Paraphrase Another, Better-Written Comment Stream About Appropriate Change in Story to Account for Mediocre Game-Mechanics in This Space>.

“I presume it’s not you, Julian.”

Well duh, she has an alibi.

“I’m certain it’s not you, either, Pollus.”

Julian, as a retired pilus prior should know by now that when you "assume", you make an "@**" outta "u" and "me." Pollus has not given us his alibi. I'd like to have that noted for the record.

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Feb 19 2011, 09:09 PM

[haute ecole rider]

@Olen: Yes, I wanted to highlight the fact that Caminalda actually fits the Altmer stereotype. If our friend Destri is reading this, he would have picked up on the racism - Redguards are ineffective mages. And why shouldn’t Julian see Pollus again, especially as in game he’s always there!

@TK: That quest only makes sense if it’s the very first thing you do right out of the sewers with no fame points at all.

@ghastley: You raise a good point about what the two battlemages were doing before Julian's arrival at the inn. Hopefully the next segment will address that to your satisfaction.

@SubRosa: The undercover comment you pointed out is something I learned from reading too many spy novels. A famous person attracts more attention than your average Joe Blow. That can be used to advantage, as we will see.

@Acadian: Yes, that Arielle thinks really fast on her feet.

@Cap’n H: Well, Pollus does have an alibi - up until a few days before, he had been with his legion cohort elsewhere, and Julian knows this. The rogue mage has been a problem since the summer. The time line just doesn’t fit.

The one thing that drove me batty about this quest is that damned legionary standing watch next to the dead horse. He always butts in. He always ends up killing Arielle and Roliand. Always. Then I figured out to lure Caminalda off the road into the brush before letting her talk to me. But this is fan fic, so it’s a little different.

***************************************
Chapter 23.9: The Rogue Mage

We said little to each other as we gathered in the commons. Other than Jurard, Hanus and myself, only Christophe was present. Sleepily he fed us a cold breakfast of bread, cheese and fruit, along with generous portions of hot klah. We made quick work of his labors and headed out.

The sun gleamed ruby through a misty sky as we stepped through the gate onto the path. I walked in the lead, befitting an escort on the road. The two battlemages trailed behind. All of us scanned the brush and rocks tumbled along the sides of the road, Jurard and Hanus more covertly than I. I kept my right hand on the hilt of Daedra Slayer, ready to draw. In my left I cupped one of Carahil’s frost shield scrolls in my palm.

Reaching the Gold Road, I paused and glanced up and down the way. There were no sign of any one else, not even a skittish deer. Larks sang overhead, their lilting melody punctuated by the rough caw of a raven somewhere in the trees ahead. I turned and walked east. Around us, the light grew brighter and less roseate. The mist drew away, until it covered only the distant sea far to the south.

The sun warmed the night chill out of the air and dried the heavy dew from the foliage lining the cobblestones of the road. Jurard and Hanus slowed their pace until they were several strides behind me. I glanced back once, and they nodded at me, walking shoulder to shoulder like good merchants.

I could see the torn up cobblestones ahead where Pollus and I had dragged the dead horse off the road. A rustling in the forsythia to my left alerted me and I stopped. Daedra Slayer’s blade flickered in the sun as I drew the weapon.

Caminalda appeared from the brush, walking unhurriedly toward me. The strong morning sunlight shone unforgiving on the deep wrinkles in her face, yet her movements were strong and steady, not hesitant and frail as they had been last night. Caminalda’s the rogue? She is certainly not moving like an old woman anymore. I kept my eyes on her face as I lowered the tip of my sword slightly toward the cobblestones.

In the corner of my eye, I saw Jurard and Hanus halt a couple of strides away. I clutched the scroll tighter in my left hand while Caminalda stopped before me. Her gaze moved over me scornfully, then glanced at the pair of disguised battlemages. “I’m afraid your journey ends here, travelers,” her left hand darted toward me. I dodged the green spell she tossed at me and struck her with the flat of Daedra Slayer. Her eyes widened as fire licked along her hip and wrapped around her slender waist.

