@Fox: I borrowed a great deal from Art of War for Julian’s new combat philosophy. It’s a far cry from Legion fighting, in my humble opinion. And we wouldn’t want Foxee to be anything other than nautee!

@Sage Rosa: I suppose Fathis will keep his reasons for staying out of that Gate to himself, at least for now . . .

@Acadian: Julian will get stylin’ advice, but not from Ms. Delphine, unfortunately. And it won’t happen until Chapter 19. And I’m always glad to feed someone who is so appreciative of my cooking!

@Destri: Well, getting Julian to run into the skooma denizens may be a challenge - after all, they don’t go out, and she’s going to try her damnedest to stay away from the den. But Young Terentius, hmm . . . Oh, and we both miss Maxical . . .

@Olen: I’m glad you share my feeling about His Arrogance! Whether or not Julian bothers to tell him to take a long walk into a Gate is up to her, though.

Julian meets Lerus again, and the two women come to a new understanding.

****************
13.3 A Conversation with Lerus

First, Viera Lerus. I didn’t want to keep the Captain waiting long. I wasn’t sure when she ate dinner, but the Mages Guild kept late hours, and I knew the sun had gone down a long time ago. My slow limp carried me down Canal Street past the Warlock’s Luck and the skooma den, toward the Fighters Guild chapter-house standing at the east end. With careful steps I avoided slipping on the slick cobblestones, for it was still raining.

At the Fighters Guild, I turned right, where a narrow street ran across the canal on another rope suspension bridge towards the Castle, the only stone structure in Bravil other than the Chapel. This bridge did not hurt my knee as much as the others had earlier, and I knew that the healing spells were taking effect. Still, I intended to see Marz again in the morning.

In the courtyard leading to the Great Hall, my limping stride faltered as the fragrances of the gardens hit my nose in spite of the rain, which had eased up a little during my walk across town. I paused and looked around, but the rain and the darkness kept me from seeing much of the plantings.

Ahead, I saw two Bravil Watchmen standing beside the doors leading into the Great Hall. Their eyes followed me as I entered through the left hand panel. Inside, two more guards turned their heads to look me over. I met the gaze of the nearer one.

“I’m here to see Captain Lerus, at her request,” I said to him. “Do you know where she is, sir?”

“She’d be in the barracks, ma’am,” the guard responded. His gaze sharpened at me. “Hey, I know you, you’re -” he stopped when I shook my head at him. Grinning, he took a breath and finished “- Frederick’s friend.”

I returned his smile with some relief. “Maybe I am,” I answered. I looked forward into the Great Hall, seeing the empty throne at the opposite end. “Where are the barracks, sir?”

“Oh, upstairs,” the guard pointed out the left hand stairs leading to the balcony across the rear of the Great Hall. “Door on the left.”

“Thanks, sir,” I said to him, then limped to the indicated flight. Taking my time up the stone steps, I managed to make it to the top without making my knee much worse. At the top, I cast a single healing spell, just to be sure. Then I opened the door.

Long strides brought me into the barracks, and I struck the frame of each cot sharply with my steel-wrapped oaken cane. “Get up, meat!” My command voice was powerful in the close quarters. “Rise and shine! The day’s half gone and you’re still abed! Call yourselves tironii? You’ll never make munifex at this rate! Get your sorry behinds off the mattresses or you’ll find yourselves parked on the floor! MOVE!”

Grumbling, moaning, and groaning greeted me, but the bodies still rolled out from under their thin covers. Sleep still in their eyes, the tironii stumbled to their feet and shuffled to stand at attention at the foot of each cot. It was the third day of recruit training and they were beginning to get a clue.

I blinked at the sudden memory, swallowing the sudden knot in my throat. What in Oblivion, I’m getting misty-eyed over those years I spent in the Ninth Cohort? Why now? I knew why. The sight of the young men and women gathered around the common table, laying on their cots reading, writing letters, or sleeping, had woken those long-buried memories.

One of the men turned from his meal at the common table at my entrance. I recognized Frederick at the same time he recognized me. “Julian!” he exclaimed. “How are you feeling?” He rose from the table and extended his sword hand to me in greeting. I took his hand in mine, hiding the wince at the strength in his grip. He frowned at the limp in my step. “Marz couldn’t fix that?”

