Great as ever. I like your description of cloud ruler, very much as I imagine it to be.

“Ah, yes, Grandmaster would tell you that,” -- I liked this line, it shows a lot of personality both of Jauffry and Steffan. Quite a revealing line really.

As ever the same request: more?

Well, I am caught up again. I am finding that dedicating part of a day to reading wonderful stories about once a week seems to suit well for me. I am definitely following Julian's wonderful adventure though!

5.4 was a heartpounding return to the Priory and glimpse into the bigger challenge ahead. 6.1, although not absolutely necessary was a wonderful trip along the road revealing more than enough to make it a wonderful piece. 6.2 was a masterful reflection of the beauty of the Temple sitting atop the mountain with its thin, crisp cold air. 6.3 was a wonderful glance into life at the CRT and introduced Julian, Secret Agent!

In one of your comments you mentioned the line you walk between truth to the game and literary license. I see you are listening to your heart, for that is where the answer lies for each of us that wrestle with that question. And the answer is different for each of our fictions. You are doing a wonderful job and have found the right line for you!

@all: Thanks for reading and for the comments.

More of Cloud Ruler Temple and Julian’s new comrades-in-arms. This entire part-o-chapter is not in the game, but pretty much free-typing.

******************************
Chapter 6.4

Soft murmurings and rustlings roused me from a black slumber. I lay for several moments, feeling disoriented by the heavy timbers above and around me. I saw several Blades moving around the room, some stripping their armor for bed, others rising and dressing for duty. With a luxurious stretch, I felt the delicious tension in my muscles. My left hip, for once, didn’t twinge with the movement. I’m getting more fit, I observed. The long day’s walk, and the long night’s ride, didn’t leave me sore, as I would have been a week ago. Rising to my feet, I tested my right knee carefully. It didn’t hurt much this afternoon.

Captain Steffan had shown me to the barracks in the west wing of the Temple. Heated by a hypocaust, the floor was warm, making the bedrolls surprisingly comfortable to sleep on. Torn between filling my empty stomach, still growling after that apple, and finding sleep, I had chosen sleep, at least for a few hours. Now my belly would not let me postpone feeding it any more.

The clashing noise of swords greeted me as I stepped through the smaller door leading to the plaza. I looked across the area to the practice sands. They’re still at it? Recognizable by the dai-katana he carried, Fortis sparred with his partner as I paused beside the western brazier to watch them.

The sentry at the front door caught my gaze. “Good afternoon, Julian,” she greeted me. “I’m Jena. Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple.”

“Thanks, Jena,” I answered. “Is that Fortis?”

“Yes, it is, and Pelagius. They spar every day, all day.”

“The entire day?” I stared at Jena. The Imperial woman smiled, her brown eyes twinkling.

“Yes, and Ferrum in the armory is still at it, too.” Her tone held a suppressed chuckle. I shook my head in wonderment. “Will you join us for dinner? It will be served in two hours.”

My eyes squinted at the westering sun, then fell on the stable. “Yes, I think so,” I answered. “I’d like to check on Paint.” With a glance back at Jena, I considered my next question. “Would it be wrong for me to take an apple for him? He likes them so.”

“By all means,” Jena smiled. “Help yourself.”

A few moments later, I reached the stable, apple in hand. The three horses had been stripped of their tack and brushed down, their coats dry and gleaming in the shadows of the stable. They greeted me with soft blowing, and Paint nudged me with his nose as I made my way to his head. The wonderful smell from their hides, the aromatic hay in the manger, the clean scent of glycerin soap, felt good as I inhaled deeply. I smiled at the eagerness in Paint’s eye.

Paint eagerly accepted the pieces of crisp apple as fast as I could bite them off. Red watched us from the other side of Jasmine, but when he tried to reach past her towards me, she pinned her ears and snaked her head at him. Red turned his head away. Best ask Jauffre to give him an apple or two, I mused, feeling sorry for the way the mare picked on him so mercilessly. She got along fine with Paint, however. It must be because Paint is gelded, and not as pushy as Red.

In the shadows of the stable, I recognized Paint’s saddle by the round light iron shield still attached to the cantle ring. The Kvatch Wolf gazed back at me in the gloom. As I reached out to it, I thought of gra-Sharob, of Sigrid and Boldon. I wonder how the children are doing. I missed them already. My right hand remembered the feel of Falisia’s tiny fingers resting in my palm. My thoughts wandered to Matius. That’s the real hero of Kvatch. He held the guard together, kept them going in the face of impossible odds.

Goneld’s bloodied face, Rilian’s hand on my shoulder appeared in my mind’s eye and hit me hard. With my breath suddenly gone, I leaned against the wall next to the saddles. I thought I left all that behind.

“Julian?” a tall figure appeared in the rectangle of afternoon light that formed the doorway. At the unfamiliar voice, I wiped my cheeks and turned to look at him. “I’m Roliand,” he continued, removing his helm so I could see his face. Fair skin, golden blond hair cropped short, light blue eyes. Shoulders broad and Nordic. “I took care of the horses. I hope you find everything all right, sister.”

I regarded him, then gestured toward the rumps standing in a row. “I think they look happy, Roliand. Thanks for your care.”

“It was my pleasure,” he responded, smiling at me. As I stepped out of the stable, I tipped my head back to make eye contact with him. “I heard you were in the Legion, sister,” his voice, surprisingly soft for such a big man, held a note of curiosity. With a nod, I looked away, toward the practice sands. He caught the direction of my gaze. “Go watch them,” he remarked. “They enjoy performing for an audience.”

“I will see you at dinner, then?” I asked. Roliand nodded, replacing his helm and brushing his right knuckles on his breastplate with a soft clink. As he walked away, toward the outer wall, I limped across the plaza to watch the two soldiers.

They are good, I decided after watching them for several minutes. They braced for each other’s blows, blocking, parrying and counter-parrying. Pelagius used his shield much the way I did, mainly to deflect the blows from Fortis’s two-handed weapon. Without the benefit of a buckler, Fortis used his gauntlets or the sturdy blade of his dai-katana to block Pelagius’s katana. As I watched, Pelagius avoided an overhand strike from Fortis, then swung his blade straight down, only to have Fortis’s upraised elbow knock his wrist away.

The dinner bell rang, and the two men stepped back from each other, sheathing their swords. “Good evening, sister,” Pelagius greeted me, pulling off his helm. In spite of sparring for hours in full armor, the two Imperials were only slightly winded. “Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple.”

“Thanks,” I answered, limping toward the east wing. The two men matched their strides to mine. “You two are really good,” I gestured back at the practice sands. “I think I learned a thing or two.”

Fortis, having removed his helm and stripped his gauntlets, shook his head. “I don’t know,” his teeth shone in the gathering dusk, “I think you could teach us something, too. Twenty-five years in the Legion, sister. That’s a lifetime of hard fighting.”

As Pelagius opened the door for us, I shrugged. “More like years of training, years of waiting, years of boredom. Throw in a few moments of sheer, Goblin-induced terror here and there, and that pretty much sums it up.”

We walked into the dining hall, where the two men led me to a nearby table. Platters of roasted meat and vegetables, fresh-baked bread, waited, wafting steam. Sitting down, Pelagius eyed me thoughtfully. “Goblins?” he repeated. “Are they really as tough as people say?”

“The peons aren’t, really,” I answered. “They’re quick and aggressive, but lightly armored and armed, and not very effective in their tactics.” Fortis filled a plate and set it in front of me. “They’re more slash and smash, and not even good at it.” I shook my head at the offered wine, and reached for the teapot instead. The chatter died as Captain Steffan and Jauffre entered the hall, Martin in tow. They took seats at another table at the far end of the hall. This time, I was ready, and waited as the soldiers bowed their heads silently in grace. Fortunately, my stomach stayed quiet in the silence.

After a moment, Fortis looked up at me. “What about the other Goblins?” he asked, slicing a chunk of roast mutton on his plate. A few of other Blades wandered to our table and sat down. I recognized Roliand and Jena.

Taking a sip of the hot tea, I considered his question. “The skirmishers are trickier,” I answered. “More cunning. They use iron bows, but shoot fast and accurately.” With a pause to take a bite of grub, I continued, “Berserkers are big, strong, and heavily armored. They are unrelenting in their attacks. And the shamans,” I forced that image from my mind, keeping my voice steady, “are very nasty. They hang back and fire spells at you. They like to paralyze you, then hit you with shock spells - .” Swallowing against the sudden dryness in my throat, I took another bite of mutton. Stop it. It’s over.

“And of course, you can’t get near them unless you’re a sniper or battlemage yourself,” Fortis commented around a mouthful of grub, gesturing with his fork for emphasis. With a nod of agreement, I swallowed my own mouthful.

“The worst of them all, though, are the war chiefs,” I finished. “They’re bigger than the berserkers, strong, and fast. They love to use touch paralyze spells on you, then hammer away while you’re down.” My fork scraped across an empty plate, causing me to look down in some surprise. “I lost a lot of comrades to those things,” I finished.

“Here,” one of the other Blades dropped another slice of mutton onto my plate. “If you’re going to be one of us, and teach us a few things about Goblin-fighting, you’ll need more meat on your bones.” His brown eyes sparked at me.

I didn’t have time to be embarrassed by my relative weakness next to these sturdy Blades. “That’s Belisarius,” Fortis jerked his thumb at the other Blade. “He’s the brains in this outfit.” He pointed at the rangy Breton next to himself, across the table from me, “And this is Baragon.” Now he pointed at the quiet woman on his other side. “This is Caroline.” He nudged her teasingly with his elbow. “Doesn’t say much, but keeps us all in line.”

Her hand moved quickly and she speared the last slice of mutton from his plate. The dripping meat disappeared into her mouth before Fortis could protest. With a stifled chuckle, I met her grey gaze. “A woman’s work is never done, hmm?” Her grin mischievous, Caroline shook her head.

At my side, Pelagius’s eating slowed. I followed his gaze to see Martin - Emperor Martin - eating with better appetite than he had shown before. It must be the cold, the altitude. I was surprised at how much I had already packed away myself.

“I’m sorry, Julian,” Pelagius muttered, noticing my regard. “I’m sworn to protect the Emperor, no matter what. But I can’t help wondering, what sort of man is he?”

In thoughtful consideration of the question, I nibbled on some potato. “He’s been a priest of Akatosh for a number of years,” I said finally. “He has lived a life of peace and service, to others as well as the Divine. He is a good teacher,” I thought of how he had taught me to cast my flare spell more effectively. “He sees the good in others, and takes their suffering to heart.”

Fortis was nodding as I spoke. I sensed there was some ongoing discussion between the two. “Aye, the Emperor must be like Father Akatosh himself, wise, kind, gentle -”

“In times of peace,” Pelagius countered softly. “But peace has fled Tamriel, and we are facing daedra -”

The nature of their discussion became clear, and I firmed my voice, still keeping my tone low. “I don’t doubt for a moment that Emperor Martin has the courage necessary to defend Cyrodiil against daedra.” The memory of how he had faced the assassins at Weynon Priory still fresh in my mind, I continued, “On the way here, whenever we were attacked, he never sought refuge, but stood his ground and faced danger with dagger and frost-flares.” As I spoke, Martin met my gaze across the hall, nodded and smiled at me. As I returned his silent greeting in kind, I finished, “and he’s pretty good with those spells, too.”

“Hmm,” Pelagius grunted softly, sopping up the last of the gravy with the last bite of bread. “That’s high praise, coming from someone who’s fought with battlemages.”

“If he weren’t the last son and heir,” I murmured, feeling full. Pelagius saw the look on my face, and speared the last potato from my plate. “I had more problems keeping him out of trouble than taking care of trouble itself.”

Pelagius surprised me with a hearty chuckle as he finished my potato. “All right, Julian,” he said. “That’s the way I like ‘em.”

I shook my head. “Not if your job is to keep them alive,” I countered. Fortis’s broad grin met my gaze across the table.

I'm hungry after reading this! Great Write Hauty!

The Return of the Hypocaust! I could swear that was a monster movie from the 50s... Along with its sequels, Bride of the Hypocaust, and Revenge of the Hypocaust.

Once again, the horses were one of the high points for me. But what really resonates in me from this chapter-part are Julian's recollections of the people of Kvatch, both living and dead.

Finally, a nice sit-down with more of the Blades and a hearty meal. Best of all, no polenta!

All in all, a strong part-o-chapter, that adds up with the rest of this chapter to create a solid foundation upon which to build the rest of Julian's story. In fact, a solid foundation for Julian herself to build the rest of her life upon. Something she has been sorely missing since being discharged from the Legion. I have a feeling that Julian is one of those people who needs the focus of being a part of something, of having a mission, a purpose to direct her life. Now she has it once more.


nits:
I lay for several moments, feeling disoriented by the heavy timbers above and around me. Around me, I saw several Blades moving around the room, some stripping their armor for bed, others rising and dressing for duty.
These two sentences fit together awkwardly, due to the same two words ending one and beginning the next. You could probably just lop off the "around me" from the second sentence, and start it with "I saw several Blades moving around the room..."

* has visions of HE Rider being on a diet, and me carrying savoury dish after dish of aromatic food past her nose*

Awesome write Haute, the dialogue flowed oh so smooth. Wow.


Careful, I feel myself about to sneeze.

The conversation about the goblins was great. The dialogue was the exact type of flow and ebb that warriors would use. And don't forget Goblin Jim, he may keep under the radar a bit but that quasi-little ferret is the worst of the lot.

@SubRosa: It's good to see that my hypocaust can still delight you! You have pretty much nailed Julian's character - she has been missing the Legion since her discharge, and has now found something else to fill that void. Yes, she needs to be needed.

@mALX and D.Foxy: sorry to stimulate your appetite! My vulpine friend, if I had known you were on a "die with a t" I would have lingered longer on the meal!

@Winter Wolf: Sorry about your allergies. Now you've got me thinking about how I can fit that little weasel into Julian's fiction! Hmmm!

