Those are things I have thought about too. I especially wonder about firewood. There do not seem to be too many trees near the IC for people to be cutting them down. That was one reason I invented heat stones in the TF (although poor people like those on the Waterfront would not be able to afford them). Charcoal would be a reasonable thought too. I have tossed around the idea of using coal as well, as it was being used as far back as the Bronze age (and might also help explain how some of those Dwemer robots work, as they look very steam-punk).

The Romans tackled the issue of how to cook when you have no kitchen. Most Romans lived in apartments that had no cooking facilities (and if they did, they would probably would have burned down the tenement!), so they ate at hot food stands called thermopolia (which we will see in the next chapter of the TF).

For your gear, go to A Fighting Chance, Rohssan will take care of you.

So Julian came across her first random Oblivion Gate? The reason I left those completely out of the TF is because they are so anti-climatic. Why did Marooned Dragon and the mystic dawn even bother creating them, when they are no threat to anyone? If a city is laid waste every time a Gate opens, that is scary. If the local bears can kill the one or two daedra who bother to show themselves, what's the big deal? IMHO, they make the Oblivion Crisis not feel like a crisis at all.

You could of course make them more dangerous by actually having a horde of daedra come out of each random gate. But the problem there is that Cyrodiil would be annihilated in short order since there are 60 gates turning up in an area that is only about 20 miles across.

I suggest taking the random gates out of your story completely, and only use the ones in the Allies for Bruma quest. Have small armies of daedra come out of those and attack the cities. Without the siege crawler o course because they need a Great Gate for that. But still enough to trap the people inside and kill anyone who comes out. That will make them seem like a threat, and keep the Crisis feeling like an actual crisis.

Sorry if it sounds like I am ranting at you. I am just trying to offer a constructive viewpoint to make your story seem more believable and engaging. There are many things in the game that simply do not translate to fiction, because it is a game after all. Bethesda does not have to convince us it is real. As writers however, we do.

I always liked the Inn of Ill Omen, especially the sign. Although I of course cannot see what a raven has to do with a bad omen...

I agree that the soup was less than great. I figure Manheim's recipe was probably some water, an onion, a fistfull of salt and a stone. Yep, we usually have what Minerva was having there. 'Course, Julian wisely avoided that. It felt comfy and right at home being in the Inn - that is because your prose nailed it so nicely.

Paint is so cool, and such fun to read! You well captured that ominous feeling when the sky begins to darken with distant rolls of thunder.

The Oblivion gate brings up a dilemma. Julian has other things to do, but some of those infernal gates really do threaten innocents. I know what she is feeling - it is hard to walk away under those circumstances. Sometimes you find a dead soldier and his bay along the road where there is a nearby gate - how can you just let that go? Or the corpses of a poor little Black Horse Courier and her steed. Good on you Julian - you truly are a hero in our book. You capture what many of feel as we deal with those gates.

I figure Marooned Dragon just pops a slew of those things randomly, realizing that some of them will land where they will really do some harm. Others don't really produce hordes; perhaps they are just for terror / harrassment, and powered by different sigil stones. Perhaps his intent is to wear down the Empire before his major effort. Who can fathom the purposes of a Daedra Lord?

I bet Julian is not the only intrepid one or ones closing those darn things. In fact, I would imagine the Empire is probably enticing many adventurers with a large bounty on sigil stones.

Hmm a random Oblivion Gate, I always just ignore them but I can see why Julian might not. I can see why you want to include one though even if they were of little consequence in game the story allows them to be a greater threat and I can imagine it showing how nasty things get when trade routes are closed.

Good description of the Inn, and it's inhabitants. I look forward to Manheim's reaction when Julian comes back with the gate closed...

Marooned Dragon? Bwahaha, nice one, 'Rosa! What's next? Akatosh being mistakened for Macintosh and Mara renamed Mariah Carey? (cackles madly)

Anyways, I finally caught up. And let me tell you. Wow. Outstanding. And random Oblvion Gates? gotta agree with SubRosa there. It seems Big M planned on giving his Storm Atronachs and Dremoras medals for burning down a legion of trees or torturing hapless and mindless deers.

He is after all the Daedra prince of Destruction, not Planning! (cackles again)

Marooned Dragon is not mine. Rachel the Breton came up with that in her hilarious Edward the Imperial fan fic.

Shame Rachel (and some others too) never made their way over here too. Reading the fics on that other forum is neigh impossible because of the loading times. (could be becuause of hugely outdated internetexplorer we are using at work)

I agree with SubRosa on the randomness of the gates. They don't make sense, however, creating confusion might well be Marooned Dragon's™ motivation behind them. Who knows the mind of a Daeda?

Maroooooooooned Dwagon@HilariousHelena.com! Now that brings back Memories - and I ain't referring to Ole Andy....

As for figuring out the mind of a Daedra, I give up. I can't even figure out the mind of Deidre. I can, however, figure out her figure, mind.

@SubRosa: In the game, I tend to leave those Gates alone, but it just doesn’t sit well with Julian to leave those next to the roads open. They serve as ideal ambush points (in her military mindset) should a Legion troop or trading caravan pass by. As there are comments in-game that the Legion is spread so thin, I figure these random gates are part of it. Speaking of which, the one gate not associated with any city but makes no sense to me as a quest is Fort Sutch. Why are the Legion soldiers so intent on closing that one Gate in the middle of nowhere, when there are so many sitting virtually on top of roads elsewhere in Cyrodiil? Thanks for the input - I will leave the random gates in there, but Julian will not purposely go looking for them, and as she sticks mostly to the roads for the duration of the MQ, the gates she does close do pose a danger from her perspective. I figure Marooned Dragon just decided to open a bunch of smaller gates wherever he could because he could. As for whether or not they actually serve as a point of attack, I’ll address that in upcoming chapters.

@Acadian: Actually, I figure the soup was made with swamp water, a fistful of salt, a rotten piece of pork rind, and a moldy onion. Be sure Julian won’t eat there again! Your thoughts on the random gates are spot on - that is pretty much how Julian sees them, and her responsibility as a Legion soldier/Blade agent.

@Olen: I’m with you - I usually ignore the random ones anyway when I play the game. Apparently Julian’s a better woman than I am.

@Ureniashtram: I think you’re right - Marooned Dragon is not known for strategic planning. That’s why he has Mankar Camoran. The big red guy just likes to bash things up, kind of like the guys on Mythbusters.

@Remko: I don’t try to understand the mind of a Daedra Lord. After all, look at Sheogorath!

@Foxy: Yes, I miss the Marooned Dragon and Neveragaine Helena, too. But we have Boxee’s Ra’jirra, and he is comic relief galore all on his own furry self!

Here Julian discovers an alternative to Ill Omen for her next trip through the area, and meets the forester that motivated her to close this particular random gate.

***************
Chapter 12.5 Legion Brother

. . . And twelve hours later, I was back, standing on that rocky, forested hillside, sucking in lungfuls of cool night air. While the Gate had opened to a much smaller island than the one at Kvatch, with a half-sized sigil keep, it had been tougher to get through, thanks to a winding path littered with deadly mines. I looked down ruefully at the scorch marks in my leather cuirass, left behind by the first two mines before I had figured out their deadly attacks.

My flare spell had proved to be very valuable, for I had used it to set off each mine as I saw it, getting some practice in spellcasting and improving my aim at the same time. I had to remember to duck the fireballs thrown by each mine as it exploded, so that short but winding path up to the keep kept me occupied for quite some time. By the time I had reached the keep, I was soaked in sweat and panting with exertion.

Now that I stood in Cyrodiil again, warm sigil stone clutched in my shield hand, I looked around me. Glad of the absence of the red-and-black clouds, I studied the clear night sky above me. A snuffling warned me of a surviving scamp. Ducking his flare, I searched for its point of origin. Another flare gave away his position, and I drew my sword and ran for him. He quickly ran out of Magicka, leaving himself vulnerable to my katana.

With no more enemies in sight, I looked around again. I saw a Wayshrine below the Green Road, almost directly opposite the Inn of Ill Omen. As I walked towards it, cutting across the road, I spotted another inn, this one a little better kept-up in appearance, near the Wayshrine. Faregyl Inn, this one said. I decided to visit it the next time I passed this way. Maybe the food here is better than Maulhand’s. I could understand why travelers avoided the Nord’s inn, between the ominous sign and the horrendous food.

Zenithar. The writing on the altar was barely visible in the dim light of the stars. The moons had already set, making it early in the morning, likely about an hour before dawn. I reached down and touched the altar, feeling its healing power surge through me, my cuts, scrapes, burns and aches dissipating in the white glow of confidence.

Turning away from the shrine, I hiked my way uphill back to the Inn of Ill Omen. Paint turned his head as I approached, his ears up in the dim light. I smooched at him, and he shook his head, the trembling working down his body to his tail. He then tossed his head and turned to face me, again giving me the once-over with his nose. I smiled at him, wondering if he was checking to see if I was still whole. I rubbed his mane fondly, noticing the bucket half-full of water nearby.

Rhythmic twanging and thumping drew my attention to the far side of the inn. The sigil stone went into the pack, and my quiver and bow onto the cantle. I gave Paint another pat on his neck before walking around the inn.

A black-haired Imperial stood a few meters in front of an archery target, drawing arrows from his quiver and shooting them from his bow in quick, smooth motions. He hesitated as I walked up and turned to face me, his high-cheekboned face young in the dim predawn light.

“Well met, citizen,” he greeted me. “I see few new faces these days, it seems. With the Emperor’s murder, a shadow has fallen across all of Cyrodiil.”

I eyed him. “Kaeso Marsias?” I asked. He nodded, his level gaze narrowing at me. “I’m Julian of Anvil,” I hastened to add. “Yes, I think you’re right about the shadow.” I nodded at the hillside behind the inn, now dark. “At least you don’t have to worry about that Oblivion Gate any more, sir.”

“What a relief that is,” Marsias nodded. “Those daedra are quite nasty. I’d rather stick with wolves, bears, and minotaurs, thank you.” He smiled at me. “And thank you, Hero of Kvatch.”