“She fixed everything else,” I answered. “I’m grateful for that, because just wearing the leathers was getting unbearable with the constant rubbing.”

He tapped his quilted linen tunic. “Then you need to wear one of these underneath,” he said. I shook my head.

“The leathers are lined,” I informed him. “They are very comfortable, when my skin isn’t burned.” I shrugged. “Besides, Marz ran out of Magicka before she could heal my knee. She wants to try again in the morning.”

“Ran out of Magicka?” Frederick exclaimed. “Those are some serious injuries, Julian, you never told me.”

“What was there to tell?” I responded. “I’d love to chat more with you,” I continued, growing aware of the increasing interest emanating from the other guards. “But I’m actually here to see Captain Lerus.”

“This way,” Frederick said, leading me to a door in the back wall. “I take it you met her already?” When I nodded, he slid a sidelong glance at me. “Sorry, I had to report your arrival to the Captain. But I waited until you came back from that Gate, like I promised.”

“I understand,” I assured him. I would have expected no less, as pilus prior of a cohort, from one of my subordinates. “Captain Lerus is your superior, not I.”

Frederick rapped his knuckles on the wooden panel. “Captain, it’s Julian of Anvil to see you.”

I heard Lerus’s voice call “Enter.” Frederick turned the latch and opened the door for me, his face now serious, but his dark eyes glinted at me in good humor.

I stepped through into a small room. Lerus, seated at her desk, turned her chair around to look at me. She waved me to a nearby chair, placed against the wall beside the desk. “I’m glad you kept your word,” she said quietly, her voice and eyes just as cold as always. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I just sat quietly in the indicated seat, my healed hands in my lap, my back straight.

Lerus turned back to the parchment on her desk. She riffled them, then wrote some notes on a piece and set it aside. Putting her quill down, she leaned back and looked at me. “Frederick says you’ve changed,” she said finally. “For the better, he insists.”

“It’s hard to believe, ma’am,” I spoke to her skepticism, which was palpable in her tone. As I waited for her response, I looked around the small room. It was as lean and spare as the woman, with a narrow cot against the opposite corner, a battered chest at its foot, a cupboard beside the door, and the desk overflowing with parchment sheets. My gaze moved back to Lerus, who was still watching me with cold green eyes.

“I checked out the gear you left with Daenlin,” she said after a moment. “You took quite a beating, judging by that shield, but you gave as good as you got, according to Daenlin. He claims your katana was just as beat up. He’s pretty impressed that you’re still walking after all of that.”

“Barely,” with a shake my head, I held Lerus’s gaze, speaking as soldier to soldier. “The Deadlands is a hostile place, ma’am, the enemies very dangerous.”

“So, tell me about it,” Lerus ordered, a Legion officer expecting a report from one of her legionaries. With a deep breath, I complied. I watched her green eyes as I described the heat and fire of the Deadlands, the lava sea surrounding the rocky island, the detour I had to take to find a way to open the great war gates before the sigil keep. Her eyes tightened when I told her about the mines, the fire turrets, the claw traps within the keep. Her lips thinned while I talked about the different varieties of daedra, their different modes of attack, their strengths and weaknesses as I knew them.

She rose and started pacing as I described the sigil keep, with the sigil stone at the top, related how taking the stone out of its pillar of fire brought me back to where I started, in the ruins of the old Fort.

I fell silent, my throat dry with all the talking, my vision full again of fire and blood. I blinked, swallowed, and looked at Lerus, to see her standing, watching me with an intent gaze in her green eyes. After a moment, she went to the door and called for two tumblers and a pitcher of water. She glanced back at me.

“Have you eaten yet, Julian?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am, before I came here,” I answered. She took the pewter tumblers in one hand and the pitcher in the other from the off-duty guard that brought them, thanking the younger woman with a swift glance, and nudged the door closed with her foot. She returned to the desk, setting the tumblers down between us and filling them from the pitcher. Back in her seat, she handed one of the glasses to me, and sipped from the other.

