Herminia’s grandfather is a delight- in his own grumpy way.





And your depiction of the scholarly Herminia is excellent, as well. Your descriptions of the room and of Teresa’s reactions allow us to see and feel what she does. And then there is the mystery of her pale skin- and a possible explanation.



Confirming my feelings about him.

Irlav taking credit for the worthwhile scholarship of others is no surprise- and I have unfortunately seen it in RL, too.

The entire history lesson is brilliant. Lots of interesting bits of “lost” lore to keep it fresh- and you do world-building in a wonderfully entertaining fashion.

Herminia is wonderful and you have really brought her to life. As I have said before, our 'she-elves' seem at their best when used as vessels to draw forth the personalities of others. Certainly that is the case here!

Goodness. It seems Teresa agrees about Herminia being wonderful. Daydreaming while under instruction? And not about horses either. Regardless, I have no doubt Teresa is learning much here.

History is invariably written by the winners. It would be interesting to hear how the Ayleids viewed the Alessian Revolt. I think the closest we will come to knowing is through Herminia in the TF. As much as I am a fan of Elder Scrolls lore, I have always enjoyed those subtle moments in which you choose to diverge from it. Leave Umaril for Pelinel, Queen Tenyeminwe is a brilliant addition because she gives Alessia a flesh and blood adversary to contend with in her struggle for power and freedom.


Phintias, skewered! I love it!


QFT! Nearly a hundred and fifty years ago in the United States they called it ‘reconstruction’. A hundred years ago it was called ‘Jim Crow’. And fifty years ago it was still called ‘segregation’.

Linara: There are a bunch of books in the ES games about the Alessian Revolution. Your best places to start are probably the UESP Wiki page on The Ayleids, Alessia, and The Song of Pelinal. The first two have links to a bunch of game books. And of course the Imperial Library's Timeline of the First Era.


haute ecole rider: Quite right that dad's treasure was not supposed to be there, but the tribute to stomach lining was meant as it was, as it is about tripe in general. It is actually a line I heard in a movie recently, but I cannot remember which.

I see I am not the only one annoyed at Phintias as well. I wonder if they did the voice-acting that way on purpose, of it was just accidental that he sounds like a snobbish boat.


treydog: The mystery of Teresa's pale skin? There is no mystery. It all just pure, random chance. Teresa will tell you herself. Its not like she's an Ayleid after all! Nope, not a chance.

Looks like there is a lot of love for Phintias out there!


Acadian: When you say "under instruction" it brings to mind an entirely different image than I think you intended! Funny you should mention horses though, because in the chapter I am currently working on two interesting horses make an appearance.


Destri Melarg: And rewritten again by the victor's descendants! Sometimes the only way to really tell what happened is to borrow H.G. Well's time machine.

Well, the subtle divergence from ES lore has ended. It is much more dramatic from here on out. But hopefully it all hangs together. If you like Tenyeminwe so far, wait until you read this post. Plenty more about her flesh and blood, as well as Alessia, Morihaus, and Pelinal.


Next: Herminia gets on a soapbox, and Teresa learns some shocking revelations about the Alessian Revolution.

* * *

Chapter 21.6 – The Last King Of The Ayleids

"In 243, a year after the great alliance, Alessia marched upon the Imperial City, then known as Aduial by the star elves. The name meant 'eventide' or 'the herald of the stars'. Pelinal Whitestrake was slain there, along with High King Umaril. But the city was taken by Alessia. It is said that she was the first to stride through its gates after her spells destroyed them. Although that is probably hyperbole."

"For the rest of Alessia's life her armies slowly conquered western Cyrodiil. By the time she died in the year 266 all of what is now Colovia and the Gold Coast was in her hands. Much of the area was settled by Nordic mercenaries and their families, who joined her cause for the promise of such lands. That is why modern Colovians tend to have fair skin and light eyes, where we Nibeneans are all dark."

"So that left eastern Cyrodiil still Ayleid then? Cities like Vilverin and Belda?" Teresa asked. This all sounded so different from the grand stories that the bards told of Pelinal Whitestrake single-handedly wiping out entire Ayleid cities, seemingly at random across the province.

"Indeed, and while still technically at war, a sort of unspoken truce existed between the new Empire of the Cyrods and the Arimer City States. In fact, trade between the two was common," Herminia went on. "You mentioned Vilverin. Queen Aldudenie of that city-state had very close economic ties with the newly renamed Imperial City, and was probably the human kingdom's strongest ally among the elves."

"This is where the Late Ayleid Period is often said to begin," Herminia explained, "although some put it at the beginning of the Alessian Revolt. The timing always revolves around Alessia, for she was the driving force of the Great Revolution and early Cyrod Empire. She was one of the greatest magicians of the age, and an excellent strategist as well. Without her the Empire could only sputter along, like a lamp out of oil."

"But what of the heroes, like Morihaus - the cosmic bull - or Pelinal," Teresa asked with beetling eyebrows. "Weren't they the ones who conquered Cyrodiil?"

"Hardly," the Imperial snorted. "Morihaus was a bull alright, but not some magical being sent by the gods. He was a field slave that Alessia took a liking too. Apparently his stamina was legendary, enough so that in time he became her favorite in bed. Although she still seems to have continued her relationship with Queen Tenyeminwe as well, for Alessia still kept her as a prisoner. In battle Morihaus seems to have been an excellent fighter, large and strong, and was popular among the troops. But he never showed the slightest bit of actual skill at tactics or strategy."

"Wait a moment, Alessia had a relationship with the queen who enslaved her, after she overthrew her?" Teresa blinked.

"Yes indeed," Herminia smiled. "This is one of the things many historians like to pretend never happened. As Tenyeminwe's handmaiden, Alessia would have served her Queen in bed as well as in other ways. That is typical of all elven courts. By all accounts Tenyeminwe was Alessia's first lover, and a real fondness must have existed between the two. Alessia refused to have Tenyeminwe executed after she overthrew her, even though most of her advisors badgered her to do so. She was too dangerous a magician to let go, so Alessia kept her as an honored prisoner, with the equivalent of a modern Dunmer slave bracer to prevent her from using magic. In fact, Tenyeminwe lived in more comfort and opulence than Alessia herself did. When she was not on campaign, Alessia often visited her old queen in private. One can only imagine what they did, but given that they were lovers in the past, I doubt that would have ended. In fact it was not until Alessia herself died that Tenyeminwe did as well, for she was murdered by Alessia's successor, Belharza."

"Wow," Teresa thought, trying to imagine what it would be like to have to fight Nerussa, and be faced with the choice of whether or not to kill the high elf. But something like that could never happen in the first place, could it? What could make someone fight the person they loved? Slavery, torture, and murder, Teresa thought. "But I would have thought Alessia would have hated Tenyeminwe, and all the Ayleids?"

"As the leader of the rebel cause, hatred was a weakness that Alessia could not afford," Herminia explained softly. "She still had to deal with the Ayleid rulers and their representatives, and manage alliances with them in order to succeed. Besides, she was still human, still a woman. She felt love, just the same as anyone, and still needed to be loved in turn. Even if by an enemy."

"We also must keep in mind that Tenyeminwe was not a fool," Herminia continued. "If Alessia had been nothing but a vessel of burning hate, the queen would have sensed it and simply killed her. Alessia must have used her own tender feelings for Tenyeminwe to mask her true intentions. It must have been an incredible tight-rope to walk. I do not envy her."

"Pelinal Whitestrake, on the other hand, had no idea what love was," Herminia went on in stronger tone. "He was clearly not human, and possessed great magical powers. When it came to killing he had no equal. Some even think he was an aspect of Lorkhan, given not only his power, but also his absolute hatred of the elves and the bouts of pure murderous insanity that he often suffered from. The latter eventually made him more of a detriment than an asset to the rebels. It is quite possible that his death at the Battle of Aduial was engineered by Alessia in fact, or that she at least allowed it to happen."

"What!" Teresa sputtered, and almost spat out her tea. All of her life she had heard Pelinal Whitestrake idolized as a near god. The great hero of the revolution who had almost single-handedly killed every Ayleid in Cyrodiil!

"Sounds quite different from what you normally hear isn't it?" Herminia smiled. "That is what history is like. When you really delve into it, you discover that much of what you were taught as a child was false. Or so warped by politics and bias as to be nearly so. In all of Cyrodiilic history, this is never so much the case as it is with the Alessian Revolution and fall of the Ayleids. Pelinal Whitestrake especially."

"For example, when Alessia was conquering the western highlands she had made an alliance with the Ayleid King Sinyaramen of Lindai. Her army's lines of supply and communication ran through his territory, so his cooperation with her was critical. Not to mention his soldiers were serving in her army."

"Well, Pelinal Whitestrake was returning from Sancre Tor with a group of Nordic reinforcements when he stopped in Lindai. Apparently Sinyaramen gave him some sort of slight, and Pelinal flew into a rage and killed the king in his palace. It quickly turned into a battle, and Pelinal and his Nords burned the city the ground after killing everyone that they could catch, humans included. They claimed the humans were collaborating with the Ayleids, and so deserved to die."

"When she found out, Alessia had to segregate the Ayleids from the rest of her army to keep them from learning the truth. In the end she poisoned them to prevent the unavoidable battle. Then she was forced to abandon her siege of Wendir and march back to Lindai to secure her rear. Because now all the Ayleids and humans that Pelinal had failed to kill there were up in arms against her. It was a complete disaster. In fact, it was just the example of human atrocities that High King Umaril needed to fully unite the Ayleid cities against Alessia."