I backed away and shook out the scroll, lifting it up to read the words on it. “Ha’la su’jat’a!” White energy consumed the scroll and swirled around me just as Caminalda flung a gold-tinged spell at me. I staggered and fell to one knee, Daedra Slayer dragging my right arm down, the weight of the immense sky above pressing me into the hard cobblestones. With tremendous effort that hurt my neck I looked up in time to see her step toward me, triumph on her face as she raised her hand for the killing spell.

A Dremora lord materialized from sulfurous smoke behind her, mace rising high. Footsteps to my left alerted me to the running approach of Jurard, a short sword in hand. Some part of me wondered how she had hidden the weapon beneath her civilian clothing. Caminalda spun to face the Breton battlemage in time to duck the falling mace from the Dremora. Her eyes widened in the realization that she had been entrapped, then she scowled and summoned a flame atronach.

Paralyzed by the weight of being, I could only watch as the two battlemages furiously traded spells with the aged Altmer. In spite of her advanced years, or perhaps because of them, Caminalda proved to be formidable against the two. Still Jurard and Hanus managed to drive her away from me.

A shout drew my attention west just as the burden spell wore off. Clattering plate warned me of a legionary’s approach, and I staggered to my feet. Pollus ran past me and charged Hanus, the nearer of the two battlemages. The Legion sword bounced off Hanus’s magical shields, but the force of the strike staggered the mage. I darted forward and seized Pollus by the pauldron, barely managing to yank him back before he could strike the Imperial again.

“They’re attacking an unarmed woman!” Pollus shouted at me, breaking free of my grip. I ran around to block his advance, locking gazes with him.

“Caminalda’s the rogue mage!” I matched his battle tone, placing my left hand flat on his chestplate and shoving him back. “The others are Mages Guild!”

Pollus stared at me as the magical battle raged furiously beyond. “Are you certain, Julian?”

“Caminalda attacked me,” I stepped forward, trying to increase the distance between Pollus and the mages. “And I’m Mages Guild, too! Carahil sent us!”

The sudden silence behind me drew my head around. Hanus knelt on one knee, blood dripping down his left thigh onto the cobblestones. Jurard was still standing, but the skin on the right side of her face was blue with frost burn, and she was visibly shaking. At her feet, I spotted the blue velvet of Caminalda sprawled motionless in the road.

I turned away from Pollus and moved to Hanus. “Let me see,” I said to him. He grunted when I traced the blood to a parallel set of gashes in his left side, his linen shirt fluttering with every ragged breath he drew. Someone’s clannfear. I placed my hand over the wound and concentrated. Energy passed from me to him, and the gashes closed beneath my fingers.

“Thanks, Julian,” Hanus gasped as he staggered to his feet. I glanced over at Jurard. A quick peek at my magicka indicated I still had enough for another convalescence spell. I moved to her side and gently touched her face. Another surge of the healing energy restored color to her face and stilled her shivering.

Pollus, his weapon sheathed, shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir,” he addressed Hanus. “I thought you were attacking the old lady.”

“That’s all right,” Hanus answered. “Until we knew who the rogue mage was, Julian was the only one we could trust with our mission.” He knelt beside the Altmer’s body. “But Caminalda revealed herself, and things happened too fast for us to explain to you, sir.”

“But Julian did,” Jurard smiled up at me. “And for that, we are grateful. Legionaries are formidable opponents, even without magic!” She nodded respectfully at Pollus.

“I never thought old Caminalda was the rogue mage,” Pollus exclaimed as Hanus searched the body. “She told me she was traveling to Anvil to see a friend.” He glanced from battlemage to battlemage. “How long had you been watching her?”

“Not Caminalda in particular,” Jurard responded. “We’ve been here since before the Gate opened outside Anvil. Hanus and I spent a few weeks searching the surrounding countryside in case the mage was hiding out there between attacks. We found nothing, so earlier in the week we set up here and started observing everyone.” She shook her head. “Not once did Caminalda let on that she could move like this.”

“She may be old,” Hanus remarked. “But she has years of experience behind her. That makes a big difference.”

I turned to Pollus. “Did you follow us, sir?”

He nodded. “I was concerned about you facing that mage on your own, Julian. I’m certain you don’t have that much magicka to go fighting spell-to-spell with a wizard, and you’re unarmored.”

I looked down at my plain linens. “I see, Pollus. To tell the truth, I’m touched by your concern.”