In this chapter, Julian learns of her new place in the Blades, and of her next task; finding a friend and returning to the place of her incarceration. Warning: do not read on an empty stomach!

******************
Chapter 6.5 A New Task

Stiffly, I rose from the bedroll, casting three healing spells to relieve the aches in my joints. My knee felt stronger, though it still hurt to stand on it. Dressed in my leathers, I headed out to the plaza just in time to see the sun peeking past the tall mountains to the east. In a clear space near the western brazier, I faced the dawn.

Okay, let’s see how much I remember - I started taking deep breaths of the chilly air, feeling the frost all the way down into my abdomen. My eyes following the puffs of my slow exhalations, I centered myself and called up long-buried memories of Jelin’s Way of the Crane. Awkward at first, I persisted through the dance-like movements that focused on balance and centering, on fluidity of movement and flexibility of muscles, on peace of mind and breathing control. Though not as smooth as those of my second pilus prior in the Legion, the forgotten patterns became easier as I worked through the routine.

When I finished, I was warm in spite of my fogging breaths, and felt the most limber I had in years. Now, at my age, I appreciated the value of these exercises that so many of my Legion comrades had dismissed as fancy-pants.

As my awareness returned to myself, I noticed Cyrus watching me from his post beside the front door to the Hall of Blades. “Good morning, Julian,” he greeted me. My cheeks warmed with embarrassment.

“I’m sure I looked pretty foolish just now,” I muttered. With a smile, I met his gaze squarely “Good morning, Cyrus.”

“No, that wasn’t foolish at all,” the big Redguard assured me, his teeth gleaming in the growing dawn. “A little awkward maybe,” he conceded with a shrug, “but some of those moves looked hard.”

“Well,” I moved toward the east wing. “I’m out of shape, so they are harder than they should be.” My hand on the door handle, I glanced back at Cyrus. “See you later, brother.”

Again, his teeth shone. “Later, sister,” he said.

Inside, I found Martin and an armored Blade hunched over mugs of steaming fluid. The priest - no, Emperor - caught my eye and waved for me to join them. After I loaded up a plate with breakfast, I obeyed Martin’s unspoken invitation. The Blade - no, Grandmaster Jauffre! - pushed a mug at me, and held up the klah pitcher with a questioning look.

“Thanks, Grandmaster,” I said, sitting down next to him and across from Martin. “Good morning to both of you.”

“How are you feeling today, Julian?” Jauffre asked as I started into my grub. Smoked boar strips, scrambled eggs seasoned with salt, pepper and scallions, fresh-baked bread covered with amber honey, and yet another red-and-green apple covered my plate, and my stomach craved it all.

“Hmm,” I said around a mouthful of food before swallowing. “Pretty good, actually, sir.” Jauffre and Martin exchanged glances. “Other than being hungry,” I added, a little abashed.

“You’re getting fit,” Jauffre observed, taking a sip of his klah. “You’re not as gaunt and sickly as you were when I first met you over seven days ago.”

With a pause to consider his words, I realized he was right. “I’m surprised, I think,” I said, finally. “I thought I would be slower to regain my strength.” My gaze returned to my plate, and I refilled my fork. “Of course, this is much better than Legion grub, sir.”

Jauffre chuckled. “We’ve got a bunch of youngsters to feed here, Julian,” he commented. Youngsters? These Blades are in their third and fourth decades! As I shot him a look, I caught the flash of humor in his bright eyes. That sparkle faded as he regarded me for a few moments more. “I doubt you’re at your full strength yet, Julian,” he commented. “You’ve lived a hard life before Emperor Uriel found you, and it has taken its toll.”

Uncomfortable about the turn the conversation had taken, I met Martin’s gaze across the table. “And you, Sire, have you been able to sleep?” The dark circles under his eyes still remained.

“No, I still can’t,” he admitted, crossing his arms on the table and setting the cup at his elbow. “Though my appetite is returning. Hopefully that means sleep can’t be too far behind.” Again he and Jauffre exchanged glances. Now what is that all about?

“Grandmaster,” I said to the Breton next to me, “Captain Steffan said that you would decide what my place here is.”

“Ah, yes,” Jauffre nodded, his eyes moving to his mug. “Martin and I were just discussing that. The Amulet of Kings is crucial to things now. Without it, it would be difficult to prove Martin’s claim to the Ruby Throne.”

“Prove his claim?” I repeated, looking at Martin. “Why, anyone who has ever met Uriel Septim would see him in Martin!”

“It’s not so simple,” Martin met my gaze from under level brows. “The Dragonfires are dark, and the Amulet of Kings is necessary to relight them. Without the Dragonfires, the barriers between Nirn and Oblivion are open. That Gate you closed at Kvatch is an example of that failure.”

As I stared at him, my mind skittered over the implications of his statement. “You mean, more Oblivion Gates can open?” I whispered. “There can be more Kvatches?”

Martin nodded, his hazel eyes grim. With a deep breath, I leaned back. “By Akatosh.” Cacat. Cacat! Visions of burned out cities, haunted refugees, crying children flashed through my head, interspersed with images of dremora and tortured soldiers. My heartbeat slowed down, became a dull thud in my chest. No. We can’t let that happen. We have to find the Amulet. “We have to find the Amulet,” I echoed myself, blinking to bring myself back to the present. “But how?”

“That is your next task, Julian,” Jauffre responded. “As a Blades sister, you do realize that you are now under my command.”

“Of course, Grandmaster,” I responded. “That goes without saying, sir.”

“Good, we understand each other,” Jauffre took a sip. “We need to recover the Amulet before the enemy takes it out of our reach. The problem is, we don’t know who the enemy is. I’m hoping Baurus has managed to learn something more about the assassins.” He glanced again at me. “He is still in the Imperial City, investigating them. You can find him at Luther Broad’s Boarding House in the Elven Gardens District.”

“You want me to go find Baurus, learn out what he knows?” I asked.

“Not quite,” Jauffre responded. “I want you to find him, and place yourself under his command. He’ll find some use for you, I’m sure.”

Studying the black liquid in my mug, I considered his words. On the one hand, I found myself delighted to see Baurus again. He had been my first friend in this new life I found myself in. Would he feel the same way about me? His parting words to me gave hope that he indeed felt the same sense of comradeship that I did, the kind of bond that arises during intense combat.

On the other hand, I quailed at the thought of returning to the Imperial City, the place of my incarceration. Still unable to remember the events that led to my imprisonment, I wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t be thrown back into Prison. What if the City Watch recognizes me?

Meeting Jauffre’s steady gaze, I took another breath. “When do you want me to leave, Grandmaster?”

Draining his mug, Jauffre rose to his feet, taking his plate and fork. “As soon as you feel well enough to travel, Julian,” he said. “Time is critical, but you’re no use to us if you push yourself into a breakdown.” He stepped to a dry sink, and placed his dishes on the scratch pile within.

“Then I will leave this morning,” I glanced at Martin. “By your leave, Sire.”

He closed his eyes momentarily, then held my gaze. “Be careful, Julian.” I nodded at him, then rose to my feet to add my own breakfast debris to the dry sink. “I’d hate to lose my companion,” he added behind me. The words shook me. Sun’s Companion. Son’s Companion. As I glanced back at him, still seated at the table, I saw how lonely he looked there.

“I will see you again, Sire,” I put as much conviction as I felt into my voice. Martin lifted his gaze to mine and smiled.

“I do not doubt it, Julian.”

I loved all of it, but this line stood out because it is exactly how I felt the first time I played:


"On the other hand, I quailed at the thought of returning to the Imperial City, the place of my incarceration. Still unable to remember the events that led to my imprisonment, I wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t be thrown back into Prison. What if the City Watch recognizes me?"


I remember hiding out in woods to travel, afraid the guards would say "Escaping Prisoner" or something - till my son went into hysterics over it and embarassed me, lol.

A tasty breakfast. Good thing I read this after dinner. The Blades certainly eat good! Obviously Julian was in the wrong service all this time! Seriously though, Julian is toughening up. Strength which she will certainly need, given what is still to come.

The tai chi-esque exercise was a good touch, especially since you took the extra step to reveal it was more valued by the older soldiers for its value in toning muscle.

“You mean, more Oblivion Gates can open?” I whispered. “There can be more Kvatches?”
Bam! There it is, and the meaning of "Close Shut the jaws of Oblivion." now becomes all too clear. Not just one gate needs closing, but the entire open doorway that now exists between Nirn and the Daedric Realms. Yikes!

I should start by warning you that this is going to be a long post. I am going to try to use it to get myself current with Old Habits again. I swear, a few weeks away and I feel almost like a stranger to this board. You have been warned, let’s get started:

CHAPTER 5.1 Musings in Skingrad

Reading this chapter was like eavesdropping on a quiet conversation between two fascinating people.

I loved the way that you used Martin to anchor Julian in the present. The transitions between her memory and Martin’s questions were just superb.

In the end you have them both make confession to each other. The fact that they do so in a chapel, under the moonlight streaming through the pane-glass window of the God of wisdom, logic, and truth is a subtlety that really resonated with this reader.

Brilliant.

Chapter 5.2 Convalescence



*Destri hears the rhythmic click of tap shoes as haute dances around one of Oblivions glaring inconsistencies.*

This is a very good explanation of the ridiculous idea that you can buy a spell for which you have neither the skill nor the magicka to cast. I still can’t figure out why the game allows you to do that.

I’m also quite impressed with your description of the three components of a spell. It would be interesting to see how you would expand on the teaching of spells if Julian were to join the Mages Guild (blasphemy, I know).

Even if I had not read this before, I would have the feeling that Julian will get ample opportunity to practice restoration in the days to come.

Chapter 5.3 Lunch and Stories

This was another good explanation of why Julian can spontaneously cast the flare spell. With the easy humor that she and Martin share, you can almost feel the friendship forming between the two.

As minque so ably pointed out, your conversations alone are reason enough to want to keep reading. Bringing our haggard travelers to Weye and sitting them down with old Merowald is another fun, wonderful interlude. A lot of writers use these quiet moments in a story to prime their readers for the next moment of crisis, but with you I sense the same care and, I don’t know, respect given to these quiet moments as to your battle sequences.

A professor once gave me a wonderful piece of advice. She said:

“Treat your conversations like battles, and your battles like conversations.”

That seems to be a lesson that you know instinctively.

On a final note: YES!!! Julian finally has to sit there and take some praise! I imagine that she would deal with flying arrows with less discomfort!

Chapter 5.4 Thievery and Death

I echo all the comments already made about this chapter. ‘The Kvatch Wolf’, ‘Dagon’s sight’, Martin’s tendency to dive headlong into battle, all of it works extremely well.

Where I thought this chapter shined, though, was in the aftermath; the policing of the bodies of the assassins, Eronor’s insistence on taking care of Paint and taking the loaded cart to Chorrol himself was a far more eloquent statement of his gratitude than words could ever hope to convey. Finally, the disposition of Prior Maborel’s body was so well-rendered that it brought a lump into my throat. When Paint goes over and sniffs the body . . .

Heart-breaking.

Chapter 6.1 Night Ride

Thank you, thank you, thank you! I was wondering when Julian would address herself to fact that Martin seems to leap into battle far too quickly for a man upon whom so much depends. It must be difficult for him, after all. He goes to bed as a priest of Akatosh; he wakes up the Emperor of Tamriel. Nothing that has happened since the daedric invasion of Kvatch has occurred through Martin’s actions. Maybe jumping recklessly into battle is the only way that he can assert some measure of control over his fate.



*Insert applause here*

Like SubRosa I am struck by the sudden appearance of the raven. That can’t be a good omen.

Chapter 6.2 Dawn Arrival and Chapter 6.3 Captain Steffan

I combine these two chapters because, for me, they are two parts of a whole.

Like Olen said, I was mesmerized by your description of the Temple looming high up in the Jeralls. Martin’s speech when greeted by his new bodyguards held just enough reticence to show us that the reality of his situation has finally started to sink in.

The matter-of-fact way in which Jauffre inducts Julian into the Blades was still effective enough to bring a proud smile to my face. After all, we have followed and rooted for Julian from the depths of the Imperial City Prison to the heights of Cloud Ruler Temple. It almost feels as if our faith in her has been rewarded.

It is at this moment that Captain Steffan steps in. As ever you portray him with just the right amount of gruff confidence. I must confess that I was hoping to see a little more, I don’t know, not resentment but maybe a short, curt attitude towards Julian. I’m sure he, like all the Blades, trust implicitly in the judgment of Grandmaster Jauffre. But deep down it might be nice to see that this is a man who doesn’t think that Julian has earned the right to be a Blade . . . Hero of Kvatch be damned. That is a matter of personal opinion and doesn’t in any way take from the overall quality of your writing in these two chapters.

Chapter 6.4

Awww, I miss the polenta. You say this chapter was an exercise in free typing, eh? In that case you should free type every chance you get. The thing that I liked the most about this was the way you enabled us to get to know each Blade by his/her stances, attitudes, comments, and gestures. By the end of this chapter I had the feeling that Julian had been accepted and welcomed into this very special family who live their lives dedicated to the service of something greater than themselves. As a former member of the Legion, I bet Julian finally feels at home.

Chapter 6.5 A New Task

I remember asking you about Jelin’s Way of the Crane last time so I won’t rehash an old question. What I will comment on is the interplay between Julian and Cyrus, is there something there or should I avoid reading into it? And what about Baurus? Julian calls her feelings for him ‘comradeship’ but they seem to be more than that. I know that right now Julian is lost in the nightmare images of another Kvatch that play havoc with her mind and darken her sleep, but still. Even amidst tragedy we can still find the capacity to love.

Whew! Now I'm all caught up again.

Good couple of parts, I'd never noticed the sun's companion/ son's companion thing before.

I'm enjoying Julian's continuing development, you handle it well letting it happen then drawing attention to it once it's done. It makes her quite a complelling read. And now she's going back to the Imperial City... this could be most interesting and I'm interested to see how it goes.

@mALX: heh heh he - hiding from the telepathic guards, huh? Such a Maxical thing to do! No wonder your son cracked up!