Gratefully, I took a couple of swallows of the cool, fresh water. “Thank you, ma’am,” I said.

Lerus picked up one of the parchment sheets, slipping it out from under the top sheets. She looked it over, then met my gaze.

“The last time you were here,” she said, her tone ruthless, “you were in a very bad way, and took an even worse turn. You may not remember it, but we’ve met before.”

“I do remember, ma’am,” I set the pewter tumbler down carefully near the edge of the desk, sour bile rising in my throat. “I’m not proud of it.”

“You’re not supposed to be,” Lerus agreed. “You were pilus prior once. What happened?”

I inhaled sharply against the old memories. Suddenly I knew what Lerus held in her hand. Unclenching my jaw, I shook my head. “If you have my Legion record there, ma’am,” I nodded at the parchment in her hand, “you know the circumstances of my discharge.”

“Just the bare bones of it,” she answered. “I want to hear it from you.”

“My cohort was involved in clearing Goblins from an area in Skyrim,” I said after a moment to settle my nerves. “I was badly injured in the skirmish, and my optio pulled me out. I don’t remember much of it, ma’am -” only blood, pain, and betrayal, “- but the surgeons were drained dry. One of their discens tried to heal my wounds, but botched it badly. My knee never healed right, and the one in my left side festered.” I shook my head. “I was deemed unfit for further service and discharged out of the Sixth four years ago.”

“Then what?” Lerus prompted me when I stopped. “How did you get from there to here?”

“Sailed back to Anvil, ma’am,” I answered, looking down at my hands. “But the pain was so bad, I was drinking by then to numb it. I didn’t stay in Anvil, but started walking on the Gold Road. Stopped at a couple of inns along the road, found nothing but pain there, came to Skingrad, found more pain there, then came here -”

“And you found skooma,” Lerus stated flatly. “Am I right?” I only nodded. Lerus sighed and placed the parchment on the desk, the paper rustling slightly. “I’ve seen enough people become addicted to the stuff to know what happens afterwards. People in that situation usually die - eventually.” I raised my gaze to see her own watching me, her eyes much less cold than before. “So what happened?”

I looked away, afraid to see pity in the Captain’s expression. Somehow her distaste and contempt had been easier to bear. “I did come pretty close to dying, ma’am,” I admitted. “If not for Legion riders who came to my aid numerous times, I would have.” My right hand started massaging my throbbing knee, trying to rub the pain away. I didn’t want to share my final moments with the Emperor with this woman, or with anyone else. It still hurts so much to think of him.

“And what are you doing here now, Julian?” Lerus asked after a few moments. I met her gaze, glad to return to the present.

“I’ve joined the Mages Guild, ma’am,” I answered, “and I’m in the process of obtaining recommendations from the different Guild chapters. I’d like to enter the Arcane University and study Restoration and Alchemy.” I watched the finely arched brows climb up Lerus’s forehead.

“The Mages Guild?” she repeated, incredulous. “That’s a far cry from the Legion.”

“We had battlemages in the Legion, ma’am,” I responded quietly. “I got to see what they are capable of. One of them saved my life, in Skyrim.” I shrugged. “And my mother was an alchemist, though she wasn’t part of the Guild.” I tapped my knee for emphasis. “Now that I’ve remembered the healing spell she taught me, and visited a couple of competent healers, I’m starting to wonder if I could hope to be free of pain again.”

“It was the pain that drove you to drink and skooma, wasn’t it?” Lerus asked me. I nodded.

“And I’m afraid I may go back to it if the pain becomes unbearable again, ma’am.” I shook my head. “I really don’t want to relapse, and I’m told that once an addict, always an addict.”

“Then you don’t want to stay here in Bravil,” Lerus returned, her voice becoming cold again. I understood her warning.

“I have a couple of things to do here first, ma’am,” I replied. “Ursanne Loche has asked me to help find her husband Aleron, and I have to find Varon Vamori for Kud-Ei.” I met her gaze steadily. “Any help you can give me in those two tasks would be greatly appreciated, ma’am.”

