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.

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.

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:

QUOTE

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!


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.

@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.”

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!

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.

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!

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:

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.

@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.”

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!

More fun horsie talk!

It was great seeing how Blanco and Paint reacted to each other, and I agree with that entirely. Paint will forever be the complacent, yet playful little gelding I always envisioned him to be. I should know... Beauty is exactly him in Palomino coat!

Ignoring each other is a lot better than fighting each other, at least. They should get a chance to get to know each other much better very soon, and I predict Blanco will waste no time showing off his Stallion-ness on the road.

Nit:

Seems your start italic marker went a bit wayward here.

Well I have finally gotten around to starting this one. I only have the first five posts read so far, those being Chapter 1.

I have to agree with Treydog...it is really cool to see a protagonist that is a bit longer in the tooth than most of them. Being a bit long in the tooth myself, I can completely relate to the aches and pains that come with becoming a late-summer chicken. You describe it perfectly.

Also, the flashbacks are great! They are the ideal tool for character building.

All in all, a great account of the tutorial. Looking forward to continuing.

A delightful return to Weye!

You continue to paint a wonderful character in Aelwin. I really enjoyed seeing Paint meet Blanco. I know Aelwin will miss the gelding, but I'm glad Paint is getting much better.

So, it seems that Weynon/Chorrol is next?

Nit?
“Well, is this one’s trained to stand quietly with geldings?”
I read this several times, making sure I was trying to account for the accent and the liberties available via dialogue. The bolded area however seems to contain an unintended redundancy? If you break down the contraction, you get 'is this one is trained to…?' Perhaps: 'is this one trained to…?' or 'this one's trained to…?'

I enjoyed the horsey goodness, and the lovely chat in the garden. Maybe Julian can rescue a cat for Aelwin, so he won’t miss Paint so much.

@SubRosa: Aigh, the dialogue between Aelwin and Aia would be a pain to write! Are you trying to give me nightmares? Don’t get me wrong, I love the old guy, but his voice is a beeyotch to get right. And according to the time line I’ve been maintaining alongside each chapter, yes, it’s been not quite six weeks since Julian left Cloud Ruler. She left on 7 Frostfall, and it’s now 18 Sun’s Dusk.

@TK: Thanks for catching the wayward BBcode. It’s been fixed. I had a feeling you would enjoy seeing two of the boys in Julian’s life meet each other.

@Ricky: Hey, welcome to Old Habits! You and treydog are not the only ones to comment on Julian’s age as being atypical for a fan fic protagonist. I’m having a great deal of fun writing her story, and I hope you will see that in upcoming chapters.

@Acadian: You guessed right - Weynon and Chorrol are next. I’m glad you enjoyed the little visit with Aelwin. Your nit has been fixed.

@Grits: Maybe Julian will get a cat for Aelwin!

*************************
Chapter 25.1 The Last Stop

As the three of us made our way up the long slope toward Weynon Priory and Chorrol beyond, I searched the sky for the Gate I knew stood open outside the city. They had been talking about it at the Bloated Float while I had my supper last night. It had opened on the same day as the Gates outside the other cities. This would be the strongest sigil stone yet, I mused silently to myself. Travel to Chorrol had essentially stopped, the Black Horse Courier only traveling as far as Weynon Priory before leaving the Black Road and cutting across to the Orange Road where it skirted the north city walls to the gates that faced the mountains.

Ahead, the sun merged into the familiar crackling red glow of an Oblivion Gate. Blanco stopped beneath me as I regarded the tip of the oblate fire visible above the ruins of the old fort just south of Chorrol’s main gate. No wonder the courier’s going through Weynon Priory. That’s right on the intersection of the Black Road with Gate Street. That’s mighty close to the town gates! Blanco regarded the sizzling energy ahead, his breaths coming fast and shallow, his ears swiveling at speed. Paint, who had been walking quietly at the stallion’s hip, hung back as far as the lead would allow him.

After a few moments, I nudged Blanco forward, and turned him off the road onto the path leading to the Priory. Both horses were too happy to walk away from that Gate. Paint picked his head up and quickened his steps. Within a stride or two his nose was at my knee, and I could see his ears pricked forward.

At the sight of a familiar figure walking from the chapel to the priory house, Paint’s nostrils fluttered, and he whickered softly. “Yes, Paint, it’s Eronor,” I said, gathering the rein in my left hand and stroking Paint’s neck with my right. “You’re almost home.”

The Dunmer had paused before the house at Paint’s call, and now stood facing us, his hand over his eyes to cut the glare from the westering sun. “Hail, Eronor!” I called to him. “It’s me, Julian of Anvil!”

His smile reached us before his voice did. “Hail, Julian! Welcome back!” As we walked up to the priory, bemusement moved through his scarlet eyes. “But two horses?”

“I’m returning Paint.” The gelding stepped past Blanco to nudge Eronor’s shoulder. Automatically the Dunmer reached up and took the halter lead from me. “He had a bad encounter with a will o’wisp in Blackwood,” I continued, dropping Blanco’s rein and dismounting. “I don’t think he’s fit for traipsing all over Cyrodiil with me anymore.”

“Will o’wisp?” Eronor repeated, his eyes moving over Paint’s form. “He doesn’t look that bad.” He waved for me to follow him with Blanco as he started toward the stables in the rear.

“He’s better than he was when we were in Leyawiin,” I kept Blanco a respectable distance behind the other horse. “Marz, the healer in Bravil, taught me a restore magicka spell for him. I’ve been casting it every chance I get.”

“Well, you don’t have to return him,” Eronor led Paint into the enclosure and secured him within the stall. I put Blanco next to him and began stripping the tack.

“I thought since he’s now retired, he would be happier to be back here,” I said. “And it seems I thought right.” Paint did indeed seem contented as Eronor filled the water buckets for both horses.

“Hmm,” Eronor grunted as he laid armfuls of aromatic hay before each eager mouth. “This has been his home for over ten years, so that makes sense.” He watched as Blanco worked away at his own dinner, ears twirling with the rhythm of his chewing. “And this stallion is so well behaved!”

“They met yesterday,” I answered. “Spent the night together in a paddock in Weye. They got along just fine - gave each other some space and that was all.”

“Not like Red at all,” Eronor shook his head. “Seems like he’s used to being around other horses.”

“Blanco does flirt with the mares the Black Horse Couriers use, though,” I remarked. Eronor’s eyes flashed at me as he stepped past the stallion, running his hand over the horse’s round back and strong rump. “He likes to talk them up. Of course, so far none of them have taken him up on his offer.”

“They shouldn’t!” Eronor chuckled. “After all, they don’t go out when they’re in season!” His gaze flickered over my frame, lingering a moment on the Kvatch Wolf emblazoned on the surcoat. “We’ve been hearing about you here at the priory. Closing Gates and being called Hero of every town in Cyrodiil. Folks up in Chorrol are praying you’ll come soon!”

“I saw the Gate in the old fort ruins,” I felt the mood turn somber at the change in subject. “How are they holding up?”

“Brother Piner’s been standing watch with the city guard and the Fighters Guild every night,” Eronor replied. “He’s been sleeping in the day between prayers. A small team from the guard went in about two weeks ago, but none of them have returned.”

I felt my stomach flip at his words. “Two weeks ago?” About the time I closed the Skingrad Gates.

“Aye, the daedra were swarming pretty badly then. Bittneld felt he couldn’t wait for you any longer.” Eronor’s eyes grew pained. “Brother Piner argued for waiting, but I guess things were pretty bad at the time.”

“And now?” I turned for the priory.

“There’s fewer daedra coming through, but we’re still taking casualties. Brother Piner’s hitting the altar for healing here every day when he comes back.” Eronor gestured at my pack. “Rest a bit, leave your extra gear here. I know I can’t keep you out of that Gate.”

“No, not really,” I could hear the rue in my voice. “If that’s okay with you Eronor, I’ll just drop off my extra gear, grab my weapons and head out.”

“But you just got here!” Eronor exclaimed.

“Knowing that there’s people taking casualties, I can’t just sit here and rest until they’re safe,” I countered. “That was my job as pilus in the Legion, and it’s an old habit I prefer not to break right now.” I clapped his thin shoulder as we walked through the porte-cochere. “Don’t worry, Blanco did all the work so far today!”

I managed to put my pack inside the priory without wakening the sleeping Piner. Carefully I closed the door behind me, then adjusted the two swords at my left hip. Mentally I reviewed the spells I would be most likely to use in the Deadlands - detect life, shock on touch, fireball, and healing. My two bows strung and slung at my back, my quiver at my right hip, I returned to the Black Road and turned my feet toward those familiar daedric thunderclouds.

The first few guards I encountered at the barriers stared at my white hair and the Kvatch Wolf before one of them bolted for the center of the line. The other two approached me. “Have you come to help us out?” one of them asked.

I saw the weariness and strain that aged their youthful eyes, familiar by now after Skingrad and Anvil. “Who’s in charge right now?”

“Captain Bittneld the Curse-Bringer,” the other volunteered. “Bormir went to fetch him.”

“Never mind that,” I walked past them. “Take me to where he is.”

I had not moved more than three steps before one of the men, striding at my shoulder, pointed ahead of us. “Here he comes.” The two men saluted the captain before turning back to their posts.

Bittneld was as Nordic as his name. But where Captain Burd was as tall as an Altmer, Bittneld was closer to my own height, and broader through the shoulder. He had the same cool blue eyes, the hard assessing gaze as the taller Nord. “Julian of Anvil,” he greeted me, his voice hoarse. Probably from shouting over the noise from that Gate. “Are you here to lend aid?”

“I heard some of your men went in there, but didn’t come back,” I said quietly. Bittneld’s gaze flickered ever so slightly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner, sir.”

“You can’t be in nine places at the same time,” Bittneld half-growled. “But I still wish you had that ability!”

“So do I, sir,” I responded. “But now that I’m here, I’ll go ahead. Can you hold the line for another day?”

“We have no other choice, really,” Bittneld shook his head. “It’s that or let Chorrol be overrun by daedra.”

“Only if they open two more Gates like this one, as they did at Kvatch,” I glanced at the Gate. Yes, a smaller one. “It’ll likely take me about a day or a little less,” I continued. “That’s how most of these Gates have been for me.”

“I’ve heard you took one of Dion’s men into that second Gate outside Skingrad,” Bittneld turned to gaze at the portal, his face scarlet in the glow from the unholy fire. “And the same with the guard at Bruma.”