"This was not the first time Pelinal had killed Ayleids who were allied to Alessia either," Herminia said dryly. "He murdered Enelye of Hrotanda Vale, one of the rebel cause's greatest heroes. Or someone who should have been so. For Enelye was the one who trained the newly created human army to fight as professionals, rather than an armed mob. Perhaps even more importantly he taught Alessia herself the arts of strategy and tactics. Yet Enelye was still an Ayleid, and when he took a human wife Pelinal went mad and decapitated him and his bride on their wedding night."

"Pelinal was too popular with the rank and file of the army for Alessia to remove him," Herminia went on. "The Nords especially, as they thought he was Shor's gift to them, if not Shor incarnate. Shor being their name for Lorkhan of course. But he had clearly become more of a threat to her own army than the Ayleids were. So I think when Alessia had the opportunity, she held back the army from the gates of Aduial and let Umaril finish him off. Supposedly the army was too terrified of the Ayleids to advance, and only Pelinal had the nerve to meet Umaril on the field of battle. But that is just plain horse manure. There were no cowards or shirkers in Alessia's army. They had been fighting for over a decade. The Cyrods had scores to settle with their former masters, and the Nords all yearned for fame, glory, and land. In fact, keeping them back had always been Alessia's problem, not making them attack."

"Wow, I never imagined Pelinal Whitestrake that way," Teresa admitted, "he sounds like a monster." She had never heard of Enelye, or Lindai, or Hrotanda Vale. She wondered how much of the rest of the stories that she had been told were just that, stories, rather than truth. Looking across her teacup at Herminia, she could now see why the scholar was not a sage at the University. Saying things like this would quickly alienate her from the Old Imperial Boys Club, that was for sure!

"He was a monster," Herminia said, "who fought other monsters. But that does not make him a hero. It was Alessia who was the hero of the Revolution, along with the real Morihaus, and the thousands of others who gave their lives in her cause. They fought and sacrificed to bring freedom and justice to an oppressed people. Pelinal Whitestrake fought for nothing but his own bloodlust. The way he is idolized today is a disservice to those with whom the true credit belongs."

WHAT?! Pelinal's death was... This is simply unbelievable, shell-shocking, mouth-agaping... THIS CHAPTER IS BEST COMPARED TO AN APPEARANCE OF A GOD! I am simply MESMERIZED and CAN NEVER TEAR AWAY AT ITS VISAGE, dear Sage!

Wow.. Well, now that the part of being strucked by sudden lightning is over, let me say this; You had my full attention on the history lesson, I wonder if we can get some more?


Some leaders have dogs of war waiting to be unleashed. Half of those leaders made the mistake of not making the leash even tighter. Just look at the terminal of Certain Overseer of a Certain Vault who Controls a Certain Gang.

Is this the part where I say 'I'm waiting for an update'? If so, then there you go!

As someone who has performed the KotN questline several times, I found this all very interesting. It's funny how the heroes we idolize turn out to be merely crumbling clay?

I found the complicated relationship between Alessia and Tenyeminwe to be quite fascinating as well.

Enjoyable for a history lesson! Worth a story all by itself!

Sage Rosa, you have truly earned the nickname 'sage' with this post. Loved it.

S.G.M

My goodness. This Herminia seems to know her stuff!

Our heads are spinning.

And not a bit of daydreaming or doodling on parchment from Teresa during the lesson!

And with this, it seems I'm going to have to collect yet another story into an OpenOffice document with an eye to storing it on a future ebook reader.

Story. Triple Plus Good. More.

And let's not forget WHO it was who first noted the excellent teaching and storytelling qualities of this character, shall we? (looks insufferably smug)

Oh wow..... Pelinal a mad beast on a indriscriminate killing streak rather than the hero..... I hadn't expected that. I have read in-game books stating he was mad but not like this.

It is always a pleasure to read a “true” history, as opposed to the “official” (usually meaning “sanitized”) version. In the hands of a skilled storyteller, history and the personalities that populate it come to life. That is definitely the case here. Wonderfully done.

From the opening paragraph of The Song of Pelinal:

Thanks to the lore we know that Pelinal is a corruption of Pelin-El, which means ‘Star-Made Knight’ in Ayleidic (or Arimic if you prefer). I find it interesting that both he and Perrif found names by corrupting the language of their adversaries. Alessia is a corruption of the title Al-Esh, which means ‘High Highness’ (go figure).

Your version of him strikes me as far closer to the reality than anything written about him by those who benefited from his reign of terror. I imagine the only time we are given a hint as to his true nature is the description of his first meeting with the slave queen when he wanders into her camp covered in Ayleidic blood.

The fleshing out (so to speak) of Alessia’s relationship with Tenyeminwe gives a much needed human face to this almost mythic figure who would go on to embody the idea of sainthood to the Imperial mind. It is easy to see why someone like Herminia would be marginalized for trying to see beyond the myth to the courageous woman who lived to forge it.

Because of this chapter I have had to shelve any thoughts I may have entertained about writing Alessia’s story. That territory has now been more than adequately marked and SubRosa’s scent warns all unworthy interlopers away. Dammit!

ureniashtram: Good comparison to Vault 101. Although Butch wishes he was as bad-boat a Pelinal! I am glad you liked it. More on the way.


haute ecole rider: I would not say the TF version of Pelinal was clay, more like sweating dynamite! My depiction of him is actually somewhat watered down from the Song of Pelinal. In there they describe him as going on insane rampages and laying waste to huge swaths of Cyrodiil. When I re-read that again, I am more convinced than ever that he was indeed Lorkhan/Shezarr/Shor. The Nords called him the Shezarine, and under his star-made armor there was a hole where his heart should be.

I never finished the KOTN questline. I just barely started it once, and your comment prompted me to go back to Oblivion and continue it. I am in the middle of collecting the crusader artifacts. In KOTN he is portrayed more as a mortal man now dead, rather than a piece of god. They certainly seem to be pretending that he is not a Daedra and was prone to slaughtering everything in sight! The Song of Pelinal describes him as wearing armor that was "star-made", which implies glass or ebony. But in KOTN it is just your standard medieval mail. Likewise, TSoP says he was killed at White Gold Tower. But in KOTN he points you to Vanua as where he died. I guess Bethesda did not bother to read any of their own lore books...

I got really inspired with Alessia and Tenyeminwe. There is so much more I came up with that there is just no place to put in. I know that Tenyeminwe was a very cunning woman, she knew that her handmaiden was closer to her than anyone else in the world, and thusly posed more of a danger to her than anyone else. She carefully selected Alessia to be her handmaiden when she was about 12 or so, and purposely isolated her from all her old friends and family. Then she went out of her way to make sure Alessia became totally emotionally dependent upon her. It worked too. Alessia fell completely in love with the queen.

I do not see Tenyeminwe as being one of the sadistic Ayleid rulers, although she could be ruthless when she had to. Still slavery was a reality under her, with all the standard inhumane conditions. Then when slaves got old and sickly they were given to the necromancers so their souls could be harvested. Plus of course there were a few young ones sacrificed to the daedra princes every year on their feast days.

After several bad years Lipsand Tarn was facing a famine and needed imported grain. To get it Tenyeminwe had to make a deal with the king of Sercen, who always needed slaves for his "gut-gardens". I have a very vivid picture of how they looked, with disemboweled humans hung on spikes and their intestines strung around into sort of a web overhead. Then reanimated through necromancy so they still moved, moaned, and groaned all the time. Still, I imagine they wore out after not too long, so he always needed fresh meat.

Tenyeminwe sold a large number of slaves from Lipsand Tarn in return for his grain. Alessa saw it all when she was there with the queen, and it is what created her resolve to overthrow the Ayleids. That night she would have started having dreams sent by the gods (which they allude to in the lore). Within a few years Alessia engineered Tenyeminwe's overthrow.

Afterward she offered Tenyeminwe a parole if the queen would swear to leave Cyrodiil and never return. But Tenyeminwe could not do it. She was tied to her land in the old pagan/Arthurian sense, and would not be parted from it. She could have lied, but at that point she and Alessia were beyond that. Not in the least because Alessia knew her too well, and of course knew before she offered the parole that Tenyeminwe would never accept it. Come to think of it, Alessia offered the same to all Ayleids, be they kings or peasants. The more she could get to just leave the easier it was for her, and always having that escape open would have probably tempted a lot of Ayleids to flee rather than fight to the death.


Doommeister: I am an aromatic herb known for its curative properties? Yay!


Acadian: I knew that would be a really powerful segment. Teresa's head is spinning too! Herminia really is quite the radical historian, and fun to write.


Cardboard Box: Thanks Box. Your writing of Irlav Jarol has completely taken over my image of him. Now I cannot imagine him as anything but an ultra-conservative, racist, snob.

I can email you my MS Word docs of the TF if you like. I also have it all in html on the website (link is in the first post).


D.Foxy: Hmm, who was that now? My memory is not so good now that I am in my sunset years...


Remko: I actually watered him down from how the Song of Pelinal describes him. Bethesda all but comes out and directly says that he was Lorkhan. Morrowind (the game) is based on the premise that Lorkhan was utterly evil, as the Tribunal was weakened because they resisted the evil of his heart. Where Dagoth Ur gained power because he embraced it. So Dagoth Ur himself would really be a sort of a mini-Lorkhan. Imagine how bad the real deal was?


treydog: It's like reading ES's Real Barenziah and comparing it to the official temple biography. What a difference! I was heavily influenced by the American Revolution, and how so many myths have cropped up around it. What I was taught in school bears little resemblance to what really happened!


Destri Melarg: I am really amazed that Pelinal has an elvish name too. I am certain the elves did not give it to him. Unless it was the humans who did. One can imagine that the only language they spoke was that of their elven masters. So maybe that is the case?