Lerus had scowled at the mention of the Loches. “Yes, Ursanne came to me this morning when Aleron hadn’t returned all night. I spoke to Kurdan gro-Dragol, but he denies knowing anything about Aleron.”

“If he is the sort I suspect he is, ma’am,” I spoke carefully, “he may not want to assist the City Watch in uncovering any illicit activity he may be engaged in.”

Lerus regarded me steadily for several moments, her eyes turning from ice to fire. “Exactly what I thought at the time,” she said. “If you get any useful information from him, I hope you’ll share it with me.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will,” I answered. Lerus rose to her feet and moved to the door, opening it and looking back at me. Her dismissal was clear.

“Varon Vamori is usually at Silverhome on the Water, this hour of the night.” Lerus said quietly as I passed her, out into the common room. I looked back at her.

“Thanks, ma’am,” I responded. “Good night.”

“Good night, Julian,” she answered, closing the door behind me.

This was great! Julian confirmed and richened her past for us. The meeting with Viera Lerus was superbly done and did credit to both women.

A fair question, and one that I was comfortable with. After all, she needs enough healing knowledge to walk and function. What Julian did for me with her answer was to add why she would want to go so far as to enter the University. Suddenly, her interest in MG recommendations makes all the sense in the world. Her mother's influence, healing to prevent a return to skooma and drink, . . . . Well done!

I love your descriptions of Bravil and how you are integrating the characters I know and love from the city into this.

I think that involving Viera into Ursanne's quest to find Aleron is brilliant, and so very Julian.


A question:
Are you doing some world building here by moving the Silver Road (IC to Bruma) or did you perhaps intend to stay with the in game Gold Road that connects Anvil to IC via Skingrad? Forgive me if you are intentionally incorporating a change to support JF; I just wondered if it may have just been a simple oversight like I can sometimes make with those roads. I have to keep this handy: http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Oblivion:Roads

Wonderful flashback of Julian's time as a drill instructor! I love every one of these little windows into Julian's past that you grace us with.

I am not sure what to make of Viera Lerus. She seems like a real hardcase. I was hoping for Julian to tell her to get stuffed when she got pushy about her service record! Of course Julian is much too good a soldier to mouth off to an authority figure. Still it would have been nice to see Julian just stand up and walk out. Obviously Julian has a bad past in Bravil. But actions talk, and b.s. walks, and Julian doing the Bravil Guard's job by closing the gate speaks volumes about both.

I am not sure if it is a nit, but the Lerus you presented does not square with the leader of a city guard that does nothing but sit on its rear end while a stranger in town has to do all the work of actually protecting the citizens. I think you are trying to present the Bravil Guard as better than that, but I am a bottom line kind of girl. The bottom line is that it was Julian who actually did something and shut the gate, not them. Likewise, I suspect it will be Julian who does something about Aleron Loche, not them. If I were the Count, I would fire the lot of them and hire Julian. But of course we know that the Count is where all Bravil's problems start from.

At least you did show us that Lerus went through the motions of talking to Kurdan. But if she really does suspect him (and who would not?) why didn't she haul him to the dungeons and get serious about getting some answers? Obviously we have not seen all there is to this yet. Perhaps she has someone doing undercover work to get to the bottom of it? Or maybe she is going gentle because Kurdan is paying off the Count? Or maybe Kurdan has some dirt on her? Or maybe when it comes down it she really just does not give a damn? (which appears to be the case in the game)

I know I sound critical, and I am not trying to lambaste you. But it is accurate, and one of the biggest faults of the game. You are just following along with what the game presents you with, so I am not faulting your writing. It is more that I am faulting Bethesda for not really thinking through on its setting. I do not think you want to present Lerus and the Bravil Guard as being either incompetent or corrupt, but to portray them otherwise and have it all be believable is a Herculean task. How can you explain why they ignore the skooma den? If they really were dedicated to upholding justice, they would shut it down and throw the lot of its denizens in jail, starting with the Count's son. Of course the next day the den would be open again and all of them free, while the city guard would be looking for new jobs, or perhaps floating face-down in the Niben...