“Are you concerned about a second Gate opening?” I asked. “Skingrad was unusual, but not the only one. Leyawiin had two Gates open outside their east gate, too. But are any of your men rested?” Bittneld’s scowl told me the answer. “Then it’s best I go in alone. I’m rested.” Relatively speaking. “I’ll be happy to brief your men afterwards.”

Bittneld sent me a glare hotter than the fire of the Gate. “I’m going to hold you to that, Julian of Anvil. Until then, we’ll hold the line here.”

old habit I prefer not to break right now
We know how hard those die!

Another city, another gate (and soon another MG fetch and carry quest). It was heartening to hear that the Chorrol guard at least tried to shut the gate on their own. Not so heartening to learn they never came back. It looks like Bittneld's nickname is in full-force!

I like to see how Chorrol is handling their Gate, but sorry to hear about those lost in there. The description of the top coming into view captures the sense of inevitability I get when I see one. It sounds like Julian is well on her way to becoming the Champion of Cyrodiil, if only informally.

And likely melting his icy Nordic soul!

And here we go again. What's the tally now? 23? 24? Well, at least we know Julian has some experience with gate-crashing. Better keep her away from parties from now on!

I'm so glad Paint seems happy to be back at Weynon Priory! It looks like he will get great care, and the Chorrol area is beautiful. Well, when there aren't any darn Oblivion Gates around.

Nice touch that the guards are augmented by the Fighters Guild and even Brother Piner.

Pair of swords, check. Pair of bows, check. Full quiver, check. Spells reviewed, check. Bristling Julian sounds ready!

I can hope I suppose, but after two weeks in that gate, it doesn't sound good for the expedition that preceded Julian.

All caught up . Good parts here, looks like we have another gate about to be closed. In fact I think it's the penultimate one, barring any random closings she goes in for...

Seeing Kvatch again was good. Going back to old places and seeing change really brings the world to life and gives the feeling that its vast cast aren't just twiddling their thumbs while Julian is away. That they aren't doing all that well, in spite of the initial problem being over adds realism, in many ways it's months down the line which are important, not the immediate problem.

I also sense that there might be some more to do there in the future, with no count and two possible leaders... Even with things looking up there will be more problems there. Still it looks like they'll have food, tools and shelter.

No more issues with the Skingrad guild I notice. The bandit not attacking on the way there was a nice touch, it makes them seem more human.

The part with Merowald and Paint was a treat. It offered a sort of break from the immediate focus of gathering forces to the next phase in the quest to look at the big picture, and of course revisiting old characters is always pleasant. The multiple functions it fulfilled made it doubly enjoyable, I noticed the further foreshadowing with the bracelet.

And then into 25, and another gate, but the last one this time before Julian faces a rather different kind of foe. I wonder how prepared she will be for the change after fighting so many daedra...

I'm looking forward to it

Nits:
“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.” - this stood out for a couple of reasons, both slighly technical. The knowledge of alloying seems a bit advanced (also tungsten seems a strange choice), also steelmaking is quite a large job and would probably be beyond her. But then she might have magic on her side which would proably change the process.
'regarded the tip of the oblate fire visible above the ruins' - gates look more prolate than oblate, but that's just me being obsessive.

@SubRosa: Yes, another city, another Gate. And we’ll see if Bittneld’s nickname applies to his men or his enemies.

@Grits: Fatalities is something the game kind of glosses over, but I felt it was needed to make the story more real, and the implied danger of the Gates more immediate.

@TK: The tally, counting this Gate, is nineteen.

@Acadian: I figured it was time more folks got involved in the barricades outside the Gates. And no, it doesn’t look good for the group that went into the Gate two weeks ago.

@Olen: Thanks for catching up! It’s good to see that you’re still enjoying Julian’s story. There will be more foreshadowing in upcoming chapters. As for prolate vs. oblate, I had a hard time finding a word to describe the lens shape of the Gates. I figure prolate is a more uncommon word and may not be familiar to most people. For now I’ll leave it that way, but I’ll acknowledge your obsessiveness is correct.

On arriving at Chorrol, Julian discovers yet another Gate. To prevent more casualties, she goes in to close it. Now she has one last noble to see, one last Guild chapter head to visit, and one last town to check off her Grand Tour.

*****************
Chapter 25.2: The Last Recommendation

The Oblivion Gate did not take as long as I expected, and I was able to catch a few hours of sleep at Weynon Priory before I headed into town. The shops were still closed, so I decided to head up to the Mages Guild chapterhouse first and see if the chapter head was up.

On my entry into the grand edifice, an Imperial man greeted me. “Hello, Hero of Chorrol!” He grinned as I groaned silently. “Thanks for closing that Gate for us. We would have given you a bigger welcome if we hadn’t been tossing and turning in our beds!”

“That’s all right,” I shook my head, recalling my return to Nirn in the very early hours of the morning.

The lungfuls of cold night air diminished the fatigue I always felt after a foray into the Deadlands. Above me, stars glowed in the moonless sky. As I stepped away from the ruins of the Oblivion Gate, a slight figure passed the barricades before me.

“Hail, Julian!” Brother Piner greeted me. Like the guardsmen and Captain Bittneld, the monk showed the effects of six weeks of standing watch outside an active Gate. Yet he was genuinely happy to see me. “I was glad to hear you had arrived!”

“I’m glad to see you in one piece, too,” I answered. “Somehow I wasn’t surprised when Eronor told me you had been standing watch every night.”

“What else could I do, with one of those standing so close to the Priory and to Chorrol?” Piner clapped me on the shoulder. “Just as you can’t stay out of these things!”

“Ma’am,” a Dunmer with black hair cut in a cliffracer style and steel plate over his chest and shoulders clanged a salute as others crowded around me. “Welcome back to Nirn.”

“Wait, wait,” I held up my hands, my boisterous welcome back at Anvil very much on my mind. “What time is it?”

“Almost one bell in the morning,” he replied. “You weren’t gone nearly as long as Captain Bittneld said you would be.”

“No, not as long as I expected,” I admitted. “But I’m still tired, and it’s too late at night, or rather -“ I let a smile show, “- early in the morning to do anything else but go to bed for a few hours at least.”

“Well, ma’am,” the Dunmer would not give up. I realized he did not wear the same oak tree insignia as the Chorrol guardsmen. “Captain Bittneld left orders to be notified as soon as the Gate was closed.”

“And I wouldn’t tell you to disobey those orders,” I stepped past him. “But I’m headed to the Priory and bed. Tell Captain Bittneld I’ll catch up with him at a more decent hour.” At a sudden thought, I paused and turned back. “Is the area clear?”

The Dunmer slid his gaze to Piner, standing beside me. Piner turned his gaze to the sky above us. “Yes, ma’am,” the older man replied, “we swept the area less than an hour ago, and no daedra have exited the Gate since.”

“This is Modryn Oreyn,” Piner broke in. “He’s the Champion of the Fighters Guild. They’ve been helping man the barricades at night.”

I looked around again at the men surrounding us. While some of them wore the usual surcoat and mail of the guard, others wore various sorts of armor. Two Orsimer towered over most of their comrades, one in iron plate, the other bare-chested. “Then I would suggest one of you head into town to report to the Captain,” I said. “The rest of you sweep the area one more time, then turn in for the night. It would be best to leave the usual guard on the walls, just in case.”

Oreyn’s eyes narrowed at me. After a moment, he turned his gaze to one of the nearest guardsmen. “Yes, sir!” In response to the unspoken command, the guardsman’s right fist clanked on his chest in the customary salute before he left the group.

“As you suggest,” Oreyn’s tone held grudging respect. “Ma’am.”

I shook myself and returned to the present. “It’s a good morning, isn’t it?”

“Aye, that it is!” the Imperial responded heartily. “I’m Contumeliorus Floris, the mage in charge of recharging!” He tipped his head back as he laughed from his belly. “Get it, ‘in charge!’”

“Yes, I do,” I chuckled, more at his cheerful attitude than at his groaner. “I’m looking for Teekeeus.”

“Oh, he’ll be down shortly,” Floris assured me. “He’s a bit grumpy these days, though. With that Earana hanging around the Great Oak, his tail is all tied in knots.”

“Earana?” I repeated.

“You’ll see her soon enough!” Floris arched a brow at me. “But I’d steer clear of her if I were you. She has it in for Teekeeus, and wouldn't hesitate to take any of us down with him."

“Why?” I couldn’t help my curiosity.

“They were rivals in the University.” Floris lowered his voice with a glance at the stairs leading up. “It got so bad both of them were kicked out. They still hate each other’s guts.”

“All right, I’ll keep that in mind.” Footsteps on the stairs alerted me to the arrival of someone else. A balding Altmer, a peevish cast to his features, regarded me from his greater height as he reached the ground floor.

“Julian, this is Angalmo, our alchemist,” Floris waved him to join us. “Don’t mind his expression, he always looks like he just stepped in something!”

“Oh, stop it, Floris!” the Altmer snapped tersely, but his eyes as they turned to me were sparkling with humor. “He’s always picking on the Altmer stereotype, Floris is.” His voice was much warmer than his face.

I smiled up at him. “He does strike me as the prankster sort,” I remarked. Angalmo’s pursed lips actually smiled at the comment.

“So you’ve just closed yet another Gate, Julian,” he remarked with mock casualness. “How many does that make?”

“I’ve lost count,” I replied. “Nineteen, I think?”

“Nineteen!” Floris exclaimed. “And do your enchanted gear require recharging?”

“I found a few filled soul gems in the Deadlands.” I shrugged. “So far I’ve been able to keep my gear topped off. Now keeping them repaired is something else.”

“Rasheda will fix that right up,” Angalmo waved his hand toward the door. “She should be open any minute now.”

“Yes, I thought I would see her after I speak with Teekeeus.” I set my pack down and rummaged in it. After a moment, I found what I sought. “Here, do you have any use for these?”

“Bloodgrass?” Angalmo exclaimed. “And what are these?”

“Spiddal stick,” I pointed out the thin canes, then pointed out the stubby wood, “and harrada root.”

“How wonderful!” Angalmo reached for the ingredients. I moved my hands warningly.

“Be careful of the bloodgrass.” I showed him the fine scars on my hands. “The sap from them is highly irritating.”

“Of course!” Cautiously, Angalmo took the items from me, using the hem of his sleeve to handle the sharp-edged grass. “Thank you, Julian!”

“I noticed there is bloodgrass growing outside what’s left of the Gate,” I added. “I don’t know if it’ll continue growing, but it might be a good source if it survives.”