@SubRosa: Yes, Julian is in for a tough time - she has no idea yet!

@Destri: Thanks for the fantastic review! Oh, and welcome back!

@Olen: Your thoughts and comments are most appreciated!

Nothing much happens in this chapter, just the sheer exhilaration of a fast ride down the mountainside and wandering thoughts. Something nice and quiet before things pick up again. Enjoy.

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

Chapter 6.6 On the Road Again

As I stepped out onto the plaza, I caught Fortis’s wave as he ducked Pelagius’s charge. Waving back, I started for the stable, my limp barely slowing me down. My heart felt heavy, unable to shake the feeling that I was abandoning Martin. Don’t be an idiot. These Blades will keep him safe. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to believe it.

My path intersected Captain Steffan’s patrol. He slowed his stride to match mine, looking down at me from beneath his helm. “How have you settled in here at Cloud Ruler Temple, Julian?”

“Wishing I didn’t have to leave already,” I responded truthfully. “The place is warm inside, and the company even warmer, sir.” With a glance at the distinctive roof line of the Hall of Blades, I shook my head. “This fortress is amazing - unlike any I’ve ever seen.”

“Aye, she’s a beauty, isn’t she?” the captain said, fondness clearly evident in his rough voice. “It’s hard not to admire the stonework. That’s some real craftsmanship.”

“I’m no judge,” I admitted, “but I noticed there is no mortar visible in the joints.”

“That’s because there isn’t any,” Steffan stated. “You can’t fit a knife blade between the stones, they’re so tightly laid.” He gazed proudly around the plaza. “You can travel all of Cyrodiil, nay, all of Tamriel, and never find anything better built than Cloud Ruler Temple.”

“For now, I’ll take your word for it, Captain,” I replied. Pausing outside the stable, I shifted my pack over my shoulder, looking back at the Hall. “Martin will be safe here, won’t he, Captain?” I gave voice to my worry.

Steffan’s gaze, as intensely blue as the sky behind his head, held mine for long seconds. Then he looked away, breathing deeply. “There was a time when I would have assured you of it,” he said quietly. “But after what has happened -” He turned back to me, his eyes and rough voice hard. “But I promise you, there isn’t a single Blade here who won’t die protecting the Emperor.”

“Thank you, Captain,” I said finally. “I believe you.” I did. That worry had eased quite a bit with his words and tone. “Until we meet again, sir.”

“Farewell, Julian,” the captain nodded at me. “Keep your eyes open and your heart true.” He turned from me and resumed his patrol.

“I have Paint ready for you,” Roliand appeared in the doorway of the stable, Paint in tow.

“Thanks,” I said to the tall Nord, hanging my pack from the cantle ring. I checked the bow and the Kvatch Wolf, still attached to the saddle. With a pat on his crested neck, I took Paint’s rein from Roliand.

“Come on, I’ll give you a leg up,” he said, putting his hands together beside Paint’s girth. “Put your left knee in my hands, and I’ll boost you up.”

With a moment’s hesitation, I did as he said. When my hand rested on the pommel, I glanced at Roliand. “Ready, Julian?” he asked me. I nodded.

Then I flew upward, barely keeping the presence of mind to swing my right leg over the cantle before I started returning to earth. Thanks to Roliand’s steadying grip on my left knee, I managed to make a soft landing on Paint’s back. Breathless, I looked down at his laughing grin.

“That was on purpose, wasn’t it?” I commented dryly.

“You’re in the saddle now, sister,” he returned, clapping my left knee. With a step back, he saluted me, fist to chestplate. “May your sword always strike true.”

Chirruping to Paint, I guided him toward the stone stairs leading down to the tall gates. He walked down the steep steps without hesitation, sure-footed and confident. Difficult terrain is easy for him, being mountain-born and -bred. Grateful for Paint’s sturdy bones, I remembered the other horses’ finer limbs.

We reached the tall gates and walked through. I patted Paint’s neck fondly as he stepped onto the mountain road. I’m glad Prior Maborel gave you to me. He tossed his head, as if agreeing with my thoughts, and his back rounded up beneath me.

Curious about what it was he wanted to do, I eased up on the reins. With no further prompting from me, Paint bounded into a wonderful, rocking canter down the steep mountain road. The sheer exhilaration of our rapid descent took my breath away, and my heart pounded as I took hold of the high pommel with my right hand.

After a couple of strides, I relaxed into the rocking motion of Paint’s back, keeping my legs quiet at his sides. Paint slowed a little when we reached the bottom of the slope, but did not break out of the canter as he took the sharp bend. He followed the road towards the North Gate, and faltered only when we approached the fork where the path wound along the city walls. I leaned the rein against the right side of his neck, and Paint smoothly glided left to take the path. His body shifted under me as he took the curves in stride.

Reveling in his powerful canter, I did not stop as we neared the East Gate, only steered the gelding onto the Silver Road. His hooves pounded the cobblestones rhythmically as we followed the road. He did not slow down to a walk until we reached the junction of the Orange and Silver Roads. With a hard snort, he tossed his head and bounced a little, as if to say, well, that was fun, haven’t done that in a long time.

His obvious pleasure made me laugh out loud, even though my eyes automatically scanned the area around us for enemies. The sunlight cascaded warmly around us, and the air grew warmer as we continued onto the southern half of the Silver Road. As Paint settled into a marching walk, I looked up and noticed the vista opening up before us, anchored by the White Gold Tower. It fascinated me that I could look almost directly down into the Imperial City from the heights in the Jeralls.

That’s the mark of the Ayleids, I mused. They built their cities to be visible for miles, as a way to assert their dominance over their slaves. How hard was it for Alessia’s forces to capture that city? How long did they besiege it before it fell? How many warriors died taking it?

The snow faded into green grass and blooming shrubs. Trees changed from towering pines and aspens to spreading beech and oak. The air grew softer, milder. Our breaths became invisible. Bird song changed, from the chirping of sparrows and the croaking of ravens, to the melodies of larks and the laughter of jays. Butterflies became larger and more colorful. Scents rose on the warming air, the scents of honeysuckle and wild roses, rich loam and animal dung.

And Cloud Ruler Temple, who built that? It is so different, so unique. I’ve never seen anything like it. Maybe Captain Steffan is right, there’s nothing else like it. I should ask him more about it. I liked looking at buildings, identifying the different styles. I had already noticed the regional variation within Cyrodiil itself, much as I had found it elsewhere during my postings. Yet Cloud Ruler Temple followed its own rules. How did they get those massive stone blocks up that steep mountainside? How did they get stones fitted so tightly that mortar is unneeded? And where did they find such massive timbers for the framing?

“Well, Paint,” I said, rubbing the gelding’s coarse mane affectionately. “I guess we’ll never know, won’t we?” He just flicked an ear back at me without faltering in his stride.

Now I have Willie Nelson on the mind, thanks to your title...

Julian's feeling of abandoning Martin at the beginning was moving. Once again we see she is the Son's Companion.

“You can travel all of Cyrodiil, nay, all of Tamriel, and never find anything better built than Cloud Ruler Temple.”
A certain stringy wood elf still argues that Nerussa is built better...

How hard was it for Alessia’s forces to capture that city? How long did they besiege it before it fell? How many warriors died taking it?
I have been reading some Ayleid stuff lately, and it was basically one guy. Pelinal Whitestrake, who stormed the tower single-handedly and killed the Ayleid King. You can tell that was written by a modern American male...

Ahh, the wild ride down the mountains! This is one of my all time favorite parts of OHDH, featuring my two favorite characters bonding in an experience that would typically be overlooked by most writers. Your riding skillz show through in the writing, and really makes the ride come alive.

You mentioned Paint being mountain-born and bred. Have you ever thought about going into more depth on the breeds of horses in Tamriel? Obviously many modern names could not be used, like Arabians, but some could be squeezed in (I think it reasonable for Bretons to have breeds named Percherons, Brabants, and of course Bretons. Cyrodiil might have the Shire, and generic names like Quarter Horse and Thoroughbred would still work.), and others just invented. I can see the desert horses of Hammerfell (called Alik'rs?) and Elsweyr being the hot bloods, like our Arabians and Barbs. Then cold bloods native to places like Cyrodiil, and warm blood mixes all over. It is something I would go into more depth on in the TF, but being that Teresa does not know how to ride and is not likely to ever learn, horses are not really a focus of mine.

You show how at home she feels in cloud ruler well with her thoughts and conversations on leaving, it shows quite a lot of her. How she never recovered from being in the Legion then not being and how she's finding herself again.

There was more of her improving mood with the ride down the hill, sounded terrifying to me but she seemed to enjoy it

I'm still looking forward to seeing the Imperial City again.

Ahhh, what a good read, now just before bedtime! Calmly you take the story forward, with those utmost superb conversations....it's a sheer pleasure to read, you know!

Btw....do you have a pic of Julian? I've heard she'd be a redguard with white hair? that sounds amazing...

waiting to see Jules!!

Way back in post #45 there is one

On the road again...just can't wait to get on the road again...the life I love is making music with my friends...and I can't wait to get on the road again!

Try getting it out of your head now!

You have really given Cloud Ruler Temple itself and also its inhabitants such great personalities!!!

Cloud ruler temple is an amazing place. The only thing that it doesn't seem to have is a lock on the front door. Bloody thing is always open everytime I rock up to the place. With daedra prowling the land it just doesn't make sense.....

I loved the description on the journey south. The birds, the flowers, the fall of the land. Awesome !!

Just a question. What level would Julian be at this point?

In this chapter I see the same quality in Paint that I imagine exists in the rented mules that ferry people down the trail of the Grand Canyon. You know, that sort of ‘I know the trail’ confidence that makes it seem as if they would much rather the idiot on their back just close his eyes and enjoy the ride than try some feeble attempt at steering. It was nice to see that Julian has developed enough trust in Paint that she is willing to just let go.

A few things that caught my eye:



This truly is a minor nitpick, but you could probably get rid of the first utterance of the word ‘blue’ in this sentence.



One of my favorite things about Julian’s story is her fascinating lapses into reverie. Her tendency to wonder at the rich history of Cyrodiil really makes the enormity of her world come to life.

@SubRosa: Thanks for your insights. I can not read (or listen to) Steffan's comments about the craftsmanship of Cloud Ruler without your comment echoing in my mind. As for how White Gold Tower fell to Alessia's forces, well, Julian is likely aware of the story of Pelinal Whitestrake. Being Legion herself, she knows all too well how stories of combat become unrecognizable as the truth. Just listen to Farwil Indarys's account of how his Knights of the Thorn decimated the daedra inside the Cheydinhal Gate! As for the breeds of horses, I found basing breed on color to be simplistic, but I recognize that most people can not tell the difference between a piebald and a skewbald, or a Paint and a Pinto, let alone a Thoroughbred and an Arabian. I wanted to highlight some of the other not so obvious differences between the breeds. The Cheydinhal blacks are definitely of a Thoroughbred type, while the chestnuts make me think more of Saddlebreds. The bays are likely reminiscent of generic warmbloods, however the Legion bays are definitely Selle Francais. As for Paints, well, they're most like Paints/Quarter Horses, natch. The white ones are Morgan/Lippizaners - the baroque type. I've seen Slof's horses, and some of them strongly resemble the draft horses (Belgians, Percherons, Clydesdales, Shires). Likely I will expand on bloodlines and breeding for specific types and purposes later in the story.

@Olen: I think you've pretty much summed up her character at this point most precisely. Being out of the Legion has left a void in her soul, and she is trying to fill it back up. The Blades, or at least the garrison at Cloud Ruler Temple, is doing a good job of it. As for the ride down the mountainside, I'm glad I've conveyed the terror of a headlong gallop, and hope that I've conveyed the trust Julian has in this mountain-bred horse of hers. The first time I rode in the mountains (on a rented horse, no less), I pretty much let the horse pick his own way. I just pointed him in the direction I wanted him to go, and left him alone. It's the safest way to do it! One can not micromanage a horse, nor should one try.

@minque: So glad to see your comments! It lets me know you're still reading Julian. As I PM'd you, and as SubRosa pointed out, there is already a screenie earlier in the thread.

@mALX: It's a good thing I'm not familiar with Willie Nelson! I've had problems with earworms in the past, and they're not always enjoyable! I'm glad you still enjoy visiting Cloud Ruler Temple. Julian and I wish we could stay there forever (though my motives are somewhat different from hers - )!

@Winter Wolf: He he! I always wondered why the city gates are always closed, no matter the hour of the day, and Cloud Ruler is always open! Cloud Ruler has a permanent watch on the gate (Achilles), he can always call down to have the gates opened when he recognizes someone in the driveway; yet I can always get in the cities though there isn't always an obvious gate guard. Go figure! As for what level Julian is at this point, I'm not strictly following gameplay. Based on the enemies appearing here, she'd be about a Level 3 or so, and will probably be about 10 or 11 at the end of the MQ. However, I'm not following the strict leveling system of the game, as it feels so artificial to me. Instead, I'm letting Julian develop at her own pace, regardless of what is appearing in the world.

@Destri: I think you have nailed Julian's relationship with Paint (and I think your average mule is way smarter than the majority of the tourists). Paint is the perfect horse for novice riders - confident, sensible, and just plain fun. I'll have to warn you, though, eventually, Julian outgrows Paint, and will have to move on to another horse. At some point in the far future, you will be introduced to her next steed. And this one will gladly run up the Chapel steps and take on the daedra with Julian! However, at her present level of riding, that's just too much horse for her. I have fixed your nit, I agree it reads better without the repetition. And I'm glad you enjoy the peek at Julian's private reveries.


The next chapter describes an encounter with a Legion rider. Being Legion herself, Julian always tries to keep on their good side. Makes life (and traveling) so much easier . . .

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Chapter 6.7 Marc Atellus

The sounds of combat reached us as we approached the white arches of an Ayleid ruin to the left, where the Silver Road joined the Red Ring Road. A Legion bay stood in front of the ruin near the road. I stopped Paint next to him and dismounted, collecting the Kvatch Wolf from the cantle. My katana drawn, I followed the sounds into the ruins.