I live in one of the suburbs of Detroit, and the Detroit PD are exactly like what you see in Bravil. I have an ex who lives there, and I worked there for years, so I know the city. The only way to get the police to your house is to say there were gunshots fired. Otherwise the police will never come. That is not an exaggeration, people have to lie to get the police to come in an emergency. The sad truth is that the honest people of Detroit are at best scornful of the police, and see them not as a protector, but as an enemy. Everyone loves to see them with egg on their face. The reasons they are so bad are several. First due to budget problems they are incredibly understaffed and underpaid. The leadership is a disaster, not only from incompetence, but especially corruption. All of that filters down to a force that cannot keep up with the amount of crimes in the neighborhoods it has to patrol, is never thanked or appreciated by the public, and has no motivation to do their jobs. It is no surprise they spend their time playing baseball or at the casinos when they are supposed to be on their shifts (no exaggeration, the DPD has been caught doing both).

Authority is the only thing of permanence in Bravil. The idea that the castle and the chapel are the only stone buildings is something that never really occurred to me until reading this chapter. I think it speaks volumes about the town, and the priorities of the citizenry.


This question by Lerus really stands out to me because it notes a marked shift in her attitude (while also being the first time that she calls Julian by name, if memory serves). From this moment forward, even when she is subtly warning Julian to get out of town, she seems to do so with a grudging respect. I like the fact that she questioned Kurdan. But, without evidence to the contrary, it is easy to see why her hands would be tied. Also, the fact that she knows Vamori’s whereabouts at any given hour is a nice way of showing that she does pay attention to detail in the performance of her duties. Now, if only she had done something (anything) about that gate before Julian arrived . . .

Acadian illustrated my feelings perfectly about the wonderful logic that now attends Julian’s decision to join the Mages Guild. This is an emotionally dense chapter that admirably bridges the gaps between Julian’s past and her present. Now let’s go find Aleron!

@Acadian: I always like Lerus, especially how she greets me on the roadside after the Battle for Bruma (‘Hail, daedra-slayer!’). Thanks for your catch on the Gold Road. Sometimes I have a hard time remembering which is which!

@SubRosa: Your assessment of Lerus as a real hardcase is pretty much spot on. Your peeve about the city guard that does nothing is an accurate criticism. We’ll see why Lerus and the guard did nothing about the gate later on in the MQ. Your description of the Detroit PD isn’t all that different from Chicago! Some things never change, do they? I always felt the character of Lerus as presented by the devs just didn’t jive with the seedy climate of Bravil and the dissolute personality that is Count Terentius.

@Destri: I see you are looking forward to Julian meeting Kurdan and rescuing Aleron! But first, Varon Vamori . . .

Julian is tortured by bad poetry - bad in her estimation, that is. Others may disagree.

*********
Chapter 13.4 Poetry Night

Within Silverhome on the Water, I was met by a Khajiit. “Drro’shanji grreets you. His worrk is the Castle grrounds, grrand garrdens grreen.”

“They smelled beautiful,” I answered. “I’ll have to go back and see them sometime.”

“If you do,” Dro’shanji purred, his fangs baring in a toothy grin, “ask forr Drro’shanji, and he will show you arround.”

“I’d love it, sir,” I smiled at him. “I’ll remember that.”

In the common room, set back from the entrance, a dour Altmer stood behind the bar, and a soused Orsimer waved a clay tankard in his hand. The big green mer greeted me first.

“I am Brrokil grro-Shakurr,” he growled, his words heavily slurred. “Lorrd High Warrden of th’ Tapsh. Gilgondorrin’sh most prized customer. I taste ev’rything. Overr and overr. And overr agin . . .” His voice faded off.

“I didn’t know Bravil had such a position open,” I commented, trying not to flinch at the odor of his heavy breathing.

“It ish a terrible rreshponsibility, bein’ Brravil’s Firrst Citizen of th’ Ale Tub,” gro-Shakur slurred. “But I sufferr under th’ burden like a Surre-Grreen Orrc.” He belched loudly.

“What would Bravil do without you?” I smiled against the fumes. “But I’m looking for a Varon Vamori, do you know him?”