I shushed him automatically, but Marsias only shrugged. “As long as you’re carrying that Wolf,” he pointed at my shield, “everyone in the Legion will recognize you on sight. The story of how you went into that Great Gate at Kvatch alone and closed it by yourself -” he shook his head. “That’s the stuff of legends, ma’am.”

“No,” I shook my head. “That’s the stuff of ‘things that must be done,’ nothing unusual or magical about it.”

“I went into the Gate here, you know,” Marsias admitted to me. “Looked around, got scared, and hopped back out.” He shook his head again. “I just couldn’t go through with it.” His gaze fixed on me. “But you,” his black eyes flickered at my white hair, “you just went in there and closed it, just like you did at Kvatch,” he jerked his head behind him, up the hill.

I regarded him thoughtfully. “How long have you been a forester?” I asked him quietly. He looked away, shifting his feet.

“Ten years, since I joined the Legion.” Ah, I thought. Never fought in combat, only served as a forester. “Why?”

“You’ve been in the Legion long enough,” I answered quietly, “to know that you’re only mortal, and can be killed easily enough. You’re not ashamed to admit that something scares you, and that only comes with experience.” Now it was my turn to tip my head in the direction of the now-closed Gate. “I will be the first to tell you that I was terrified the whole time I was in there.”

“Terrified?” Marsias repeated, incredulous. “You?” He regarded me for a moment longer, while the light grew around us. “Yes, I guess you were terrified, too,” he said finally. “So how did you manage to get through it?”

I held his gaze for several long seconds. “You,” I said finally. “I did it for you.” I watched his thick black brows climb his forehead.

“M- me?” he stammered. “But I never met you until just this moment!”

“You’re my Legion brother,” I said quietly. “After twenty-five years in the Legion, I just can’t abandon another Legion soldier to face this alone.” I tapped the battered Wolf in emphasis. “We stick together, for we are Legion, no? I look out for you, you look out for me, that’s how we survive anything war throws at us. And believe me, this so-called Oblivion Crisis is war, too.”

Marsias stared at me, stunned. Finally, he dragged a breath in through his mouth and closed it. With a slow exhalation, he smiled. “I’ve never been so proud to be Legion until now,” he said quietly. “Thanks, Julian of Anvil.”

I gripped his wide shoulder in return, then turned for the inn door. Behind me, I heard the thwap-thunk as Marsias returned to his archery practice.

Inside, Minerva still slept face-down on the table. At first, I didn’t see anyone behind the counter, but heard a scuffling. A tousled-haired head appeared, rose to Maulhand’s full height.

“I’m sorry to wake you, sir,” I hastened to speak. “I just need to sit down by your fire and mend some armor, if that’s okay with you.”

“You found trouble, then?” Maulhand stepped from behind the counter and set a pot on the fire, stoking it until it roared. He pulled a chair from the nearby table and set it next to the fireplace, waving me to sit there.

“You could say that, sir,” I said, sitting down and bringing out my hammer. I set to work on the battered Wolf, knocking out the dents left by Dremora maces. Eyeing the katana, I decided to leave the fine steel for a better smith. Still, I felt more confident with my hammer, and managed to restore the Wolf to a close resemblance of his former self. I could do nothing about the scratched paint, though.

The sun was just breaking through the branches overhead when I stepped out of the inn and returned to Paint. Time to continue on to Bravil.

This was extremely well done!

Your sense of how much of her gate ordeal to include and how much to gloss over was just right. You very efficiently gave us the full feel in a few paragraphs.

I loved how she set off those mines in the gate with her flare spell!

The highlight of this episode, of course, was the wonderful converstation with the young Legion Forrester. You portray Julian at her best here. The old Redguard certainly understands that courage is not the absence of fear; rather, action in its presence.

I see Julian also wrestles with a too slowly improving ability to repair her equipment.

Everything was nicely woven together with your rich detail and continuity when it came to Paint, both inns, Manheim and Minerva.

I know she must continue on to the fair bayside City of Mara, but I do hope she will indeed return to the Faregyl Inn for some of that wonderful potato bread.

Using a Flare spell to set off the Daedric torpedoes (I have been reading a lot of Civil War history lately, so I think torpedoes instead of mines these days) was brilliant! I usually use arrows. I had no idea that magic attacks would work too!

“No,” I shook my head. “That’s the stuff of ‘things that must be done,’ nothing unusual or magical about it.” This gave me a chuckle. Now that is our no-nonsense Julian!

Good pacing throughout the piece. You did not spend too much time on the gate itself. Just enough to let us know it was a trial, but not so much to let it bog down the piece. Julian's conversation with the forester is the real gem here, as it shows the old pilus in her, and makes her motivations plain. An excellent example of how to show rather than tell when you write.

On her way to Bravil? Might she bump into a certain blond Bosmer bowgirl by chance?

Glossing over the actual truding though the gate was definatly a wise move. However fun they are to close the running battles are very hard to get right when written and would have slowed the more important developments. The details you did give were effective for the forwarding of the story and also show that Julian is a LOT harder than she was. I couldn't see her hacking through a crowd of dremora surrounded by landmines then coming back in time for tea at Kvatch, but the change is subtle and that she had her old skills back - as well as new ones - needed highlighting.

I agree with the above that the conversation with the forester as great. I wonder what she'll make of Bravil - and if a mage will tell her what the stone does.

And SubRosa - how do you hit those things from a safe range with arrows I can't hit a barn door in game... from inside the barn - spells fly straight and are expendable (fire damage 1pt on target anyone?).

Its all in the reflexes... Oh wait, that is the Big Trouble in Little China answer. My first character was an archer, and it was difficult to get used to how bows worked when I started her, but after some practice my skillz became quite good. The zoom in ability you get at Marksman of 50 helps too. I usually save the iron arrows I pick off of bandits for things like this.

Spells fly straight, arrows fly in a parabolic curve. I always aim a little higher than my intended impact point. At early levels (i.e. in the tutorial dungeon), I hold the arrow 'at full tension' a little long to get a greater distance. It doesn't take long though, before you can fire off arrows at reasonable distances fairly quickly. Keep in mind the further your target is, the higher you have to aim the arrow.

Practice helps you develop a feel for your aim point.

I have to admit that marksmanship is one of the easier skills in the game for me. But then, my dad always called me Dead-eye . . .

I have often wondered about that forrester guy who seems to be working his butt off and getting nowhere. And with an Oblivion Gate right next door!! Now I know.
The dialogue between the two soldiers was spot on. Bravo!

Bravil! Yippee!!!

If only Julian had been Dunmer and Atronach The last few characters I've trudged through the gates were all Dunmer and Atronach so I didn't sipose of the mines but used them to charge magicka

Loved the last chapter. I wholeheartedly embrace the idea courage is not the abscence of fear. That's called stupidity.

@Acadian: Julian was very happy to find out her flare spell set those bouncing bettinas off from a relatively safe distance! Don’t worry, she will stop in at Faregyl Inn sometime!

@SubRosa: I’m not sure if Julian will encounter our favorite mystic archer in Bravil. We’ll have to see.

@Olen: Yes, Julian’s skills are returning along with her strength. She still isn’t back to full fighting trim, but that will develop over the next few chapters.

@Wolf: I am glad that you, as well as many others, enjoyed Julian’s encounter with Marsias. These foresters are so undervalued IMHO. These are the guys that keep the roads safe for merchants and other travelers.

@Remko: Courage is exactly that, the ability to act in the face of fear; absence of fear is stupidity, as you so aptly put it. So true!

Julian returns to what seems to be a favorite place for many forumers. We start to see what kind of memories she has of the place.

**************
Chapter 12.6 - Return to Bravil

The road to Bravil was mostly uneventful, with mostly deer sharing the path with Paint and I. A wolf, his ribs and spine showing through his thick fur, jumped us near a Wayshrine. Paint and my katana made quick work of the starving predator, however. I discovered the nearby altar was dedicated to Talos. With prayer a thanksgiving for his continued protection, I received healing and additional courage.

As the Green Road dropped down out of the hills towards the Niben River, the shabby walls of Bravil appeared through the trees in the distance. Where an old fort once stood just north of its gate, the sight of another Oblivion Gate obliterating its ruined keep stirred dismay in my throat.

The sun was just east of the zenith when I dismounted from Paint within the corral of the Bay Roan Stables. Antoine Branck, with a distrustful glance at me, moved to help remove Paint’s tack. “You’re back, ma’am,” he said flatly. I recalled that the last time he had seen me, I had been in sorry condition, indeed.

“Branck,” I said, dropping a couple of drakes into his hand, “I’d appreciate if you took good care of Paint. I’ve got work to do.”

“All right, ma’am,” he said, tone still flat, but his eyes were less tight. “I’ll do that, for certain.”

My quiver and bow at my shoulder, Daedra Slayer at my back, I walked out to the lone Bravil guard at the near end of the Quaking Bridge leading to Bravil’s city gates. “Hullo, Frederick,” I said to him. His eyes widened as he looked me up and down.

“Julian, is it you?” Tonius Frederick exclaimed. His gaze fell on the Wolf, resting on my left arm. “You! You’re the -”

“Hush, Frederick,” I interrupted him. Pointing at the Oblivion Gate standing about a hundred meters away from his post, “How long has that been open?”

“About eight days, I think,” Frederick answered. His eyes narrowed at me, taking in the Wolf a second time before moving to the katana at my left hip, the steel dagger at my right, the hilt of Daedra Slayer at my back, alongside my bow and quiver. “Are you going in there?”

“Are you remaining at your post, Frederick?” I asked in response. He straightened up under my steady regard.

“The Count put the Guard on high alert, ma’am,” he reported crisply. “We’ll be ready if the daedra decide to attack, don’t worry!”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” I smiled at him. “I’m more worried about what’s inside that Gate.” I looked around. Branck had disappeared within the stables, leaving Frederick and I alone. “Tell no one about me, not until I come back, understood?”

“Understood!”