The legionary turned back to Jurard. “Forgive me, ma’am. I didn’t think you would be able to help Julian, that’s why I followed you. I never thought you’d be battlemages yourselves!”

Jurard chuckled. “We certainly don’t look the part, do we?” She nodded at Hanus. “That was the point. Julian was supposed to draw out the mage. Once he - no, she identified herself as our target, it was our job to take over.” She looked down at the body sprawled at her feet. “Though I admit this one did a better job hiding her true nature than we did!”

“She certainly played up the part of the stuck-up Altmer,” I added. “Fitting the stereotype makes it easy for folks to brush her off as just another one of those.”

Hanus searched the Altmer’s pockets. Recovering a small amount of gold, he held them out to me. “Here, take it, treat yourself to something.”

I shook my head. “No, I’ve got plenty more of that back in Anvil. You two did all the work, you’ve earned something nice.”

“We will, then,” Hanus pocketed the coins and returned to his search of the corpse. “Here’s the key to her room. We’ll search it, and give this back to Christophe when we’re done. Hopefully there’ll be something left that we can send along to the families of the victims.”

“Aye, that’ll be a good thing to do,” Pollus agreed gruffly. “And now the Gold Road’s safe again.” He nodded at me.

“And you can go back to your post, Pollus,” I added with a smile. “Report to your captain with all your duties fulfilled.”

Jurard turned to me. “Julian, will you report our success to Carahil? We need to clean this mess up and tie up loose ends. You’ve done well.”

“Of course, I will,” I answered. “I just have to stop by Brina Cross and get an apple from Christophe.”

“An apple?” Jurard’s brows rose.

“A promise I made before I came here.” I smiled at the thought of meeting that white stallion again. Will he still like me?

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Feb 22 2011, 04:40 PM

[Grits]

Paralyzed by the weight of being is a beautiful description for a burden spell.

I love how the magical battle was fast and furious and largely unseen. The damage afterward tells us what happened. Pollus attacking a battlemage makes a lot of sense, since they’re not in uniform. This quest is so prone to screw-ups!

[SubRosa]

The sun gleamed ruby through a misty sky
This is a wonderful way of describing the morning.

Larks sang overhead
The Fifth Legion sang overhead? Sorry, whenever I see the word Larks, I think of the Fifth Alaudae Legion...

That was a good battle, showing one of the oft-unappreciated spells in ES, the lowly Burden. I use a mod that increases the carryweight of people, so it is useless in my game. Hmm, I looked it up, and even in the vanilla game it is not much use. Drain Strength gives you more bang for the buck.

I also liked the legionary's intervention, on the wrong side! His logic was faultless though. Who would not jump to the same conclusion?

I smiled at the thought of meeting that white stallion again
She is going to meet Pappy? She needs to head to Bravil for that!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Feb 21 2011, 01:22 AM

[ghastley]

That all rings true from the times I've played it. Everyone summons something, and it's total confusion as to which side the summoned creatures are on. Especially when the summons are firing spells, the actors are firing spells, and everybody's half-hidden by the long grass.

And all loose ends wrapped up nicely. You've rescued a broken quest and made it quite believable.

[Olen]

He always ends up killing Arielle and Roliand.

Interestingly this has never happened to me, and I've played the vanilla game a couple of times. I can see that would be annoying though, especially on the xbox where the console can't sort glitches.

I liked the description of burden, it's much more fic friendly than in game (where I find it doesn't really work), it was a good way to get Julian out the way and then have her in the right place. Her healing the mages at the end was a good touch too, it shows how far she's come on in magic that she can be doing that now.

Now back to Carahil who as I recall will be rather less elated that the rogue mage is dead...

[Acadian]

A nice adaptation of the Anvil guild recommendation quest to fit Julian's story.

'I could see the torn up cobblestones ahead where Pollus and I had dragged the dead horse off the road.'
This was nice because it firmly set the location, reminded of who Pollus was and tied nicely back to a previous chapter.

'A Dremora lord materialized from sulfurous smoke behind her, mace rising high. Footsteps to my left alerted me to the running approach of Jurard, a short sword in hand. Some part of me wondered how she had hidden the weapon beneath her civilian clothing.'
Oh, I know! From the same place she pulled that Dremora lord!

[Thomas Kaira]

Very nice, tense fight scene here.