“Shertainly!” gro-Shakur exclaimed, pointing at a slender Dunmer seated in the corner, a modest dinner spread before him. “There iss yer frien’ Vamor’.”

“Thanks, sir,” I said to the drunken Orsimer. Limping over to the table, I caught Vamori’s gaze.

“Hail, friend!” he looked up at me. “What can I do for you?”

I pointed at the chair opposite him with a question in my eyes. He nodded vigorously, waving for me to sit. “I just arrived in Bravil today,” I began.

Vamori stopped me, hand held up, palm outwards. Assuming a dramatic expression, he took a deep breath. “Old, worn, and wicked,” he intoned. “Wet, wounded and wild. Empty as the eastern horizon, dusk on the Niben. Solemn and bitter as the grave.”

I sat back, trying to make sense of his words. Kud-Ei did say he had a way with words, but this - Oh! It’s supposed to be poetry! I found poetry overflowing at best, incomprehensible more often than not. “Very interesting interpretation of the town, sir,” I said finally.

Vamori smiled boyishly at me. “Thanks!” he exclaimed. “I love poetry, and I can see you do, too!”

Inwardly, I groaned to myself. I hated poetry. Still, I needed to talk to this - this foolish young Dunmer. I needed to get Ardaline’s Staff back. “I get to listen to it little enough,” I said finally. “Do you have any interesting news?”

“Oh, I’ve sighted the Forlorn Watchman again,” Vamori said, his voice returning to its normal timbre. I stifled a sigh of relief. “Every time I see that ghost, it gives me the creeps.”

“Ghost?” I repeated. “The Forlorn Watchman is a ghost?”

“Yes,” Vamori nodded emphatically. “No one knows who he is, but we see him all the time.” He jerked his chin at the dour Altmer. “Ask Gilgondorin about him.”

“All right.” Looking over my shoulder at Gilgondorin, I decided to do so - later. I remembered hearing snatches of conversation about him during my last visit, when I was too inebriated to care. Turning back to Vamori, I decided to try and get to the point of my conversation. “I came to Bravil today because I just joined the Mages Guild, and I’m working on getting my recommendations from all the chapter heads.”

Vamori looked me up and down, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. “Kind of old to start learning, no?” he commented, his expression guileless. I decided he meant no offense.

I shrugged. “After half a lifetime in the Legion,” I answered, “I figured it was time for something new.” I sat back in my chair. “I’m still getting acquainted with all the Mages here. I liked the Alchemist, what was her name, Ardaline?” I saw Vamori’s face change subtly at the mention of her name. Yes, he has a crush on her. A bad one, judging from his reaction.

“She’s nice,” he admitted grudgingly, his gaze turning down to his dinner. “Pretty.”

“Yes,” I agreed, though I hadn’t yet met her. Or was she one of the younger mages at the dinner table tonight? “But she seems so shy,” I continued. “I could barely get a word from her.” I was rewarded with a flash from his ruby eyes. “I’m told you have a way with words, maybe you could help me?” His mouth stopped its chewing motions as he stared at me.

“I - I think you’re talking to the wrong person,” he stammered finally. I leaned forward.

“Do you like her?” I asked him point-blank. “Seems to this old soldier that you have some feelings for her.” His face went ashen, as only Dunmer skin could.

“I - I- “ he began, his expression turning miserable. “I - I don’t know what to say!” he blurted finally. “All I want is for her to care about me the way that I care about her!” He took a deep draught from the wine glass at his elbow. Reaching for the wine flagon, I topped off the glass without a word. “I try, and try,” he continued, misery clear in his face, “but I can’t succeed. It makes me furious that I can’t get anywhere with her!”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You haven’t hurt her, have you?” I could hear the frost in my tone. Vamori grew alarmed at my question, shook his head violently.

“No! No, I’ve never laid a hand on her!” he held up his own, palms open towards me in a placating gesture. “Either in anger or . . .” He swallowed. “I’ve never hurt her, understood?”

I decided to go for the point. “But you stole her Mages’ Staff from her, didn’t you?”