*******************
It was late the next morning when I returned to Nirn, yet another sigil stone clutched in my shield hand. This time, my limp had worsened, and I felt scorched - on the soles of my feet, on my face, on my bare hands. Even the tough leather of my cuirass still smoked from the fierce heat of the lava sea. Frederick was gone from his post, but another City guard stood there, staring slack-jawed as I hobbled toward him, silently cursing the Dremora mace that had slammed into my knee at the end.

The Deadlands on the other side of this Gate had been immense, bigger than the one at Kvatch. I had had to detour the island before I found entry into a smaller keep, which opened the war gates, giving me access to the sigil keep. The detour had involved quite a bit of lava jumping, climbing boulders, ducking fire towers and setting off mines before they took me by surprise.

Now I didn’t recognize the Guard standing before me. He looked young, and raw to his duties. “Good to see you, ma’am,” he managed to gather his wits about him. His dark gaze moved past me towards the old fort, where a faint red glow was all that was left of the Gate. I could see the incredulity in his eyes, and smiled to myself.

“Good to see you, too, sir,” I answered, my voice hoarse. “Will Frederick be back on duty here soon?”

“Oh, no, he’s posted inside today,” the Guard answered. “He won’t be back here until day after tomorrow.”

“All right,” I swallowed, trying to moisten my dry throat. “If you see him before I do, tell him Julian of Anvil is back, safe and sound.”

He cast a glance up and down my thin frame, his eyes clearly suggesting he thought otherwise. “Marz, in the Chapel, is an excellent healer,” he volunteered.

“Hmm,” I nodded, appreciative of the information. “I’ll make sure to see her, then.” Turning to look at the Bay Roan Stables, I saw Paint standing in the corral, his head over the rough board fence, watching me. “I’m going to check on my horse, then I’ll go see Marz,” I said to the Guard.

Paint walked over to the gate as I approached, waiting patiently for me to open the barrier. He gave me the once over, his nostrils fluttering at my injuries. Then he lifted his head and blew softly on my scorched cheek. With a fond pat on his neck, I looked around for his tack. Branck approached me, his eyes less hostile.

“If you’re looking for your gear, ma’am,” he said, “I brought it inside. Go see Isabeau.”

“Has Paint been good for you?” I asked Branck. His careworn face creased into a smile.

“Aye, he’s been a good one, all right,” he answered, patting the gelding on his shoulder. “Talk to Isabeau.”

“All right, I will, thanks.” I gave Paint a parting rub on his long nose, then turned for the gate. Branck held it open for me, then closed it and returned to his chores. I limped around to the door leading inside the weathered building.

Inside, a slim Breton woman rose from her meal as I entered. “Hello, Julian,” she greeted me, her voice cool in the dim interior. “Branck tells me you stabled that Wild Eye Paint with us yesterday.”

“Yes, ma’am, do I owe you anything?” I asked Isabeau Bienne. Her voice warmed a little bit at my question.

“Depends, how much longer are you staying?”

“Well,” I looked down ruefully at myself, the scorched leather cuirass, the dented and battered Kvatch Wolf, feeling new aches in my weary bones. “I’d like to rest and recover, and get these repaired,” Swallowing again, I pointed at my chest, including all of my armor and weapons. “Heal up this bum knee,” now I pointed at my face, “and these burns. I thought I’d go in and get things taken care of, leave tomorrow or the day after at the latest.”

“Well, your gold is good through tomorrow,” Bienne mused. “But if you stay another day, then it’ll be another drake.”

“Sounds good,” I responded. “I’ll come tomorrow then, and let you know.” I looked around, saw Paint’s tack and my pack neatly placed on a rack. “Branck said my tack and gear are in here?”

“Yes,” Bienne caught the direction of my gaze. “It’s all cleaned up and ready whenever you are.” She waved me towards the saddle rack. “I’m sure you’re looking for your pack, if you’re staying a while here in Bravil.” She held my gaze a few seconds longer. “You’ve changed, Julian,” she said quietly. I looked away, suddenly embarrassed at the reminder of my condition the last time I had been in Bravil.

“Thanks for taking care of the tack,” I changed the subject, moving to the saddle, dropping the quiver and unhooking my pack. Slipping the sigil stone carefully within, I slung the pack over my shoulder without thinking. The weight of the bag pressed the leather cuirass into my burned back, making me gasp and stagger from the pain. I put my hand on the wall, struggling for breath. Red light blanked my vision as fiery agony flared from beneath the pack. I made myself breathe deeply against the pain, waiting until my vision cleared.

Slowly I lowered the pack to the floor, still holding its strap, I looked up to see Bienne regarding me with concern in her gaze. She had stepped toward me, one hand out to catch me. I leaned away from her hand, shaking my head. “I’m burnt all over, it seems,” I muttered to her. “I’ll be fine, once I see Marz.”

“See Marz, then,” Bienne said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. I only nodded, limping for the door, carrying my pack in my hand.

Looks like our Redguard is a little redder than usual this segment. Both from embarrassment and from burns! So people in Bravil know Julian? Looks like from her time as a skooma addict. Perhaps she haunted the infamous Bravil skooma den?

The Quaking Bridge! That is an excellent name.



nits:
The road to Bravil was mostly uneventful, with mostly deer sharing the path with Paint and I.
You have mostly twice in the same sentence here.


The detour had involved quite a bit of lava jumping, climbing boulders, ducking fire towers and setting off mines before they took me by surprise.
It feels like there is something missing after this sentence. Before who took Julian by surprise? What happened?

Wonderful again, Rider!

You have painted Bravil nicely, before even entering the city proper. I love all the detail you lavished upon the stables and gate area - description, dialogue, Julian's thoughts, horse talk - all of it.

By the Nine Divines! What an impressively bristling image this creates!


Very smooth and efficient description of the gate closing. Just about right, I think, on your choices of where to lavish detail and where to summarize things.

Although painful for Julain, I 'liked' that you described in rather good detail the lingering effects of her burns. It reinforced the magnitude of the task she had just completed as well as her need to get some of that good Argonian healing from Marz.

I'm not sure how much time you intend to devote to Bravil here. Your choices about such things are always very good, so I know I will be happy whenever and wherever Julian leads. Let me just say that I am really enjoying this. I think it is wonderful that you appear to perhaps be linking Julian's history of substance abuse with the less than stellar reputation that the underbelly of Bravil is known for. My goodness, she has come so far! I feel pretty certain that not even Nordinor can sway Julian to fall off her wagon.

That was a very good part, probably my favourite of the most recent ones. The interactions were spot on and a joy to read, none seemed forced at all and the characters shone through them. I may be wrong but this reads as if Julian has started to 'write herself' so to speak allowing you to concentrate on other things.


Very Julian, it seems she somehow seperates the closing of gates as unpleasant jobs which must be done from the rest of things. It works well to gloss over the unimportant issue of what happened in the gate for interactions and consequences. I suspect (and hope) that we will see the inside of the gate at some point, and a certain heir whose stuck there...

And this Marz of great renoun, I wonder if the knee is damaged enough for resetting...

Chapter 12.4 - A New Habit

My comments here are less about the chapter itself and more about the comments that came after the chapter. I can understand why the others view the random Oblivion Gates as such a nuisance, but they do make sense in a round about kind of way. Remember, Dagon is not the only Daedric Prince to dwell in Oblivion; he is just the one who wants to destroy Nirn the most. With the Dragonfires out all of Oblivion has access to the mortal plane. Dagon’s Deadlands is just one of the many realms that spawn daedra. That could be why the random daedra that emerge from the gates are not only scamps, clannfear or Dremora. I have always imagined that the daedroth that emerge are coming from Molag Bal’s Coldharbour, and the spider daedra are coming from Mephala’s realm (whatever it’s called), or are they associated with Namira? I can never get the spider daedra straight. I also imagine that it ties into why Umaril has returned and why Aurorans are able to enter Nirn freely from Meridia’s Coloured Rooms.

I realize that when you enter any of the random gates you are immediately transported to the Deadlands, and that seizing the sigil stone from the Deadlands closes the gate. I admit that this is a glaring flaw in logic if the gate you entered was spawning spiders, flame/storm atronachs and Daedroth. I think that with some imagination and adequate description of more than just the Deadlands Julian can enter random gates that take her to Coldharbour, or to Quagmire. This would make the Oblivion Crisis a true Crisis and it would serve to explain the frequency in which these random gates keep forming.

Just my two cents.

Chapter 12.5 - Legion Brother

The whole conversation with Marsias was great. Julian continues to use the Kvatch Wolf to deflect any praise directed at her (which is kind of ironic when you think of it). I loved how Marsias pointed out the fact that the shield gives her away. Given her actions I can only imagine what she must have been like as a pilus back in the day. I would have been proud to serve under her (no pun intended ).


"This is Jack Burton in the Porkchop Express . . ." Oh my, 'Rosa, a Big Trouble in Little China reference. I bow down to you, madam!

Chapter 12.6 - Return to Bravil

Bienne is a piece of work! ‘Thanks for closing that Oblivion Gate that was threatening the whole city, but if you’re going to keep that Wild-Eye in my stable it’s going to cost you another drake!’ It's about time Julian went to see a good healer about that leg. I daresay that we begin to see the end of that particular nagging injury.

I was going to point out a nit:

I thought you meant ‘a prayer of thanksgiving’ here, though now, having re-read it again, I can see why you might just want to leave it alone.


I think that Julian was referring to the mines taking her by surprise.

Epic writing at the end Haute, I loved it!

The pain and burden of closing those gates, it really seems to be wearing her down. I felt every moment of her lingering burns at the conclusion.
If I open the front gate at Bravil tomorrow morning and find a Redguard face down on the bridge, I will not be surprised!

Those uncaring souls at Bay Roan could have at least got Julian a cart. How insensitive are they?

yep, it were the Mines, as in the exploding kind.

@SubRosa: You are right on several counts - there are folks in Bravil who remember Julian, only not as the Hero of Kvatch. Settle in and enjoy the reminiscing, because Julian won’t!

@Acadian: Julian has less than stellar memories of Bravil, and that is due in large part to that less than stellar reputation of the city that you refer to. You will learn what does tempt Julian to fall off her wagon.