“I will keep an eye on them,” Angalmo promised. “Now if you’ll excuse me -“ He bowed to me before turning for the alchemy workroom just off the lobby.

Floris chuckled. “You’re on his good side, no doubt!” He turned and met my gaze. “Angalmo loves nothing more than tinkering with exotic ingredients to see what more he can learn from them.” He clapped his hands. “Well, have you eaten yet, Julian?”

I nodded as heavier footsteps, followed by the swishing sound of a tail brushing the treads reached us. A tall Argonian in a simple blue robe appeared on the staircase. His gaze moved from Floris to me, and his tongue flickered briefly between his scaled lips.

“Teekeeus!” Floris put his hands together and bowed slightly to the Argonian. “This is Julian of Anvil. She comes seeking you!”

I inclined my head respectfully as the chapter head approached us. Teekeeus stopped a few steps away, his orange eyes still steady on mine. “Welcome to Chorrol, Julian,” he returned my tacit greeting. “It seems thankss are in order for clossing that Oblivion Gate. Folkss have been on edge around here, and business has fallen off conssiderably.”

“Hopefully things will return to normal soon,” I responded. “I’ve come to see you for a recommendation for the Arcane University.”

His brows lifted. “You wish to enter the Universsity?” He took a deep breath, his eyes unfocusing momentarily. “Yess, I would need time to prepare a proper examination. However, if you would handle a minor matter for me, we could forgo that examination.”

At a glance from the taller man, Floris withdrew into the alchemy workroom. Teekeeus gestured me to follow him behind the counter, away from the stairs. “Lissten carefully,” he held up a scaled finger. “There iss a mage here in town, an Altmer named Earana. She and I have - a hisstory. She has no respect for Guild regulations, and is consstantly accussing me of missussing my powers. I’m certain she iss here becausse she wantss ssomthing from me. But she hassn’t yet approached me.” He scowled and his teeth ground, sending shivers up my spine. “She iss up to trouble. I want you to sspeak to her, find out what she wantss.”

He scowled and his teeth ground, sending shivers up my spine.
That's a lot of teeth, so I'm not surprised grinding them has a major effect!

Earana doesn't have much to say about Teekeeus in the game. It will be interesting to see what you add to her side of the story.

“Hello, Hero of Chorrol!” He grinned as I groaned silently.
Oh noes! Julian has been found out again!

“Just as you can’t stay out of these things!”
Nice to see we are not the only ones to notice this trait of Julian's! Other women go shopping, she goes gate-crashing!

The Fighters Guild actually helping with a gate! What a refreshing change from the game, where they never leave their chapter houses! Oreyn of the cliffracer hair was the perfect choice for a representative. And I see Lum and Kurz gro-Baroth as well! The latter two have large parts in chapter 34 of the TF, so it was a joy to see them here.

his tail is all tied in knots.
I love this! Remind me to steal it!

“He’s always picking on the Altmer stereotype, Floris is.”
And I see Floris is not the only one to poke fun at it!

She has no respect for Guild regulations
Seeing that Earana is not a member of the Mages Guild, this does not seem remarkable!

As Sir Graves said, I am looking forward to seeing how you portray Earana. So far the best treatment she has gotten in a fan fic has been dog poo!



nits:
“Earana iss her name, and she iss up to trouble.
This is the second time Teekeus said her name was Earana. I am guessing it is a leftover from edits.

'With that Earana hanging around the Great Oak, his tail is all tied in knots.”
I must echo SubRosa's warm endorsement of this! Wonderful. You then delightfully amplified it when that very tail could be heard swishing down the steps behind Teekeeus.

Using the Fighters Guild to augment things was a great idea.

I like that, at this point, you paint Teekeeus in kind of a neutral light. His nature is left open enough that we want to learn more about it. I am always predisposed to like Argonians, but sometimes, this one can be well, a bit of a challenge. I look forward to Julian's take on him as things develop. And of course, I look forward to meeting dear Earana.

I enjoyed the interplay between Oreyn and Piner.

I nodded as heavier footsteps, followed by the swishing sound of a tail brushing the treads reached us. A tall Argonian in a simple blue robe appeared on the staircase. His gaze moved from Floris to me, and his tongue flickered briefly between his scaled lips.

Teekeeus is so vividly Argonian, I am in awe! I’m very interested to see what Julian makes of the coming events.

SubRosa has already stolen all the great quotables from that part, and they were many.

You paint the different guilds so well, they all have a real feeling to them which makes them stand out. It all flows down from the guild head in many ways: Skingrad was proably productive enough but rather weird, Bruma was very organised (Kud-ei is there after all), Bruma was a farce, Anvil was very proper... And now Chorrol seems happy enough but perhaps not so tight, as I'd imagine Teekeeus running things.

Your protreyal of Teekeeus himself was good too, very neutral. I can imagine Julian won't dislike him, but won't really get on either. Erana on the other hand, well I'm sure that will be more interesting.

Great stuff building the setting so fast

Hello, Teekeeus! I hope you don't have any... other, evil-like plans for that book you are now so close to getting your hands on. You swindled my wood elf good, after all!

I sure hope Earana doesn't end up dead here, too. Talendor managed to avoid it (at the cost of embarrassing her so as she'll probably just leave town to get away from the jeering stares), but the playing field is open for you. Still, that's a bridge to be crossed sometime later.

First, let me congratulate you on the creation of Midave Sendal. With an admirable economy of words you do so much to set up his character and establish reader empathy. I liked him immediately. You know, it occurs to me that taking him through the KOTN could prove to be interesting, if you are still hunting for ideas for your next story.

So now Julian is sober, healed, famous, and RICH!!

Well, at least for the moment. Why do I get the feeling that Julian’s pension will soon be lining Clesa’s purse? I bet Ernest will approve. His selection of clothing is short a few pieces. He can’t afford to clean horse-snot out of everything he owns! Go Blanco!!

Nice twist on the Anvil Recommendation. Ever since Julian agreed to do it I’ve been wondering how she was going to pass herself off as a merchant. As I said before, I have that same problem with the (horseless) Legion Rider killing the two battlemages. In my game it happens after you escort Martin to Cloud Ruler, not after Dagon Shrine. Although, if you do that recommendation before you start the main quest, and that Rider is patrolling on the Gold Road, he will still jump off his horse and kill the two battlemages. Every time! Makes you wonder at the effectiveness of guild training.


QFT!

Blanco’s chapter was simply fantastic. Clesa’s primer on how to ride was informative without being preachy. Is there any doubt whatsoever that Julian is going to buy him? My only wonder is how Clesa considers 45 Septims and the promise of stud rights in perpetuity as a ‘deal’ for Julian!

*Ask and ye shall receive! I had to stop reading because I just learned that Clesa paid 90 Septims for Blanco!! Something fishy is going on!*

I know this is way late, but I can’t help it:

WARNING: RANT FORTHCOMING

[rant] I have to take offense to some of the comments made in the wake of Jared’s betrayal. We men are not perfect, and yes we do stray. Believe me when I say that Jared’s actions DO NOT constitute the actions of the ‘typical’ male! As a male who has strayed I can say with certainty that I do not consider it my finest hour. The fact that she left me over it was no less than I deserved and I still regret my actions even after several years. It was a painful episode that I have no desire to ever relive. I think that constitutes the attitude of the ‘typical’ male, or the typical human being with even the smallest shred of empathy for another. Jared’s betrayal was both vindictive and cruel in that he REVELED in the fact that Julian found him with another. That makes him an a$$hole, not a ‘typical’ male. [/rant]

Captain, count me in. See you behind the Flowing Bowl. Don’t forget your gloves, I’ll bring the boots!


Yeah, like play video games and write fan-fiction?

*Destri ducks out of the room to avoid the flying toaster!*

_____

_____

_____

*He peeks around the corner to gauge the temperature of the room. Judging it safe, he tentatively enters and continues.*

So now I know what was haunting Gweden Farm! The fight against the Sirens was fantastic! Like Acadian said, Mysticism, Destruction, Conjuration, sword-play, and tumbling all told with an exciting and engaging energy. This ranks right up there with Fort Grief as one of your best battle sequences. I have to admit that I felt a little sorry for Faustina, Signy, and Tsarinna. They brought their end upon themselves by being so quick to go for the sword, but their crimes didn’t really hurt anybody.

Wow. I don’t have anything to add to what the others already said about the flashback chapter (I will call it that from now on because to dwell on any of the events therein is just too painful, and not just for Julian). Great writing!

Enter Blanco. This was a very welcome switch of gears from the last few chapters. I think that Paint was a great horse to help heal Julian, but Blanco is the steed of the Hero of Kvatch (sorry, Paint). They must cut quite the figure: white-haired, light-eyed Julian, Daedra Slayer on her hip, astride white, smart, lion-kicking Blanco. I bet the bards are going to dine for years on songs about them!

After a bad first impression I have come to admire Carahil. Felen Relas was already firmly established in his role of mentor and friend. Carahil has been revealed to us slowly, in layers (not unlike the removal of bandages in old horror movies ). I really like the way that you’ve done this. Rest assured that I have been taking notes for myself right alongside these comments. Don’t be surprised to see this technique stolen borrowed for my own story.

I have a question: Have we encountered this man with the azure-as-the-sky colored eyes? I mean, when you reveal him to us, are we all in for a massive collective facepalm?

Blanco’s origin story was a surprise, but a welcome one. Now he is even more indelibly etched into my consciousness!

Once again the others have already pointed out everything that struck me about the rebuilding of Kvatch. I thought that Winter Wolf’s comment was especially interesting. Julian may have been born in Anvil, but the Hero of Kvatch was forged in, well, Kvatch.

And I’ve always wondered why the game doesn’t recognize Savlian Matius as the obvious, and deserving, successor to the title of Count Kvatch. Even the mods don’t give the man his due.

Y’know, we could have gotten Dralgoner an appointment with Signy Home-Wrecker at the Flowing Bowl if Julian wasn’t so quick with the slashy-slashy! Nothing says morale boost like a 6’5” buxom Nord!

Hmm, it seems that Count Hassildor and I are of the same mind when it comes to Savlian Matius. I can see that the Count’s antennae is definitely up. Even now he seeks to use the situation in Kvatch for political ammunition. His wariness of Ocato hints at a long history between the two. I wonder if you plan to explore that in the future, now that her dealings with the Mages Guild will be bringing her into more contact with the Count.