The TF version of Alessia would definitely have an elven name. She was an elven queen after all, in all senses except the pointed ears. Alessia learned the arts of rulership from Teneyeminwe, and it was only those lessons that made her able to lead the Revolution, create a new government from nothing, and fend off all the rivals she had within the human ranks for power. Everything she did, was with the image of her old queen in mind.

I really did enjoy working on Alessian Revolution, especially the relationship between Alessia and Tenyeminwe. Maybe when I have done all I would like to with the TF I will write about Alessia and Tenyeminwe. It would be difficult given their incredibly complex relationship (not to mention a character as deeply depressed and lonely as Tenyeminwe after she was overthrown) but it is inspiring.

One of the things that annoys me about the lore version of it is that Alessia seems to be almost a bystander and the entire thing is done by the demigods (semi-gods?) Morihaus and Pelinal. It is kind of like if the American Revolution had been won by a bunch of samurai who just thought the patriots needed help. I think that humans should be the driving force for the Alessian victory, not external, supernatural entities. That is why I worked to humanize Alessia and give her a larger role, show Morihaus as a real flesh and blood man, and reveal Pelinal as as much a hindrance as he was a help. That is also why the war I portray is a long, dragged out affair lasting centuries. It was a slow, steady campaign waged by humans, and won by humans, one city at a time across all of Cyrodiil.


Next: Handril's Bane


* * *

Chapter 21.7 – The Last King Of The Ayleids

"Well, if I can climb down from my soapbox now, we can get into the meat of the Late Ayleid Period." Herminia winked, and poured more tea for herself and Teresa. The forester could not help but smile faintly at the other woman. At least she knew how radical she sounded, Teresa thought, and could poke fun at herself for it.

"Things were relatively peaceful between the Cyrod Empire and the Ayleids from Alessia's death in the year 266 to 361. There were still some battles and little wars between the two, but nothing as world-shattering as Alessia's campaigns. In fact the Empire was too busy with its own problems to worry much about the Ayleids. For the Nords who settled in what is now Colovia had started up their own kingdoms there. While technically they swore fealty to the Emperor, they had a habit of doing whatever they pleased instead."

"So the Empire sort of turned into the Ayleids," Teresa observed, "becoming a loose band of cities out for themselves."

"In many ways, yes, exactly so," Herminia nodded with approval. "Then in 361 the monkey prophet Maruhk came, and with him, the so-called Alessian Doctrines. As you probably know, he claimed to be in direct communication with the spirit of Alessia. She supposedly told him to launch a crusade to annihilate the elves, and everything elven. It went right down to outlawing music, because the elves had played it while humans toiled in the fields. The same with any other form of entertainment, for slaves had been given none. Even worship of the Eight Divines was forbidden, as the Maruhkati believed in a bizarre monotheistic deity, which they claim was represented by the ghost of the Empress."

"The Emperor at the time - Ami-El - fully embraced the Alessian Doctrines. It is no wonder, for the Maruhkati espoused blind loyalty to the Ruby Throne. What followed was the near compete subjugation of Colovia and what is now Hammerfell, and then finally an invasion of Ayleid-held eastern Cyrodiil."

"Once more, it was a slow and steady advance, beginning with the Ayleid cities that remained on the west bank of the Niben: Wendyandawik, Anutwyll, Bawn and Telepe. Then they crossed Lake Rumare and began reducing the Ayleid cities there as well. In 372 they even turned on Vilverin, which had always been their staunchest ally, and laid it to waste."

"That was the spark that ignited a resurgence of Ayleid power. For the first time since the days of Umaril they were united again. This time it was under the charismatic leadership of King Handril of Mackamentain. It is said that as a child his father made him swear an oath of eternal hatred for humans upon the altar of Boethiah. He would make his father proud in the years to come. Even outnumbered by as much as three to one at times, Handril destroyed every Imperial army sent against him."

"Like at Lake Trasimene," Teresa offered, remembering the tale that Morcant had related about the battle there. "I was there not too long ago."

"I envy you," Herminia admitted. "I have never been far from a carriage during my trips outside the Imperial City."

"Well, just get out and go walking," Teresa said. "It's only a few days north of the Blue Road."

"Easy for a fearless adventurer like you to say!" the scholar exclaimed with a twinkle in her eye. "It's quite a different story when you are a princess of parchment like myself! I wouldn't last a day out in the wilderness."

"Well, I'd be glad to take you on my next trip," Teresa offered. "I have a friend who lives at the lake, though she's not there now. Tsume's probably around though."

"Who is he?" the Imperial asked, "a local hunter? He sounds like an Akaviri with a name like that!"

"No, he's a wolf," Teresa said with a faint smile, "and a good friend."

Now it was Herminia's turn to nearly spit her tea across her lap. "A wolf!" she sputtered. "You have a wolf for a friend? See, now that is just what I mean. A wolf would eat me for breakfast!"

"Oh the forest isn't half as dangerous as most people think," Teresa said. "You just have to keep your eyes open and think about what you are doing is all. The only real danger at the lake are the goblins. The Bone Eaters live on the eastern shore. I had a run in with them once."

"Did you kill many of them?" the Imperial asked, her eyes rapt with attention.

"Not one," Teresa admitted. "I hid when they came near, and they never knew I was there."

Herminia laughed, and Teresa found herself cracking the ghost of a smile as well. "Now that is just what I meant before," the Imperial said. "If that was a bard's tale, you would have felled a score of foes with your mighty sword, and then another score with your bare hands after its blade was dulled from lopping off goblin heads. The real world is usually quite different from poetic tales!"

"I suppose it is," Teresa agreed with a nod of her head. "So are all the stories about Handril that way then? I heard he led his army through the length of the Jerall Mountains and attacked Colovia, and even marched on the Imperial City itself once. Or is that all bluster too?"

"No," Herminia said, now serious once more. "If anything they are played down. Handril was one of the greatest military geniuses to ever live. No Imperial army, or general, could ever keep up with him. In the end he never lost a battle in the open field."

"So how did he lose the war?" Teresa asked. "That never made sense to me."

"Sieges. You see the problem Handril had - aside from always being outnumbered - was that he could only be in one place at a time. When Emperor Ami-El died in 382 he was succeeded by his cousin, Emperor Fabius Maximus. At the time he was called Fabius Cunctator however - 'the delayer'. Because he devised a new strategy to deal with Handril. Rather than trying to meet him on the battlefield, Fabius ordered his generals to avoid open battle, and instead shadow Handril's forces."

"At the same time, Imperial armies elsewhere in Cyrodiil began to systematically besiege and reduce the Ayleid cities in Handril's alliance. Perhaps most famous of these sieges was of Culotte. While the fleet blockaded the port, the Imperial army built not only a series of fortifications facing inward to hem the garrison in, but made another set facing outward."

"When Handril came to try to relive the siege, he found himself stymied by the defensive works and an army that would not come out and meet him in the open. Finally he was forced to withdraw as another Imperial army came and threatened to encircle him in a third set of fortifications it was building."

"Afterward there was a coup in Culotte and the city switched sides. It then became one of the most important Imperial bases east of the Niben. In fact it was from there that they launched their final offensive into the heart of Ayleid territory, Handril's own city of Mackamentain."

"It would take weeks to go through all the campaigns, battles, and sieges," Herminia said. "But ultimately Handril's confederacy was broken one city at a time, and the remaining Ayleid cities were forced to sue for peace in 393, on most humiliating terms. They had to pay an indemnity, dismantle their walls and other defenses, and were forbidden to maintain more than local city militias to maintain order."

"Handril himself fled to the east, where he took service under Dumac Dwarfking of the Dwemer, who was embroiled in a bitter war against the Nords. But while the Dwemer king may have respected Handril's abilities as a general, he did not trust him, for he never gave the Ayleid leader a significant command. In the end Fabius pressured Dumac to exile Handril, threatening to send his armies to aid the Nords if he did not."

"So that is when nightshade became Handril's Bane," Teresa said.

"Yes indeed." Herminia once more looked pleased, and Teresa wondered what it would feel like to hold her hand. "Handril fled south to Argonia. Just hours ahead of Imperial assassins, he took his own life with poison. Even in the end, he would not give the Empire the satisfaction of undoing him."

Goodness. Teresa is certainly getting her septims' worth!

Heh I loved this!

Lovely little interlude that keeps Teresa actively engaged in the segment and links her experience to how history is sometimes told and embellished.

Ahah. Nothing like some hormones to help hold Teresa's attention during a history lesson.

Wow! More history, and what history this was! Grand, sweeping, epic in scale. Quite fascinating, in fact.

A couple of nits jumped out at me, though:
Looks like these two words traded places.

Darn those possessive its! Always trying to take on more than they need!

More history lessons! Herminia can sure make a fine teacher regarding the Arimer! I'm in such an Ayleidic high, I'm tempted to write a story about those wild elves.



Cullote? What, did those Imps brutally tore down the women's drawers to burn down the paganistic underoos, including their culottes? lol

And Handril served under the Dwarfking? Wow!

More excellent history. Please do consider writing the story of Alessia and the Arimer Queen- I can see that being quite an epic.

Interesting about the bardic saga versus the reality. One thing you see if you read Western European lit (starting with the earliest) is how the number of enemies slain by the hero decreases.

Besides the fact that the lore itself is interesting, you continue to weave in the personalities of the “historical” figures and of Teresa and Herminia.

So after Culotte was destroyed, the Arimer became the sans Culottes?”

Nits:

“While technically they swore fealty to the Emperor, they had a habit to doing whatever they pleased instead."

“habit of…” I think.

"That was the spark that ignited a resurgence of Ayleid power. For the first time since the days Umaril…”

Another “of” got lost from between “days” and “Umaril”.

"So are all the stories about Handril the that way then?”

An extra “the” after Handril.