Within a damaged colonnade, I found the tents of a camp. Two men in heavy armor battled a Legion rider, arrows bristling in his steel plate. The twanging of a bowstring to my left drew my attention to a catwalk around the colonnade. Oblivious to my presence, a red-haired Imperial archer notched another arrow to her weapon. Using a nearby broken column as an impromptu step, I hobbled onto the springy boards of the catwalk. She caught my approach and dropped her bow in time to draw her dagger. Without hesitation, I charged her as swiftly as my bum knee would let me.

While I had the advantage with the longer reach of my katana, she was quick, and well armored with a steel cuirass. Ducking my first swing, she closed in with her dagger swooping low. As I skipped back out of its arc, I tapped her in the back of her bare head with the hilt before she could draw away. She staggered, but somehow kept her feet and retreated a couple of steps.

In the corner of my eye, the rider felled one of the two marauders he faced, and took a heavy blow on his shoulder from the remaining fighter. In front of me, the woman made her charge, but I stepped to my right, deflecting her weapon on my shield. As she stumbled past me, I stabbed the tip of my blade into her side, between the front and back of her cuirass. She groaned as I pulled the sword out, her dagger skittering away off the catwalk as she fell. Just to be certain, I stabbed her exposed throat.

My good knee flexed to absorb the shock of my landing, I jumped down and hobbled toward the two men still battling it out. The Nord towered over me, his bare head higher than my own. My katana moved low and slashed across the exposed backs of his knees. When he staggered and dropped to his knees, the horseman’s blade flashed across the marauder’s exposed throat. As the Nord dropped with a clatter of steel plate, I locked eyes with the rider.

Distrust flared in the other’s eyes, and I quickly put my katana away. “Are you hurt, sir?” I asked breathlessly. He inhaled deeply, taking a wary look around before sheathing his sword. Without answer, he started yanking arrows out of his steel plate in disgust. When he pulled on one embedded in his left greave, he caught his breath. The rider limped to the broken column I had used previously, and half-sat, half leaned against it, dropping his shield with a clatter. Following him, I took a closer look at the wound. Blood seeped through the quilted underpinning of the steel plate, around the shaft of the arrow.

“My name is Julian,” I offered. “May I help you, sir?”

“Just pull it out,” he growled between clenched teeth. As I knelt next to him, I lowered the Kvatch Wolf to the ground. My left hand braced against the padding around the arrow, I gripped the shaft with my right.

“Count to three, sir,” I said.

“One, OW!” he bellowed as I yanked the arrowhead out. With a groan he leaned against the stone arch behind him. “Oh, frick, what happened to two?”

My dagger made quick work of cleaning the padding from around the wound as I carefully picked out the fibers that had embedded into the flesh with the arrowhead. I kept pressure on the gash while I groped beneath my leather cuirass for some of the red wool from the assassin’s robe. Folded down, it made a suitable, if colorful, dressing, the long ends tied around his thigh. The rider looked at me as I leaned back.

He had removed his helm, and his craggy, weathered face registered pain. His grey eyes considered me in appraisement. While I returned his regard, I found him to be about my own age, though he still had strength and agility to spare in his movements.

“I’m surprised you would help me, ma’am,” he remarked, still breathing hard. Wiping the sweat from his face, he locked gazes with me again. “Not that I’m ungrateful, mind.”

“Why wouldn’t I help you, sir?” I rose to my feet and reached into my belt pouch. “After all, we both serve the Emperor.”

The last vestiges of distrust faded from the horseman’s eyes, to be replaced by sadness. “We did,” he corrected. “Now we serve no one.”

Not I - I serve the Emperor still. “But isn’t the Emperor more than just the man?” I asked, drawing out a vial of healing potion. “Isn’t the Emperor an idea, too, the idea of empire, an empire of peace and prosperity?”

He tilted his head thoughtfully at me, scrubbing at his bristled salt-and-pepper scalp. “Odd hearing such talk from a Redguard,” he muttered. Silently, I handed him the potion. On a sudden smile, his grey eyes warmed at me. “Thanks for helping me, ma’am. I would have been hurt much worse had you not come along and finished that archer for me.” He gave me a loose salute, brushing his right fist against his chestplate. “Marc Atellus, at your service.” He uncorked the vial and gulped down the vile liquid.

“Hey, us Legion soldiers have to stick together, don’t we?” I returned his smile as he handed the vial back to me.

“You’re Legion?” his eyes sharpened at me. “Carrying a Kvatch Wolf,” he pointed at my shield, “and, if I’m not mistaken, an Akaviri katana?”

“Well, I was discharged a few years ago,” I admitted. “But old habits die hard, sir.” I picked up the shield and slid it onto my left forearm. “I got this for assisting the Kvatch Guard.”

His gaze darkened. “Terrible news, that,” he muttered. “The whole town destroyed, overrun by daedra.”

Still winded, I leaned against an upturned stone block next to Atellus. “Not anymore, sir.” I remarked, avoiding his stare.

“So that’s how you assisted the Guard?” Now Atellus regarded the hilt of the katana at my side. “May I see that blade, Julian?” he asked, addressing me by name for the first time. “I’ve seen them, but never handled one.”

Initially I hesitated, but saw only open curiosity on the rider’s face. The katana whispered as I drew it. I handed it to him, hilt first. He hefted the blade thoughtfully, then swished it experimentally through the air. Its song as the weapon carved intricate figures of reflected sunlight was almost audible from where I sat. Flipping the weapon, he caught the blade in his gauntleted hand and extended the grip back to me.

“Thanks, ma’am,” he said. “Pretty light, but that blade looks wicked keen. I’m told it keeps its edge better than our own silver longswords,” he slapped his own hilt for emphasis. “What did you do to get an Akaviri katana?”

The sword put away, I glanced sidelong at him. “Assisted the Blades, sir,” I answered after a moment. Atellus rubbed at the stubble along his jaw.

“Is there anyone you didn’t assist?” he remarked, his tone deceptively casual. I pointed at the marauders.

“Them, sir,” I responded. Atellus guffawed loudly, clapping me on the shoulder and nearly knocking me off my block.

“Ach, you’re all right,” he grinned at me. Then his smile faded into somberness. “The Blades were supposed to protect the Emperor. They failed.” It took considerable self control to bite my tongue against the inclination to defend Baurus and the others. “That’s not to say the Legion would have fared better,” Atellus added softly. Silently I regarded the armor encasing the dead marauders.

“Lowest scum,” Atellus had caught my gaze. “But good source of heavy armor, if you can kill ‘em for it.”

I slapped my own cuirass. “No, thanks, sir, I like Batul gra-Sharob’s work too well.”

Again that hearty guffaw. Atellus rose, careful of his injured leg. Tentatively he tested it, then grinned at me. “Just a flesh wound, it’ll heal in a heartbeat.”

Thoughtfully I regarded him, then reached into my belt pouch again. “Do you have any more healing potions, sir?” He shook his head.

“Nay, I used the last of it up by Fingerbowl Cave, and haven’t had a chance to resupply.” His eyes lit up when I handed him my last two vials. “By the Nine, you would share your healing potions?”

“I don’t have the willpower to cast a convalescence spell on you yet,” I answered dryly. “Though I’m told that with a little practice on myself, I ought to be able to.”

His eyes on my face, Atellus drank down the potions and handed back the empty vials. Gesturing at my left cheek, he grinned. “There’s some practice right there. That archer got you with her dagger, it seems.”

My fingertips felt the blood where he had indicated. “I didn’t notice,” I muttered, quickly casting a healing spell on myself.

“Aye, the way you fight,” Atellus’s tone took on an admiring note, “you wouldn’t notice anything so slight. You have more grievous wounds that hurt like the dickens, the way you move.” He started out of the camp. I rose to my feet and trailed him back to where the horses waited. “I’m headed to Roxey Inn,” he continued, waving eastward. “Are you going that way, ma’am?”

“No, sir, I’m headed to the Imperial City,” I answered, picking up Paint’s rein and leading him to one of the interminable blocks scattered around the ruin. “I think I’m going west.”

Atellus mounted his horse slowly, with some effort. With a slow exhalation, he waited until I had clambered onto Paint. “I’ve cleared the road as far as Aleswell,” he pointed up the hill to the west of us. “Nice inn there,” he frowned at a sudden thought, “though I haven’t seen anyone there for a while. I’m starting to hear stories from travelers that the place is haunted. Don’t make sense, though,” he added that last to himself. Grinning at me, he gave me a casual Legion salute. “Travel safe, and by the Nine, stay on the roads!”

“All right, Atellus, I will,” I answered.

“And thanks again, Julian, for your unexpected assistance!” he called back as we parted ways.

Once again we see the easy fashion in which Julian makes friends. I am with Atellus, is there anyone that Julian doesn't assist (apart from the marauders, I mean)? Your description of the battle was terrific, I always wondered why an archer would draw a dagger on an opponent with a sword and shield. Talk about bringing a knife to a sword fight!


You have just described the removal of every loose tooth, splinter, and burr of my youth. I cringed reading it!


I really like how you are able to sum up hundreds of years of lingering animosity with a sentence of seven words. Being from Anvil, I doubt that Julian would foster the hatred in her heart that someone born into a Crown household in Hegathe might have.


*Insert applause here*


Her initial hesitation tells us all we need to know about how Julian feels about surrendering her weapon. I am a little surprised that Atellus would even ask, knowing her to be former Legion (of course, that might be why he feels comfortable asking).


I like how you incorporated the in game dialogue here.

This was an excellent chapter the first time I read it. Familiarity does not diminish my enjoyment. More please!

Julian ROCKS! She comes across so natural the reader can't help but become attached to her!

Chapter 6 has been all about laying foundations. This installment is no different, in that we see Julian creating solid relationships with the legionaries who patrol the roads. Something I am sure we will see more of in the future, given how much she will have to travel during the MQ.


a red-haired Imperial archer notched another arrow to her weapon
So is Athynae making her OHDH appearance here?

Another exciting battle. I was wondering if you might have gone back and edited in that brilliant move that the one left-handed samurai used in When The Last Sword Is Drawn, where he struck the guy in the chest, and then moved behind him and stabbed him through the back before he could fall. I would have to watch that scene again to remember exactly what he did, but I am sure you recall the one I mean.

I see Julian is also practicing her jumping. Good thing, considering what is ahead of her in the sewer!

“Oh, frick, what happened to two?”
Indeed, most people at least wait until two to pull it out on a three count! That Julian is a tricksy hobbit...

I’m told it keeps its edge better than our own silver longswords,
Just an idea that you can use or freely ignore, but I have decided not to use silver weapons in the TF, as the metal is really not suited to it. Instead I am replacing them with mithril ones. It goes with the armor that is already out there, looks the same (for screenshots), and is a lot more believable.

I can't really think of what to say except excellent as always. It shows how far Julian has come since escaping in many ways that she can (and does) wade in and help out a legionaire. She'll be getting quite a name among them...

The fight was well done and a clear demonstration of why it is vastly preferable to have two people in a fight rather than one (it always puzzled me that the road patrols travelled alone).

Interesting point on the silver longswords, I'm quite sure steel would hold a better edge... unless magic was involved . Saying that I'd always imagined them to be some sort of combination, like a steel sword but with silver decor on the blade (though that would be extremely difficult to do giving the tempertaure required to melt silver is similar to that to temper steel).

Just caught up again with 6.4 - 6.7. Julian's story continues to be a wonderful read. Very rich. I love your first person POV of course.

@Destri: I'm glad you picked up on the multiple layers in this interchange between Julian and Atellus. He's relatively uncomplicated, and a good man to know (unlike a certain rider near Skingrad). He does bring out the best in Julian's character i.e. her tendency to help others that need it.

@mALX and Acadian: Thanks for continuing to read this!

@SubRosa: The red-headed Imperial archer is not Athynae - I wouldn't make Trey's wonderful lady into a mere marauder in my fiction! As for the maneuver you described from the movie, I think I know the one you mean. That left handed swordsman is amazing in those fight scenes, I think. As for silver weapons, I find them quite useless for the most part. They do as much damage as steel, if I remember correctly, yet weigh much more than steel. Julian ends up keeping her katana throughout the MQ.

@Olen: It shows how far Julian has come since escaping in many ways that she can (and does) wade in and help out a legionaire. She'll be getting quite a name among them... More prophetic words have not been spoken! As for the steel vs. silver debate, as I said above, I find silver to be awfully heavy for the amount of damage it inflicts. Though not necessarily true in-game, I've always visualized the katanas (and dai-katanas) as being of better quality manufacture than the standard steel swords, the way the samurai or the Damascene blades were better than the standard swords - it's all in the forging. Oh, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter, considering how you've been looking forward to her return to the Imperial City.

Now Julian confronts her worry about whether or not she will be recognized as the brawling drunk that got herself kicked out of the City, only to be arrested in Weye and thrown into the Prison. She also sees the City through sober eyes for the first time.

*********************
Chapter 7.1: A Walk Through the City

Leaving Paint with Merowald in Weye, I limped across the Great Bridge and trudged up the steep road to the Imperial City entrance. A Watchman met my gaze, and I saw recognition in his eyes.

“Hello, Julian,” he greeted me. “That was a nice thing you did for Merowald, ma’am.” The Watchman I met at the Wawnet Inn.

“It was the least I could do, since he took such good care of Paint,” I answered. “I know next to nothing about horses, and that was my first day in the saddle.”

His eyebrows lifted under the steel helm. “Really?” he remarked. “Could’ve fooled me.” He tilted his head at the open gates just behind him. “Business in the City?”

“Yes, sir.” My eyes moved to the massive portal before me as I nodded. Here goes nothing. Either I get thrown into jail, or I find Baurus.

“See you around, Julian,” the Watchman said, his eyes already scanning the traffic moving in and out of the City. I let the flow carry me within the white walls.

Moving to the curb, I paused to take a look around. Ahead, wide steps led up to a circular colonnade which sheltered a rearing dragon. Tall mansions surrounded the statue, their ornate facades complementing the style of the rotunda, their bronze doors gleaming in the late afternoon light.