I staggered and fell to one knee, Daedra Slayer dragging my right arm down, the weight of the immense sky above pressing me into the hard cobblestones.

Crushingly effective description!

I looked down at my plain linens. “I see, Pollus. To tell the truth, I’m touched by your concern.”

Argh! Don't let mALX see that, it'll just lead to more spear-polishing speculation!

Nice touch with Pollus coming in confused as to who's on what side of the fight, too. A neat little nod at the now rather famous bug in-game that resulted in passing Legion soldiers thinking that your Battlemage escort assaulted Caminalda, and not the other way around (as it was in reality).

Nit?

White energy consumed the scroll and swirled around me just as Caminalda flung another emerald-tinged spell at me.

I understand you are at complete liberty to change things up between the game and the story, but isn't Alteration magic (which Burden belongs to) supposed to be a sort of golden-white? Green is Illusion.

[ghastley]

White energy consumed the scroll and swirled around me just as Caminalda flung another emerald-tinged spell at me.

I understand you are at complete liberty to change things up between the game and the story, but isn't Alteration magic (which Burden belongs to) supposed to be a sort of golden-white? Green is Illusion.

I suspect a combination of a short Paralysis (for the knockdown effect) with a Burden that lasts longer and keeps the victim down. I forget what one is used when multiple schools are mixed. Is the first or the strongest?

Burden alone seems to just lock one in place, rather than make its target drop.

[Thomas Kaira]

Burden alone seems to just lock one in place, rather than make its target drop.

Well, wouldn't you fall to your knees if you had the rough equivalent of two giant bags of onions suddenly appear on your shoulders, without warning? That weight would be quite paralyzing on its own. This is especially so in this story, where I believe Rider is trying to communicate exactly what it would feel like for someone to become dramatically over-encumbered. It does a lot more than just root the person to one spot. Having such weight placed on your shoulders with such suddenness can send you to the floor easily enough without the aid of paralysis.

How would you react if I went and dropped a 100lb dumbbell onto your shoulders without you knowing it? It most definitely would not simply prevent you from moving, it would send you to the ground in a heap. Weight on its own is quite paralyzing enough. Caminalda also strikes me as one intelligent enough to know this, and would see the need to add a paralysis spell to the burden as redundant and wasteful.

That's why I pointed that out.

[haute ecole rider]

@Grits: That phrase you quoted was a momentary flash of inspiration. I’m glad you noticed it!

@SubRosa: I figured Pollus would not notice how well Caminalda moved after seeing her creak and stoop her way around the inn for at least a couple of days. When I played this quest prior to writing it, Caminalda used something that wasn’t Frost Damage. My PC dodged it, but it left me wondering what the heck that was. So I thought why not have Caminalda use something other than Frost Damage, especially after she hears Julian recite the Frost Shield spell? She was the perfect opportunity to demonstrate the unpredictability of mages.

@ghastley: I’m glad you liked how I fixed this quest, and how I made sense out of the things that confused you before.

@Olen: You’ve been lucky! Actually, it only happens if you have the MQ advanced far enough for the dead horse and that OG to show up (after the Dagon Shrine quest, I think). It’s one of the regular Gates that always open, like the ones outside each town. I’ve done the MG questline before advancing the MQ that far, and no, the legionary isn’t there when you do the Anvil MG recommendation. If I recall correctly, you’re one of those folks who usually don’t play the MQ, so it makes sense that you don’t have that problem. And yes, Julian’s restoration skills have advanced a great deal since the early days. She can now cast convalescence twice in a row? Boy, I remember when just once left her depleted of enough magicka for anything more than a simple flare spell!

@Acadian: Thanks Acadian for telling us how Jurard came up with that short sword! You can tell that Julian and I are still stuck in melee fighter mode.

@TK: Thanks for bringing up the spell. It was something I thought up as the most effective way for Caminalda to neutralize Julian without killing her outright (as befits a sadist). I couldn’t remember what color the burden spells are, so I imagined green. But you are likely right, and I’ve fixed the spell color to make it more accurate. Still, I appreciate the discussion you and ghastley had about the spell. I had envisioned a simple Burden spell, and the weight of Julian’s sword dragging her down. Now granted she was traveling light, but I wanted something dramatic. It is likely that Caminalda has the skill and the experience to come up with the kind of custom spell ghastley described. However, Julian (and I) are not well-versed enough in the ways of magic to be able to analyze a spell beyond its immediate effects. So I’d say both of you are right. Thanks for educating me (and Julian) on that spell!