@Olen: Julian has always had a strong voice in my head, from the very beginning of the very first time I played Oblivion. Even when I played other characters, she was always there, looking over my shoulder. However, I now know her well enough to feel comfortable speaking for her. Or maybe she trusts me enough now. Don’t worry, there is a certain annoying person in Julian’s future (oh, about Chapter 18). Huzzah! As for the knee, Marz will play a significant role in returning Julian to soundness, but she is not the one to actually fix it.

@Destri: I’m not familiar enough with daedra in the Lore, and since Julian does not encounter Daedroth and spider daedra until the big battle at Bruma, I guess she is stuck being a frequent visitor to the Deadlands. Clannfear don’t even make an appearance until Chapter 15! Still, you have given me food for serious thought. As for Legion Brother, I’m glad you enjoyed the conversation with Marsias, and proud that you think Julian would have been quite the pilus back in the day. As for SubRosa’s comment about setting off mines, your interpretation is correct. That one sentence was a little difficult to write, and maybe I need to revisit it again.

@Wolf: Eh, those two Gates are nothing compared to what’s ahead! Bravil will be a bigger challenge!

@Fox: Yup, you’re right!

Julian meets a wonderful Healer who seems to know more about addiction than even Julian does herself. Marz is one of my favorite Healers in all of Cyrodiil (right up there with Cirroc and Oleta), and I visit her every time I’m in Bravil. Just can’t get enough of her. Makes her death in KotN even more devastating.

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Chapter 12.7 Healing

The lone guard at the end of the bridge kept his gaze on me as I stepped onto the quivering boards of the rope-suspended structure. The aptly named Quaking Bridge worsened the pain in my knee as the boards beneath my feet swayed at my steps. By the time I reached the tall wooden gates standing open at the far end, my right leg trembled with each step, that old pain shooting up my thigh again.

Ignoring the steady stares from the guards standing just within the archway, I paused to survey Gate Way dropping down from the gates towards the canal that divided the town into two. I recognized Frederick by his stride as he walked up the street towards me. He grinned when his eyes fell on me.

“Well met, ma’am!” he called as he approached. “I see you made it back, Julian!” He frowned at my face and stopped before me. “But you’re hurt!”

“Well, the Deadlands isn’t exactly a cakewalk, Frederick,” I answered hoarsely, too weary to match his energy. “What I need right now is healing, food and rest, sir.”

Frederick’s gaze slid past me to one of the guards at the gate. I caught the other man’s slight nod, then Frederick was reaching for my pack. “Let me take that for you, Julian,” he said quietly, “at least as far as the Chapel. I assume you’re going to see Marz?”

Grateful for his assistance, I shrugged the pack from my shoulder, trying to suppress the flinch as it scraped across my burned back and failing. “Your comrade on the Bridge said Marz is excellent, sir, so I’m off to give her a try.”

“I think you’ll find her better skilled than the last one, ma’am,” Frederick said, then winced at his inadvertent reminder of my previous stay in Bravil. With a smile to reassure him, I set off along Wall Street towards the Chapel, tucked in the northwest corner of the fortified town. Frederick fell into step easily beside me. “I’m sorry, Julian,” he continued after a moment, dodging a Khajiit female who gave him a dour look. “I just can’t get used to the change in you.”

“Change?” I glanced at him. “I guess the last time I was here,” I turned my face back to the Chapel, “I wasn’t at my best, sir.”

“Yes,” Frederick responded. “And people who aren’t at their best like that don’t just change for the better, they -”

“End up dead,” I finished. “I know, sir, I came pretty close to it myself.” Frederick glanced sidelong at me.

“So what happened,” he asked quietly, “to pull you back from the brink?”

I stopped, more to rest my damaged knee than in response to his question, though it had caught me off guard. With a deep breath, I looked up at the chinks of blue in the sky above, squinting at the noon sun peeking through clouds. “I found a new reason to live, I guess,” I answered. “A reason that put a stop to the pain I was in.”

“And now that you are in pain again?” Frederick’s question drew my sun-dazzled gaze back to him.

“I’m going to see Marz,” I answered firmly. “Then I intend to head over to the Mages Guild and lie up for a while.”

Frederick’s brows rose beneath his helm. “Mages Guild?” he repeated. “You've joined the Mages Guild?”

“It’s time for me to pursue a different path,” I started limping again towards the Chapel. “My mother was an alchemist, and taught me a little restoration spell when I was little. It’s come in handy recently, so I’d like to learn more.” I smiled at him. “Besides, someone told me my name means knowledge and wisdom, so I’d better start living up to it.”

Frederick snorted. “As long as you don’t turn into a Blind Moth Priest on me,” he joshed. I shook my head.

“Serving Akatosh is too ingrained in me,” I responded. “I don’t think I could spend my days studying the Elder Scrolls.”

It was Frederick’s turn to stop. “You’re Legion?” he exclaimed softly, staring at me. With a backwards glance, I slowed down without stopping, and nodded. “I knew it!” he half-ran a few steps to catch up to me. “I knew you had to be Legion, the way you came up to me yesterday.” He shook his head. “I almost didn’t recognize you, you know.”

“And I almost wish you hadn’t,” I answered dryly. “But I haven’t been in the Legion for four years now.”

“Ah, but you know what the old-timers say, you can take the legionary out of the Legion, but you can’t take the Legion out of the legionary.”

“I certainly tried,” I did not look at Frederick. “But it didn’t work. And something happened to remind me that I can’t just turn my back on half a lifetime.”

Frederick did not respond as we started up the stone steps leading to the Chapel doors. He opened one of the big wooden panels for me and waved me inside. “What ever happened to you,” he whispered in the echoing interior, closing the door behind us, “I’m glad to get to know you like this, Julian of Anvil. I’d like us to be friends.”

I paused, shooting a startled glance at the Bravil guard, but his face was turned away from me, scanning the interior. “Thanks, Frederick,” I murmured finally. “That means a lot to me.”

His grin gleamed at me in the dimness, then he jerked his chin forward. “I see Marz,” he said. “Follow me.”

The exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours heavy in my bones, I slowly trailed Frederick as he led me towards the pews nearest the altar. He stopped at the front bench on the right, setting my pack on the wooden seat next to a scaled figure. I paused beside him as the Argonian looked at the pack, then at Frederick. She hissed as her gaze fell on my burned visage.

“Marz,” Frederick was saying, “this is my friend Julian of Anvil. She’s injured and in need of your skills.”

“It would sseem sso,” Marz slid along the pew and waving me to sit next to my pack. Gratefully, I set my weapons atop the pack and lowered myself carefully to the bench. “Where are you hurt, Julian?”

“Marz will take good care of you, Julian,” Frederick said quietly. “I’ve got to go relieve Metternach.”

“Thanks, Frederick,” I held out my right hand to him. He clasped it gently, out of consideration of the burned calluses in my palm. As his booted footfalls receded towards the door, I turned back to Marz.

“How did you get burned sso badly?” Marz asked, her orange eyes steady on mine. Her graceful fingers moved lightly over my face.

“I have spent the last day in the Deadlands,” I answered quietly. “Surrounded by fire, breathing fire, seeing nothing but fire and,” I swallowed again, “blood.” Marz’s hands drew away.

“You went into that Oblivion Gate!” Marz hissed, her voice incredulous. “And you ssurvived?”

“Barely, as you can see,” I replied. “Please tell me you can take the pain away.”

“Give me your handss,” Marz commanded, lowering her hands to her lap, palms up. I obeyed, placing my own burned hands on top of hers. Mercifully, she did not close her fingers, instead letting my hands rest on hers. “Ahh,” she sighed, closing her eyes, and I felt some of the weariness and pain shift from me into her hands.

“You are in great pain, indeed, and weary,” she murmured. “And your right knee, it hurtss terribly! Like it did when you were -” her voice trailed off and her eyes opened to look into mine, “- drinking cheap wine and taking sskooma to kill the pain and to forget.” I could see the sadness in her gaze as she regarded me. “You sstopped, but the pain perssistss.”

“No, it went away for a while,” I protested. “Until yesterday -” I stopped when she shook her head.

“Not the pain in your knee, your left sside, your face,” Marz corrected me. “The pain in your heart. And now there is more pain there, newer pain.”

I swallowed and looked down. “I doubt even you can take that pain away,” I murmured. Now I felt a healing surge in my hands, as Marz circled her thumbs over my palms, wiping away the burns and leaving healed skin.

“Hussh,” she whispered, her orange eyes closing again. “Let me ssee -” again her voice faded away. I sat quietly, letting her energy course over my scorched skin, leaving behind cool healing. It swirled through my burned throat like cool mint, slipping into my parched lungs like ice water. Finally I could take a deep breath without breathing fire. It made me cough, and I gasped as a faint swirl of black smoke escaped from my mouth.

Marz’s healing energy swirled over my body, seeking pain and demolishing it, until it gathered in my right knee. There, the pain diminished only a little before Marz gasped, her magic fading away. Her eyes opened, and I realized that she had drained her own Magicka on me. The knee still throbbed horribly, but now the pain did not shoot up my thigh as much. “I am ssorry,” Marz said, her hands shaking under mine. I gripped her hands in gratitude.

“No, don’t be,” I answered, my voice much smoother with the healed throat. “You’ve made me feel much, much better.”

“But your knee sstill hurtss!” Marz exclaimed softly. I sat back in the pew and looked toward the altar.

“Well, it’s a very old injury,” I commented quietly. “And I’ve lived with it for a very long time. It’s only recently that it’s started to hurt less.”

“How?” Marz asked, curious.

“I started practicing my healing spell,” I answered, shrugging, the movement no longer causing me pain. “It’s a little one, and I can only cast it three times before I run out of Magicka, but I’ve been using it morning and night, when I get up, and before I go to sleep.”

Rising and slowly limping to the altar, I placed my hand on its rim. Akatosh, Talos, Julianos, help me. A flash of white healing swirled around me, and the pain in my knee diminished further. I returned to Marz. “Also the wayshrines have helped, too,” I finished, smiling at Marz. “I never thought I’d start praying as much as I have these past few weeks!”

“I will need to resst,” Marz smiled toothily at me, her eyes warm in the dim interior. “But come back tomorrow, and we will try again.”