The smell of stone dust, sun on lichen, the sweat from numerous bodies assailed my nose after the clean air on the road. Heat shimmered off the pavements and marble walls, overcoming the slight lake breeze that crept in the open gates.

Voices and footsteps swirled between the buildings and crested along the high walls like the high tide running through the coastal chimneys of my childhood in Anvil. High Rock, Skyrim, Wrothgarian accents competed with myriad other dialects I didn’t recognize. Street urchins and ragged Khajiits darted through the chaos.

Stop gawking like a country bumpkin, Julian, I told myself. It’s not like it’s the first large city you’ve ever been in. Looking for someone I could ask for directions, I locked gazes with a Watchman, his plate armor adding to the commotion as he clanked toward me. My heart started pounding, and my palms collected all the moisture from my mouth. Please, Akatosh, let him be going somewhere else. He stopped in front of me, his gaze traveling from my white hair to the Kvatch Wolf on my left arm to my dusty boots. I ignored the voice in my head screaming Run! and held my ground, breathing deeply.

His level gaze returned to mine, containing only a neutral alertness. His sword remained sheathed at his side. “Good day, ma’am,” he said, his quiet voice carrying well in the babble of the street. “What brings you to the Imperial City?”

“I’ve been traveling all day, sir,” hoping the nerves I felt didn’t show in my voice, I answered as quietly. “I’ve been told that Luther Broad’s Boarding House is a good place to stay, but I don’t know where it is.”

“That’s in the Elven Gardens District, ma’am,” he responded. “You’re in the Talos Plaza District.” He pointed at the tall dragon statue in the center of the round piazza ahead. “Turn left at the Dragon, follow Talos Way. Go through the gates at the end, you’ll be in the Elven Gardens then. Continue down Garden Way, that’s what the main street is called there, to the center. You’ll find Luther’s on the left hand side at the intersection with Home Street.”

“Thanks, sir,” I nodded, recalling that the Imperial City was laid out like a wheel.

“You’ll find Luther’s to be comfortable,” he assured me, before turning to the Watchmen standing near the gates in the outer wall. With a stifled sigh of relief, I headed toward the plaza.

Diving back into the traffic, I trudged up the steps to the towering statue of Akatosh. Turning left at the open rotunda, I identified Talos Way by its gentle curve and started northward. The daylight faded fast, brought on by the overcast gathering above. The air grew more oppressive, more humid. Around me, the streetlights began glowing, set alit one by one. A petite Breton woman, clad in a mage apprentice robe, cast a pinpoint flare at the next lantern. The glowing flame settled within its iron cage and grew into a snapping, crackling torch fire that filled the entire fixture. She caught me watching and smiled, not pausing in her task.

The open gates dividing the two quarters appeared before me as I limped along Talos Way. The traffic of people trickled away, and I realized that the dinner hour was upon us. It was full dark by the time I reached the gates and passed through, avoiding the gazes of the Watchmen standing guard on either side of the portal.

“It’s going to storm,” one guard said to his counterpart on the other side of the portal. “I can feel it in my joints.”

“You can feel everything in your joints,” the other growled back. “I think it’s just your rhoomatik talking.”

“And my rhoomatik knows everything,” the first shot back. He caught my involuntary glance as I walked past. “Ma’am.”

My limping stride paused as I regarded the weathered face of the older Watchman, the boyish visage of the other. I couldn’t resist the repartee. “Actually, my nose says it’s going to storm,” I added, laying my finger along my thrice-broken appendage. “I can smell it.”

The younger Watchman grumbled something about old folks as I winked at the weathered face and continued on. They don’t recognize me, or they don’t care, as long as I don’t make any trouble. Smiling to myself, I continued deeper into the Elven Gardens.

The air here was softer, less oppressive, the buildings set back from the streets. Small gardens fronted each residence, smaller than those in the Talos Plaza, but still ornate in their decorations and design. The doors here were clad in copper, rather than the bronze of the more wealthy district, but still beautiful with that distinctive verdigris patina. Lush roses, fragrant jasmine, and showy morning glory climbed the lower levels of the residences, while perky primroses bloomed alongside the curb.

Dark green magnolias and brilliant red dwarf maples arched over the street and stood guard beside the stoops leading to those copper doors. In spite of the overcast, the atmosphere of the district was inviting, clean, and cheerful.

Ahead, triple-armed streetlamps marked the center of the district, casting a warm yellow light on the surrounding plantings. On one corner, a sign above a large double door announced The King and Queen Tavern. Across the smaller Home Street, Luther Broad’s Boarding House topped a single green-patinaed door. The rain started falling as I crossed the street and opened the door.

I good description of the Imperial City but still no Baurus, I want to see how you potray him .


Brilliant. Especially the sun of lichen, an unusual observation but all the more evocative for it. I'd have never thought of mentioning that smell but it really brings the place alive.

I liked the gate guards. rhoomatik , a little homage to Pratchett per chance?

Good stuff.

A Watchman met my gaze
So was that The Comedian? Nite Owl? Ozymandius?

I ignored the voice in my head screaming Run! and held my ground, breathing deeply.
Reminds me of a certain stringy Bosmer her first time back in the IC as well. I think we were all there our first time playing the game, when we had no idea what would happen the first time we met a guardsman after escaping from the prison.

One of the things I liked in this was how you created street names. Talos Way, Garden Way, Elm Street (watch for the burned guy with the claws...), etc... It is a small thing, but little things like that, and the apprentice lighting the lamps, add up to weave a strong setting.

And now on to Luther, I hear he has the best broads in the city! Then of course Baurus, James Baurus...

My first impression upon reading this chapter was that I, like Olen, was drawn in by your description of the Imperial City, but it did raise a question. Is this Julian’s first time in the city proper? I know that you made a point of saying that her last visit to the city was done under the debilitating effect of skooma. And we have all witnessed the fact that she has a great familiarity with the dungeon and the catacombs beneath it. It comes as a surprise to me that she describes the city as if she were coming into it for the first time in her life. I would imagine that even under a skooma haze, familiar surroundings remain familiar.

Then I read this line:

QUOTE

Isn’t it nice when reading something raises a question in your mind that is answered only a few paragraphs down the page?

SubRosa already addressed the wonderful detail of the street names. Let me add to her praise by saying that the Breton woman lighting the street lamps was an especially nice touch.


This poor guard has no idea just how true that statement is!

I like Julian's inner dialogue. She doesn't chatter to herself, but she is thinking constantly - another great chapter !!!!

Hautie! This is amazing! Julian really is one of a kind....love it, just love it!

Everyone makes so extensive comments and as I agree with most of it, I'll jusrt say....


S.G.M

@Olen: Ahh, the smell of sun on lichen - I wanted to capture the hot sun on this late summer's day, and the feel of a city sweltering in the last gasp of the dog days. According to my story calendar, it's 6 Hearthfire. Around here, we often get one last hot day or two in the week after Labor Day weekend (the first weekend in September for those who don't live in the US). I figured describing it that way would evoke that same feeling for others. I've never read Pratchett, to my dying chagrin, but my Dad always pronounced it as rhoomatik. Oh, and heeeeere's Baurus!

@SubRosa: Do you have the same graphic novel I do? I think of it sometimes, but no, nothing to do with the Watchmen. I've heard the same thing about Luther, too!

@Destri: Actually, Julian never made it across the Great Bridge until she was arrested in Weye. At that time, she was too out of it to remember more than a mishmash of impressions. So, this was actually her first time in the Imperial City under her own volition.

@mALX: Thanks for the compliment. Yes, Julian is a thinker, but she's no chatterbox.

@minque: Getting a S.G.M. from you is quite the honor! I do hope you'll write more Serene - she's an amazing character and I have enjoyed reading her story. In response to your comment on another thread, please don't be shy about your writing. I really enjoy how Serene gets put through the wringer and manages to hang on to her best qualities and only grows stronger.

Things start to pick up again, as Julian finds her first friend in her new life. And yes, there is a broad in Luther’s.

******************
Chapter 7.2 Finding Baurus

Within the warm interior, I paused to look around. The large common room contained comfortable chairs and benches around tables of varying sizes, most of them occupied by small groups of patrons. Animated conversations, punctuated by laughter, added to the cheerful atmosphere. The bar, set in the back next to a flight of stone stairs headed up to a second floor, had few open stools, the rest taken up by patrons in varying stages of inebriation.

My gaze lingered on a dour Breton man seated by himself in the rear corner opposite the bar, reading a book. He stood out like a minotaur in a crockery shop. I eyed the other patrons again. A few Redguards were sprinkled through the gathering, all in nondescript street clothes. How would I know Baurus? I’ve never seen him out of armor, without his helm.

A buxom serving-lass, cleavage emphasized by a tight-laced bodice, wove her way between the tables. She paused to empty her tray of ale-glasses with a group of three men, and stopped before me. A winsome smile on her rosy lips belied the canny eye she cast at me. “Table or bar?” she asked, pitching her voice to be heard over the constant cacophony.

Glancing at the bar again, I spotted an empty seat next to a burly Redguard. I couldn’t be certain, but I thought I saw the glimmer of a katana at the man’s left hip. “Bar, I think,” I said to her. The wench pouted.

“Luther’ll take care of you, then,” she said, waving for me to seat myself. I almost apologized to her, but bit my lip. She’s earning enough tips from these patrons.

A stout Imperial man regarded me with brown eyes beneath white arched brows as I set my shield down against the bar and perched on the stool. Grey hair in a fringe above his ears emphasized the egg shape of his head. He set the glass he was wiping down. “What’d ya have, ma’am?”

My stomach emphatically reminded me that I had not had anything to eat, other than a few slices of waybread in the saddle, since breakfast that morning at Cloud Ruler Temple. My dry throat insisted on satisfaction before permitting the thought of eating. “I’ll have water, sir,” I said. “For now.”

One brow climbed into his forehead as Luther Broad regarded me sardonically. “How would you like that, ma’am?” he remarked. “On the rocks, with a brandy chaser, or a twist of lime? How about an infusion of ginger?” Some of the barbirds stopped their conversation long enough to listen. “Oh, wait, let me guess,” Broad held up a finger, “a couple of drops of citrus oil, with a garnish of mint?”

Aware of the growing attention on me, I held the Imperial’s gaze steadily. “How’s your well, sir?”

His eyes narrowed at me.”Spring-fed, and clean, ma’am.”

“Then that’s how I’ll take it, sir,” I countered. Chuckles rippled up and down the bar as the barkeep grinned at me. He picked up a clean glass and headed to the back bar, where the brass water tap gleamed against the dark wood. As the customers on my right returned to their chatter, I glanced at the Redguard on my left. Baurus?

“I wonder if the food here is any good, sir,” I remarked to him as the barkeep returned with my glass, full of clear liquid.

“If you like it plain and hearty, yes,” Baurus’s voice responded. The Redguard took a sip of his ale reflectively. “If your tastes run to candied plums and spiced roast Niben boar, you’re crap out of luck, ma’am.” The barkeep, catching his comment, chuckled.

“As long as it has more flavor than Legion polenta, I’d be happy,” I countered, meeting the Imperial’s gaze.

“Listen,” Baurus leaned slightly to me, lowering his voice, “I’m going to get up and walk out of here in a minute. Notice that Breton in the back corner by himself when you came in?” I nodded. “He’s going to follow me. You follow him.”

With a quick glance at the barkeep, who watched us with a somber expression, I took a sip of my water. “Ready whenever you are, sir.” I said to Baurus.

“Wait for him to follow me. I want to see what he does next,” Baurus stood up, draining the last of his ale, then walked to the rear, around the corner of the bar. As I reached down for the Kvatch Wolf, I saw the Breton put his book away in a back bag and hurry after Baurus. After a heartbeat, I limped to the rear, just in time to see the other man step through a door.

The barkeep gave me a slight nod when I glanced back, making certain no one else had spotted me. The door swung open silently at my light touch, and I stepped through onto a descending flight of stairs, their steps shrouded in darkness. Against the dim light of the cellar below, I could see a dark figure disappear around the corner.

Limping as silently down the steps as my heavy boots would allow, I soon reached the cellar floor. Baurus’s voice reached me from the shadows of the underground chamber. “Hello, stranger,” he stepped casually toward the Breton. “Why are you following me?”

The other man jumped back, raising his left hand to cast familiar sulfur smoke. “Die, Redguard!” Baurus drew his katana in time to strike the other’s arm, now encased in red-and-black armor, deflecting the daedric mace to the side. My own katana had sought my right palm and moved, almost of its own volition, toward the backs of the assassin’s knees.

The assailant spun and fell to one knee, snarling as he swung that horrible mace wildly at us. Even with that dread armor, his lack of combat training showed in his indecision about which of us constituted the greater threat. Baurus stepped in and caught the other’s mace against his katana’s guard, disarming the Breton with a flick of his blade. The summoned weapon dissolved into sulfurous smoke before it hit the stone pavers. The assassin froze when the tip of Baurus’s sword slid beneath the other’s helm, stopping just short of the Breton’s throat.

“Who are you?” Baurus demanded while I stepped behind the other, resting the edge of my blade against the back of his neck. “Who are you working for?”

With a snarl, the Breton seized Baurus’s weapon in both gauntleted hands. Metal shrieked on metal as he tipped his body forward, impaling the tip of the blade into his own throat. We stared as the daedric armor disappeared with a yellow swirl that caught in our throats, making us cough and our eyes smart from the sulfurous tang. With a rattling gasp, the Breton slumped off Baurus’s katana and crumpled to the floor, rage already fading from his dark eyes.

Stunned, I met Baurus’s furious gaze above the other’s body. “What was that about, sir?” I gasped.

He scowled, scanning the cellar for more enemies before sheathing his katana. “Every time I disarm one, he or she commits suicide before I can start asking questions.” He met my gaze as I put my blade away, and gripped my right shoulder. “But by Talos! Am I glad to see you again, Julian!” he said, his grin flashing white in the dim light. “I got a message from Grandmaster Jauffre that he was sending an agent, but I never expected it would be you!” Holding me at arm’s length, he eyed me up and down. “You look much better than when I last saw you.”