Poor Aelwin, now he has to suffer through the monotonous days of retirement alone. Maybe while Julian is out rescuing cats she can save one up for him (oops, Grits beat me to it). And I can think of a few male Bosmer that Blanco could practice his kicks on!

As Julian cecks her gear and reviews her spells before launching herself into yet another gate I am reminded of only one thing . . . this!

Finally, I have no hesitation in saying that I can’t stand Teekeeus! I always give the book to Earana, even though Finger of the Mountain is a ridiculously bad spell! Let’s just hope that Julian’s solution to the ‘Earana problem’ is not the same as Buffy’s! Though we have already acknowledged that Julian is quick with the slashy-slashy!

And with that, I am all caught up!

@ghastley: I hope you enjoy this version of Earana. Actually when I play this recommendation, it’s a tossup which side I take. I can’t make myself like one more than the other. We’ll see how Julian handles the both of them when she completes the recommendation.

@SubRosa: Given the recent onslaught by female protagonists on the Mall of Chorrol, it might be a relief that Julian won’t be joining them anytime soon! You have major parts for Lum and Kurz? I look forward to Chapter 34 then! And you’re welcome to steal borrow my tail line!

@Acadian: Teekeeus’s tail is a part of him, why shouldn’t people comment on it? Better than saying His underwear is all in a bunch!

@Grits: I’m glad you picked up on the unspoken friendship between Oreyn and Piner. And yes, there is no doubt of Teekeeus’s race!

@Olen: I think you called it right on the Guilds, and how Julian is going to get along with Teekeeus.

@TK: Well, I’ve always seen Teekeeus as being rather, well, unimaginative. As for how Julian handles Earana, I hope everyone likes her solution.

@Destri: Wow! All caught up now! Thanks for all your comments, they are much appreciated. Midave Sendal just popped up from the crowd at the Guild Plaza, and has stuck with both Julian and me. He will have a much larger role in the next story, but it has never occurred to me that he is the perfect person to pursue the KOTN questline. And yes, Destri, Jared is an A-hole, not a typical male. And I had a feeling you would so totally love Blanco. After you and Olen kept asking more of Paint than poor Paint was capable of delivering (charging up the steps into the Chapel of Kvatch?), I figured you would totally adore the horse Blanco is. Thank you for your compliments on my reveal of Carahil’s nature. As for the azure-eyed male, well, yes, we have already met him. I mentioned that way back in my comments to Chapter 10.5 (Thread Two, post 73). Yes, I’ve promised myself to see Julian bring Aelwin the next little kitty she rescues. As for the Earana problem, well, keep reading!

Now we meet the other side of the Chorrol Mages recommendation.

***********************
Chapter 25.3: Earana’s Bad Side

The last of the night’s chill lingered beneath the sheltering branches of the Great Oak as I stepped out into the dappled sunlight of the plaza. I breathed deeply of the late fall air, the smell of the fallen leaves and dry grass barely detectable beneath that of stones warming in the sun. A breeze rustled the autumn debris around the cobblestones.

I looked up at the Great Oak, its branches already half bare, the remaining leaves turned russet brown by the frosts that now occurred nightly. So another recommendation that isn’t a real test of my magical abilities. Or is there something I don’t know about?

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” The Dunmer’s voice brought me back to the present. I lowered my gaze to meet Oreyn’s scarlet eyes. “Are you with the Mages Guild?”

I nodded silently, aware of the approaching guardsman beyond the Fighters Guild Champion.

“That’s too bad, we could’ve used you.” Oreyn shrugged, turning for the Fighters Guild headquarters, which stood next door. He paused a few strides away and glanced back. “I don’t know about your fighting skills, but I have no doubt you’ve got the stones for it.”

I decided not to take offense and chuckled, shaking my head. “After half a lifetime in the Legion,” I remarked, “I’m looking to get out of fighting. It’s just not as easy as I hoped.”

Oreyn’s fierce glower lightened as his teeth flashed, then he was walking away. I turned my gaze from the Champion to the guardsman, waiting a polite distance away.

“Good morning ma’am,” he greeted me. Beneath his helm, a young face held a slight uncertainty.

“And a good morning to you too, sir,” I smiled. I’ve forgotten that I can sometimes intimidate the rookies. And here I am, trying not to be intimidated by the Champion of the Fighters Guild!

That doubt eased in the young soldier’s face. “Captain Bittneld has asked if you would meet him at the castle? He’ll be in the county hall for the next hour or so.”

“I’ll find him,” I nodded. “But do you know where I can find Earana?”

“The Altmer?” the guardsman glanced around the plaza. “She stays at the Grey Mare, but spends much of her time here. She should be on her way -“ he stopped at the sight of a tall female figure approaching. “That would be her, ma’am.”

“Thanks,” I said. “And your name is -?”

“Maccalan Parmenion,” the youngster replied, uncertain again.

“Thank you, Parmenion,” I nodded at him before turning south. The Altmer woman he had pointed out to me stopped several strides away, but I kept walking in her direction. She watched as I drew near.

“Hail, Hero of Kvatch!” Her voice held thinly disguised scorn. I stifled my customary sigh. “Are you with the Mages Guild now?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” I kept my voice neutral.

“How surprising,” her brown eyes raked me from top to bottom and back. I resisted the impulse to look down at my simple linens, but instead kept my gaze on her. “A former Legion soldier, and a Redguard to boot?” Her eyes turned calculating. “Hmm, but it could be useful,” she muttered to herself.

Do I let on that I know something about her and Teekeeus? Or do I hear her out first? I decided silence was the best course of action for the moment.

As I expected, Earana didn’t stay silent for long. “You can be of use to me after all, Julian of Anvil,” she sneered. “There’s this book I’ve been looking for. I finally discovered its location, and I want you to go get it.”

I considered her words for a few moments. That’s what she’s here for? Or is she after Teekeeus? Beyond her shoulder, I could see Parmenion and another guardsman pause in their patrols, surreptitiously eavesdropping on us. “What’s the name of the book?” I asked neutrally.

“It’s called Fingers of the Mountain, and it’s located at Cloud Top.” Earana shifted her weight impatiently from one foot to the other. “It’s important that I get it.”

“Why can’t you get it yourself?” I asked. “An Altmer like you ought to be able to protect herself with plenty of potent spells.”

“What?” Earana’s voice dripped with distaste as a male Altmer, a longbow at his back, joined the two guards in their barely concealed interest. “Me go out there in the wilds? Are you out of your mind?” The blond hunter echoed my unspoken sentiment with a roll of his eyes.

“Where is Cloud Top?” I pulled my attention back to Earana.

“It’s up in the mountains north of here,” Earana pointed toward Northgate. “Don’t waste any time, and don’t speak anything of it to anyone at the guild chapter here.” I stiffened as she took a step closer to me until she towered over me. “If you tell that Teekeeus about it, you’ll be sorry you did!”

I stood my ground and squared my shoulders. “Are you threatening me, Earana?” I raised my voice just enough to be clearly heard by the guardsmen and the hunter. The guardsmen’s hands drifted toward their swords, and the Altmer reached for his unstrung bow.

“I’m just warning you,” Earana seemed oblivious to the change in the guards’ demeanor. “Teekeeus wants to control all that power for himself, but I won’t let that book fall into his hands! Only those capable of handling it should have access, not anyone else, and certainly not Teekeeus!”

I kept my gaze on her, keeping my hands open at my sides. “If you have a bone to pick with Teekeeus, leave me out of it,” I kept tight rein on the pilus that threatened to emerge. “I don’t appreciate being treated like imp chips by a mere Altmer mage who’s too frightened of a little dirt to go after what she really wants.” I stepped back to the raised curb that encircled the Great Oak. My eyes locked on Earana, I set my pack and weapons down.

Her gaze flared, and I sensed her right fingers twitching, gathering magicka. The two guardsmen behind her gripped their hilts and drew their swords partway out. I flung my left hand out toward Earana. The feint caused her to flinch, and red smoke flared around her fingers before dissipating in the dappled sunlight. “Hold it right there, Earana!” my voice snapped with all its old authority. “If you want me to go fetch that book, you will cease and desist all attempts at threatening me, verbally or otherwise.”

Earana took a step back in surprise, her eyes showing white all around the brown irises. Then her brows drew together, and she drew a breath. I stepped forward until I stood just within her reach. “Continue to disrespect me, and you can find that fetching book yourself.” I pitched my voice lower, with just enough force to carry to the onlookers. In the corner of my vision, I sensed the hunter’s slow grin. “Which shall it be?”

Earana blinked, and we both became aware of a gathering of townspeople watching from a safe distance. Her eyes flickered around the plaza before returning to me. “If you expect me to apologize -“ she began, the scowl freezing on her face.

“Oh, no, apologies are no good,” I cut her off with an emphatic shake of my head. “Either you treat me with courtesy and respect from this moment forward, or you can forget about that book you’re so desperate for.” I let the old smile, the smile I reserved only for combat, the smile that hid my nerves, surface. Her jaw clenched at something she saw in my face. “It’s up to you, Earana.”

It took all my willpower to turn my back on the enraged Altmer and walk back to my gear. A whirling knot formed between my shoulder blades as I bent down to pick up the pack. Hopefully with all these people around, she won’t pull something. But I doubt she’ll hold back if there are no witnesses around. I straightened up, my pack slung over one shoulder and my enchanted weapons in one hand. Across the plaza, Modryn Oreyn and the two Orsimer I recognized from last night watched from the stoop of the Fighters Guild headquarters. Near them, a couple stood together, their gazes on Earana behind me. Two dogs, both the same size as wolves but with black and tan markings, sat one on either side, panting in the warm sun.

Captain Bittneld stood in the middle of Oak Way, hands on hips and feet braced apart. As our gazes locked, he nodded curtly at me and remained in position. I walked past Earana toward him.

“Are you going to Cloud Top?” Earana exclaimed. I shot her a glare.

“I didn’t survive as long in the Legion as I did by going into combat with damaged gear.” I did not hesitate but kept walking toward Bittneld and the smithy beyond. His gaze slid past me in the Altmer’s direction. I stopped beside him, still facing south. “Hello Captain. Parmenion gave me your message. I was planning to find you after I dropped my gear off with Rasheda.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bittneld finally turned away from the Great Oak. “I’ll walk with you.”

So another recommendation that isn’t a real test of my magical abilities. Or is there something I don’t know about?
Welcome to the Mages Guild, where the ability to use magic is totally unnecessary!

Parmenion? He seems a bit young for that name. But I suppose the old man had to be young sometime. I just hope he is cautious around young whippersnappers named Alexander!