The Anvil recommendation successfully completed, Julian is on her way back to the Mages Guild. But she has a stop to make first.

**********************
Chapter 23.10: A Promise Kept

This time when I returned to the Horse Whisperer, the courtyard was empty. Only Ernest was visible, raking the packed dirt clean of droppings. He looked up when I stopped by the fence. “Hullo, Julian,” he greeted me. “Looking for Clesa?”

“Actually, I was going to keep the promise I made Blanco,” I answered.

“Clesa’s riding him down on the shoreline,” he leaned on his pitchfork. “Head straight west from here, you’ll see them. She’s been working him almost every day there.”

That explains the sand I saw on the two of them yesterday, I thought. “Thanks, Ernest.”

He grunted as he bent back to his task. “Don’t get why you’re so interested in that horse, Julian.”

“Because he’s not ripe, stiff and silent,” I teased him before turning for the sea. Ernest only growled at me as I walked along the fence. Past the stables, I struck my way across the rolling hills of amber seagrass that waved down to the seashore. It’s still warm here, I mused to myself. Not cool like it is in the highlands. Winter will likely be mild along the coast. I missed these warm winters, a welcome relief from the baking summers typical of the Gold Coast.

I squinted up at the mid-afternoon sun as I walked along. I’ll give Blanco the apple I promised him, then get my gear from Morvayn’s, pay him what I owe for the repairs. I’ll head up to the farm after I report to Carahil, just to see what needs to be done. Again the walnut of grief closed off my throat, again I swallowed it down. I must get it over with. Anticipation is always worse than the reality.

Reaching the top of the last hill before the sea, I paused to look along the waterline. The strip of white sand separating the seagrass from the blue water shimmered brilliantly in the sunshine. Now why am I looking for Blanco? Why did I make him that promise in the first place? It’s not like I want another horse! But I do - the realization hit me. I miss Paint. I miss having his company on the road. And Blanco seems to have the same kind of personality as Paint. But he’s a stallion. Stallions can be hard to manage, especially around mares.

I recalled how Red constantly jibbed at Jauffre’s hands during the ride from Weynon Priory to Cloud Ruler Temple, how he quickly wore himself out prancing instead of walking sedately along like Paint and Jasmine. But Jauffre didn’t seem to mind riding him. In fact, I think he rather enjoyed it. But the prancing can’t be comfortable to sit! I remembered how Paint had nearly lost me the few times he decided to bounce instead of ambling along. I thought back to all the war-mounts I had seen through my years in the Legion. They were mostly geldings, though some of the legates also had stallions they rode in parade review. But in combat, they used geldings. How can I sit a stallion during combat?

I shook myself. Enough daydreaming about a white stallion, Julian. Find yourself another sturdy paint nimble-footed enough to climb the mountains with you.

But Blanco is from High Rock, and that’s mountain country, too. But he’s probably too much horse for me.

Below, the sun shimmered off a white form gliding along the sand. I recognized Clesa’s slim form on the horse’s back. I took a few moments to watch Blanco move. He had a long-striding trot that covered a lot of ground between footfalls. It was so graceful he seemed to float just above the sand. He held his head vertically, his beautiful neck arching high out of his shoulders. His back was so short the saddle seemed to be sitting on his rump. His tail swayed behind him, resembling the breakers chasing him along the sand.

I realized I had been standing frozen to the spot when Blanco slowed to a stop, apparently of his own volition, and Clesa looked up in my direction. She waved, her teeth flashing brilliantly in her dark face. His ears up, Blanco turned off the sand and began walking loosely through the seagrass toward me.

I dug into my belt purse for the apple as they drew near. “Hello Julian!” Clesa called as soon as they were within earshot. “Come to see Blanco again?”

“Yes, and I brought him an apple, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course!” Clesa exclaimed as Blanco stopped before me. His lips quivered and his nostrils fluttered as he eyed the fruit in my hand. Clesa released the reins, flung her right leg over his neck and slid to the ground. Almost immediately Blanco lowered his muzzle to my hand, but he didn’t take the apple just yet.