“Thank you, Marz,” I said. “I don’t remember you when I was last here two years ago.”

“Ah, I’ve only been here a year and a half,” Marz responded. “I came to Bravil becausse Mara called me. My home iss not here. I miss Black Marsh, but I shall sserve here, sso long as Bravil needss me.”

With an intent regard of the Argonian woman, I took a breath. “So how did you know that I was addicted to drink and skooma?”

“Ah, it leavess tracess in your body and your ssoul,” Marz responded. “Faint tracess, but traces nonethelesss.” She reached out and traced my right eyebrow lightly. “Be careful,” she warned. “Do not give in to temptation, for you will fall back into missery should you take sskooma again.” Her fingertips patted my cheek lightly. “Remember, you are sstill an addict, though you have not taken any for ssome time.”

With a sigh I leaned back, turning my gaze away from Marz’s intent scrutiny. “How can I stop being an addict?”

“You never will,” Marz’s tone matched mine. “Oh, it getss eassier with time, but if ssomething bad were to happen, if you were to be in much pain again, or your heart broken once more, the urge to usse will come back. You musst ressisst it, or be losst anew.”

Picking up my pack, I looked at Marz again. “Thanks for the advice, ma’am,” I said quietly. “I’m not proud of it, and I wish never to go through it again. I won’t forget your words.”

Marz nodded, but there was sadness in her gaze. “We’ll ssee,” she hissed softly.

Hmm, did I detect Frederick flirting with our Julian? Wishful thinking or imagination perhaps.

Oooh! I loved the healing session with Marz. The Argonian told us more about Julian than Julian herself has. Very, very well done! I see that like TF and BF, you treat healing as a wonderfully different school of magic.

It must be wonderful to be a healer in real life, and then blend that with the magical possibilities of TES!

I'm so glad to see Julian lingering in Bravil.

The healing was well handled, it adds a lot that it's more than just casting a spell, I agree with Acadian that using insight from healing to reveal more about Julian was a good method and shows us more which Julian wouldn't reveal without reverting to flashbacks or other flow breakers.

And I definitly detected Frederick flirting, along with Marz's prophetic warning it makes me wonder.

I too am glad to see she will be in Bravil, it should lead to interesting interactions and I can't wait to see how you describe the place.

Frederick? He is not from Hollywood by chance?

At least he showed a bit of decency, helping a wounded person to the chapel. He is the first person we have seen in Bravil so far who could be bothered. I cannot say I noticed him flirting. But then being a lesbian, it is not something I really look for from a guy either.

Like the others, I very much enjoyed your depiction of Marz. Your description of how she healed Julian was very vivid and powerful, and adds a depth to the entire setting. Likewise, Marz's being able to see the traces of Julian's alcohol and skooma abuse.

Your regard for Marz is readily apparent in this chapter. I admire the combination of strength and fragility that you have infused within her. On the one hand she has the strength to take on Julian’s pain without flinching. Yet the act leaves her so drained that she needs a full day to recover enough to try again, which she is perfectly willing to do. I also like the fact that she doesn’t succeed in curing all of Julian’s injuries. There should be a limit to what even a talented healer can do.

I hope in the next chapter when Julian leaves Mara’s Temple Frederick will have had the time to spread the news about Julian’s foray into the Deadlands. It seems a shame that no one in Bravil seems to care that the Oblivion Gate that spawned not a hundred yards from the Quaking Bridge has been closed.

The use of thoughts and dialogue to interfuse the healing scene was a delight to read. Wow!
Very neat idea to have the healer more injured and tired after the healing process than the recipient, that was very tasty indeed!

Julian did stare at Frederick with a startled glance, so the Redguard herself certainly suspected that the warrior was up to something. No pun intended.

Slighty OT, I detect a new playfulness in our Rosa...could she be in love by any chance...


Bact OT: this revelation by Marz is so true. I have seen many friends and some relatives succumb to various kinds of addiction, and it is true that there is no such thing as a completely recovered addict. You are always going to hear that whisper deep in the darkest corners of your heart.

@Acadian: Frederick? Hmm, we’ll have to see how that plays out, huh? I’m glad you liked the healing with Marz. Yes, the fact that I do sort of the same thing IRL helps!

@Olen: Yes, I figured Marz was just the person to tell us more about Julian. I hope you enjoy Julian’s stay in this darling disreputable town.

@Sage Rosa: It’s about time someone acknowledged Julian’s risk, huh? IRL; doctors can detect traces of past abuse in their patients as well, so Marz being able to do that with Julian isn’t all that unrealistic.

@Destri: In an upcoming chapter, we will hear what people think about Julian’s actions in closing the Gate.

@Wolf: Well, the startled glance Julian sent Frederick has more to do with the incongruity of his comment in the face of their shared history than anything else. Besides, did Frederick mean anything more than just ‘friends?’

@Fox: You are absolutely right - once an addict, always an addict. My scientific reading even indicates that many factors figure into addiction, including neurology and neuroendocrinology. We’ll see that dark whisper in Julian’s ear some time in the near future.

Julian is asked to play the hero again, and once more finds herself unable to refuse. She also encounters more embarrassing reminders of her previous stay.

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Chapter 12.8 Memories of Shame

I limped away from Marz towards the doors. An aged Breton woman, frail in a worn, shabby dress, rose from a rear pew as I passed, her hand plucking at my leathered arm. “Excuse me, my lady,” she murmured timidly.

Pausing to look at her, I saw the sadness and worry in her gaze. “I’m no lady, ma’am, only Julian of Anvil,” I said softly. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“I’m Ursanne Loche,” the Breton responded, still timid. “I’m so sorry to impose upon you like this, but I’m in need of assistance, and I don’t know what to do! My husband, Aleron is missing.”

“Missing?” I repeated. Missing because he wanted to disappear? Or missing because he was made to disappear? The emotions in her gaze pulled at my heart, and I set my pack and weapons on the pew in front of her, motioning her to sit back in her place. As she did so, I leaned my right hip against the pew back in front of her, easing some of the strain on my throbbing knee, and leaned slightly towards her, shifting my weight to my good left leg. “And you are worried about him?”

As Ursanne sat down, she nodded. “It all started when Aleron became foolish and began gambling. He’d visit the Arena every week, and spend our hard-earned money on bets.” Her arched brows drew down in wifely anger. “I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. He was certain he could win us a fortune and move us somewhere nicer, like the Imperial City.” She took a shaky breath, looking down at her hands twisting around each other in her lap. “It didn’t take long for Aleron to start losing. He resorted to borrowing money from an usurer to cover his losses and place new bets.” Now she met my gaze again. “As you can imagine, it didn’t pay off. He ended up owing around five hundred gold. We could never have that kind of money to pay back the usurer -” Her voice ended on a sob barely stifled.

I touched her stooped shoulder gently. “What happened to Aleron?” I asked, keeping my voice quiet.

“Yesterday, the usurer, Kurdan gro-Dragol, sent for my husband to meet him at the Lonely Suitor Lodge. He hasn’t returned since!” Ursanne wiped at the tear that trickled from her right eye, and clutched at my hand on her shoulder. “I fear for his life. Kurdan isn’t known for his patience. Please,” she begged, her voice achingly plaintive, “I’m not wealthy, oh no,” she shook her head, keeping her eyes on me, “but I’d give anything to see my Aleron again!”

Kurdan gro-Dragol? I seem to remember that name. My eyes sought the shadows in the vaulted ceiling above. More than just an usurer, that much is certain. “All right,” I said, determinedly putting my quest for a Daedric artifact out of my mind, “I’ll help you.”

“You,” Ursanne gasped, “you will? Oh, thank you!” She took my hand in both of hers, clasping it to her thin chest. “Oh, do be careful, please. I don’t want any harm to befall you, either.”

“I’ll be careful,” I answered, squeezing her frail hands gently in mine. “I’ll find out what happened to Aleron.”

Finally Ursanne released me, sitting back. “I do miss him so,” she murmured. Now she frowned again. “And when he gets back, I’m going to kill him for making me worry so!”

I stifled a smile at the classic wifely threat. “I will see you again, Ursanne,” I promised, rising and gathering my gear. “Stay safe, ma’am.”

“Farewell, and do be careful,” Ursanne pleaded as I stepped away from the pew. “Kurdan is not to be trusted.”

I gave Ursanne a final reassuring smile and left the Chapel. The skies had opened while I was inside and a heavy rain transformed the dusty streets into mud. At the bottom of the steps I looked around, trying to remember the location of the Mages Guild. I spotted the ramshackle wooden building, one of the tallest in town at three stories, just south of the Chapel past an overgrown garden. Get my armor and weapons repaired, rest at the Guild, then find Kurdan and see what’s going on with Aleron Loche.

I found the Archer’s Paradox across the river from the Mages Guild. Seeking shelter from the rain that had developed while I was inside the Chapel, I saw a Bosmer shopkeeper inside, the feathers of steel arrows in a quiver at his back giving him height. He grinned at me. “Welcome to the Archer’s Paradox. Because a perfect arrow flies forever!”

“But that’s impossible,” I countered, shaking off the rain and setting my weapons on the counter before him. He laughed.

“And there lies the paradox!” he responded. He eyed the weapons. “I’m Daenlin. What can I do for you?”

“I’m Julian of Anvil,” I answered. “And I’d like my weapons and armor repaired.”

“Of course!” he waved me toward an alcove, screened off by a curtain. “Change in there, while I look at your weapons. I’ll give you a total after I’ve seen the armor, too.”

“Thanks,” I limped to the changing alcove. From my pack, I pulled out the tan skirt and the green shirt. I managed to strip out of the battered leathers without falling down from exhaustion and my painful knee. Returning to Daenlin, I handed him the leathers.

“You’ve got a fine katana,” Daenlin nodded at the slim blade. “But it’s been used quite heavily lately. The bow,” he caressed the stave lovingly, “and Daedra Slayer are in better condition. Now, let’s see the armor . . . “ He muttered to himself, examining the rents and dents in the leathers.