“Grandmaster told me to take my orders from you, sir.”

“All right,” Baurus nodded, stepping back to the body and kneeling beside him. A quick search of his pockets revealed a small identification tag. “Astav Wirich,” he read. “Never pegged him for one of those assassins, not until I noticed him following me.” He handed me the back bag. “See what you can find in there.”

“Yes, sir.” In the bag I found the book he had been reading, and little else. Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes, Volume One. I showed it to Baurus.

“Never saw anything like it,” he shook his head. “But this might be the break we need.” He rose to his feet, brushing the dust off his pants.

“What have you learned so far?”

“The assassins who killed the Emperor were part of a daedric cult called the Mythic Dawn,” he responded. “Apparently, they worship Mehrunes Dagon.” He toed the body thoughtfully, nudging the Breton over so he lay face up.

“The enemy has the Amulet,” I told him. His black gaze shot up at me, and Baurus’s brows lifted in surprise and despair.

“What? They took it from Jauffre? Things are worse than I thought.”

“We have Uriel’s son, Martin Septim,” I offered. I didn’t think his black brows could climb any higher, but they did.

“Thank Talos he lives!” His gaze fell on the Kvatch Wolf. “You found him in Kvatch?” his fingers brushed the edge of the light iron buckler. I nodded. His eyes grew dark. “So that’s why they opened that portal there -” his voice trailed off.

I inhaled sharply. “They knew about him?” I whispered. “They were looking for him?”

“I doubt they picked Kvatch at random,” Baurus said grimly. “That means when they find out where he is in hiding, they’ll open another one there.” He plucked the little book from my right hand, flipping through its pages. “Go see Tar-Meena at the Arcane University in the morning. I’ll send her a message to expect you.” Handing the book back to me, he met my gaze. “Show her that book, see what she makes of it. For tonight, get some food and a bed from Broad.” He knelt beside Wirich. “I’ll take care of this.”

Woo, good part, that back of the knee slash is becoming her trademark move.

You're managing to build good tension too, there's definatly a good hook drawing me into this which shows how strong the characters are (given I already know the plot (but even so can feel it thickening). I want to read more.

There's something about reaching Luther Broad's in the plot, it feels like a milestone has been reached and the mythic dawn start to become less obscure and more real badies. I can't wait to see how you show them, if pulling the sword through his own throat is anything to go by I think they might be real nutters...

Baurus, James Baurus meets Julian Powers, the International Woman of Mystery!

I read Watchmen when it first came out, back when it was in individual comics rather than all put together in one big book. I like how they put the clock on the back, and with every issue it got closer to midnight, and more more covered in dripping blood.

Nice bit with the serving wench, and her disappointment that Julian chose the bar. Although when you think about it, she would probably make much more in tips from men than women anyhow...

I liked your description of the sulfurous stench of the conjured weapons and armor. It adds a extra dimension, and brings the scene more to life.

I see Baurus has been at this for a while! I wonder how many Mythic Dawn agents he has killed? It sounds like quite a few. Also good bit of moving the plot forward in his conversation with Julian. We finally learn who the enemy is, why they attacked Kvatch, and even have some foreshadowing about Bruma thrown in. All was done in a few sentences of dialogue, coming out naturally. Was some of that new? I cannot recall if all of it was in there before, namely the part about Bruma?

As a sidenote, I worked up a Mythic Dawn mod (to let you play as a member) and discovered that their bound armor is actually rather weak. It has the equivalent stats to Iron Armor. So good in the early game, but rather weak later on. I had to make leveled versions of it. What blows me away is how expensive it all is magicka-wise though. They had to make it a lesser power, with no cost, otherwise it would be impossible for anyone to summon it.

I'm glad you changed this one, I like this version better and I think it fits Julian better. Her mind is as sharp as a tack!!!

Somebody's been reading too much Ian Fleming.

Sorry, I can't resist:

- We have learned that in Cyrodiil would be assassins are considerate enough to wear nametags to keep us from guessing at their identity.

- We have learned that advances in plumbing are such that water springs from brass taps in Luther Broad’s, yet no one in Cyrodiil seems to own a bathtub.

- And finally we have learned that haute ecole rider is incapable of writing a bad chapter.

@Olen: I agree about reaching a milestone when entering Luther's and coming face to face with Astav Wirich. I'm glad you're noticing that Julian has a trademark move! Yup, that just developed that way. Good way to bring your opponent down. As for Wirich being a nutter, religious fervor does that to one . . .

@SubRosa: I don't know, that wench probably could make plenty in tips from the right kind of women . . . Anyways, the combat part is rewritten, due to comments about Baurus's ineptitude as an undercover agent (which is why he went back to bodyguarding, obviously), and also to a comment somewhere that those assassins get killed and no one keeps them alive long enough to question them. Your comment about the magicka expense of the summoned armor and weapons is very interesting . . . already I see ways to work that into my fiction, if that's okay with you.

@mALX: Thanks!

@le Reynard: Fleming? Who's Ian Fleming? Oh, yeah, the guy who wrote the James Bond novels. Never read 'im. Unless maybe you were referring to a certain skinny Bosmer lady?

@Destri: Of course Wirich carried a nametag! How else do we know his name in-game? It kills me that I know an NPC's name before we even start talking (or swinging weapons) in the game. Actually, I was thinking the IC is such a big place, its citizens might carry ID tags to differentiate them from tourists. It might come up in a conversation later (with Ozymandias perhaps?). As for bathtubs, well, I'll make sure to include one. I've already included a piss pot in the first post, why not a bathtub? Or a hot shower? Ah, running water! The Best Thing about Civilization! And thanks for that last compliment. I'll try not to let any of you down!

Julian finds out just how many volumes make up the Commentaries. Yikes! Not that she hates to read, just that her eyes aren’t as good as they used to be . . . Getting old’s a b***, ain’t it?

By the way, deosil refers to movement in a clockwise direction; it means with the movement of the sun (at least in the Northern Hemisphere, it’s the opposite in the Southern).

**********************
Chapter 7.3 The Arcane University

Broad served a breakfast as hearty and plain as the supper last night. As I tucked away the cold roast mutton, warm bread, and sliced pears, he poured me a cup of klah to go with it. “Sleep well, ma’am?” he asked me. With a quick glance up from my plate, I nodded.

After supper last night, I had gone up to the room Broad had let for the night. The clean and well-lit room was the ideal place to catch up on some reading. I still had Piner’s Warp in the West and Sigrid’s Pocket Guide in my pack. When my eyes burned from reading, I had slept dreamlessly, and woken this morning feeling stronger than before. Instead of pulling on my leathers, I chose to wear the stitched green shirt and tan skirt, with the rough cowhide shoes, that Belisarius had slipped into my pack yesterday.

Breakfast finished, I pushed the plate away. “I’d like to keep the room for another night,” I said, handing over a few drakes. The pack was heavy enough, and the thought of carrying it around all day didn’t sit well with me. Both the bag and my weapons still remained in the room. I carried only my small bag containing Wirich’s book.

“Fine with me,” Broad took the coins nonchalantly. “Keep the key for another day.”

“Can you tell me how to get to the Arcane University?”

“Head back to Home and Garden,” Broad started sketching a rough circle on the bar surface, using condensation from the water jug. “Hang a left down Home Street, to the gates at the end. That’ll get you to Green Emperor Way.”

He traced a circular path around the center of the circle. “Go deosil around the Palace until you get to the third gate along. That’ll let you into the Arboretum District. Go straight across the District, past Tiber Septim, to the gates in the outer wall.”

Now he drew a second, smaller circle off to the side of the first. Connecting the two with a straight line, he continued, “Go across the bridge, and you’ll be at the Arcane University.” He looked up at me. “Unless you’re a University member, the only part you can access is the lobby on the first floor of the Mages’ Tower.”

“Thanks,” I said, “I appreciate your help, sir.”

Outside, rain fell from a dark sky. Even though dawn had arrived several hours ago, the streetlamps still flickered in the light wind. Making my way past the plots that gave the Elven Gardens District its name, I soon reached the open gates at the top of the broad stairs. People scurried back and forth, heads down and shoulders hunched against the weather. The slight chill in the air reminded me that fall was coming. At the thought of Cloud Ruler Temple, I shivered. It will only get colder there. Yet I had enjoyed meeting the Blades there, had felt comfortable among their company.

My thoughts back in the present, I climbed the steps to the open gates that pierced the inner ring wall dividing the Palace District from the surrounding neighborhoods. At the sight of more stairs leading down to the Green Emperor Way, I barely stifled a groan and moved to the side so I could hobble down without slowing other pedestrians. Gravestones and marble tombs, memorial columns and carefully pruned topiaries made up the outer ring section of the Palace District. The central portion consisted of the Imperial Palace set on a raised platform within an open rotunda. Above it, White Gold Tower rose to pierce the overcast sky. Palace Guards, in silver and gold armor that flashed even on this dull day, paced around the Palace itself.

My feet moved deosil around the Green Emperor Way, and I weaved among the gravestones and tombs. The topiary heads made the hairs on the backs of my neck rise, their featureless eyes seeming to follow me as I passed them. The rain faded to a light drizzle, and the overcast brightened. Counting gates, I reached the third portal from the Elven Gardens.

I had thought the Elven Gardens District beautiful, with its gardens and plantings. The Arboretum District, on the other hand, took my breath away. More of the magnolias and dwarf maples filled the open space, with fountains burbling beneath their branches. Boulders rose out of beds of cheerful primroses and tall bugloss. Azalea shrubs lined the wide stone path that led from the Green Emperor Way to the center of the District, where an immense stone man stood within an open rotunda. As I made my limping progress toward the statue, I looked up into his face, recognizing the square features of Tiber Septim, familiar to me from years of pay scrips.

Surrounding him stood eight equally large statues, but they seemed smaller than the first Septim since their plinths were slightly lower. Still, they stood head and shoulders above the magnolia trees. Julianos, with his long beard and his triangle, stood just to my left. Opposite him, I could just make out the dragon head of Akatosh.

The drizzle trickled away, and the clouds parted to let the sun through, a beam landing on Tiber Septim. The rain on his face gave his stone eyes a gleam that made him seem lifelike, watchful and wary. My feet faltered just outside the rotunda, and I stared at him. Clanging armor tore my gaze away as a Watchman approached. He caught my eye, and hesitated.

“Sometimes I feel like he’s watching me, ma’am,” he commented. “I don’t get that from the other Divines.”

“Probably because he was a real Emperor, and a general,” I responded, stepping away from the rotunda. “Attention from a general usually means bad news.” The Watchman grinned with a chuckle, then walked on. Continuing in the other direction, toward the outer wall, I found the open gate. Beyond, I could see the straight line of a bridge, and the pale grey walls of the Arcane University in the distance.

The bridge, of stone construction with a low parapet, leaped across the chasm separating the main hill of City Isle and the smaller hill crowned by the Arcane University. I trudged up yet more stairs leading to another set of gates. Within, an Imperial Legion battlemage, recognizable by the blue hood in place of the usual Legion helm, turned his regard on me.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he greeted me. “Welcome to the Arcane University.”

“I’m supposed to meet Tar-Meena,” I said to him, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. He pointed toward the central tower, up more stairs. By Akatosh, I’m getting tired of this Imperial City! All these stairs!

“Go in the lobby,” he directed. “Ask Raminus Polus. He should be there.”

Please let there be no more stairs inside, I prayed as I trudged up the last flight of steps to the bronze double doors at the base of the tower. Inside, I was relieved to find only a couple of steps before I reached the main floor. The round room was high-ceilinged, and took up the entire first floor. An Imperial mage turned to face me.

“Welcome to the Arcane University,” he greeted me, his brown eyes assessing me. “Have you come to join the Guild?”

“Join? Me?” I repeated, startled. “I - I came to speak to Tar-Meena, sir.”

“Ah, my mistake, then,” he bowed to me, putting his palms together. Then he gestured toward an Argonian woman seated on a nearby bench, reading. “She is there,” he said, before moving away. My limping stride loud in the silence, I moved to stand before her. After turning a page, she looked up at me, her red-orange eyes curious.

“Tar-Meena?” I asked. “Baurus sent me, ma’am.” Her gaze turned assessing, then she waved me to the bench beside her. I sat down at the indicated place, stretching my right leg to ease the ache in my knee.

“You musst be the one I got the messsage about,” she said, with a slight hiss in her voice. “How can I help you?”

“I’m Julian, ma’am,” I volunteered. “I’m here to learn about the Mythic Dawn.”

“You know of them?” Tar-Meena’s spined brows lifted. “One of the mosst ssecretive of the daedric cultss.”

Pulling the little purple book from my bag, I showed it to Tar-Meena, “I found one of their books, ma’am.”

“Ah, yess,” she took the book in her long, scaled fingers, examining it closely, gently turning the pages. “The Commentariess of the Myssterium Xarxess, written by Mankar Camoran. Wonderful!” she handed the book back to me. “You have a sscholarly interesst in the cult?”

Do I? “We think they may be behind the Emperor’s assassination,” I said quietly. “We need to find them.”

Tar-Meena’s brows rose again. “Really?” she matched my soft tone. “I won’t poke my nosse any further - I know how ssecretive the Bladess can be.” She rose to her feet, her book in hand, and brushed the creases out of her blue robe. “Wait here,” she said. “I will be back.”

The slender Argonian moved with deceptive quickness to one of the doors in the rear of the room, leaving me alone with the Imperial mage. He had remained at the far side of the room, studiously ignoring us, but with Tar-Meena’s departure he now turned to regard me openly.

Uncomfortable with his stare, I looked down at the purple book in my hand. Opening it to the first page, I started reading. Almost immediately, I was confused. Instead of the dry, factual recitation of the Pocket Guide, or the terse narrative of the Warp in the West, the tone of this book was obtuse, flowery with no obvious purpose. My mind blanked after the first two pages, and I closed the volume and tucked it into my bag.