GRRRRR. Fiend-friend ACADIAN :meh: has made all the points I was going to make! boo yah to you!!!


So in the end I have only this to add:

"At the time he was called Fabius Cunctator however"

When I first read Roman History as a 10 year old boy I always giggled every time I heard that name, which frequently got me a rap over the knuckles from my long-suffering tutor...

Acadian: I knew you would like the prince of parchment, since it was one of your ideas from so long ago!

I am glad you noted the purpose of that little interplay between Teresa and Herminia about the goblins. You had it exactly as I intended.

And finally, Teresa's hormones are percolating quite nicely throughout this chapter. To be 18 again!


haute ecole rider: Quite right about my radical its. They must have been frightened by Handril being at the gates.


ureniashtram: Actually it was this Culotte. But come to think of it the Arimer men did take to wearing pantaloons afterward...


treydog: Did you ever read any of Parke Godwin's novels? I love how he took King Arthur and Beowulf and portrayed them in a realistic fashion, rather than the typical mythical view of them.

Looks like that dastardly Handril frightened off more of my good Imperial words there...


D.Foxy: D.Cunctator it is then!


Next: In the final segment of the history lesson, we meet the last king of the Ayleids.

* * *

Chapter 21.8 – The Last King Of The Ayleids

"So that's how it ended then?" Teresa thought aloud, "at the beginning of the 400's, east of the Niben?"

"Oh no," Herminia said. Her eyes were fairly aglow, and Teresa realized that she was enjoying herself immensely. "For there is an epilogue to our tale. It would be another eighty years until the Ayleid's fire was snuffed out for once and all."

"Eighty years?" Teresa said, "how come? It sounds like they were wiped out?"

"Not at all," Herminia explained. "It is true that many of their cities were utterly destroyed, such as Anutwyll, Fanacas, and of course Mackamentain, but others survived. Remember, the war ended when they sued for peace. The remaining Ayleid city states all became vassals of the Imperial throne. Conquered, but still in existence. While many Ayleid refugees whose cities had been destroyed fled to Valenwood in this time, some were allowed to settle in the ruins of Vilverin and rebuild it. You see its salt mines were valuable to the Imperial City, and there were literally not enough humans left to take over resettling the city and working them."

"But didn't the Alessian Order want to kill them all?" Teresa wondered. "I thought that was what happened?"

"The Maruhkati Cult did, but luckily for the elves, Emperor Fabius was not such a slave to their dogmas as his predecessor. While the Ayleids were beaten, the Empire had itself been gutted. Not just one, but two generations of Cyrods had been slaughtered fighting in the war. The Empire's own lands had been laid waste by Handril's counter-invasion, and its treasury bankrupted. Fabius knew that to pursue the campaign of annihilation any further would destroy his own government as well. So once again peace reigned in Cyrodiil, and finally wisdom asserted itself over religious zeal. For a time at least."

"You sound like you don't agree with what happened?" Teresa observed.

"Not all of it, no," Herminia admitted. "The Maruhkati Sect were friends to no one, be they human or elf. They preyed upon the fears and disesteem of people, gave them scapegoats to blame for all their problems, imprisoned and tortured any who contradicted them, and plunged Cyrodiil into a series of wars that eventually undid the entire First Empire. It is really an insult to our Empress that they called themselves the Alessian Order. They twisted her good name into something as dark and monstrous as what she fought all of her life to end. She deserves better than that."

"So do you think the Ayleids were right then?" Teresa bit her lip, uncertain of how the other woman would react.

"Not at all," Herminia answered firmly. "Bards always want there to be a hero and a villain. But as I am sure you've noticed, real life is not so cut and dried. Sometimes there are no heroes, just different sides. The Ayleids were only another villain. I have been to Morrowind, and I saw the slave market of Tear. It left me feeling so horrified, so helpless, that I never want to see anything like that again. It doesn't require elaborate tortures - 'flesh-sculptures' or 'gut-gardens' - to make what the Ayleids did detestable. The ordinary day-to-day business of slavery is monstrous enough. People being driven like cattle, whipped and beaten until their will is crushed and all hope within them extinguished, is bad enough. I think the Empire's most noble achievement was to outlaw slavery. I just wish it extended to all of Tamriel…"

Teresa nodded. She really had no idea what life must be like for a slave. If it was anything like being a street urchin, she felt sorry for them. Yet even living in the gutter, she still had the freedom to decide where to go from one day to the next, when to sleep, and so on. Nor was begging hard work either! Although she had certainly learned how dangerous it too could be.

"But here I am, back on my soapbox again," Herminia chuckled. "This is why I'm only a guest lecturer at the University, and not on staff. I come in and shake things up once and a while and get people arguing. But not long enough to make real waves. Raminus would lose his job if that happened, and even I would not want that."

"Do you know the headmaster then?" Teresa asked.

"He was one of my instructors when I was a student at the University," Herminia replied, a far-away look in her eyes. "I have to admit, I was completely infatuated with him back then. He was so dashing, with those smoky eyes and that brilliant smile of his. He never had cruel word for anyone, and was always the first to laugh at jokes at his own expense. I'd still wrap my legs around him in a heartbeat, even though he's married."

"That's funny," Teresa said, wondering what it would feel like to have Herminia's legs wrapped around her. "Raminus was my teacher too. When I was eight he taught me my first spells - a Flare and a Heal."

"At eight!" Herminia's eyes goggled. "You were learning spells when you were that young? It wasn't until I was twelve that I managed to wrap my brain around my first one. That was just a little copy spell to make duplicates of papers, nothing fun or dramatic like yours. Are you sure you aren't a student at the University? It sounds like you have real talent at magic."

Teresa stared intently down at her teacup once more, her eyes picking out every little chip and discoloration in the old ceramic. She was intensely aware of how warm her face felt, and wished once more for that invisibility potion.

"But back to history." Herminia saved her as she returned to her lecture. "The end began in 461, when Gorieus was crowned Emperor. He purposely inspired a resurgence of the Maruhkati Doctrines to shore up the power of the Ruby Throne, as central authority had grown lax since the days of Fabius. On pretexts that he conjured up, he made war upon not only his Ayleid vassals, but his human ones as well, and slowly the cities fell under his grip. He even turned on Skyrim - which had always been Cyrodiil's staunchest ally - and killed their High Chieftain in battle. But the more he tightened his hold, the more people everywhere came to resist him."

"Like Rislav the Righteous!" Teresa offered, "with his warhorse Corsair, and hawk Phantom. I heard he beat an entire Imperial army in the Colovian Highlands."

"Indeed," Hermina's eyes glowed once more at Teresa's observation. "It was the excesses of Gorieus and his Maruhkati henchmen that prompted Rislav to seize the throne of Skingrad and lead the Colovians in revolt. But that was only the beginning. For far to the west the Direnni elves of Balfiera had united High Rock against the Empire. In the north Hoag Merkiller had inherited the throne of Skyrim from his late father, and looked for revenge for the faith that had been broken with his people. Under the diplomacy of the Direnni, all joined to stand as one against Emperor Gorieus. In 482 the war came to a head at Glenumbria Moors, in High Rock."

"But there was another there as well. Abagaianye, the last king of the Ayleids, rode at the head of a column of Ayleid refugees. His name meant 'I do not fear' in Old Aldmeris, and it is said he lived up to his name in that terrible battle. By that time all of the Ayleid cities had been destroyed by the Empire, even his own home of Nenalata. He and his kin had no hope that day, except for revenge. They would have it."

"As you probably know, the Imperial army was crushed on the moors, and Gorieus was killed, along with Hoag. The Empire simply dissolved after that as infighting between the nobles and Maruhkati tore it apart. In the end the Maruhkati Doctrines were cast down, and Cyrodiil reduced to a collection of warring cities while the Ruby Throne sat empty."

"So what about Abagaianye, and the last of the Ayleids?" Teresa asked. She did not know why, but she found herself overcome by curiosity over their fate. Where she had begun only interested in likely places to look for Ancestor statues, now she felt herself swept up in these grand events that had shook the world millennia ago.

But it was just curiosity, Teresa told herself. It was not like she was an Ayleid herself after all.

"Well that has always been a mystery," Herminia said, leaning forward. "Some people say he was killed on the moors, along with his soldiers. Others say that he found asylum in the court of the Camoran Dynasty in Valenwood. Still others whisper that he returned to Cyrodiil. That even now his descendants - the Wild Elves - live in some hidden valley deep in the Valus Mountains to the east."

"So what do you think?" Teresa asked, finding herself leaning forward as well.

"Well, we know for a fact that many Ayleids fled to Valenwood during the Late Ayleid Era, for a period of centuries really. So if Abagaianye and any others did survive, they almost certainly went there." Herminia leaned back now and took a sip from her tea. "But still, I cannot deny how romantic it would be if the rumors were true, and somehow he slipped away into some secret valley, never to be seen again. That even as we speak, his descendants live in peace and harmony with nature, as the Arimer once did at the dawn of their rule."

"But that could never happen of course," the scholar said. "In the real world, it never does."

"Of course not," Teresa breathed.

And now we are venturing to dip our toe into Destri country! I loved how you tied your fiction in to Destri's version in Interregnum via the Battle of Glenumbria Moor.

One nit that I spotted:
Don't you mean bards? Darn these apostrophes, always sticking their tails where they're not wanted!

My goodness! There is certainly some teasing in this about Ayleids and Teresa. I can imagine all kinds of foreshadowing and neat possibilities! How exciting!

So, Herminia would like to wrap her legs around Raminus' brilliant smile. It seems sausage may be on Hermina's menu. I wonder if she fancies fish as well? Oh well. Regardless, this segment certainly 'fleshed out a bit more of Hermina!