“The shield,” he pointed at the Kvatch Wolf, “is as badly beat up as the katana, but both of them are repairable.” He ran his hand over the scratched paint. “I can’t do anything about the design, though, I’m no artist.” He held up the cuirass and the greaves, setting the boots on the counter. “These are nice work, custom class,” he approved. “Mostly scorch marks, that’ll buff out quite nicely.”

“How much for the lot?” I asked him. He cast another eye at the gear, muttering under his breath.

“Thirty drakes,” he glanced sidelong at me. I counted out the gold from my belt purse. “Excellent! I’ll have it all ready for you by tomorrow morning!”

I nodded, aware of how much work was ahead of Daenlin. “Think you can get it all done by then?” I asked, raising one eyebrow.

As I expected, the Bosmer rose to my challenge. “Be here at the start of business tomorrow!”

I smiled at him. “Very well, sir, tomorrow morning.” Good, that gives me time to rest up. My stomach growled at the thought of the Mages Guild.

As I returned across the bridge over the canal, I spotted a familiar figure ahead in the pouring rain. Lean, trim in her Bravil surcoat, brown hair trimmed as short as I remembered, Viera Lerus had her back to me, but turned at the limping sound of my leather shoes on the Quivering Bridge. “Hello, I hear you’re back in town,” she remarked to me, her voice cold.

“Get up,” a cold voice snapped at me, where I lay in the middle of the muddy street. I opened bleary eyes to see a lean woman, in a threadbare but clean Watch surcoat, looking down at me, disgust in her green eyes. I tried to obey her, but my body defied my instructions, and her orders. Instead, I rolled over onto my right shoulder and vomited, foul fluid splashing into the mud and splattering on her boots. I heard her sharp intake, the whisper of a sword being drawn, and managed to roll the other way, away from her.

“S- s- sorry, ma’-” I gasped, my voice slurring. “Don’ mean no dishrepek -” Expectant of the bite from her blade, I held my hands out and looked up at her. Clearing the bile in my throat, I managed to struggle to my knees, but my left side screamed at the movement, pulling me back down into the mud, panting from the pain.

“Frederick,” the Watch Captain’s voice remained colder than the pouring rain, “get this filth out of the street.”

“Aye, Captain,” the guard with her said, reaching down for me. I recoiled from his grasp, but was too slow and weak to resist as he pulled me up, and half dragged, half frog-walked me to the nearby alley. He dropped me there and walked back to the captain. Together, they turned and walked away from me without a backward glance.

I felt like cringing at the unwanted memory, one of many fragments about this town that I possessed. It was here that I had discovered skooma, had become addicted, and where my downward spiral had become an out of control free fall. I had already become disreputable before my arrival here, thanks to my incessant drinking, but the skooma had sunk me even lower. Though I had been wallowing in self-pity then, some part of me had been shamed by Viera Lerus calling me filth, for I knew she had spoken true.

My spine straightened under her level stare, and I stepped off the bridge, stopping before Lerus and meeting her gaze. “Yes, Captain, I’m back in town,” I answered, hoping that she would see me as I stood now, rather than groveling in the mud two years ago.

“I’ve just been informed that you’ve closed that Oblivion Gate outside of town,” she continued, still cold towards me. “That doesn’t fit with the Julian of Anvil I remember.” Now her gaze traveled up and down my form, taking in my feminine garb. “Nor does the woman standing in front of me now.”

“I left my gear with Daenlin to get repaired, ma’am,” I replied, avoiding the subject of Oblivion Gates. “I’m going over to the Mages Guild now. I’m tired and hungry, ma’am.”

“And quite sober, I see,” Lerus added, nodding to herself. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with you later, after you’ve eaten and rested.” It was not a request, but more an order.

“Of course, ma’am,” I restrained myself from saluting her. “Where and when?”

“I’ll be about the rest of the day,” Lerus responded. “But after dinner time, I’ll be in the Castle barracks.”

“After dinner, then, ma’am,” I agreed, ducking my head respectfully instead of the salute my right arm itched to give. Though her eyes remained glacial, I saw the left corner of Lerus’s mouth twitch as she turned away towards the harbor. When her lean form disappeared into the rain, I let my breath out in a sigh. Whew. Still as cold as I remember her. Yet I preferred how this encounter ended better than the last time.

It seems Julian cannot avoid rescuing every cat caught in a tree! It really is good to see this part of her nature shining through in these last few chapters though. Once again, here is ample evidence of her need to be a part of something larger, and make a contribution to the communities in which she is a part of. An ordinary life would never be enough for her.

It is too bad that Bravil does not have a city guard to deal with things like monsters that attack the city from other dimensions, or criminals who prey upon its citizens. But then there would be nothing for the player to do in the game after all. Seriously though, this is one of the problems we writers face in doing fan fics. Why is the Bravil Guard just sitting around with their thumbs up their English ships while their city falls apart around them? I guess they are too busy rousting drunks and addicts. In the TF I am tackling it by making the Guard underpaid and understaffed because the Count spends all his money on his wine and his son's skooma rather than on soldiers. The guards they do have are mostly corrupt, and on the payroll of people like Kurdan. So there literally is no justice for people like the Loche's.

Julian's flashback to her past experience with Viera Lerus and Frederick was wonderful! Well, maybe that is not quite the word, but you know what I mean. It really brings home Julian's past plight perfectly there (wonder if I can work another alliteration in there?).


“I do miss him so,” she murmured. Now she frowned again. “And when he gets back, I’m going to kill him for making me worry so!”
I love this! It is so realistic.

I liked how you did Daenlin's introduction, and your variation on his classic "perfect arrow" soliloquy!

Lots to like here! Just the feeling of being in the City of Mara is wonderful and I thank you for not rushing Julian. I love this description from your comments: 'this darling disreputable town.'

A new quest! And a great one at that. What struck me here was how you handled dialogue: Your use of rich, descriptively connective tags made this sing. It was like being there. Magnificent.

Yay! Thanks for including my friend Daenlin. Wonderfully done.

It fully hit me during Julian's encounter with Viera Lerus, the delicious potential you have built into Bravil. The gutter-puking addict turned Daedra-slaying Hero of Kvatch. Oooh! I can't wait to see the fun you provide us with over that as you move forward!

I'm really looking forward to reading Julian's impressions of the Bravil guild.

Did I tell you how happy I am that Julian is in Bravil? Don't forget to feed me in the next chapter or so.

Hmm another town another side quest. I like the background you've put in though, she knew the place from a different angle but is somewhat unfamiliar with the above ground part. It makes a good read.


I'd always assumed corruption, or just laziness (or both). I imagine the devs meant that because they hit the feel of it well with the goings on. And I imagine Julian might sort things out anyway...

She did seem very reasonable with the guard who was patiently corrupt, incompetant or just lazy and ignored the crime and the monsters to make snide comments and order Julian for a talk. Especially seeing as Julian 'outranks' her in many ways.

Make Julian take down that beech a notch!

I am so glad that you decided to include this sidequest. There is no one in the whole of Cyrodiil that draws more of my sympathy than Ursanne Loche.

This chapter finally drove home the perfectly logical fact that of course Julian, as a skooma addict, would have a history with the town of Bravil. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me before. The way you present that history through her dialogue with Frederick in the last chapter and the flashback in this chapter is simply excellent writing.

Unfortunately there was a paragraph that got under my skin:

The wording in this paragraph is somewhat awkward and I think you went a little comma crazy. I also think that you need to establish the rain in this paragraph instead of the one that follows it because upon leaving the Chapel it would have been the first thing that Julian noticed if it was falling hard enough that she needed to seek shelter from it:

I gave Ursanne a final reassuring smile and left the Chapel. The skies had opened while I was inside and a heavy rain transformed the dusty streets into mud. At the bottom of the steps I looked around, trying to remember the location of the Mages Guild. I spotted the ramshackle wooden building, one of the tallest in town at three stories, just south of the Chapel past an overgrown garden. . .

I loved the healing scene with Marz. It's true, there's no such thing as an ex-addict.

@SubRosa: Julian does have a certain fondness for cats! I found the archer’s paradox online (just google it!), and loved it so much I included it here.

@Acadian: Don’t worry, you’ll get fed in this segment! I hate writing monologues - it’s easy to just run on at the mouth so to speak. Using body language at critical junctures helps break it up. Daenlin is actually another of my favorite Bosmers - friendly, cheerful, and not irritating at all.

@Olen: Yes, Julian is not familiar with the good citizens of Bravil, only with the addicts (including young Terentius).

@Foxy: Ah, Julian only has to be Julian with Verus!

@Destri: Thanks for pointing out the awkward paragraph. I’ve taken your suggestion and replaced it. I figured Bravil would be the place where Julian finds skooma, as we’ll learn later.

@Remko: Thanks!

Finally Julian meets a (relatively) sensible mage, and gets some rest.

***************
Chapter 13.1 The Bravil Recommendation

Shifting the pack on my shoulder, I turned around and eyed the Guild chapter house behind me. It looked even more rundown in the rain, but then, so did the rest of Bravil, even the stone Castle. The cool damp air brought out the unique aroma of the canal, a combination of marsh and sewer, of frogs and effluvium, of swamp reeds and mold.

As I limped up the wooden steps, a tall Altmer stepped through the front door and paused under the overhang at the sight of me. “Greetings!” he said courteously. “Carandial. Mage-trained. Scholar by inclination. Student of our Aldmeri ancestors, the Ayleids.”

I looked up at him. “Julian of Anvil, Guild Associate,” I answered. “I’m looking for the chapter head?”

“Oh, Kud-Ei?” Carandial nodded. “She’s inside, drinking her tea.” He reached for the door handle, pulling the panel open for me.

“Thank you, sir,” with a smile, I met his gaze. “And sometime you’ll have to tell me about Ayleid ruins. They scare me.”

“Ah, not so scary once you know them,” Carandial smiled back. “Just let me know when you want to hear about them.” As I stepped inside, I looked back at the friendly Altmer and nodded, before he closed the door after me.

Shaking the rain off of myself, I looked around. A short corridor led me to the common area beyond, and on my right a half wall opened into a dining room. Within sat an Argonian, dressed in a rich green velvet outfit, sipping at a fine porcelain mug. She met my gaze. “How may I help you, ma’am?” she asked softly.