His face grew positively pale. “All right, all right, I admit it!” he leaned back defensively. “I took it from her. I just wanted her to talk to me! I was so angry when she wouldn’t!” He stopped, but I cocked my head at him, as I used to do with my recruits when they were trying to explain their unacceptable behavior. “I was a little ashamed afterwards,” Vamori’s voice dropped to a whisper, as he hung his head, wilting under my steady gaze. “But I didn’t know how to give it back, or apologize.”

“You didn’t know how to apologize?” I repeated, putting more than a little skepticism in my low tone. “You, the man of the silver tongue?” He shook his head, and I could see he was feeling thoroughly miserable. “All right, where is the Staff?”

“I - I - sold it to a friend of mine, Soris Arenim.” Vamori continued to avoid my eyes as I sat back in my chair.

“You sold Ardaline’s Staff?” My voice had dropped even further, and I could feel the familiar coldness in it, the coldness I used when chastising recalcitrant tironii, so long ago. Vamori looked like he wanted to drop through the floor. Careful, he’s no recruit. You’re scaring him. Badly. With a sigh, I forced my voice to warm a little. “All right, Vamori, where is this Soris Arenim?”

“He lives in the Talos Plaza District in the Imperial City,” Vamori’s voice was very, very small now. He looked up at me. “Believe me, if I still had it, I’d gladly give it back! You’ve got to believe me!”

“What did you do with the money Arenim paid you?” Again, I heard the chill creep back into my voice.

“Spent it,” he answered. With a tilt of my head at Vamori, I lifted my right eyebrow. “Some of it,” he added hastily. His hands fumbled at his belt, and he drew his purse out and placed it on the table between us.

“How much is left?” my gaze on the small leather pouch, I asked Vamori.

He shrugged. “About half -?”

Taking the purse, I opened it and counted out the septims. Two hundred and fifty. If I’m to believe this s’wit, he sold Ardaline’s Staff for five hundred septims! I left fifty on the table and took the rest.

“I’ll go get that Staff back,” I said, rising to my feet. “In the meantime, you need to apologize to Ardaline. I’m not returning it until you do so.” Vamori looked down again. I hardened my voice again. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do!” he returned smartly, his face flushing a dusky purple.

I did a quick mental calculation. “You’ve got a week to apologize,” I finished. “That should give you enough time to think up some silver words or maybe a poem.” Though if Ardaline is really that shy, she would be painfully embarrassed! Ah well, like Kud-Ei said, she needs to get over it.

This was very fun. I enjoyed your interpretation of Khajiit and drunken Orsimer.


I must confess that I'm 100% with Julian on this one.

You did a nice job of having everything with Varon flow logically and make sense, yet preserve that wonderfully familiar feel of the game. Julian is pretty darn good at using and balancing her DI capability with a touch of compassion for effect when required. Nice.

The Forlorn Watchman? Bravil quest number three and counting. Somehow, I think Julian will not be able to resist that one since I know it is one of Rider's faves. As Julian says though, if it is later, that is ok too.

Brrokil was lots of fun. I always did like him. Baron Vamori on the other hand is proof that not only male Bosmer are annoying. I always feel like punching his lights out. The awful poetry only makes it worse. Frost, Whitman, Dickinson, they would all roll over in their graves at his dribble (which is to say, I like poetry. Good poetry at least.)

Edit, since Destri started it, I think Julian would perhaps appreciate this one by Robert Frost:

Nope I'm with Julian, I've read a fair bit of poetry and I find it varies from pointless to nausiating. Though Vamori's takes it towards the pathetic end of the spectrum.

Good couple of parts (I didn't comment last time because I hadn't really got anything constructive to say and don't get much time to read and write just now). Vamori is exactly as in game though Julian shuld have done something terrible to him. The conversation was well scripted and flowed well though, Julian has more of a gift for speachcraft than she knows.


And there was I thinking he was talking about Julain ;P


Great lore friendly metaphor.

The drunken orc was well done too, sounds much like the level of conversation where I drink by halfway through the evening.

I have to line up with Sage ‘Rosa. Most poetry can quickly make the eyeballs bleed, but good poetry makes slogging through the bad worth it. I will stop what I’m doing to read The Eve of St. Agnes:



Sorry, I love that poem!