SQUEEEE!!! This brought loads more than faint smiles to Buffy and I!

Hmm. . . what makes our little wild elf so sure about that?

Chapter 21.7 & Chapter 21.8

The rise and ultimate fall of King Handril was fascinating. After swearing an oath of eternal hatred for humans, I expected to hear the legend of how he led a procession of elephants over the Valus Mountains. I am left to wonder if his exile lasted long enough for him to see the Chimer and the Dwemer unite against the Nords in 1E 401. I am sure that Fabius Cunctator (another clever addition) had him exiled long before the Nords were driven from Morrowind in 1E 416. It is too bad that Handril didn’t live to see the end of that century. I think he would have been proud to see the Alessian Reform outlawed and its adherents put to death by Ryan Direnni, an elf who was in all likelihood possessed of Ayleidic (Arimic) blood.

I like to believe that Abagaianye survived the Battle of Glenumbria Moors. Call it the hopeless romantic in me. It would be incredibly tragic if an Empire as great as that of the Arimer came to an end on a swampy bog in western High Rock. I like your continued assertion that the flesh-sculptures and the gut-gardens attributed to the Ayleids were probably an Imperial invention. The keeping of slaves holds with the traditions of their Chimer (later Dunmer) cousins. I imagine that, in the books that will be written in 4th Era Black Marsh and Elsweyr, the Dunmer will be portrayed as committing any number of atrocities. History is and always has been subjective.

Hermina’s memories of Raminus give her an earthy quality that nicely complements her more scholarly aspect.

And the mystery of the last king is another jewel in the crown of this brilliant chapter- especially as you are able to bring the Direnni into it, as well.

There is little else to say- your work needs no endorsement beyond- S.G.M.

haute ecole rider: That is just like those bards, sticking their tails where they're not wanted!

The Battle of Glenumbria Moors is actually a part of the ES lore, so I was just following that. However, I did go back and re-read that chapter of Interregnum before writing that part. Believe me, if I could have, I would have tried to find some way to work in a time-traveling Lattia if I could!


Acadian: I knew you would get a kick out of Rislav and Corsair. Since I was at it, I thought I would add in the trusty steed of Acadian jr. as well.

Sausage is definitely on Herminia's menu! We will probably never find out if fish is, since Teresa is still no where near that confident in herself to see.

I am glad the history lesson seems to have worked. I was a little worried that it would be a boring infodump. But the truth is they lay a great deal of the foundations for Teresa's fascination with the Ayleids, her present statue-hunting, and future dealings.


Destri Melarg: If ES had elephants I would have used them! I was tempted to find some way to work Silt Striders in, but decided against it. As it was I had to settle for Handril just marching the length of the Jerall Mountains.

The romantic in me would like to believe that Abagaianye slipped away somewhere with the remnants of his people. Who knows, maybe that even has something to do with Teresa's creamy white skin?


treydog: I am glad that Herminia comes across as feeling multi-dimensional. I did not want her to seem as a cardboard cutout spewing factoids. Hence her daydreaming about Raminus, and Teresa daydreaming about her!


Next: While Teresa studies the Ayleids (and Herminia's figure), someone else finally gets what is coming to him.


Chapter 22.1 - The Grass Crown

8th Last Seed, 3E433

Volsinius stood alone at the gate between the Market and Arena districts. A steady flow of people shuffled past him, going from one section of the city to the other. Most were lowly plebians dressed in rough wool, a few were better-off equites in finer, cleaner linen. Here and there was a patrician or wealthy equite in velvet and lace, and to balance them out a smattering of street urchins wearing nothing but dirty sack cloth.

Out of habit he glanced down the streets that curved away to either side along the wall the separated the districts. Then he turned to cast another look through the tunnel that cut through the open gatehouse to the Arena District. Nothing was out of place, he thought. No guilty eyes flashing in every direction that gave the apprentice thieves away, nor the hard, measuring gazes of their masters.

Where was Brekke? he found himself thinking. It was nearing the noon hour, and he had not seen the Breton all day. The girl had to be hungry by now, he thought. She had better not be stealing food again…

That is when he saw something that was very out of place. Stalking down Market Way was his centurion - Hirtius. The middle-aged Imperial's transverse crested helmet was on his head, and the vine staff that marked his authority was clenched tightly in his fist. Whatever this is, it cannot be good, Volsinius thought. Hirtius always took his lunch in the tower at this time. If he was out on the street he was likely to make someone else regret it.

"Decanus!" the centurion's bark rang out down the street as he approached in a clangor of armor plate.

"Centurion." Volsinius' frame snapped rigidly upright as he brought his closed fist to his chest with a clash of steel on steel. Hirtius was in a bad mood for certain, Volsinius thought, whenever he addressed a soldier by rank rather than name it always meant that.

"I don't know who your friends are, but they sure have connections," the junior officer said dryly as he stepped in front of Volsinius and returned the salute.

"Sir?" Volsinius said, wondering what the centurion was up to.

"You are to immediately report to Legate Phillida at Fifth Legion headquarters," the shorter Imperial said, "in the Imperial Palace."

"Sir, my relief has not arrived yet," Volsinius said, his eye once again darting down the side streets. "There is no one to watch the gate."

"I'm your relief soldier," the centurion spat. "Now get a move on, the legate isn't going to like waiting."

"Yes sir." The response flew from Volsinius' lips as reflexively as had his salute. Leaving the centurion behind him, he marched down the main thoroughfare that arced through the Market District. The road was crowded with people of all races, but he had no difficulty making his way. With his height and bulk, not to mention armor, the waves of pedestrians opened before him with ease.

His eye glanced at Jensine's shop as he passed by the arcade in which it was located. Simplicia was sweeping the cobblestones in front of the store. Her bony frame was draped in clean green and brown linen. Her face was lined and weather-beaten, and her hair a grey tangle. She was only fifty years old, Volsinius knew, just a decade more than he was himself, yet she looked as old and withered as if she was seventy.

In his mind's eye he conjured up the Imperial woman as she had been twenty years ago. Her hair had been as black as Nocturnal then, and her skin smoother than cream. He remembered the gentle curve of her wide hips and the firm plumpness of her breasts. Even now he could see her smiling as wicked as a Daedra princess as she beckoned him into her bed at the Peony Pavilion. He could smell the jasmine and sandalwood of her perfume, and still feel her hands running over his features…

Volsinius jerked his head away as Simplicia turned and looked straight at him. Damn! he cursed inwardly, there he was again, wool-gathering about the old days. He could forget about all of the other prostitutes he had been with, usually as soon as he left the brothels. So how come after all these years he was still thinking about her?

With an effort he pushed the image of the young, voluptuous Simplicia from his mind. That was the last thing he needed to be thinking about when he had been summoned to the legate's office. What in the name of Talos would Phillida want with him? For that matter, how would the commander of an entire Legion even know that a simple foot soldier like him even existed?

Whatever it was, it could not be good, he thought. The last thing any legionary wanted was to be noticed by an officer. Nothing but trouble could follow.

With that uncertain dread in the back of his mind Volsinius turned left at Commerce Street and followed it to the Palace District. He made his way past the granaries and empty barracks and through the Plaza of Emperors, until he finally he reached the gleaming white walls surrounding the actual palace itself. Taking a moment to look up, his one eye traced the slender spire of White Gold Tower as it rose impossibly high into the blue summer sky in before him.

Then he squared his shoulders once more, and made his way to the palace gatehouse. There he found a double row of praetorian guardsmen standing at attention to either side of the gate. Clad in shining armor inlaid with gold-plated dragons, and amber horse-hair crests that rose from their helmets, they were quite the dazzling sight.

What a bunch of peacocks, Volsinius thought as he approached. Probably softer than a feather pillow too. He would sooner have one girl like Teresa with him in a fight than a dozen of them. He took off his helmet and tucked it under one arm so they could see what a real solder looked like, and strode past them with his back straight and scarred head held high.

He had never been to the Imperial Palace before, but once within the small city of buildings he had no trouble finding the sprawling estate that housed the headquarters of the Fifth Legion. He only had to follow the grey, dragon-emblazoned tunics that soldiers wore when not in armor.

In no time he was in the outer office of the legate, staring at a one-legged cornicularius. The senior clerk walked from the general's inner office with a crutch under one arm, and carried a stack of parchments tucked under the other. He was older than Volsinius, with closely-cropped hair that looked more grey than black, and a scarred face had the texture of old leather.

"What in Oblivion happened to you son, fall asleep in the fire?" the clerk laughed as he looked at the scars covering left side of Volsinius' face.

"Happens every time I drink too much Nordic Whiskey!" Volsinius returned the laugh with one of his own. "What about you old man, mudcrab get the best of you?"

The other man laughed as well. This was no strutting peacock, Volsinius thought, but a real soldier like himself. It was the last thing he expected to find in the polished marble and silks of the palace, but a relief none the less.

"So what on Nirn are you doing here soldier?" the clerk asked as he laid down his parchments and eased behind a wide desk. "Shouldn't you be out killing something?"

"Volsinius - decanus of the first contubernium, first century, eighth cohort - reporting as ordered." Volsinius snapped to attention again. He did not salute. A cornicularius was a staff position, he knew, but still one belonging to a legionary like himself rather than a ranking officer.

"Oh, so you're Volsinius then?" the other soldier said with cocked eyebrow, then motioned to a bench along one wall. "I'm Lentulus, the chief parchment-pusher here. Have a seat until the legate's ready for you. It'll probably be a while yet, he's got a meeting with the tribunes right now."

Volsinius sat as instructed, laying his helmet beside him on the marble bench. A moment later a group of librarii entered the room with more paperwork for the cornicularius, and the one-legged man sent the lesser clerks away with the parchments that he had brought from the legate's office.