“I’m looking for Kud-Ei?” I asked her. She waved for me to come around the corner into the dining room.

“I am sshe,” she said as I took the chair opposite her. “You look hungry, and tired.”

“That I am,” I responded. “I’m Julian, of Anvil,” I continued. “I just joined the Mages Guild.”

“Julian of Anvil?” Kud-Ei repeated. “Hmm, I sseem to recall that name -”

I squirmed in my seat. “I was here two years ago,” I decided to get it over with. “Under very different circumstances.”

“Ah, yess, I remember you now,” she nodded. “You were in sso much pain, yet you never went to the Chapel healer . . .” She shook her head abruptly. “Not that it would have done you much good, then,” she added dryly. “Etienne had lost hiss Magicka, and was of little usse to mosst of uss.”

“Marz was very helpful, actually,” I responded. “I visited her earlier this afternoon.”

“Yess, after you clossed the Oblivion Gate,” Kud-Ei nodded again. She took a sip of the tea as I stared at her. She returned my gaze calmly, her own eyes twinkling in good humor. “Newss travelss fasst, Associate.”

I found my voice. “Yes, I have forgotten,” I heard the rue in my tone.

Kud-Ei poured tea into her cup from a nearby flagon. Without asking me, she filled a second cup and pushed it across the table to me. “Help yoursself, you musst be hungry,” she urged me. I didn’t need telling twice. As I filled a plate with the delicious food on the table between us, she leaned back, sipping at her refilled cup. “Welcome to the Bravil Magess Guild,” she said as I started eating. She held up her hand when I tried to empty my mouth to respond. “No, keep eating. I talk, you lissten, undersstood?” I nodded, obeying her by taking a bite of roast mutton.

“I take my dutiess as chapter head very sserioussly,” Kud-Ei continued quietly. “Unlike ssome guild magess. It infuriatess me how cassual ssome guild headss are about common civility.” I paused in my chewing to glance askance at her, but Kud-Ei apparently had no intention of elaborating further. She regarded me over the brim of her cup as she sipped again at her tea. “Each local guild hall hass itss own way of doing thingss. That meanss each hall hass itss own sset of problemss."

I swallowed the last bite of food, mildly surprised at how quickly I had finished the plate. I’ll have to tell Jauffre I’m filling up on less food, though. “I’m beginning to notice that,” I commented, taking a sip of the hot tea.

“When did you join the Magess Guild?” Kud-Ei asked me.

“Umm,” I did a quick mental calculation. “About a week ago, ma’am.” I anticipated her next question. “In Bruma, ma’am.” Her scaled face registered a mild distaste.

“I had heard that Jeanne fell for yet another practical joke,” she commented, her gaze steady on mine. “Sshe jusst never learnss.”

I swallowed the tea, wondering just how much Kud-Ei knew of my role in the latest practical joke. “She won’t fall for any more, I don’t think, ma’am,” I said after a moment.

“Hmm, it sseemss the perpetratorss got a dresssing down from a new Associate with a limp.” Kud-Ei’s eyes narrowed as I coughed on tea. “I hope you won’t find that necessary here, Associate with a limp.”

I met the Argonian’s gaze steadily. “After having met you, ma’am,” I responded quietly, “I don’t think it will be necessary.” The teacup empty, I set it down carefully on the table. “And I would like to know how I can obtain your recommendation for the Arcane University.”

“You do, hmm?” Kud-Ei’s brows lifted above her eyes. “Well, I’m afraid I haven’t had time to prepare anything conventional. I’ve been very preoccupied with this ssituation concerning Ardaline.” She regarded me thoughtfully. “Perhapss you can help me with that, however. I can’t be directly involved, for fear of embarrassing the poor girl.” She set her teacup down softly. “I’ll need you to sspeak to Varon Vamori, and perhapss you can learn ssomething about the power of Illussion in the processs.”

“Who is Ardaline, ma’am?” Looking up as a couple of other Mages entered the dining room, I wondered if one of them was the lady in question.

“Sshe is our Alchemisst,” Kud-Ei responded. “Pleasse don’t ssay anything to her.” I looked around again, seeing a tall Altmer woman with blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, wide-set eyes under scowling brows, and a tiny Breton woman with her red hair neatly tucked up into a complexly plaited hairdo. “They are Aryarie,” Kud-Ei indicated the Altmer, “and Delphine Jend. Ladiess, thiss iss our newesst Associate Julian of Anvil.” As the two women greeted me, politely in Aryarie’s case, and warmly in Jend’s case, Kud-Ei nodded at them. “Julian hass come to me for a recommendation.” It was clearly a dismissal.

“Of course,” Jend exclaimed, reaching for a plate and loading it with breads and cheeses. Aryarie echoed her motion, selecting fruits for her own plate. “We’ll just get something to eat and go sit with Ardaline!” The two women nodded courteously at me again and departed. When we were alone again, Kud-Ei turned her orange gaze back on me again.

“Ardaline iss painfully shy,” the Argonian woman continued, her voice a soft hiss. “Sshe findss it difficult to sspeak to people, and tendss to keep to hersself. I am working with her on that, by having her ssell Alchemy ssuppliess to thosse who need them.” She shook her head, the rings in her temporal spines jingling softly. “I don’t want to embarrass her further. Once thiss matter iss ressolved, I’ll sspeak to her privately.” Now she met my gaze squarely. “Disscretion is vital.”

With a nod to show my understanding, I matched Kud-Ei’s soft tone. “Of course, ma’am. What is the situation with Ardaline and Varon Vamori?”

“I don’t undersstand it. Ssome ridiculouss male thing, I ssuppose,” she answered, her tone weary. I understood all too well, for I had dealt with similar situations between young men and women in my own cohort. “He’s been bothering Ardaline every day for ssome time now. He even sstole her Mage’ss Sstaff! Perhapss he thinkss it’ss amussing, I don’t know. But it needss to sstop. It’ss making her misserable!”

I felt my eyebrows lifting at the tale Kud-Ei told. “Varon Vamori stole Ardaline’s Mage’s Staff?” Even I knew that touching a Mage’s Staff was sacrilege. “Ma’am?”

“It’ss more ssymbolic than practical, true,” Kud-Ei admitted. “But each sstaff iss important to itss owner. You are to get Ardaline’ss Sstaff back.” She handed me three scrolls. “Varon Vamori hass a ssilver tongue. Here are a few Charm sspellss to help you sspeak to him.”

“Silver tongue, huh?” I repeated. Kud-Ei grinned toothily.

“He thinkss he hass a magical way with wordss,” she replied dryly. “Now, you look exhaussted, Julian. How bad iss that knee?”

“It hurts to walk on it, but I can manage, ma’am,” I answered.

“Our roomss are upsstairs. Let me take you there, sshow you where you can ssleep and resst.”

“I would be grateful, ma’am,” I rose as Kud-Ei stood.

Yay! That's our guild head!

Rider, this was a joy to read. Your writing is impeccable of course, and I loved how you portrayed the members of the Bravil guild. It seems you and I see them similarly, for you made the guild feel very much like it does in my game. I almost expected to see a small blond wood elf to pop into the dining room looking for a sweet roll. Speaking of chow, thanks!

I see news travels fast and Kud-Ei clearly has some impressive sources. You really captured the Argonian's wisdom here. I loved how you then used her concern for Julian's knee to display her protective and caring nature.

Thank you again for allowing Julian to take her time here. I am loving her visit to Bravil.

Like Acadian you seem to have a thing for Argonians. I have yet to meet one in Old Habits that isn’t forthright, competent, personable, and honorable. Kud-Ei is no exception, she leaps off the screen. The fact that she places Ardaline in charge of selling alchemy paraphernalia is a brilliant detail that says a lot about her character. It is easy to see why she is a chapter head. What is more difficult to see is why she doesn’t sit on the Council of Mages.

I wonder what Julian will think of Varon Vamori. He always gives me the impression of being a little . . . short for a Dunmer, but he is handy to have around for those speechcraft lessons.

That sounds like Bravil to me... nicely done.

Now she's met the Bravil guild, you wove the characterisation into the dialogue well there. Though she has found herself on one of the more annoying go-fetch quests in the game, still how she handles it should be interesting to see.

Yay for Kud-Ei! About time Julian met a guild leader who was worthy of the position. You portrayed our favorite scaly Bravilian mage wonderfully!

“Hmm, it sseemss the perpetuatorss got a dresssing down from a new Associate with a limp.” Kud-Ei’s eyes narrowed as I coughed on tea. “I hope you won’t find that necessary here, Associate with a limp.”
I love this! It says so much, on so many levels!

I loved the sentence SubRosa quoted too. So much said with so little.

So, the Male with the Silver tongue stole a Female's Staff...


Hmmm.... why on earth am I thinking there's something WRONG with that...the natural order of things has been reversed - it should have been the other way around -

-er




Arrrgh, forgive me, I was asleep and that wandering Daedra Spiriti, Dhertee-Inuu Endo, entered my mind and seized control!!!


Besides, it couldn't have worked the other way around. Why, it's sacriliege to touch a Mage's Staff -


(No wonder these Mages are sour, they get no fun at all - )


GET OUT!!!

GET OUT DHERTEE-INNU ENDO!!! GET OUT AT ONCE!!!

It is raining in Bravil!!! I never get to see that. The only place that ever rains for me is the road from Chorrol to Bruma and everywhere in Leyawiin. Lol.

Wow, Kud-Ei really rocks the show in your chapter, is that woman ahead of the game or what??
I so love it that you have incorporated the drinking of her tea, that is soooo Kud-Ei!!

@Acadian: You and Buffy were very much on my mind the entire time I was writing this! I’m glad you ended up looking for a sweet roll along with a certain Bosmeri female.

@Destri: I love Argonians! I’ve never played one, but I always seemed to like ‘em when I meet ‘em in game, with a few exceptions. They are most enjoyable to write, too. Have patience, you will see what Julian makes of a certain - ahem - short - Dunmer soon.