“Why can’t you get it yourself?”
This is what the game never explains. There is really no reason for Earana to even be wasting her time with the player, when all she has to do is walk up and get it herself.

I don’t appreciate being treated like imp chips by a mere Altmer mage who’s too frightened of a little dirt to go after what she really wants.
Yay for the imp chips! Cyrodiil's favorite snack!

You certainly gave us a tense encounter with Earana, she who is too hoity-toity to tip-toe through the tulips. Like Teekeus, she is clearly used to having things her way, and does not care who she offends. I have always thought the two were made for one another.

All of this Earanaing lately has gotten me thinking of maybe writing a short piece from her point of view. Maybe I could call it Wicked...

'The last of the night’s chill lingered beneath the sheltering branches of the Great Oak as I stepped out into the dappled sunlight of the plaza. I breathed deeply of the late fall air, the smell of the fallen leaves and dry grass barely detectable beneath that of stones warming in the sun. A breeze rustled the autumn debris around the cobblestones.'
Lovely that you opened by lingering at the Great Oak. A delightful passage for all the senses.

“I don’t know about your fighting skills, but I have no doubt you’ve got the stones for it.”


Having so many familiar faces (Oreyn, Lum, Kurz, Honditar, etc) drawn to the Great Oak by the confrontation was a nice touch that really helped bring the scene alive.

You posted this just to torment me didn't you? Just as I get caught up you slap another chapter on me! And yes I had to get caught up. I want to be around for the big reveal in a few more chapters!

What is it about Earana that seems to rub everyone the wrong way? I never pictured her as particularly mean or unsavory until I started reading the fan-fics. Maybe I just hate Teekeeeus that much!

Julian's handling of the situation was sublime. I half-hoped that she would let the old pilus out, just to show that Buffy is not the only one capable of peeing herself!

I find myself echoing Acadian’s comments. I loved the attention you gave the Great Oak. Seeing it almost ready for winter was somehow even more rewarding than if it had been in its full autumn splendor. And right after Julian’s face-off with Earana, look it’s Bailey and Kezune!

Julian ad Erana got on about as well as I'd expected they would. Julian showed brain making sure there were plenty of people watching the encounter.


I loved this line and the interactions she's considering. Of course the Hero of Kvatch will be intimidating, but she forgets it rather often (until she gets angry at least). It also foreshadowed the spat with Erana rather well.

Now will she tell Teekeeus? I've never seen what's wrong with him, he does his job and otherwise ignores you, maybe he misuses his powers a bit, but he's hardly the worst of them...


Isn't that what life is about? Butter up the right people and squash the rest, it's one thing the mages guild recommendations did do well was the politicking which goes on.

Ahh, yes, that Altmer can have such a nasty temper. I'm sure Julian had a lot of fun playing verbal chicken with that easily enraged pile of rat droppings. Well, she might have done some good in my tale, it's just too bad she didn't live long enough for us to find out what.

I love German Sheppards. Such style and poise. I wish I could have one, but unfortunately I'm already contending with three dogs at my home, so I don't think a fourth would be highly advisable. Especially with one being a right little cannonball.

@SubRosa: Maybe you should write a short piece from Earana’s POV! It would be interesting to get inside her head. Like you said, she is used to having her own way, and for someone like Julian to dig in her heels is not something Earana appreciates!

@Acadian: I knew all the Bosmeri on these forums would love that description of the Great Oak. And I couldn’t resist letting Oreyn give his own twist on that (in)famous conversation topic about the Fighters Guild!

@Destri: No, I’m not tormenting you! Honest! I’m just sticking to my new posting schedule (Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays). And I think Earana almost peed herself when Julian faked her with that left-handed feint.

@Grits: Do you know how hard it was to find a picture of a pair of adult GSD’s?? Litters of adorable puppies, yes. But two adults? Nope. I lucked out finding this image from a rescue group in CA.

@Olen: Yes, after four years as a drunk and an addict, it’s hard for Julian to see herself as being intimidating. Especially now when she is still trying to find her new path.

@TK: It’s true, GSD’s are high maintenance dogs. But they are so quick to pick up training, and have such a high working drive. I love watching those dogs work!

***********************
Chapter 25.4: Captain Bittneld the Curse-Bringer

“I’m afraid you got on Earana’s bad side,” Bittneld remarked as we approached the entrance to Fire and Steel. He stopped as another guardsman approached us.

“What about Julian’s bad side?” The guardsman smiled at me when I frowned at his voice. Do I know him? I peered closer at him. “I served in the Ninth Cohort of the Sixth fifteen years ago, ma’am.”

I searched my memory. “Who was the optio?” I asked.

“One Titus Florio,” he answered. “You probably don’t remember me, but I remember both of you well.”

Bittneld glanced from him to me, then faced the guardsman. “Are you on duty, Ashcroft?”

He removed his helmet and met my gaze. “Faric Ashcroft reporting for duty, sir, ma’am.”

Now I recognized the tall Breton. Though his ginger hair now had more salt than cayenne pepper in it, and his florid face was now more weathered, he had the same insouciant glint in those pale blue eyes, the same serious set to his jaw. Ashcroft? Yes. “It’s been a long time, Faric Ashcroft.” I nodded at Bittneld. “Does he give you any trouble, Captain?”

Bittneld regarded the Breton thoughtfully for a few minutes. “For the most part, no,” he spoke slowly as Ashcroft’s grin widened. “But there’s been a time or two when I’ve suspected -“ He did not finish the sentence. “Back to your patrol, soldier,” he addressed Ashcroft curtly.

“Yes, sir, ma’am,” Ashcroft replaced his helm and saluted us. “I hope to catch up with you, ma’am -“ his blue eyes twinkled at Bittneld beneath the shadow cast by the helmet, “- when I’m off duty.”’

“I’d like that, Ashcroft,” I stepped onto the stoop of Fire and Steel. “See you around.”

Bittneld watched Ashcroft’s departing back for a brief moment before opening the door to the smithy for me. As we stepped inside, he hailed the Redguard stooping over the forge. The other woman straightened up, setting her tongs down with a clatter.

“Rasheda, this is Julian,” Bittneld waved me up beside him. “She closed the Oblivion Gate early this morning.”

“You did?” Rasheda’s smile gleamed in the firelight from the forge. “Many thanks to you, Julian. Hopefully business will pick up again now that that infernal portal is closed!” She stepped away from the fire and moved to the anvil. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes ma’am, I have a few enchanted pieces I need repairing,” I answered, setting my pack down on the nearby worktable and laying my magical weapons next to it. Rasheda pointed at Akatosh’s Fury with a question in her eyes. At my nod, she picked it up and examined it.

“Not too bad,” she muttered, testing the give of the stave. “It will fix right up. And this,” she set the bow down and picked up Daedra Slayer, “is a beautiful weapon! Nice balance. Needs sharpening, but the blade is still straight. That’s Akaviri work for you.”

I drew out Matius’s cuirass from the pack and handed it across to Rasheda. She draped it across the anvil and examined first with a visual inspection, then with her hands running across the surface. “Hmm, this has taken quite a beating.” She glanced up at me. “Is that all your armor?”

“I have leathers, and I’ve repaired those,” I answered. “But I’m not yet skilled enough to repair enchanted gear, ma’am.”

“Well, then, we’ll have to change that, don’t we?” Rasheda put her fists on her hips. “All the traipsing around you’ve been doing, you ought to be able to repair your own armor out in the wilderness!” She smiled at my startled glance. “We still get the Black Horse Courier here, you know! The cutover to the Orange Road wasn’t closed off.”

I recalled what I had overheard in the Bloated Float a couple of nights ago. “Yes, I heard the riders were cutting through Weynon Priory and coming in the North Gate.”

“Yes, they were,” Rasheda nodded. “Come back after dinner tonight,” she added. “I’ll see about raising those armorer skills of yours. First lesson’s free!”

“I’ll pay you for your time -“ I began, but Bittneld put his hand briefly on my arm.

“Trust me,” he met my glance as he led me outside. “Take that free lesson. Rasheda doesn’t come cheap. Magna cum laude from the University of Smithing.”

I stopped and stared at him. Bittneld returned my gaze neutrally. Is there really such a place?

Rasheda laughed heartily behind me. “He’s kidding!” she called over the noise of the forge. “But I’m that damn good!”

Bittneld’s poker face failed to hide the twinkle in his eyes as he stepped onto the stoop. He scanned the street with a practiced eye before leaving the smithy. “Burd and Dion speak well of you,” he remarked casually as we made our way down Oak Way toward the pieta and the South Gate beyond. “I know I didn’t say it at the time, but I was mighty glad to see you yesterday.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find any of your guards in there,” I offered quietly. It had been the worst of the Gates so far. The lower halls in the sigil keep had reeked of clotted blood, of eviscerated bowels, of fear and agony. Every talon on every wall and every column had held a mutilated corpse. The floors had been sticky with thick reddish brown gunk. If not for Carandial’s refresh spell, I would have lost an hour of sleep cleaning the last of the residue from my boots and greaves with glycerin soap.

Bittneld grunted. “I knew they were lost,” his voice was barely audible beneath the brisk autumn breeze. Still I could hear the guilt in his tone. “What’s done is done.” He shook himself and met my gaze as we turned up Castle Road. “But you made me a promise.”

“I did,” I agreed. “And I intend to keep it. When do you want me to brief your guards?”

“I suppose you’ll want to see the Countess,” Bittneld continued. “But I want my men knowing what’s ahead of them before they leave for Bruma.”

“You’re certain she’ll agree to send reinforcements?” I asked.

“If you can get her attention long enough to think about it,” Bittneld’s tone held a new edge of irritation, “I have no doubt she’ll not want to be the only one not sending aid.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked. “Is there something going on I should be aware of?”

Bittneld sighed loudly as we entered the shadow cast by the castle walls. He didn’t answer until we stepped into the sun shining through the open gateway again. “A painting of the late Count Valga was stolen out of milady’s bedchamber a few nights ago. She’s been beside herself, as it has great sentimental value to her.” He shook his head. “The staff’s been running around in aimless circles flapping their wings thanks to her. And now she wants me to investigate the theft! I’m a Captain of the Guard, not her private detective!”

My thoughts skipped back to a dark stone room and a young legionary. “I have a little experience in that area -” thanks to General Camillus. “I can offer to see what I can do.”

“You shouldn’t have to get involved in this, Julian,” Bittneld gestured toward the door leading into the main keep at one side of the courtyard.