Volsinius waited as the day crawled by. After twenty years in the legion he was used to waiting. Half of the time waiting was all a soldier ever did, he mused. Then the other half it was hurrying to go somewhere else, just to wait again.

In time a group of men clad in shining armor even more resplendent with gold and silver than that of palace guards issued from the legate's office. He recognized them immediately as his legion's tribunes. He knew Hieronymus Lex from his time at the Waterfront, and of course his current commander, Audens Avidius. The others he did not know by their faces, but their armor said everything.

Not one even noticed him as they walked past, except Lex, who marched straight up to him. "Congratulations soldier," the tribune said. "You've done the Fifth proud."

Volsinius sprang to his feet and snapped to attention, but when he began to salute, Lex stopped him with an outstretched hand. "No more of that," the blond-haired patrician chuckled. "From now on the rest of us will be saluting you."

Then the tribune was on his way again. Volsinius stared after the man as he made his way down the hallway beyond the office and turned out of sight. What on Nirn had gotten into him? he wondered.

Then the cornicularius was hobbling into the inner office, and when he returned a moment later he motioned Volsinius within.

"The legate will see you now," he said.

Yay! We all love Vols and here, he gets his very own episode - with hints that he may get the next one as well! Woohoo! Perhaps I was inattentive during 1.0, or perhaps it is new info, but regardless, it was fun to learn that Vols' first name is Decanus and that he is 40.

You captured so well, the picture of a field soldier entering a higher headquarters - simultaneously feeling pride at being a 'grunt', and being intimidated inside such a polished and unfamiliar place full of rank. Naturally, he felt some kinship when he saw the other old scarred warhorse, Lentulus.

Super duper characterization in this episode. You portrayed Vols' soldierly mentality very well. Just as importantly, you portrayed his 'manthink' superbly as he found himself reminiscing about Simplicia, then cursing himself for his sentimentality and wandering thoughts. You have, on occasion, remarked that I have some skill at portraying a young woman; let me return the compliment at your skill in portraying an older man - and one who well-knows the ways of steel. Vols lives and breathes - my heart swelled with pride as he marched into that palace!


Booboo? I think you want to indicate that Vols turned left at Commerce Street - unless you meant for him to turn one direction or the other at a road named Left Commerce Street. Unless I am confused, I think you want: '…turned left at Commerce Street…'; that is switching at & left and capitalizing Street as part of its name.

Oops, his name isn't Decanus, that is a Roman rank. Hmmm, I did not want to italicize it, as then I would have to put centurion, legate, and all the others in italics as well. I will see if I can go back to make it more clear it is a rank, rather than a name.

Ooh, yeah, Vols! :twirl:

Something about this gruff, hard-bitten old soldier just makes me all gooey!

In addition to everything Acadian said, there's this:

I'm so with you Vols! Show 'em, Vols!

This is what happens every time my dad (former SeaBee) and uncle (former Marine) would get together - they'd trade insults just like this!

What a treat to have Vols follow on the heels of an awesome history lesson from one of the most underutilized characters in the Imperial City!

I loved this chapter when it first came out - and I see that

.... wait for it, wait for it...



OLD. HABITS. DIE. HARRRRRD!!!!

But of course! And where Vols is concerned, well -

*puts hand on curvaceous hip and does a little bump-n-grind*

A harrrrd man is good to find. Always. Always. Always.

Or at least until he's been that way for more than four hours!

Sorry 'Rosa, about this chapter:

Leave it to Lex to ruin the surprise of what happens next. If memory serves, Volsinius efforts in Jensine’s shop are about to be rewarded.

Vols’ wool gathering where Simplicia is concerned further underscores both the feelings he has for her, and the guilt that he feels over not being able to protect her. I wonder what a conversation between the two would be like, considering that they are both still carrying scars (and I don't mean the ones on Volsinius' face).

I also just loved the interplay between Vols and Lentulus. Like haute, I remember listening to the insults thrown around by my great-uncle and my grandfather. If you didn’t know them, you would have sworn that they hated each other.

Yes Hautee....and a curvaceous hip is good to grind...

er...


all you dhertee thinkers our there, I meant that a nice smooth hip is good to SEE doing the bump and grind.

HMMMMPH!!!


AS IF I would be insinuating that EYE was going to grind myself into that hip! AS IF! Who me? Innocent, Virginal MEEEE????

You know Vols is one of my favourite chars in your story and seeing he gets what he deserves (a notable promotion?) makes me smile. Big.

Acadian: You did indeed sort out my leftist commerce street. And quite right on Vols having the next segment as well.


haute ecole rider & D.Foxy: Y'all need to get some cold showers going...


Destri Melarg: Lex is a spoilsport alright, just ask Mandila... There is indeed a lot left unsaid between Vols and Simplicia. They will have that face to face, but how much of what does get said is hard to say. Neither one is really the most open about their true feelings (not even to themselves).


Remko: Vols will indeed be getting just what he deserves...


Next: Vols meets the general.


Chapter 22.2 - The Grass Crown

Volsinius turned and marched through the open doorway with his helmet tucked under one arm. The inner office of the legion's commanding officer was simply furnished. A huge map of Cyrodiil covered one wall, and a large desk stood across from the door, surrounded by numerous chairs. A tapestry of an Imperial dragon loomed behind the desk, but what really drew Volsinius' eye was the standard of the legion rising beside it.

The polished ash wood of the staff was crowned by a solid gold dragon with wings outstretched and mouth open in challenge. Trailing out behind it, as if it was the tail of the magnificent creature, was a silk windsock. It was now slack in the still air, but in his mind's eye Volsinius could see it billowing out in the wind, like the body of a great serpent. A wide plaque of gold sat under it, with silver lettering proclaiming it as 'Legio V'.

Volsinius felt his heart stir with pride at the sight of the standard. His back instantly felt straighter, his head higher, and his shoulders squarer than normal. Somehow, he simply felt invincible, like there was nothing he could not accomplish. The dragon always did that to him, he thought, ever since he had first laid eyes upon it as a recruit.

Then his eye moved to the man who rose from behind the desk. He was an old Imperial, even older than the cornicularius in the outer office. His hair was solid white, and his face a road map of lines. He wore a senior officer's day uniform of gold and red velvet, and the scarlet sash tied around his waist the mark of his status as commander of the legion.

"Decanus Volsinius reporting sir!" the one-eyed soldier snapped to precise attention, his right fist crashing to his chest in salute.

"Damn son, they told me you were big, but they never said how big," the general said with a sparkle in his eyes as he looked up at Volsinius, who towered over him as he did most other men. Unlike most others, Phillida stared at the burns that marred the legionary's face without flinching. "What did your mother feed you up in Skyrim, trolls?"

"Sir?" Volsinius asked, staring directly ahead and not daring to break his stance.

"Relax soldier, you aren't in trouble," the patrician laughed and returned Volsinius' salute. Then Phillida walked back to his desk and sifted through the stacks of parchment on it.

"Do you have any idea why you are here soldier?" he said, lifting several papers in one hand and turning to look back at Volsinius.

"No sir," Volsinius answered honestly.

"Well, it seems that you are a hero son, only you never bothered to tell anyone," the legate smiled.

"Sir?" Volsinius could not stop his eyebrow from rising. What on Nirn was the legate talking about?

"I have sworn statements from three citizens describing your heroism during the attack on the Imperial City," the legate declared, holding the pieces of parchment up in front of Volsinius. "This one, by a Bosmer named Teresa, states that she and nearly half a dozen other people were in Jensine's Good As New Merchandise when a daedroth burst in. Before any of them could react, you came out of nowhere and killed it with a single blow, saving them all from certain death. She goes on to describe how you again personally saved her from a dremora Churl, and later how you took a Flame Atronach's firebolt in the face to protect a woman named Simplicia, also called 'the Slow'. There's more too, clannfears, scamps, and more daedroth and dremora."

"All three accounts say the same thing," the legate went on, laying the parchments down and walking back to Volsinius, "you continually put yourself in the face of the Daedra and saved all three of their lives, again and again in fact. Damn son, if we had you up at Bruma you could have held the line yourself while the rest of us had lunch in the castle!"

"I also have a report from the battlemage that attended your injuries that in addition to receiving those burns on your head and losing your eye, you also had your guts torn up, and more cuts and bruises than he could count. From what he said it was only emergency potions given on the scene that prevented your death. He could not believe that you were even alive after them!"

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself soldier?" the legate asked.

"I was just doing my duty sir," Volsinius answered. This was all Teresa's fault, he thought. She did something, talked to someone. It was just like that wood elf to meddle…

"Doing your duty?" the legate sounded incredulous. "From what I have read and the witnesses I have spoken to, an Oblivion gate opened directly in front of the shop, and you killed almost all of the Daedra that came out of it. At a very obvious personal cost I might add."

"Sir, the others in the shop pitched in and fought too," Volsinius tried to explain. "That Bosmer - Teresa - she probably killed as many with her arrows as I did…"

"They aren't Legion son, you are," the legate said plainly. "As much as I would like to, I have no authority over civilian awards."

"Awards?" Volsinius said, feeling completely at a loss.

"You heard me son, awards," the legate said as he sat behind his desk and picked up the parchments once more. "Do you deny these statements?"

"No sir," Volsinius answered, wondering what was coming next, "but I-"

"Then shut up and accept the honors due you!" the legate barked. "Akatosh's wings! Hieronymus told me that you were a stiff-necked fetcher, but you're even worse than he is! I didn't think that was possible! He also said that you were the meanest, toughest piece of work he had ever met. Coming from him that is quite a compliment."

Volsinius did not say a word, knowing that to contradict the legate would be the last mistake he ever made in the Imperial Legion.