“You have to give him permission first,” Clesa said to me.

“I’ll bite it into smaller pieces, then,” I proceeded to do so. He took the first bite from my hand with as much delicacy as Sparky did with his tiny hands.

“He really likes you, Julian,” Clesa sounded pleased as Blanco waited for his next bite, happily crunching the hard flesh.

“You mean he’s not like this with everyone?” I asked.

“No, he’s normally very reserved with strangers,” Clesa answered. “It took him a while to warm up to me, and here he’s cottoning to you more than he has with me.”

“What about Ernest?” I glanced at the ostler. “Seems to me that they get along well.”

Clesa chuckled. “Blanco loves to tease Ernest. I keep telling Ernest to stop being so cranky, it only makes Blanco pick on him more. He just doesn’t get it.”

“You said he’s from High Rock?” I asked Clesa as we worked slowly through the apple. “Why did you import a horse so far?”

“Horses from High Rock are much like the Wildeye Paints of Bruma,” Clesa answered. “Tough, sound, easy keeping horses with a lot of sensibility and a great deal of endurance. They are ideal for long distance riding over rough terrain. I like their intelligence and their spirit.” She ran her dark hand along his near foreleg, wrapping her fingers around his lower leg. I noticed her long fingers didn’t quite meet her thumb. “They’ve got a lot more bone than my own bloodlines, which makes for sounder horses that can take a lot of hard use.”

“And he doesn’t stare dumbly at you, either.” I recalled what I had said to Ernest yesterday.

Again Clesa laughed. “And that drives Ernest crazy!” She slapped Blanco fondly on his arched neck.

“Isn’t he hard to handle when you ride him?” I noticed that Clesa wore no spurs, nor did she carry a whip, as I had often seen with Legion officers.

“Not at all,” Clesa shook her head. “He’s very highly trained, he knows how to behave himself. Blanco’s so sensitive he knows what I’m thinking before I figure it out!”

“How old is he?”

“Eleven this past spring,” Clesa watched as I gave Blanco the last piece of apple.

“That’s past his prime, isn’t it?” I thought of seventeen-year-old Paint.

“No, he’s just hitting his stride now,” Clesa answered. “That’s the other thing about Renoir’s bloodlines. They mature slowly, and live a long time. Thirty years is not unusual for these animals. By comparison, the Black Waterside horses are aged by the time they turn fifteen.”

“So you brought him to cross with your mares?” I asked, holding my empty palms up for Blanco to nuzzle.

“Yes, and six of my girls are in foal to him, so hopefully I’ll have a nice crop come spring.” Clesa smiled when Blanco licked his lips in disappointment. “Want to try riding him?”

“What?” I stared at the Redguard ostler, then looked down at my linen skirt. “But I’m not dressed for it!”

“Oh, come on, Julian,” Clesa plucked at the loose folds of the garment. “That’s loose enough. Blanco won’t mind at all!”

I took my heart in my hands and nodded. Clesa took Blanco’s reins and moved to his head while I took my place at his left side. Hiking up my skirt, I placed my left foot in the stirrup as Prior Maborel had taught me and swung up into the saddle. Blanco waited patiently as I picked up the opposite stirrup and settled myself into the seat.

“Remember, keep your heels down, keep your legs long and loose,” Clesa spoke quietly, releasing the reins. “When you’re ready, take up the reins and kiss at him. Don’t squeeze your legs!”

“Won’t taking up the reins make him stop?” I asked Clesa. She shook her head.

“He’s trained differently from what you’re obviously used to. When you establish light contact with the reins, that’s his signal to move forward. The kiss is the signal to walk, while the double kiss is asking for the trot. Clucking makes him canter. Squeezing with your legs will make him bouncier in his movement.”

“Contact?” I wasn’t quite certain what she meant.

In response, Clesa tugged the reins until they hung in a loose arc from my hands to Blanco’s mouth. “Hold on to your end. Your hands are now the horse’s mouth. I’m going to take up contact, and show you how that feels to the horse.” She took the slack out of the reins until I felt the lightest pressure on my fingers. “That’s all the pressure you put on his mouth. You can see it won’t stop him at all. But by keeping light contact like this, you are able to signal very subtle changes,” she squeezed her fingers, and I felt the slightest tug on my hands. “If you must, you can close your hands into fists, or even use your wrists.” She demonstrated the different levels of contact. “Most of the time you will find that you only need the slightest finger pressure on him.”