“I was in Leyawiin,” I remarked. Bittneld couldn’t hide the grimace that crossed his face. “I imagine Countess Valga would be no different if her daughter’s any indication. Closing two Gates there was not enough to satisfy the Count or his wife.”

“That Count Caro has a reputation of being a master manipulator,” Bittneld nodded to the guardsmen stationed on either side of the keep door. They moved to swing the heavy panels open for us. “But Countess Valga’s not as bad as that. She’s just - distracted right now.”

“So tell me what you know about it, please.” I followed Bittneld into the entry hall.

“Not much,” the Nord replied. “I’ve been busy with the Gate until now. Apparently it was stolen from the Countess’s bedchamber a few nights ago. Few people have access to the private quarters, and she suspects one of those few.”

“And I’m certain most of the guard aren't under suspicion as they were either out at the Gate or sleeping,” I added. Bittneld nodded tacit agreement.

“I’ll introduce you to Countess Valga,” he said, leading me across the entry hall toward a flight of stairs at the opposite side. “Then I’ll be out on patrol. I don’t doubt you can take it from there.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it, sir,” I said. We passed several more guardsmen, their eyes still hollow beneath their helms. They greeted Bittneld with familiar respect and me with thanks and warm courtesy. It’ll take them a few more days to get back to normal. After six weeks on the line, they need the rest.

Ahead, a bustle of activity in the county hall alerted me to the presence of a very agitated Countess. Voices reached me before the words did. A lean Imperial dressed in elaborate black velvet livery was bending beside the throne. The woman seated in its oaken embrace shifted impatiently. “What do you mean you can’t find it?” her sharp voice crackled across the county seat as Bittneld and I approached the dais. “Don’t speak to me again until you have news of import!” She waved the man away impatiently.

He straightened up and stepped backwards down the steps to the main floor. Bittneld stopped beside him as another servant approached the Countess with a steaming cup.

“Giving you a hard time, Wavrick?” Bittneld muttered to the Imperial. The older man sighed wearily.

“It’s bad today,” he murmured back. “With the Gate closed, she expects all of us to be searching the castle for that damned painting.”

“Would you please announce us?” Bittneld waved me to his other side. “I’ve got Julian of Anvil here.”

“I’m not certain that’s news of significant import,” Wavrick shook his head. “Go ahead yourself.”

Bittneld rolled his eyes at me, then squared his broad shoulders and stepped forward to the foot of the dais. “Milady,” he spoke clearly.

Arriana Valga looked up from her cup. “Ah, Captain Bittneld,” she greeted him. “Do you have news of the painting?”

“I’m sorry milady, I don’t,” Bittneld bowed, his tone sufficiently contrite. “But I have Julian of Anvil here. She closed the Oblivion Gate early this morning and broke the daedric siege.”

“Ah, yes, yes,” Valga waved her hand impatiently. “Thank you, Julian of Anvil. I wish I had time to chat, but I’m afraid I’m in the middle of an investigation.”

I mirrored Bittneld’s bow. “I understand, ma’am.” When I looked up, I could see the pleased approval in her gaze. “I have some investigative experience, perhaps I may be of assistance?”

I already have the outline for the Earana story. Since I have about 28 more posts in the TF already written, I think I will start writing the EF in the next day or so.

I always thought Bittneld had one of the coolest nicknames in ES. Although granted it is not one I would ever want myself...

“I’m afraid you got on Earana’s bad side,”
Somehow, this does not strike me as being too difficult to do!

Though his ginger hair now had more salt than cayenne pepper in it
This was a pure genius of description. Given that you always give us a good meal in the JF, I suppose it is no surprise that you would ply us with spices!

Magna cum laude
I am so fighting not to comment on this!

All in all, a nice little episode that gives us a breather, adds a bit to Julian's growing repertoire of skills, and introduces her to the Curse-Bringer. Not to mention introduces us to the distracted Countess of Chorrol. Is it just me, or do most of the Counts and Countesses of Cyrodiil seem rather petty and self-absorbed?

You nee further proof that Julian must be Cyrodiil’s greatest hero by now? Rasheda at Fire and Steel is offering something for free!!

I really enjoyed this quest in the game. Something about the meticulous gathering of clues and interviewing of witnesses jibes with the rampant OCD that manifests within me on occasion.

Once again you give us a Nord guard captain who positively oozes competence and professionalism. I’m also interested in seeing who this Faric Ashcroft guy is.


Who is Magna? And why should she have all the fun?

I really enjoyed this episode!

“What about Julian’s bad side?”
While this makes perfect sense, it was somehow unexpected and quite struck me as a stroke of brilliance on your part!

Of course, now that you have dropped hints about the fellow who has struck Julian's fancy, any man with blue eyes now falls under scrutiny and goes on our list of possibles. *scribbles down the name, Ashcroft*

'I stopped and stared at him. Bittneld returned my gaze neutrally. Is there really such a place?
Rasheda laughed heartily behind me. “He’s kidding!” she called over the noise of the forge. “But I’m that damn good!”
I absolutely loved this because it shows a delightful chink in our heroine's armor. Someone actually got one by her! It merely serves to make her more human and endearing to us!

I echo the fine presentation of Bittneld, and add praise for the delightfully quirksome Countess.

'My thoughts skipped back to a dark stone room and a young legionary. “I have a little experience in that area -” thanks to General Camillus. “I can offer to see what I can do.”
Now I did not run off and compare this to dear treydoggie's story, so forgive me if my foggy recollection is off. Is Julian referring here to her investigation involving Athlain? If so, I think that is neat as can be. If I am confused, I ask your forgiveness.

So, it seems Julian will be canvassing a castle. Hopefully in addition to some aid for Bruma, she will earn a painting of a cat that she can present to Aelwin.

This line was rather effective in its purpose. The eviscerated bowels were rather an accurate olfactory observation and brought the rather gruesome image to life.

And we meet some more Chorrolites. Rasheda was always one I hated, her prices are insane. Still if she is so expensive I suppose she would be good.

I echo Acadian on Bittneld getting one past her and also enjoyed the useless countess and her irate captain...

I'm going to disagree on Ashcroft though, I don't remember him from eariler and I think the individual with blue eyes has already appeared. Could be my memory though, he certainly remembered her.

And nice slotting in of the BotM referance, if that is what it is (I don't remember a General Camillus... but...)

@SubRosa: I’d love to have Bittneld’s nickname! Then nobody would want to mess with me! So you liked my description of Ashcroft’s hair. And yes, most of the nobles of Cyrodiil are rather self-absorbed. Of all of them, though, I like Narina Carvain the most. Even though she seems quite obsessed with Akaviri artifacts, her actions during the crisis (not to mention that apparently she gained the throne by her own right and not through a husband) makes me respect her even more.

@Destri: I love this quest, too. It’s more than the usual fetch-and-carry, and quite a lot of fun, too. I love talking to the suspects, especially the grumpy Hairy Legs (though just how hairy his legs are remains to be seen - preferably not!). I’m glad that Bittneld the Curse-Bringer really came alive for you. For some reason I just love writing these Nordic Guard Captains (Dion is the lone Imperial exception). You’ll get to see more of Ashcroft in a later post.

@Acadian: Remember, I had mentioned that we have already met Julian’s azure-eyed heart-stealer by Chapter 10. This is Ashcroft’s first appearance in OHDH, though he served in her cohort many years ago. And yes, someone got something by her all right! Bittneld just said it, and I had to leave it in because Julian’s reaction was so priceless. And yes, you caught the Blood on the Moon reference correctly.

@Olen: Thanks for picking out that line. I wanted to build on Julian’s earlier observations of the increasing strength of the Sigil Stones she was recovering from each Gate. You’re right about Ashcroft - this is his first appearance in OHDH. And thanks for catching the BotM reference. General Camillus was her CO during her time in Skyrim, and we met him briefly in Chapter 21.

Having encountered Earana, and dropped off her enchanted gear at Rasheda’s for repair, Julian and Bittneld went to the castle. Right now Julian’s mind is on her highest priority task - getting as much aid for Bruma as she can. Already she has realized that the way to get it is to undistract the Countess.

***********************

Chapter 25.5 Canvassing the Castle

“Splendid!” Arriana Valga set her mug down and clapped her hands. Wavrick stepped forward as she rose from her seat. “Laythe, Julian and I will retire to the dining room for a few moments. Please ensure we have some privacy. Captain Bittneld, thank you.” She scooped up the cup and stepped down.

The Imperial moved gracefully to the right, opening a door and stepping through. Bittneld bowed once more to the Countess, then sharply spun on his heel with a sidelong glance at me. As he marched out of the county hall, Valga glided down from the dais, holding her hand out to me. “Come, let’s have a seat together, shall we?” She moved past me and trailed after Wavrick, gathering her blue velvet skirts in both hands. A tall guardsman moved from behind her throne and waved for me to precede him. Bodyguard.

I fell in behind the Countess, shortening my stride to match hers. Though she held her head high, I could see that age had begun to bend her spine. Her hands on the blue velvet were skeletal, and fine wrinkles radiated from her eyes and mouth. Still, she carried herself with a proud elegance that came with years of ruling a county.

We entered the dining hall, where Wavrick was ushering a servant woman out. The countess moved to the far end of the dining table and regarded the corner of the ornate carpet with a peeved air. Behind me, the bodyguard stopped just within the door.

“Those stains still aren’t coming out?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry, milady,” Wavrick bowed to her. “The servants have been working on it without success.”

I joined the Countess and looked at the rug. Bright colors were splashed across one corner of the covering, clashing with the more subdued earth tones of the weaving. I knelt beside the rug and touched the still-damp material. “Is this paint?” I asked.

“Yes, it was discovered the day before yesterday,” the Countess huffed. “It was already dried by then.”

“It’s oil-based,” I fingered the clumps that coated the surface of the heavy wool. “It won’t come out with soapy water.”

“You know how to remove it?” Valga’s voice held surprise. I looked up at her.

“The only thing I know of is terebinthine,” I replied. “But it might damage the carpet also.”

“So the carpet is ruined?” The countess stamped a foot angrily. “It’s expensive!”

I rose to my feet, eyeing the splotches of color. Is that a footprint? Yes, it is. Smaller than mine. “Do you have any artists in the castle, ma’am?”

“No, not that I know of,” Valga retreated to a side table and seated herself with a flounce of her skirts. Wavrick picked up a wine flagon and glanced at me with an unspoken question. I shook my head at him. “Please, sit here,” Valga indicated a chair opposite her. As I obeyed, Wavrick set the pitcher back on the table, bowed again and left the dining hall, closing the door behind him.