"Do you know how many Grass Crowns have been awarded since the Oblivion Crisis began?" the legate asked calmly, staring Volsinius in the eye.

"No sir," the legionary said. Volsinius did not imagine there were that many. The Grass Crown was the highest honor any soldier could earn, he knew. Even officers like the legate were required to salute the winner of one. So needless to say, they did not dole them out like loaves of bread.

"Thirteen," the legate breathed, "and out of them only four were awarded to soldiers who were still breathing. Every one of them came through here, just like you. I can tell you the rest of them were a damn sight more enthusiastic about it too."

"Sir?" Volsinius asked. He still had no idea what the legate was talking about,

"I am recommending you for the Grass Crown son," the legate explained, rising to his feet once more. "I cannot think of any man more deserving than you are. Normally only the Emperor can approve them, but under the circumstances the High Chancellor has been taking over that responsibility. I do not see any reason for him to deny my recommendation though, he hasn't yet."

"It would have come a lot sooner, except the report did not come through legion channels. You can thank that wood elf Teresa it came at all. She must have friends in high places, because this came through the Blades."

It was just like Red to meddle, Volsinius thought. Damn wood elf could not keep her nose out of other people's lives…

"Well son, you don't look very impressed." Phillida walked up to Volsinius again. Even though the legate was a full head shorter, the weight of his position loomed behind him like a vast shadow in the legionary's mind.

"Permission to speak freely sir?" Volsinius said, his one eye fixed on the dragon tapestry behind the legate's desk.

"Go ahead son, let me hear it." The legate was walking around Volsinius now, as if the legionary was a horse he was sizing up.

"I joined the legion when I was just kid sir. All I could think about then was honor and glory." Volsinius could see himself at eighteen again. His blond hair was past his shoulders, and his two eyes had glowed with pride when he told his mother he was enlisting.

"But I learned quickly," Volsinius continued. Now he saw Simplicia, tied to her bed and covered with blood. The image gave way to that of the man who had done it to her, screaming as he took off one of the Dunmer's feet with a cleaver and threw it into the lake. "What we do is a dirty, ugly job. It's like shoveling horse manure in a stable, only blood doesn't wash off as easy."

"So then what are you doing in the Imperial Legion?" the legate asked, standing in front of Volsinius again.

"Because it has to be done." Volsinius pictured Simplicia again, older than her years and worn down by the horrors of the streets. He saw her cradling the Bosmer infant who had become more important to her than her own life. He remembered how every morning when she was gone, he had walked through the alley where she hid her few meager belongings and left her whatever coins he could spare.

"If we don't hold the line against the filth of this world, then there won't be nothing left worth a damn. We're the only chance these people have, but they're the ones who make life worth living." Volsinius now saw Brekke eating fried fish from the hot food stand as if there was no tomorrow. Then he pictured her smile when he told her he was 'the handsome legionary'. "They are the ones who make this world a better place. Giving them the chance to do that is the only honor, the only glory in life."

Phillida's eyes narrowed as he stared up at Volsinius. The legionary had no idea what the legate was thinking. He just hoped he had not ticked him off worse. The general walked back to his desk and drew forth another parchment.

"I looked over your record this morning son," he said. "Did you know that you are the only recruit in the Fifth to ever make it through training without a single demerit? Centurion Hirtius also tells me that in the time you have been a decanus, your eight men have been the best in his century. How did you manage that?"

"I don't coddle fools or take excuses sir," Volsinius said plainly. "A soldier's duty is simple. If they are too lazy or stupid to do it right, then I see to it that they learn."

The legate nodded, looking pleased for some reason which Volsinius could not fathom. He stalked from his desk to a chest across the room and pulled its lid open.

"The Fifth Legion has been bled white in the fighting at Kvatch, Bruma, and here in the Imperial City. Because of that crime in the city is rampant and the countryside is filled with bandits," the legate declared. Volsinius nodded, he had seen it all first hand. Three months ago he would not have been doing gate detail alone. He only had four men left in his file, when he should have twice that.

"I have been authorized by the Elder Council to bring the Fifth back up to strength," the legate said. He leaned down into the chest and drew forth a legionary helmet whose horse-hair crest ran from one side to the other, rather than from front to back as the regular ones did. Then he produced a long swagger stick of polished oak whose surface was carved with the likeness of twisting grapevines.

"The first recruits will be coming in two days." The legate walked back to Volsinius. "I need a stiff-necked fetcher who does not coddle fools to whip them into shape and turn them into real soldiers. Soldiers I can count on to clean up this province and put it back in order. I need mean, hard fighters who eat fire and piss vinegar, and you are going to give them to me."

"Sir?" Volsinius' felt his eye widen. Was Phillida saying what he thought he was? Then a moment later the legate was handing him the transverse-crested helmet and vine staff, and he knew it was true. Neither weighed more than a few pounds, but for some reason Volsinius felt as if all of Nirn had fallen on his shoulders.

"I thought I was going to have to give it to Lex, but I need him on the Waterfront." The legate walked back to his desk and sat down. "Now I see that you are exactly the man I need. The cornicularius will have your orders drawn up within the hour. Now go and rebuild my legion, Centurion Volsinius."

Woo Hoo Vols!

There's so much I love here that I could just spam the whole segment!

One nit, as a medical professional: Ruptures come from blunt trauma (as in punching a filled water balloon); stabs leave lacerations. Also intestines may be a bit technical for TES (I'm thinking bowels might be more appropriate) but I'll leave that up to you.

But that's just nit-picking.

The entire speech Vols gives Phillidia is awesome, especially since it is entwined with his own memories of the people in his life that mattered to him. But this:
is what makes me (and Julian) stand up and salute the man.

Julian tells me Vols doesn't need any lessons from her how to achieve this - he'll do just fine on his own!

Thanks for the tweak to your previous chapter. It's crystal clear in the context now that decanus is a TF rank. . .

. . . a short-lived revelation however, as Vols has been promoted!

This story was simply magnificent.

The interaction between Phillida and Vols was crisp, and spoke of truth.

And how like Vols to curse the meddling wood elf whose hand is seen at work here.

As Vols requested and received permission to openly speak his mind, the internal images in his mind that you shared with us were the perfect companions to his words - quite simply, you wove a beautiful tapestry of his thoughts, memories and words. We all have come to understand what Vols stands for, but I suspect I was not alone in swelling with pride for him as he enunciated it.

I both envy and pity the young recruits that will soon report to Volsinius for training.

I said it then and I'll say it now...

the whole chapter: HELL YEAH!

the philosophy of the soldier, his balance between the moral shades of grey that is life versus the moral black and whites that is necessary for a soldier to remain sane...

that is the ethical dilemma that has faced the soldier for centuries. And it has been starkly outlined here.

Sorry ‘Rosa, you are just going to have to face it. You simply can’t help writing about heroes! Teresa, Pappy, Morcant, now Volsinius. All are heroes in their own quiet way. Don’t believe me? Ask yourself why Julian, a figure so blatantly heroic that it makes the teeth ache, would reserve her highest praise for the actions of Volsinius. Or why our own resident heroes, Acadian and Foxy, would ‘swell with pride’ and offer a hearty HELL YEAH in Volsinius’ general direction. In the same way the aforementioned Acadian must eventually acknowledge his facility at plotting, you have to allow that your characters inspire through their thoughts and actions.

And isn’t that what a hero is supposed to do?

YEAH! Centurion Volsinius.... I can imagine him being a hard-boat like the Drill-Sargeant (how the hell do you spell that? ) in "Full Metal Jacket"
eat fire and piss vinegar... cool

Loved this chapter.

It is always a treat to have a chapter from Vols’ point of view. He is such a powerful presence in your story- and in the lives of many of its other characters.


QFT!

His assessment of the “elite” guardsmen also rings true. The interaction with the clerk also has the genuine feel of one veteran recognizing another.

In Adamus Phillida, you portray a leader any true soldier would be glad to follow.



Why do I see Dale Dye as Adamus Phillida? (Colonel Sink from Band of Brothers).

I want to quote Vols’ entire answer about why he is still in the Legion, but I won’t. It is the sort of unvarnished statement of honor and commitment that puts iron in anyone’s spine.

And of course, the reward for successfully completing a difficult job is to be given a still more difficult one.

These last two chapters were among my faves in the original version at the BGSF. From early on in the story you developed Vols character to such a degree that the reader feels as drawn to him as to Teresa herself. These last two chapters open up insights into Vols history that at first may be shocking in revelation, but in consideration one can see how they shaped the Vols we see today.

Your ability to make living, breathing believable characters is a gift.

I don't have a military bone in my whole body (unlike every body else on this forum, lol) and have no love for the politicians who send our kids to war; however, I could not help but feel something strange inside when I read the last few chapters about Vols. Wow!! So real, so vivid, and with just the right amount of description and info. Military life sings off the screen when you write, no doubt about it.

I loved the banter between the two soldiers, it is always amazing to listen to close relatives or friends say things to each other that they would never say to strangers. Birds of a feather flock together.

Great to see Vols ruminating about Simplicia and getting caught in mid-thought when she looked up at him. Ha, ha, so true!!

So I missed four or so posts, but I do have a few things to say. One: I haven't read better history since Churchill's 'Birth of Britain'. Sounds like Herminia is Cyrodiil's Zinn! Another thing, Vols is, once again, a great character. To quote Wolf :

Precisely. The chapters from his point of view are always both wonderful and touching. And Vols calling Teresa 'Red'...I've read so may books where the main character is called that by the dashing con man, soldier, etc. I have to admit that brought much more than a faint smile! And thank you for the book recommendations, they were very helpful. A certain Dunmer may have to incorporate these

haute ecole rider: Deruptured it is then, 'o lady of the horse.