“Is Tar-Meena of assistance to you, ma’am?” the Imperial mage had drawn closer.

“Yes, sir, she is,” I answered. “She told me to wait here.” A sudden thought crossed my mind. What if she wanted to get rid of me? But no, Baurus wouldn’t send me to her if she would do such a thing.

“Then I believe she shall not keep you waiting long,” the mage responded with a half-smile. “I am Raminus Polus, Advisor to the Council of Mages.”

“I’m Julian, from Anvil,” I responded, moving to rise. Polus shook his head, gesturing me to remain seated.

“No, no need to stand on ceremony here,” he insisted. “I can see that your leg is bothering you. If you’ve walked from one side of the Imperial City to the other to get here, I can only imagine what all these steps have done. “

“Excuse me, sir,” I cast a healing spell, and the throbbing ache in my knee eased. “I keep forgetting that I know at least this much.”

“That was a little one, ma’am,” Polus had followed the spell-light with his brown eyes. “Do you not know a stronger one?”

I remembered what Tumindil had told me, back in Skingrad. “I’m only a novice in restoration magic, sir,” I responded.

“Ah, well, you’re never too old to learn new things!” Polus commented cheerfully. Somehow I wasn’t offended.

“That’s what I’m finding out, these days,” I returned dryly. Just then, Tar-Meena returned, and Polus discreetly withdrew to the opposite side of the room once more.

Seating herself by my side, Tar-Meena handed me another book, nearly identical to the one I carried. “Here, you can take the library’ss copy of Volume Two,” she said. “The Commentariess come in four volumess. I believe that Mankar Camoran’ss writingss contain cluess to the location of the sshrine. If you want to find it, you will need all four of the volumess.”

“Where can I find the other two volumes?” I asked, carefully tucking the library’s book next to Wirich’s tome.

“Try Phintiass, in the Market Disstrict,” Tar-Meena responded. “He runss Firsst Edition, and bragss that it iss the premier booksstore in all of Cyrodiil.” Now she leaned toward me conspiratorially. “Phintass caterss to sspecialisst collectorss. He may have an idea where to find volumess three and four.”

“Who was Mankar Camoran?” I asked, thinking about what Tar-Meena had said.

“The ssuppossed leader of the Mythic Dawn cult,” she answered. “He wrote thesse infamouss Commentariess. They are contemporary with Tiber Sseptim, over four hundred yearss ago, sso he’ss unlikely to be alive sstill. Though,” her tone turned pensive, “you never know.”

“What is this M- Mysterium Xarxes?” I asked, referring to the title on the book spines in my bag.

“It iss the holy book of the Mythic Dawn,” Tar-Meena said. “Ssuppossedly written by Mehruness Dagon himsself. If it exisstss, it would be an artifact of great -” she shook a finger at me, “and evil - power.”

“And the Mythic Dawn?” I wanted to be certain I had all the information I needed.

“No one knowss how widesspread the cult iss, or where their sshrine to Mehruness Dagon iss located.”

“Thank you, Tar-Meena,” I said, rising to my feet and closing the flap of my small bag. “You’ve been helpful.”

Good part, I loved this bit of the main quest (which didn't go on long enough IMO), the intregue and discovery you put in the writing are very much as I remember them.

Deosil is a good word... though I've never seen it spelt that way. Deasil is the normal spelling I think (though given it's scots root there are probably a dozen different spellings).

Again I liked the description of the imperial city and its many stairs. Great stuff

I love how you gave Tar-Meena a slight hiss, I picture a forked tongue darting in and out of her mouth now, lol. You are really making the MQL come alive with Julian, I love this!!

The wench probably would get rich off of Teresa... But sadly women like her are far and inbetween.

The Mythic Dawn armor & mace combo summoning would normally cost 32,100 magicka to cast, and the armor & sword combo 46,500. For that you get armor with a base AR of 20, a helmet with a base AR of 6, a mace with a base damage of 22, or a claymore with a base damage of 29. The weapons are the standard Bound Mace/Bound Sword, which are pretty powerful. But the armor is slightly worse than having all the same in Iron (Iron Cuirass, gauntlets, greaves, boots, and helmet), which gives a base AR of 28.

For my mod I dropped the weapons (because I do not like the look of Daedric weapons), and made versions of it with the same stats as Iron, Dwemer, Elven, Ebony, and Deadric.

Anyway, on to what you actually wrote. A hearty breakfast for Julian, she is eating much better since joining the Blades. No water this time either I see...

I always thought it was odd that the graveyard surrounds the palace. I suppose that might tell us something about the government of Cyrodiil... Oh, are those dwarf maples, or Dwemer Maples...

Attention from a general usually means bad news.
Something Volsinius can attest to!

On deosil, that is how I usually see it in Neo-Pagan circles. I have seen it deasil as well, usually only from older sources.

7.1 - 7.3

Woohoo! This continues to be wonderful. I like the intrigue. You are doing a great job with it.

@Olen: When I roleplayed Julian's walk through the IC in my head, I remember thinking "ouch, ouch, ouch, what? MORE stairs??" I had never noticed that before! I agree, the intrigue and discovery just did not go on long enough. I love few things more than a good espionage novel. Never read Ian Fleming, but read a lot of Robert Ludlum and John LeCarre way back in college. Ahh, the good old days of the Cold War . . .

@mALX and Acadian: Thanks again!

@SubRosa: All those numbers don't mean much to me! Just how much magicka cost does the Mythic Dawn gear compare to? I only know the relative costs, playing this on the Xbox and all. As for deasil/deosil, the first is Gaelic in origin, and old, the second is newer, like you said. It probably is spelled other ways, but I can't remember just how. And I didn't call them Dwemer maples because the Dwemer, according to the Lore, are normal in height (or tall?), not stunted at all. The Bosmer males continue to hold the record for the shortest of the folk, mer, men or beast. I had pictured Japanese dwarf maples in mind (specifically the Bloodgood variety), since they are the most beautiful and graceful of the smaller trees.

Some of you might have heard me say this about Gwinas before, but it bears repeating. He remains one of my most endearing NPC's in this story.

In the last chapter Julian learns she has to find two more volumes of the Commentaries. In this upcoming chapter, she locates the third volume. Gwinas caught me totally off guard. I had been struggling with this chapter, and he literally seized the keyboard from me and took off running. I couldn’t type fast enough to keep up with him. Enjoy!

************
Chapter 7.4 Volume Three

A bustling scene greeted me as I passed into the Market District. Pausing at the top of the stairs near the gates to Green Emperor Way, I looked down Commerce Street to the tall portal set in the outside wall. Unlike the other gates in the Imperial City, this portal was closed, and had four Watchmen posted near it.

The tip of a tower peeked just above the outer wall. I realized with a chill that those gates at the far end led to the Imperial Prison. With a stifled shudder, I limped down the steps and moved to one side of Commerce Street, squinting at the shop signs. The sun had come out, and between the white marble that seemed to be the favored construction material and the gleaming wet that reflected the sunbeams, the glare was a little strong.

People moved back and forth past me, some running, some walking. Some carried large bags crammed with stores, others moved empty-handed. I found it difficult to walk a straight line, first sidestepping a porter, bent over from a heavy load, then skipping ahead to avoid a pair of Khajiiti streaking past, before ducking back to give way to a well-dressed matron trailing a retinue.

Finally reaching the first of the doorways on the right side of the street, I paused to catch my breath. Never been in a market this busy! The sun beat down between the white marble walls, the air simmering as the recent rain evaporated away. Ahead, on Market Way, I could see open stalls crowding the street, hear the shouts of vendors, and smell assorted foods. With a shake of my head, I looked at the sign above my head.

First Edition. A pictograph of an open book left no doubt in my mind that my eyes were not seeing things. How lucky am I?The first shop I reach is the one I want! I couldn’t get the bronze door open quickly enough, escaping the chaos that was the Market District.

Within, the shop was cool, dark, and oh, so blessedly quiet. As I paused a moment to let my eyes adjust, I smelled dry, musty pages. The dust motes floating gently in the air tickled the back of my nose, and I stifled a sneeze.

“Yes, how may I help you, ma’am?” the haughty voice drew my eyes to the Redguard merchant standing behind the shop counter. Rubbing at my still-itching nose, I moved toward him slowly.

“Phintias?” I asked uncertainly.

“At your service, ma’am,” he responded. “Take a look around. If I don’t have it, maybe I can get it.”

Music to my ears. “I’m looking for the -” I hesitated over the unfamiliar words, “- Mysterium Xarxes, sir.”

“You must be referring to the Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes,” his tone became condescending. “Comes in four volumes. First two are rare, but the third and fourth are even more so.”

“I’m looking for the third and fourth volumes, sir,” I tried to hide how important they were to me. No need to drive up the price if I have to haggle. I hated haggling.

“I have the third volume,” Phintias responded. “But it’s a special order. I’m holding it for another customer. Gwinas would be disappointed if I sold it to another.”

“What about the fourth volume?” I started walking around the shop, looking at the books on the shelves.

“I wish I had one, but I’ve never even seen a copy,” Phintias said, a tone of avarice creeping into his voice.

“Is there any way I could buy this third volume from you, sir?” I asked. “Or maybe get another copy?”

“I’d hate to let Gwinas down.” Phintias shook his head. “I gave him my word that I would hold the book for him. He’s come all the way from Valenwood.” He shrugged. “Feel free to wait for him.”

Back to the shelves, I surveyed the titles again. The Lusty Argonian Maid, Dwemer History and Culture, Gods and Worship, History of Lock Picking, The Last King of the Ayleids, Manual of Arms, and The Amulet of Kings. My hand reached for the last volume, and I brought the book down. It was small, smaller than the Commentaries, dressed in a plain brown cover.

“You read it, you bought it,” Phintias called from behind the counter. I held the book up for him. “Ah, yes, The Amulet of Kings. How appropriate for these dark times.” He nodded at me. “That would be two drakes.”

Searching my bag for the coins, I placed the drakes on the counter. “Thank you, sir,” I slipped The Amulet of Kings into my small bag.

Behind me, the bell over the shop door chimed, its tinkle nearly drowned by the street noise. As I stepped away from the counter, I turned to see a small Bosmer, in red silk robes, blond hair pulled up into a topknot, enter the shop. The door swung closed behind him as he beelined for the counter and Phintias.

“I’m here for my book,” his high-pitched voice sounded like a prissy boy’s. “Mankar Camoran’s Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes, Volume Three.” Phintias sent me an arch look, see, this one knows what he is talking about - he got the name correct, he seemed to be saying. The Redguard merchant reached beneath the counter and drew up a small purple volume, identical to the two books I already carried.

“Of course,” he said, laying the book into the Bosmer’s eager hands. “Here you go, sir. Keep us in mind for your future needs!”

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” the Bosmer clutched the book to his chest. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve been searching for this!” He spun on his heel, red silk swirling around him, and passed me with barely a glance, a whiff of perfume trailing him. Phintias shot me a look and a slight nod as Gwinas left the shop.

Following the little Bosmer out, I called after him, “Gwinas?” making the word a question. He paused, glancing back at me. Uncertainly he turned to face me as I stopped an arm’s length away. His head barely reached my chin. “I’m interested in your Volume Three of the Commentaries,” I said.

His round little face became alarmed. “Have you been following me? Leave me alone! The book is mine!” the vehemence in his tone on the last word surprised me.

“I’m trying to find out about the Mythic Dawn cult,” I decided to try a different tack. “I’ve been looking for that book, too.”

“The Mythic Dawn?” Gwinas repeated, his brows rising. “Are you - I mean, I don’t know anything about it!” His tone told me he did, indeed, know something. As I considered my next move, I caught a whiff of that perfume from his silk robes. That made up my mind.

He backed up against the wall as I stepped closer to him, towering over him. “You’re in way over your head,” I warned softly. Gwinas paled, but drew himself up onto tiptoe indignantly, trying to match my own height but succeeding only in reaching my eyes.

“I beg your pardon?” he spluttered huffily. “You presume to tell me about daedric cults? I’ve visited the Shrine of Sheogorath during the Festival of the Mad! I’ve spoken with Hermaeus Mora beneath the full moons! I’ve -”

Stooping down so we were eye to eye, I interrupted quietly and forcefully, “They killed the Emperor.” He gasped, his fine brows shooting up his forehead.

“What?” he exclaimed, his eyes locked on mine as I straightened up. “The Mythic Dawn were the ones? I - I - I had no idea!” he caught his breath, easing his heels back to the ground. “Mankar Camoran’s views on Mehrunes Dagon are interesting, revolutionary even, but to - to murder the Emperor!” His voice rose. “Oh, Mara save me!”

“Trouble?” a Watchman clanged up to us, his gaze moving from me to Gwinas. My mouth suddenly dry, I kept my face as neutral as my pounding heart would let me, and tipped my head at Gwinas. He looked frantically from me to the soldier.

“N- no, sir, n- no t- trouble at all,” he stammered. “Just getting some terrible news!” He grabbed my elbow. “Please, let’s take this somewhere less - public, shall we?”

“If you’re certain, sir,” the Watchman stepped back as Gwinas pulled me after him into the maelstrom that was Merchants Way. The Bosmer’s grip was surprisingly strong, as Gwinas weaved through the crowd toward a stoop opposite a tall statue in a plaza. I caught the sign above the door before he pushed through - The Merchants Inn. Inside, it was quiet and dark, cool after the oppressive heat outside.

Gwinas didn’t give me a chance to let my eyes adjust, only dragged me to the rear of the common room. A young Imperial man wandered over to us, towel over one shoulder. “Whaddya have?” he asked us as Gwinas plopped himself down on an upholstered bench, pulling me down next to him. I became aware of several pairs of eyes on us as Gwinas ordered a goblet of Surilie Brothers wine. Ordering klah mostly to get rid of the server, I turned to look at the flustered Bosmer.

“Is it true?” he whispered, his eyes showing white all around the irises like a spooked horse. “The Mythic Dawn assassinated the Emperor?”