“How do I turn him?” I asked.

“By doing this,” Clesa held contact on one side while squeezing her fingers on the other. I could feel the difference in pressure. “He’ll turn toward the side with the greater pressure, since you’re flexing him that way. The tighter you must make the turn, the further back on the outside hip you must sit. He’ll move away from the pressure. Don’t lean to the inside, though!”

“Outside? Inside?” I repeated.

“Outside and inside refers to the direction of the turn,” Clesa explained. “If you turn right, you are describing an arc, and outside the arc is your left side, while your right side follows the inside of that arc. It’s useful to think of the turn as a part of a circle.”

“Yes, I understand,” I nodded to myself. “And how do I ask him to stop?”

“Sit down in the saddle, keep the contact on the mouth symmetrical and light. He doesn’t need more than a squeeze of your fingers to get the message.” Now Clesa released the reins. “Ready?”

My heart pounding, I nodded nervously. As Clesa had demonstrated, I took the slack out of the reins until I just felt Blanco’s mouth. Instantly, he alerted, his neck and shoulders rising slightly in front of me. I could feel his back rounding beneath me, and yet Blanco hadn’t moved. Keep my legs long and relaxed. Keep my hands still. I smooched at him.

Carefully the stallion stepped forward, moving quietly through the seagrass. He kept his head up, his ears constantly switching forward and backward. After a few strides, I felt myself relaxing into the easy movement of his back. He’s like Paint in some ways, but different.

To my surprise, Blanco walked quietly without bouncing the entire way back to the stables. Clesa walked alongside us, making small corrections in my riding technique. When we entered the courtyard, I followed her instructions and sat down in the saddle instead of following the movement of his back. She was right, he didn’t need much more than that to come to a quiet halt in the center of the area.

“One last thing, Julian,” she said to me. “When you’re ready to dismount, drop the reins onto his neck. That’s his signal to stand quietly in place. As long as you maintain contact, he’ll be ready to move off. He will do that if you don’t release the contact and shift your weight to dismount. You do not want your horse to disappear from beneath you while your leg is up in the air!”

By Akatosh, she’s right! I dropped the reins, and Blanco immediately relaxed into that quiet stance, his head and neck dropping a little.

Once I was on the ground, I patted Blanco on his neck and handed the reins back to Clesa. “Thank you, ma’am. It was enjoyable!”

“I see that Wildeye paint taught you well,” Clesa responded. “But it’s time for you to move on. You should consider buying Blanco for yourself, especially if the paint is on loan to you.”

I stared at Clesa. Buy Blanco? “I can’t afford a fancy-trained imported horse like this,” I began, but Clesa shook her head firmly.

“I sell my horses at reasonable prices, as you know. My own home-breds go for about forty septims each. But you did us all a great favor, closing the Oblivion Gates and re-opening the Gold Road to travel.” She clapped the horse affectionately. “And you’ve still got a lot of traveling to do, I know. He’ll get you to where you’re going. I’ll sell him to you for forty-five septims, on one condition.”

“What’s that?” I still couldn’t believe it.

“You bring him back here every spring so he can breed my mares,” Clesa answered. “Without that condition, he’s not for sale at all.”

No. He’s just too much horse. But I couldn’t take my eyes off of Blanco. He turned his head and nudged my shoulder, as if to say C’mon, take the deal! We can have sooo much fun together!

I took a deep breath. “Let me think about it, Clesa.”

[SubRosa]

Excellent musings about the pros and cons of stallions vs. geldings on Julian's part as she walks to the sea. Along with a riding lesson afterward. Sooner or later Teresa is going to learn to ride. I will have to steal it for then!

C’mon, take the deal! We can have sooo much fun together!
Sounds like the white horse is a blackguard at heart!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Feb 22 2011, 10:32 PM

[Thomas Kaira]

What a wonderful horse-filled chapter! My two friends sure do appreciate the attention to detail you gave them!

By the way, if you want a sure-footed down-to-earth horse with lots of personality, Beauty (the palomino) is your gelding! He's Missouri Fox-trotter, which they are very well suited to trail-riding and mountainous terrain.