“I understand you are missing a painting, ma’am?” I decided to take the initiative, though it ran counter to protocol in most courts.

“Yes.” The countess did not seem to mind. “It was of my lost love, Count Valga, and it has been stolen from my bedchamber.” She sighed melodramatically. “It is all I have left of the Count. I spend many a lonely night wishing the words I speak will be heard and not just fall on the lifeless pigments and canvas.” Valga sniffled and sipped at her klah.

“When did it happen, ma’am?” I put a gentle tone into my voice.

“Let’s see, it was three nights ago last night. It was there in the evening when I went to bed, and gone in the morning when I rose.” She met my gaze, and I could see the canny woman who had led County Chorrol for many years. “The bedchamber is kept locked at all times.”

“Who else had access to your bedchamber, ma’am?”

“That would be Laythe Wavrick, my herald, whom you already met,” Valga lifted her pale blue eyes to the stone arches overhead. “Orgnolf Hairy Legs, the porter, Chanel the court mage, Orok gro-Ghoth, my steward, and of course, Captain Bittneld.”

Mentally I repeated the names to fix them more firmly into my mind. “And what were they doing on that night, ma’am?”

“As you know, Captain Bittneld had been out all day on the barricades,” Valga waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the Gate outside the walls. “He was in the barracks sleeping after he did his customary patrol of the town. Wavrick was in bed, my bodyguard can vouch for him. Orok gro-Ghoth was in the kitchen, then went to bed as well. But no one could vouch for either Chanel or Orgnolf.”

Again my gaze was drawn to the paint stains on the rug. Would a painter steal a painting? “So as far as Chanel and Orgnolf are concerned, we only have their word concerning their activities that night, ma’am?”

“That is correct,” Countess Valga responded with an emphatic nod. “Oh, I wish this hasn’t happened. Both of them have worked for me for a long time, and I’ve had little complaint concerning either one. I’d hate to think one of them has betrayed my trust, but it would seem that is the case.”

“That must be quite disconcerting, ma’am,” I agreed. “What were you doing that night, may I ask?”

“Of course,” Valga sipped at her klah. She is more intelligent than she lets on. “It was the usual. I had spent the day seeing petitioners and overseeing the defense of Chorrol. Dinner was late that night, and I went straight to bed afterwards, a little after ten bells. I slept all night long, and when I woke in the morning, the painting was gone.”

“When was the last time you saw the painting, ma’am?”

“When I went to bed, of course,” Valga sipped again. “I always speak to it every night.”

“Yes, ma’am, you said something about that,” I admitted. “Well, if there is nothing else you need to tell me, I’ll get started.”

“Yes, here are some keys that will allow you access to the private chambers of the castle,” Valga detached a large ring from her belt. “Please return them tonight. I’ve confined Orgnolf Hairy Legs and Chanel to the castle interior, you should have no problem finding them. If you can’t find Orok gro-Ghoth here, you may find him at Northern Goods and Trade purchasing supplies for our larder. And I believe you may already have spoken to Bittneld.”

“I’ll speak to him again,” I rose to my feet. “Excuse me, ma’am.” She waved me away. I turned and headed for the county hall. The bodyguard met my gaze as I drew near the door.

“Good luck, ma’am,” he murmured with a weary air as he opened the door for me. “I hope you get to the bottom of this soon.”

I found Laythe Wavrick at his position near the dais. “Hello, sir,” I greeted him.

“How can I help you, ma’am?” He straightened his velvet livery.

“Can you tell me anything about Chanel or Orgnolf?”

“Chanel’s all right, I suppose,” Wavrick shrugged. “Orgnolf likes his drink quite a bit. I think it may have gotten worse - he’s taken to borrowing money to buy liquor. The stuff is rather expensive for someone making porter’s wages.”

“I see,” I mused. “Do you know where Orok gro-Ghoth is right now?”

“He should be on his way back from Northern Goods,” Wavrick responded. “He went there earlier to see if any new merchandise came in today.” His gaze moved beyond me, toward the stairs. “Here comes Orgnolf.”

I turned to see an irascible-looking Nord, red nose prominent beneath a balding pate, coming down the steps. “Speak of the daedra himself.”

Wavrick chuckled. “Good luck talking to him, though, ma’am. He’s always in a foul temper.”

“Thanks,” I nodded at him before walking toward the scowling porter. The Nord hesitated on my approach and glanced around as if looking for escape. “Excuse me, sir,” I held out my hand to stop him. “Are you Orgnolf Hairy Legs?”

“Who wants ta know?” he growled defensively.

“I’m Julian of Anvil,” I kept my voice level. “I heard about the missing painting. It seems the Countess is running everyone crazy about it.”

“Aagh!” his bloodshot eyes rolled expressively. “That’s puttin’ it mildly!”

“A porter’s work is never done,” I added. “And I doubt the past few days has been any easier for you.”

Orgnolf sent me a fierce glare that could blister the paint off a guardsman’s shield. “Easier! Paugh!” he spat to one side. “What good’s a porter that can’t transport things?”

“About as much good as a pilus without a cohort,” I replied mildly.

Orgnolf eyed me, then began chuckling. “Aye, you got that right!” Now he smiled sourly. “What can I say?”

“Well, why can’t you transport things?” I asked. “Seems to me there’s plenty of work to be done around here.”

“Ach, it’s because of that ridiculous painting!” Orgnolf’s good humor disappeared. “Ever since someone snuck into the Countess’s bedchamber and stole that portrait right out of its frame!” He shook his head. “And they think I had something ta do with it?”

“Well, that’s hard to believe,” I looked him up and down. “But did you?”

“Nae! Not after I got into an argument with a delivery boy. He was supposed ta bring a few casks of wine up from Skingrad, but one of his mules slipped in the rain outside and broke two of the casks. The damned pipsqueak insisted on being paid the full amount! I ain’t gonna pay for merchandise I didn’t get!” Orgnolf was getting angry again, the red spreading from his nose over his cheeks. He took a deep breath. “After that, I went ta my room and spent the rest of the night. Reading.”

Hmmm another character you see differently from me. I always saw Orgnolf as a bit of a fool and utterly useless. He must be one of more more annoying characters in game. Still it's refreshing to see him dealt with correctly.

This quest is a jewel for Julian, her interactions wiht people are always good and there's so many to choose from. And already she's picking up clues. Introducing the paint stains was an excellent move, much more natural than just 'finding' them. I'm looking forward to her hearing the otehr stories and seeing the one which doesn't add up.

I wonder what she'll do then.

It's nice that in Fan Fiction, you can correct the problems of the original game. It's always annoyed me that you're not allowed to find any clues until you finish the interviews.

Now I'll be interested in what order Julian will do things, with the "constraints".

It seems a little strange that Julian took it upon herself to start investigating the disappearance before being asked to do so by the Countess. On the other hand, maybe not so strange when you consider that it has been Julian's charge to do favors for spoiled nobility since the Oblivion Crisis began! At this point she must be completely fed up with the whims of the gentrified class! I commend her on her natural skill in diplomacy, which always seems to manifest right before the old pilus' boot meets an offending backside. . . hairy or otherwise.

It annoys me to no end that in an Empire founded by an Empress, it seems that no woman can become a ruler of even a County, let alone the whole shebang, unless it was her husband's first, and he died or ran off to become a master thief. I never knew how Countess Bruma got her position. I never noticed any mention of her ever being married, so as you say, she must have earned it. Unless her parents were the Count and Countess and died with no male offspring.

Move over Simplicia, Miss Julian is now on the case! I love how you moved the scene to the dining room, and then quite naturally focused on the most obvious thing in the room. The fresh paint stains on the carpet.

So Captain Bittneld has access to the Countess' chamber? Hubba, hubba...

“Speak of the daedra himself.”
A wonderful phrase!

I loved Julian's discussion with the Countess. Distracted she might be, but one can see that she has what it takes to run a County underneath it all. Then her interview with Orgnolf had me smiling. Once again Julian the consummate diplomat emerges, and she wraps the irascible Nord around her finger.

What a fabulous picture you paint of the Countess! Ditzy and cunning and distracted and well-suited to her post all at the same time. No simple one dimensional character here. This one's plenty complex and you paint her so well.

'I decided to take the initiative, though it ran counter to protocol in most courts.'
Oh, Buffy read that book too and stuck to it. I must admit though that Julian has the maturity and stature, not to mention Hero of Kvatch title to not only let her pull it off, but to make it a wise move on her part.

'Orgnolf sent me a fierce glare that could blister the paint off a guardsman’s shield.'
What a delightful description!

Julian is so well suited to this. Her time investigating Athlain, ferreting out Mythic Dawn clues with Baurus and the time she has spent in various courts certainly well-qualify her as Julian, PI. It showed in the way she managed the Countess. Then again as she opted for a touch of flattery with Orgnolf.

I see that Orgnolf has told us it was raining the night of the crime. . . .

I can't wait to see how Julian deals with the perp, if she finds whodunnit.

Pilus Julian is back again!

I like the twist you put on the quest here, by giving Julian a bit of background experience (as Athlain can testify to), and also dealing with a glaring flaw in that quest. Why the countess would be willing to hand over such an important investigation to someone she met off the street is quite beyond me.

I wonder what Chanel will be like.... If Julian is like me, she will be certainly be able to see some glaring flaws in her story if she is indeed the culprit, but this is your story, so I will not speak any further of that.

Nit?

“After that, I went ta my room and spent the rest of the night[.] Reading.”

I know that most of the time characters don't grade their own dialogue, but that period I highlighted seems rogue to me. I don't think that you really need it here.

I love that the Countess seems a little silly, but we can see that she is not. Bittneld the Curse-Bringer is fun to spend time with, and not just for his excellent name. The comments he makes in the game are enjoyable, but he is even better in your story. University of Smithing! And he kept a straight face.

@Olen: I agree, this is one of the quests where Julian really shines. I really enjoyed writing this quest and having her tell me her thoughts and actions here. It turned out to be more fun than I thought it would be.

@ghastley: Well, I hope you’re not disappointed with the way the rest of the mystery investigation plays out here.

@Destri: Normally Julian wouldn’t even consider taking the initiative as she did. If she had come to Chorrol first on her Grand Circuit, she wouldn’t have. But this is her last one, and she has learned that every Count/ess wants something in addition to just closing the relevant Gate. And her experiences with Leyawiin has braced her for an equally difficult Countess at Chorrol. So she took the initiative here to save time.