@Olen: It will take Julian some time to complete the recommendation, but I think you might find it interesting.

@Sage Rose: Why oh why is it so few chapter heads are actually responsible? Falcar is a hole in the rear, Frasoric is incompetent, Dagail, bless her sweet heart, is crazy as a bat in the belfry, and Teekeeus is full of petty imp chips! The only other one that can hold a candle to Kud-Ei is Carahil!

@Remko: The fact that you and Sage Rose picked one of my favorite lines in that segment goes to show that great minds think alike.

@Fox: Don’t let Dhertee-innu Endo wander over to Lex and the Thief! “So, can I hold your sword?”

@Wolf: It rains half the time I’m in Bravil! Must be my sunny personality. And why, oh why does it rain at Frostcrag Spire (when I have the DLC installed - sometimes I don’t)?? You’d think with all the snow around, and at that altitude, that I’d see snow. Uh, nope.

Thanks to Buffy and Acadian for their charming characterization of a certain Bravil resident. Their description really crystallized my perception of His Arrogance.

***************
Chapter 13.2 Dinner with Mages

I woke five hours later to the sound of rain pounding on the windows. The smell of fresh cooked food wafting through closed doors drew me out of bed casting a couple of healing spells. I found that I could now cast four in a row before becoming too shaky to focus.

Kud-Ei had advised me that if I found any clothes to fit me, I was welcome to anything in the wardrobes. Some of the other clothing felt too fine for me to wear, so I stuck with my plain clothing. I did replace the rough leather shoes with a pair of doeskin shoes, which, while still practical, were more comfortable and quieter.

Leaving my pack behind in the room, I limped downstairs to find the Mages already gathered around the common table. Carandial leaped to his feet and pulled out a chair for me with a smile. Surprised by his courtesy, so uncharacteristic for Altmeri, I thanked him and sat down.

“Welcome, Julian of Anvil,” he said as he returned to his seat at my left elbow. He started loading my plate with mutton and roasted vegetables. “I’m glad you’re part of the Mages Guild, Hero of Kvatch!”

The piece of roast potato dropped from my fork when I jumped at the greeting. Before I could object, Delphine Jend piped up from his other side.

“Hero of Kvatch!” she scoffed. “More like Hero of Bravil!” She leaned forward to smile at me past the tall Altmer between us. “Welcome, Julian!”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t call me Hero of Anything, sir, ma’am,” I muttered, fishing up the potato out of the mutton gravy.

“Oh, it’s too late for that,” the haughty voice drew my attention to the well-dressed Dunmer seated across the table from me. “Everyone in town is already calling you their Hero.” His red eyes gleamed at me, making me shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “I’m Fathis Aren, Count Bravil’s Staff Wizard,” he introduced himself. I heard the arrogance in his tone and bit down on my instant dislike of the mer. “I can teach you Conjuration, Associate,” he continued, lending my Guild rank a hint of contempt, “anything to relieve the tedium of Castle patronage.”

Inwardly, I could feel myself bristling at his condescension. “Why thank you, Fathis Aren,” I responded, surprised by how smooth and neutral my own voice sounded to my ears. “I will remember that when I want to master that area of Magicka, sir.” Around me, the bustle of dinner conversation, the movement of eating utensils, slowed to a halt. I was aware of Kud-Ei watching me from her place at the head of the table.

Aren scowled at me. “If you’ve closed two Oblivion Gates,” he sneered, “they must not be so difficult a challenge to face.”

I bit my tongue. Three. “Maybe not, but so far I haven’t heard of anyone from Bravil entering the one by the Quaking Bridge,” I answered, my voice still neutral and calm. “And now no one needs to worry about it.”

Aren’s red eyes narrowed at me as he inhaled slowly. Kud-Ei cleared her throat sharply from the head of the table. “No one quesstionss your courage in entering thosse Oblivion Gatess, Julian,” her quiet voice somehow held the authority of a respected praefect of the Legion. Catching her glance at Aren, I carefully avoided his gaze, turning my eyes back down to my plate. “There’ss been a lot of disscussion about why Count Bravil did not order the Guard to enter the Gate.”

I glanced at Kud-Ei. Speculation, you mean? “There’s the reckless course, ma’am, then there’s the prudent course,” I said after a moment. I recalled that the Count was not popular with many of the residents. “The reckless course would be to send every Guard into that Gate in hopes that a few of them would manage to close it. That would strip the town of its defenses in case of daedra attack. The prudent course is to keep the Guard on alert for daedra attack while trying to learn about the layout and defenses of the realm on the other side of that Gate.”

Aren snorted. “Prudent?” he scoffed. “Scared is more like it!” Again I met his gaze, catching the scorn in his eyes. “Oh, far be it from me to criticize my patron and sovereign,” he continued, his tone belying his words. “Bravil obviously flourishes under his wise and beneficial rule. He has done nothing,” he stabbed his finger at the table, “nothing about that Gate! Captain Lerus wanted to send a scouting party inside when it first opened, but he wouldn’t let her!”

I sat back in my seat, caught off-guard by the intensity in Aren’s tone. Wasn’t Regulus Terentius an Arena Champion years ago? He’s quite old now. Old men, especially old fighters, are very cautious about wasting the young ones. And Lerus wanted to do just what Savlian did?

“That’s what Savlian Matius tried at Kvatch,” I said finally, my voice very quiet as I thought sadly about the men who had died, of Menien Goneld tortured there. “He sent six men in there. Four were killed right away, one was taken captive and tortured, and the last one never made it past the first set of War Gates.”

I looked away from the others’ shocked gazes. “I only reached the Sigil Tower because I was scared out of my mind, and spent much of my time creeping around trying to hide from the daedra.” Now I met Aren’s gaze steadily, my own vision filled with the red fire and heat of the Deadlands. “I used the same tactic here, and it seems it is the best way to succeed.” I shook my head. “Sometimes, it’s not sheer strength and numbers, nor is it knowledge, but facing one’s fears and coping with those fears, that is the successful path.”

“Well sspoken, Associate,” Kud-Ei spoke into the silence. “Often proceeding with caution getss one further than rassh action.”

I looked down at my plate, surprised at its blankness. Somehow the conversation had not affected my appetite. I set my fork down quietly. “Thanks very much for dinner, ma’am,” I said to Kud-Ei. “May I be excused? I have some errands to run in town tonight.”

I could see the dubious regard Kud-Ei sent me. She thinks I want to go to the skooma den. I remembered it was just down Canal Street from the Mages Guild, in the center of town.

“My knee is much better, ma’am,” I volunteered quietly. “I’m getting better with my healing spell.”

“All right,” Kud-Ei said after a moment’s consideration. “Take your key with you, though. The doors get locked at eleven bells.”

I rose, ungracefully because of my knee, to my feet and bowed to the company at the table. “Thank you, ma’ams, sirs.” I gave a final glance at Aren before turning away. Limping out of the dining room, I heard the clink of utensils against plates, but did not hear voices again until I opened the front door. I didn’t linger to hear what was being said, though, for I had several tasks I needed to accomplish tonight before heading back to my bed on the second floor of the Guild chapter-house.

Now this is a very interesting chapter...full of both subtle characterization, and at the same time bold character sketches, and the philosophy of combat as well.

Hail to Hautee, may her prose please Foxee, who shall remain nautee!!!

(I suspect for that she'll make me sautee )

So Julian is casting four healing spells in a row now? It is good to see that her daily spellcasting is paying off not only physically, but also in her skillz.

The piece of roast potato dropped from my fork when I jumped at the greeting.
This gave me a good laugh! Poor Julian, found out again!

As Foxy said, while a short segment, it certainly packs a great deal into the conversation with Fathis. I wonder why he didn't go into the gate and close it, seeing what a great conjurer he is?

Aww, thank you so much for the kind words to Buffy and I in your comments. I'm delighted to see that you and Julian see Bravil similarly to the way we do.

Well, doeskin shoes are certainly a step (is that a pun?) in the right direction towards getting our Redguard stylin'. Something tells me that Fashionista Delphine will be frustrated by Julian, who has more important things to worry about. Delphine is amazing however, if Julian ever finds herself needing to get dolled up.

You captured the steely snide aloofness of Fathis so well, and the calm commanding presence of Kud-Ei. Wow! I am proud of Julian's restraint; again, her maturity and wisdom shine through. Buffy is so jealous of Julian's abiltiy to (usually) control her temper and make the smart choices.

I loved the little details like Julian dropping a piece of potato when surprised, then later fishing it out of her gravy. Things like that made the meal come alive. And. . . you know what I'm going to say next. . . Thanks for feeding me - yum!

Julian nailed those gate tactics. Sneaking, sniping and patience seems to win the day. And yes, it does somehow seem best suited to a solitary task.

nit: I'm sure you wanted that first 'was' to be a 'what'.

Poor Julian, I see that she is once again charged with heroism. Now you can add ‘Hero of Bravil’ to her growing list of titles. She must hate that!

My favorite part of this chapter is when Julian excuses herself from the table like a fourteen year old wanting to (*insert estrogen-induced teenage girl obsession here*). I could see the look that Kud-Ei gives her. I think it says a lot about Julian’s previous time in Bravil that even closing the Oblivion Gate doesn’t keep some from being wary in her presence. I wonder if R’Vanni, J’Zin-Dar, Reistr the Rotted, or Roxanne Brigette (all of whom I’m sure Julian knows . . . vaguely) get the same treatment. I hope that you include at least one of them in this story. It would be nice to see how they regard Julian now that she is all clean and hero-fied.

And tell her that she shouldn’t let Fathis get to her. Ever since he saw the golden armor that he gave Maxical for sale at the Best Defense he has been a complete s’wit to everyone. Rumor around town is that he is still carrying a torch for the kitty, but who knows?

I'm glad your going to do something different with that recommendation, I'm fascinated to see how Julian plays it though.

Really all I can do is echo the above and say how well done the subtle characterisation of Julian and how she's changed on arriving in Bravil (and she has slightly) alongside the roughing out of Fathis Aren was well handled and effective. She should still suggest that he prooves his mettle by going into a gate though, if only to be rid of him.