“It looks that way,” I responded, keeping my own voice even. As the scattering of patrons turned back to their meals, I leaned back, easing my knee, which had started throbbing again. “I’m trying to find them, find the truth.” Pausing as the server returned with our drinks, I waited as Gwinas handed over a couple of septims. The boy grinned at us and withdrew to the bar. Did Gwinas just give him a fat tip? Good way to remain unnoticed.

“Oh, Mara!” Gwinas put his hand to his topknot, patting at the hairpin that held it together. With a start, he dropped the book onto the table, nearly knocking his wineglass over. I caught it and handed him the glass, taking the mug of klah for myself.

“Drink up, Gwinas,” I said curtly. “And calm down. It’s not the end of the world.” I waited until he took a gulp of his wine before sipping at my klah. “Yet,” I added when I had swallowed the hot liquid. He made a sound like a yipping lapdog, and the wine sloshed in the glass again.

“What am I going to do now!” he managed to keep his voice down, but I could still hear the panic. “They’re expecting me!”

“Expecting you?” I repeated. Gulping down the rest of the wine, Gwinas picked up the third volume and shoved it at me.

“Take this, I don’t want it anymore!” he exclaimed, still holding the presence of mind to keep his voice down.

“Expecting you?” I pressed, clamping my right hand on his wrist, letting him feel the strength of my sword-grip.

“Yes, ow!” Gwinas gasped. “You’re hurting me!” he hissed. When I released his wrist, he rubbed at it, staring at me. “The Sponsor is supposed to meet me and give me the fourth volume - if I pass his test.” He pulled a piece of folded paper from a pocket in his robe. “Here, see?” I took the paper and read it.

Gwinas,

Your interest in the writings of the Master has been noted. You are taking the first steps towards true enlightenment. Persevere, and you may yet join the exalted ranks of the Chosen.

If you wish to continue further down the Path of Dawn, you will need the fourth volume of the Master's "Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes." It can be obtained only from a member of the Order of the Mythic Dawn. As your designated Sponsor, I will pass on my copy to you if I deem you worthy.

Study the first three volumes of the Master's writings. Look for the hidden meaning in his words, as best as you are able.

When you are ready, come to the Sunken Sewers under the Elven Gardens in the Imperial City. Come alone. Follow the main tunnel until you reach the room with the table and chair. Sit down. I will meet you there and give you what you desire.

The Sponsor

“Oh, what am I going to do?” Gwinas leaned forward, putting his head in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees. “Everyone will think I was involved in their insane plots!”

“Is there any other way to get the fourth volume?” I asked Gwinas. He looked at me from under his hands.

“No, that’s the only way,” he said. “But if I don’t show up, they’ll know something is wrong, and they’ll hunt me down!” He sat bolt upright. “If they’re capable of killing the Emperor himself, what will keep them from killing me?”

I gripped his shoulder hard enough to make him flinch. He glared at me. “I will go in your place,” I said quietly. “They’ve never met you, correct?”

“No, never!” he exclaimed. “And I wish to keep it so! You -” his eyes widened as he took in the implications of my statement, “you will go in my stead?”

“I’ll take care of this,” I waved the note for emphasis. “They won’t bother you.” Finishing the rest of my klah, I rose to my feet. “Where are you staying?”

“At the Tiber Septim Hotel,” Gwinas said. “Oh, thank you, thank you!”

“Come on, I’ll escort you safely there.”

Poor Gwinas!!!




Julian then goes on to bully the poor fop into submission - one of her few times she hasn't been pleasant to know since the story began - makes me wonder if Gwinas had to change his drawers at the end of the encounter, lol.

I loved this chapter the first time I read it and still do. You nailed both Gwinas and Phintias and showed us a different side to Julian all in the same chapter. Er...she wasn't spoultry, was she? ROFL !!!!

Good description of the busy streets of the Market District, with Julian having to dodge people through the streets. Also good work on the bright sunlight reflecting off the wet, white marble. These little things build the setting and make it feel like a real place.

Also good job of conveying Phintias as an overbearing jerk. In every one of my games he comes off more condescending than the stereotypical snooty Altmer.

Ahh, Gwinas! One of my favorite Bosmer. He is so much fun! I hope we can see more of him in future OHDH chapters.

Edit: About those magicka costs:
The Flare spell you start the game with has a base magicka cost of 11
The Heal Minor Wounds you start with has a cost of 14
You can look up all the spells in the game here.

First you give me Tar-Meena and her sssybilant esssesss (kudos again for rendering that in a way that didn’t become annoying), then you follow it up with Phintias (who always makes me want to kill him anytime I do the quest Order of the Virtuous Blood), then you cap it off with the wonderfully obsequious Gwinas (who for some reason reminds me of Maglir from the Fighter’s Guild). I too hope that we will be seeing more of the little Bosmer in the future.

Oh my...what can I say that's not been said before?

Julian is impressive, I honestly admire her way of dealing with ppl...he but that's of course your brilliant writing right?



oh.. yes I will continue my story...I will. I'm very glad you like it! thank you so much!

@mALX: No, that's not Julian being spoultry! More like the old pilus coming back. You'll see more of this side of her as the story goes on. And yes, I still adore Gwinas in this more than I like him in the game. We see him in a somewhat better light later in the story.

@SubRosa: Thanks for the info about the comparative costs for the basic spells - that helps a lot with comparing them to the Mythic Dawn summons. That may be useful later on!

@Destri: I'm glad you liked my version of Gwinas. I never liked Maglir - I can't find it in me to tolerate people who weasel out of their commitments/contracts. If I ever write the FG storyline, believe me, Maglir will be very unlikable! But Gwinas is a scholar in search of ever more knowledge, and that's something I can relate to. I also imagine he is a man of his word, as well.

@minque: Julian deals with people better than I do! She has far more patience with idiocy than me! I'm glad you're still enjoying this. Hopefully this (and some of the other excellent fiction on this forum) will inspire you to continue Serene's story.

In the last chapter, Julian collects the third volume of the Commentaries, and finds out how to get the fourth and last volume. Now she and Baurus head off after it.

***********************
Chapter 7.5 Meeting the Sponsor

Baurus approached me as I sat at Broad’s bar, shoveling some of his grub into my mouth. “You’ve been a hard one to track down, Julian,” he said quietly. “Have you found anything useful?”

Filling him in on my education, I handed him the note. His eyes gleamed as he read it. “Good work, Julian,” he said, his brows lifting at me. “I’m impressed.” He studied my street clothes with a feral glint in his dark eyes. “Get your battle gear,” he said.

Back in my room, I put the three volumes of the Commentaries and The Amulet of Kings into the pack. The small bag, with its drakes and jewels I had collected, went alongside the chest. The street clothes went into the pack with the books, and I changed into my leathers. With a sigh of relief, I recalled how vulnerable I had felt walking along Market Way in my skirt and green shirt.

My katana back on my hip, I decided to take the bow and quiver at the last minute, remembering how they had served me in the sewers. Baurus was waiting for me beside the front door when I returned to the common room.

“Come on, I know where the meeting place is,” he said. “There isn’t much time, we’d better get going.” Suiting action to words, he stepped for the door. As I followed him out, I noticed that the pair of leather bracers on his wrists was all the armor he wore. For weapons, he carried only the slim katana on his left hip.

He strode across Garden Way to an alley between two residences. The narrow path led into a small, verdant courtyard, with a fountain in one corner. Baurus led me to the opposite corner, where a grate set in the ground was shielded by azaleas.

“The sewers run beneath the entire Imperial City,” he explained as he unlatched the grate and swung it back. “There are access points in every district. We Blades use them in our undercover work, as well as a means to move around the City without attracting attention.” He slid down into the access shaft, pointing out the iron rungs set into the stone work. With a last deep breath of the sweet night air, I followed.

**********
After about half an hour of walking through fetid sewer channels and cisterns, we reached a padlocked door. Baurus turned to me. “Listen, the room with the table is on the other side,” he said quietly. “I always wondered who put it there.” He gestured toward a nearby flight of stairs that led up to a door set in the same wall at a higher level. “There’s a vantage point into the room through that door up there. If you can cover my back from up there, I’ll handle the meeting.”

“All right,” I agreed. “I’ll cover you.”

Baurus smiled, that feral glint back in his eyes again. “Good. Remember, we must not leave without that fourth volume. It’s our best chance at finding the Amulet.”

“I’m ready when you are, sir,” I said, unslinging my bow and stringing it. Baurus put a hand out to stay me.

“Listen,” his tone, and gaze, turned serious. “I may not survive this. But if I don’t, then you must. You must recover the book and find the Amulet of Kings.”

“I understand,” I matched his tone. “We’ll do it - together.”

“I’m glad to have you at my back,” Baurus said. “Okay, let’s do this.” Pulling a lockpick out of his pocket, he turned to the padlock. I limped up the stairs as quickly as I could, finding an unlocked door at the top.

Crouched within the shadows, I opened the door and slipped through. A closed iron gate barred me from a bridge that crossed the room below. A table and chair sat in the center of the chamber, and the bridge led to another iron gate and a dark space beyond. The gate in front of me creaked softly as I eased it open, and I nocked an arrow to my bow and settled down to wait in the deepest part of the shadows.

Footsteps drew my attention down into the room. Baurus appeared below the bridge, walking casually toward the table. As I watched him move with feline grace and awareness, I momentarily envied him that ability. Once on a time, I could do that, I pushed the thought away. He didn’t look up in my direction as he seated himself, yet I sensed that he knew I was there.

Murmuring voices drew my attention to the bridge on the other side of the second iron gate. The glow of a torch outlined the shape of a room beyond that second bridge. Though I had no target yet, I half-tautened my bowstring and took aim. In my peripheral vision, I saw a tall, red-cloaked figure enter the room through another gate below. He greeted Baurus imperiously. Without hesitation, the stranger immediately launched into a lecture of the Commentaries, pacing around the table and Baurus.

“So you think you have what it takes to become one of the Mythic Dawn,” the haughty Sponsor continued, as I watched that torchlight grow and coalesce into a flaming brand carried by one of two red-robed figures. “It is not so easy or simple as you think. However,” now the first of the two figures bent to unlock the gate, “the fact that you now have three of the four volumes of the Commentaries shows that you are anxious to find the path to enlightenment -”

The torch bearer glanced across the bridge in my direction, and I could see alarm come over his face. I let the arrow fly and quickly notched a second one to my bowstring. The torch fell and fizzled out, throwing the two figures into darkness. A shout, and sulfurous flares indicated the summoning of daedric armor, not only from the acolyte on the bridge, but also from the Sponsor below. Releasing the second arrow into the afterimage of the acolyte, I shouldered my bow and drew my katana. With a deep breath, I leaped from the bridge to the floor below, staggering at the stabbing pain in my right knee.

Baurus had kicked the table over, blocking the Sponsor’s charge. He rose to his feet, sending the chair crashing back into the wall. His katana flashed in time to deflect the descending daedric sword that the black-haired Altmer had summoned. As I hobbled up behind the Sponsor, I swung my blade at the backs of his thighs, forcing him to one knee.

Boots thudded to the floor behind me, a voice shouting “For Lord Dagon!” I spun around in time to deflect the falling mace of the acolyte with the Kvatch Wolf. Too close to bring my sword to bear, I shoved into him, bringing the edge of my shield up to his face with a sharp crack. He reeled back, blood pouring from his nose and mouth, giving me room to use my blade. Sliding the katana beneath that summoned cuirass, I twisted the blade within the other’s rib cage. As the acolyte slid off my sword, I spun back to the Sponsor.

Baurus had avoided the wild swing from the Sponsor’s sword and sent his katana into the other’s neck, twisting it so the helm came flying off. The helm dissolved into sulfurous smoke as the Altmer collapsed, breath rattling from the mortal wound.

When no more enemies appeared, Baurus and I sheathed our swords. “That was well done,” he said to me. “A few more of these bastards dead.” He nudged the Sponsor’s body with his booted toe, frowning at the other’s face. “That’s Raven Camoran,” he said suddenly. “I’ve heard of him - he’s a powerful mage.”

“Any relationship to Mankar Camoran?” I asked, kneeling beside the dead Altmer, now unarmored. Baurus considered my question while I searched the robes.

“It’s hard to say,” he said finally. “Mankar Camoran lived so long ago, but these Altmer do live for many, many years.”

“Here it is!” I exclaimed, my fingers finding the edges of a small volume within a pocket in the Altmer’s robe. Pulling it out, I peered at the title. Volume Four. “The fourth one,” I held it up to Baurus. He looked at it, but did not take it from me.

“Now that you have all four books,” he said, “you should be able to handle it from here.” Clapping my right shoulder as I rose to my feet, he grinned at me. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Wait,” I said, thinking of the first acolyte I had shot. “Let me make sure the third one’s dead.” I pointed at the bridge where it disappeared into the far wall. “There’s a room there.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Baurus said, heading for the door by which he had entered. I backtracked to the stairs outside the entrance, returned to my hiding place and moved out onto the bridge. Through the iron gate, now open, I crept forward into the dimly lit room beyond. It had bedrolls and chests, and a single, very dead corpse. I cut out the arrow still protruding from his chest and returned to Baurus.

“All good?” Baurus asked me when I returned. I nodded at him, loosening the string on my bow.

***********
We emerged from the stinking sewers into cool, clean rain. Glancing at the overcast sky, I tried to estimate the time. My stomach growled, suggesting that it was quite late in the day. Baurus turned to me, clasping my right wrist in the warrior grip. “It was good fighting with you, Julian.”

“What’s next, Baurus?” I asked. He shrugged.

“Ask Tar-Meena about those books,” he suggested. “As for me, I’m heading back to Cloud Ruler Temple. My place is at the Emperor’s side.”

“All right, sir,” I brushed the last of the sewer grime off my hands, scraping my boots on a nearby stone. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

More of James Baurus and Julian Powers! I can sense places where you have edited it, and now it flows smoother. That leap of Julian's still makes me grit my teeth. Yow, that had to hurt!

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