@SubRosa: I’m happy that you enjoyed Julian’s interactions with the Countess and with Orgnolf of the Hairy Legs. And yes, I always thought she would notice the paint stains the first time she walked into the dining room.

@Acadian: I was thinking about it, and realized that Julian just knows when to follow the rules, and when to toss the rulebook out. It’s something she has learned since leaving the Prison. And yes, I think she is well suited to be a PI. Whether or not that becomes her next career is pretty doubtful, though.

@TK: Yes, the fact that the Countess seems so quick to dump the investigation into the PC’s lap escapes me, too. Though once I did try to talk to her about it before I started progressing through the MQ (just delivered the amulet to Jauffre), and she said she wouldn’t discuss it with someone she didn’t know. Turns out the number of fame points does matter. As for Orgnolf’s dialogue, if you listen to him, there is definitely a period in there. He pauses right at that point, then speaks “Reading” with exaggerated sarcasm. I’ll think about how I’m going to convey that more effectively.

@Grits: Yes, I’ve always enjoyed Bittneld’s comments ingame. I always try to trigger that half finished quest that matches him with the innkeeper at the Grey Mare (Emfrid). I’m successful only half the time, but it’s fun!

@all: I’m just delighted that everyone seems to enjoy the Countess. I pictured her as being somewhat annoying like her daughter, but at the same time just plain canny, like my own Italian grandmother, bless her soul.

********************************
Chapter 25.6: Gathering the Clues

I found Bittneld speaking to one of the guardsmen at the South Gate. He signaled me to wait until he finished. The stone rim around the pietà provided a convenient place to rest my behind. The noon sun shone warmly, but I could feel the cold in the air, and the half-bare branches of the trees reminded me that we were now more than halfway through the penultimate month of the year.

I wondered if Bittneld would have anything to add. While waiting for Orok to return, I had encountered Chanel, the court mage. A Redguard close in age to me, she possessed an unlined face that suggested she spent little time out of doors in the sun. Her feminine beauty made me feel awkward and gangly next to her.

“I heard the Countess had asked you to investigate the missing painting,” the woman’s melodious voice was as rich as the tapestries that lined the walls of the county seat. “I wish you good luck.”

“And you are -?” I thought I knew her identity, but I wanted to be certain.

“How silly of me to forget you’re new here,” she smiled. “I am Chanel, court mage to Countess Valga.”

“Then you must know of the painting in question,” I held her dark gaze. “I’ve never seen it. Can you describe it for me please?”

“It was a portrait of Count Valga, painted shortly before he was killed. He was in his prime then, and quite handsome.” I noticed the dreaming look in her eyes. Was she more fond of him than was appropriate? “Whoever painted it could not do him justice. He was kind and noble, qualities difficult to capture on canvas.” Her eyes refocused on me. “I’m afraid that other than that, I can’t tell you much more about it.”

“Can you tell me where you were the night of the theft?” I asked.

“It was a late night. I spent the evening in the courtyard of the castle taking star readings. Then I retired to the dining room for a glass of wine, and spent some time studying the star charts I had made.” Her gaze flickered slightly, and I made certain the frown I could feel on my face remained invisible. Star readings? On a rainy night? Or was Orgnolf lying about the rain? “After an hour or so, I went to my chamber. I slept the rest of the night. When I rose in the morning, the castle was already in an uproar over the missing painting.”

“You knew Count Valga when he was alive?”

“Yes, I have been here just over twenty years,” Chanel responded. “He was killed in battle with Nordic clansmen that had come down from Skyrim via the High Road. That happened eleven years ago.” Her eyes grew sad. “He is greatly missed by many here.”

“I know the Countess remembers him fondly,” I remarked. “It’s difficult losing a husband in the prime of his life.”

Chanel didn’t speak. She shifted her gaze away and inhaled slowly.

“Hello, how goes the investigation, Julian?” Bittneld’s voice brought me back to the present.

“I have an idea who the culprit might be,” I replied as he sat down next to me. He stretched his long legs out and turned his face to the sun, closing his eyes. “But I wanted to get out of the castle for a bit, and to find out if you had any additional information.”

“Man, it feels good to just sit quietly in the sun for a bit without hearing that infernal Gate,” Bittneld muttered. He opened his eyes and glanced at me. “I saw you talking to Orok on the Castle Road. Did he have anything useful to tell you?”

“Just that he spent the night inside because of the rain and didn’t see either Orgnolf or Chanel,” I replied. “He did mention that Orgnolf’s drinking had become worse, and that he caught the porter drinking in the west tower once.”

“Yes, and he let him off with a warning.” Bittneld nodded. “That happened last week. Orok warned him if it happened again, he would tell the Countess. She frowns on drinking while on duty.”

That fits with what he told me. “What about you, Captain?” I asked. “How was the weather that night?”

Again he closed his eyes in the sun. “Hmm, I can’t remember much. One night was much like the next, after standing all day outside the Gate fighting daedra.” Bittneld was silent for several moments. “It was raining hard much of the night. The streets were still wet in the morning.” He glanced at me. “Any ideas?”

“What about Chanel?” I asked. “What do you think of her?”

“Like most of the women in Chorrol,” he grunted. “Fine to look at, but quite snooty. Not nice at all.” His eyes sharpened as if at a sudden thought. “Funny thing, though. She has been spending a lot of time in the west tower, too. When I asked her about it, she said it had to do with her magic research.” He shrugged. “At the time, it made sense to me.”

“Drinking?” I asked, thinking of Orgnolf.

“Nah,” Bittneld shook his head. “I’ve never seen her take any drink at all.”

“Maybe I’d better check out that west tower,” I rose to my feet. “It seems to be quite popular among the castle staff.”

“It’s used mostly for storage,” Bittneld followed suit, stretching his spine. A flicker moved through his eyes. “Which makes it ideal for other purposes.”

“Yes, the sort of purpose one doesn’t want others to know about,” I agreed.

“But a teetotaler and a lush?” Bittneld’s gaze turned assessing. “I find that hard to believe.”

I glanced at him. “Spend much time in the Legion?” I asked him.

“Ah, yes.” He nodded. “I’ve seen my share of strange pairings during my years there.” Stubbornly he would not concede the point, though. “But knowing those two as I do, it’s still doubtful they would see each other that way.”

“Well, you may be right, Captain,” I had to agree. Based on the little I had seen of the two, any kind of relationship closer than that of fellow employees of the same Countess seemed quite unlikely. But I had been fooled before, and both Bittneld and I could be fooled this time. “Only one way to be certain.”

“I’ll let you get on with it,” Bittneld adjusted the claymore at his back. “I’m heading out to what’s left of the Gate to make certain the area is still clear.”

You mean take one last look at the place where you lost your men. I kept silent, only nodded my understanding. In your place, I would do the same. We parted ways, Bittneld for the South Gate, now standing open, and me back to the castle.

Inside, I asked one of the guards patrolling the private quarters where the west tower was located. He pointed out the short hallway that led back to the door. After thanking him, I moved to the portal. A few moments of trial-and-error revealed the correct key for the lock, and I entered the round room.

Typical storeroom. Across the way, I could see another door set in the wall, a door that likely led out to the arch tower, a freestanding structure that stood separately from either the castle or the town walls. Stacks of crates crowded around the room. I frowned. Where is the hatch to the lower level? I couldn’t see the usual trapdoor that provided the only access to a typical tower’s lower rooms, found in every well-built castle. Bittneld doesn’t strike me as the kind of captain that would allow such traps to be covered by crates. I walked between the containers to the opposite door.

As I passed them, I realized they were stacked in such a manner to leave an open space against the wall behind them, one on either side of the room. Against the northern arc a chair, empty bottles piled up behind them, hid behind the crates. Orgnolf. That must be where he was caught drinking. At a thought, I turned and looked along the opposite wall. The containers there were also stacked to provide a clear space around the familiar trapdoor.

Why pile the crates to block this from view? I moved to the trapdoor. After another search through the ring of keys, I unlocked it and swung the panel back.

A soft eerie glow greeted me. I did not smell the usual sooty odor that accompanied lanterns and torches. Instead, the glow was bluish-white in color. My feet found the rungs, and I made my way down into the lower level. Again, crates were piled haphazardly in the center of the room. But after the upper level, I knew to search along the walls. The lower room was divided roughly in half, with the ladder and a collection of items in one half, and an open space on the other side of the wall of crates. The glow came from that side, as well, and I found the opening that gave me access.

The smell of oil paint struck my nostrils as I rounded the barrier. My gaze fell on a painting, its colors glowing softly in the bluish light, mounted on an easel. A barrel next to it supported a palette with small jars of paint and a mug full of brushes.

I looked around. The source of the odd light turned out to be a large faceted stone, as long as my hand, wrapped in black metal filigree and resting in a bronze bowl, set against the stone wall. I held my hand over the glowing object and felt no heat rising from it. Cautiously I touched it with my fingertips. Though the light gave my fingers a reddish glow, the stone remained inert. I grasped the filigreed cage and picked it up. The light moved around the walls as I lifted it, testing the weight of the heavy stone. After a moment, I drew closer to the easel and held the glowing stone up to the painting.

The warm amber shape of a Chapel formed out of the loose brushstrokes, with a black and purple night sky looming against a defiant bell steeple. Glimmers on the surface of the paint suggested it was not yet dry. Recently painted. Is it completed? Or not? What if it’s the missing painting, painted over? I walked around behind it, holding the stone up to evaluate the back of the canvas. Bright, clean weaving met my gaze, with no dust, fine cobwebs or yellowing that would indicate years of hanging on a wall. No. New canvas.

I stepped back and considered the painting again. This must go with the paint in the dining room. But why paint there when there is already a studio set up here? A glance at the floor revealed layers of splattered paint. Someone’s been painting here for some time. Much longer than the past few days. I looked around the room again. Well, I’ve seen all there is to see here. Carefully, I replaced the stone back in its bronze bowl and returned to the iron rungs set in the wall.

Now to examine Orgnolf and Chanel’s chambers.

Star readings? On a rainy night?
Indeed! Something smells rotten in Chorrol!

Like most of the women in Chorrol,” he grunted. “Fine to look at, but quite snooty.
Ha! I have heard that before! Maybe he needs a grey mare to change his opinion...

Hmmmm “I’ve never seen her take any drink at all.” : says Bittneld. Yet Chanel says she retired to her quarters with a glass of wine...

I think we have a winner!