I am glad the speech worked. I had a lot of trouble with it both times around, because I was worried about it sounding too sappy and canned. That was why I wove in his own memories with it, so it was grounded in reality, rather than being idealistic philosophy.


Acadian: Praise indeed from our resident paladin. You hit all the things I was looking to do on the head. From fixing the decanus to pitying the new recruits of the Fifth Legion.


D.Foxy: Thank you Foxy. As I said to h.e.r., I struggled to make Vols beliefs and motivations feel genuine rather than that of the stereotypical superhero. It is a relief that it worked!


Destri Melarg: That is true, I do like writing heroes. People who eventually rise above their faults and make something better of themselves and the world around them. Of course Teresa would be the first to insist that she's not a hero though...


Remko: A pic of Centurion Vols!

It is spelled sergeant. I always have trouble with that one too. You are thinking of the incomparable R. Lee Ermey, a rl Marine who played Sgt. Hartman in FMJ.


treydog: I think Dale Dye would be perfect for Adamus Phillida. I have been a fan of his since Platoon. He is always good as "the commander" because of being one irl. R. Lee Ermey would work for the same reason.


mALX: Thank you. Vols has always been a popular character. My guess is because he is such a strong (i.e. non-pussified) male presence in what is otherwise very much a chick story. His testosterone helps make up for all the estrogen percolating in the TF.


Winter Wolf: Thank Wolf. Vols is always fun to write, for the reasons I mentioned to mALX above. He is a nice shift in gears for me after writing Teresa.


Linara: Good call on Howard Zinn! Yes indeed, that is Herminia. I think I have read or seen the same movies as you, because I have always loved the redhead being called "Red" by the other characters. It was a pleasure to finally come across a character who would do it in the TF.


Next: Now that she has learned more about the Ayleids and meddled in Vols' life, Teresa is back out on the road again. First, she makes a brief layover in Weye...


Chapter 23.1 – The Rider

12th - 16th Last Seed, 3E433

Teresa stepped into Weye with a faint smile on her lips. The main street was busy with Bretons going about their daily routines, while a glance to her right revealed numerous small fishing boats dotting the azure waves of Lake Rumare. Teresa nodded to the villagers as she walked by each. She had been here enough times to know them all by sight now, even if not by name. Some greeted her kindly, while others just snickered.

The latter usually did not bother her any more. Not much. But Teresa thought there were more of them than normal as her feet took her past the livery. She saw the handful of horses owned by the villagers in a corral beside the long wooden stable. Most were huge, bulky chestnuts with blond-colored manes and thick feathers around their ankles. Placid and quiet, they ambled around the enclosure in a slow, steady gait.

One caught her eye however, a raven-black gelding with a luxurious mane and bushy tail. He was smaller than the others, with a head only a little above Teresa's, yet still possessed a deep chest and sturdy legs that spoke of the power within him. Unlike the other horses, he pranced about the corral with a high-stepping gait. Graceful and nimble-footed, he was the kind of fine steed that patricians sometimes rode in the city, or the knights had ridden at Bruma.

Screenshot

And who are you? Teresa wondered as she stared at the black. He was not from around here, of that she was certain. Just as she knew the villagers on sight, Teresa knew their horses. Where the farm animals reminded Teresa of lumbering Nord giants, this black was a sleek and powerful Redguard.

With the mystery of the new horse still tickling at the back of her mind, Teresa stepped to the door of the Wawnet Inn. She found it was locked when she tried to open it. Well that is odd, Teresa thought as she rapped on the door. Nerussa usually opened up by now. The only times she had known the Altmer to lock it during the day were when they had been alone together…

"Nerussa, are you home?" Teresa called out, stepping back from the door and looking up to the windows lining the second floor. After a moment her eyes caught movement in the one that looked out from Nerussa's room. Then a pair of amber-shaded hands slid the glass pane open, and the high elf leaned out.

The innkeeper's golden hair was unbound, spilling across her head and shoulders like a waterfall of honey. Her gold-tinted skin was flushed, and a smile crossed her burgundy lips as she gazed down to the street.

"Teresa, I wasn't expecting you!" she cried. "Give me a moment to come down." The high elf stood, and for the briefest instant Teresa glimpsed her naked frame though the window. Then the innkeeper vanished deeper into the room.

Teresa waited, and when she glanced back up at the window a few moments later, it was a bare-chested man who returned her gaze. Dark hair spilled to his shoulders in a tangled mane, and a short beard clung to his fair skin. What she could see of his frame was somewhat slight, but finely proportioned. His every muscle firmly toned and standing out in stark relief. He stared down at her with a look of curiosity, and ran one hand though the tousled locks of his hair.

That is when it all came together in Teresa's mind. The fine horse in the corral, the locked door, Nerussa's nakedness…

By the time that the sound of the bolt being thrown back came to Teresa's ears, she was certain that her skin had lost its fine white color in exchange for plum red. Good gods, what had she been thinking? She had always known that Nerussa had other lovers, yet somehow she had never expected to ever see them, let alone walk in on one. Was there ever a bigger fool in the world, she thought?

Then the door opened, and Nerussa's statuesque frame filled Teresa's vision. She had put on a pink silk robe decorated with images of swans and flowers, with only a thin belt of the same material looped around her waist to keep it from falling open. A belt which Teresa could see was already loose. She knew that with just a simple touch of her finger it would slide away and spill the thin garment open.

"Teresa," Nerussa breathed, "come in and meet Valerius. I think you will like him. I know he will like you." The high elf's hand reached out to take Teresa's own leather-clad forearm. The next thing the Bosmer knew, the door was clacking shut behind her, and Nerussa's soft frame was pressed against her own.

Teresa lost herself in the other woman's kiss, as she always did. It was not until she felt the Altmer's hands undoing the clasp in front of her greaves that the world swam back into focus. A glance down revealed her arrow bag and potion belt littering the floor at their feet. How had they gotten there? Teresa wondered. Then she felt Nerussa's fingers slip down the front of her greaves, and reached down to catch the other woman's wrist.

"Nerussa, I can't," she gasped. "He's right in the other room!"

"Not any more he's not."

Teresa and Nerussa both turned to see the man standing at the top of the stair. He was wearing nothing but a grin, and Teresa could see that it was not only his muscles that were finely proportioned…

"Please don't let me disturb you," he said, that smile still etched across his features. Now he crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. Up close now, Teresa found that he was young, barely a few years older than herself. By his light skin and pale blue eyes, she imagined him a Colovian, or possibly even a Breton. Even though he was most clearly a man, his delicate features could only be called beautiful. So much so that Teresa briefly wondered if he wore the beard to look more masculine.

Yet the soft skin of his face was marred by scars. One ran from his scalp to the inner tip of his left eyebrow, and another cut across the side of his cheek on the same side of his face. If nothing else, they dispelled the image of softness that otherwise might have clung to him. So too did the stiffness in his pose, the squared shoulders and straight back that legionaries and members of the Fighters Guild always seemed to possess. Teresa briefly wondered if Vols might have looked similar if he had been born to wealth and privilege.

"Pray, continue my ladies." His eyes burned with a barely contained fire as he stared at the elven women.

Screenshot

You know, reading this brings back memories...many think that getting into a threesome with two women is supposed to be ball-clenching sword -tthrobbing erotic...and yet, IF, IF the women in question are creatures of not just flesh but the aetheral fire of spirit as well, it is frequently anything but - for the sexuality of a true homosexual is not (contrary to the wet dreams of puberescent males) easily switchable from AC to DC. Frequently it's not switchable at all.

Rosa, you had me until the very last screen shot. Then you totally lost me.

I know you wanted to emphasize the androgyny of Valerius, but even with the beard, this guy is still waaayyyy too emo for me! When I picture someone lean, well proportioned, muscular, and yet smouldering, that's not what I imagine. So excuse me for hanging on to my own mental picture.

But I have to say that I totally dug the first two screenshots!

FYI: Yes, Dale Dye is a RL (retired) Marine. He now works in the film field not as an actor, but as a trainer of actors. He teaches guys who never held a gun how to move, how to scout, how to recon, and how to signal. That is part of the appeal of movies like Platoon, Saving Private Ryan, and Band of Brothers (among others) for me. Part of his pay for training these guys is that he gets a bit of screen time as the soldier's soldier. I can spot his touch in a heartbeat, even before that handsome white-topped face shows up on the screen.

If I see actors move and act in a certain way in the field (training or combat), I know he's going to show up. He's a huge part of what makes such movies so real for me.

I've gotta go with my own image:






Oops, he doesn't have a beard. Oh well.



*

Smoldering is right! Your writing smoothly delivered just the precise dose of spice here.

It seems so natural for Nerussa to not be the slightest bit off-kilter - even gracious - in the reception of her surprise visitor. And just as natural for Teresa's skin to live up to Vols' nickname for her. I am quite curious as to how Teresa will respond here - I'll let you know if my suspicions are correct.

What a wonderful job you have done with Weye! I love the stables! Oh, those chestnut draft horses with white accents are so very wonderful. Buffy had the opportunity to ride one of the gentle giants not too long ago:
Screenshot

Bless you, Acadian, for not subjecting us to more pretty-boy pictures! Androgyny, androgyny everywhere!!


Aren’t we all?

I loved Teresa’s dawning realization of the situation that she has blundered into. Maybe next time Nerussa will pack a ton of bricks that she can throw from the window to bridge Teresa’s gap on the uptake.

I'll second that. Nice screenies in the chapter Rosa. Usually I think of Red in 'The Goddess of Fried Okra', but there are many more...Well that situation sounds a little awkward. As always though, I love those small village descriptions, my favorite places. Very nice.