The way that Julian finesses information out of Vamori makes one wonder just who is the expert in speechcraft. Once again she goes all ‘hard-case’ on one of the guys. At least this one deserves it.

Brokil is hilarious. The way you present him is spot-on. Is it just me or is there something a little disconcerting about an orc in russet felt?

I've just started reading your story, and by that, I mean that I just finished Chapter 1.1b Escape. Here I thought that Melarg's story would take a bit to catch up with, but this one's going to take even longer. Of course, I won't mind since your story is so engaging.

One part that I particularly like is the flashback to Julian's accident. I love how you describe the use of a healing spell through both the mother's words and Julian's recollection. I've read books where the description of magic felt bland and incredibly impersonal. Sometimes writers make it sound almost too academic, like it's merely A+B=C and some concentration. Needless to say, I find your approach much more interesting and preferable. It was also a nice touch to let the reader see into Julian's past. The tender memory clashed so beautifully with the rough surroundings.

Alright. It's onto the next chapter now.

@All: my personal taste in poetry runs more to song lyrics and dirty limericks, but here’s one of my favorites:
The Tyger

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire in thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art?
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand, and what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb, make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
--William Blake

@Acadian: Thanks! I was focused on bringing up more of Julian’s past as a DI during the Bravil chapters. Dealing with self-absorbed youngsters is something she has a great deal of experience in. The Watchman has waited a long time, he can wait a little while more, methinks.

@SubRosa: I remember that Frost poem - it is probably the most famous one of his (or was it ‘through the woods to Grandma’s we go’?). I love this one because of the time of day (night), the season (winter), and the little horse. Snowfall at night is something special. Even more so when you're on horseback.

@Olen: you know, when I talk to Vamori, no matter what character I’m playing, I’ve never needed the charm scrolls that Kud-Ei gives me. I think the devs make this quest a little easier than it needs to be. Or maybe it’s because I play with the slider a little bit over to the left . . .

@Destri: I don’t recall the poem you quoted. Depressing, but well done! Don’t worry, Julian does go ‘hard-case’ on the girls when they need it. And yes, an orc in russet felt just looks - odd.

@Nonsense: Welcome! I’m glad you decided to dive into this story! I hope you find this as enjoyable to read as I am finding yours!

Julian discovers an unexpected side to a certain Altmer mage. This is another instance where an NPC just took over my keyboard and caught me completely off guard.

****************
13.5 Spiced Cider

The double moons floated overhead in the clearing sky. It’s getting late. I’ll go to bed, see Marz after breakfast in the morning. Pick up my gear from Daenlin. Go see this gro-Dragol about Aleron. The slog through the cold, slick mud back to the Mages Guild left me feeling tired again.

Back in the Guild, I encountered Carandial heading to the front door, ready to lock it for the night. “Hello, Julian,” he greeted me as I stomped the mud off of my shoes. “Leave them here to dry,” he suggested, closing the door behind me. “The mud will just break off in the morning.”

As I leaned against the half-wall, I struggled to get my right foot high enough to remove my shoe, but my knee protested the deep bend in the joint. With a stifled groan, I lowered my foot to the floor. Carandial startled me when he knelt before me and, steadying me with his left hand on my thigh, slipped the muddy shoe off with his right hand. I caught my breath at the tall Altmer on one knee in front of me, like a knight before his lady. I could feel the blush coming up in my cheeks at the errant thought.

Carandial caught my expression and smiled, the crookedness of his mouth charming in its coy gallantry. “Forgive me for startling you, ma’am,” he said quietly, easing my right foot back to the floor. He gestured for me to raise my left foot so he could repeat his action with the opposite shoe. Carefully I eased my weight onto my right foot, still speechless at this courtesy so unaccustomed for me.

“I - I -” I stammered as he removed my left shoe and placed it gently on the floor next to its mate. Carandial rose to his full height, a white glow appearing in his cupped, mud-streaked palms. As the glow dissipated, so did the sludge. I looked at his spotless hands, then at the shoes.

“Sorry, I haven’t yet figured how to cast the refresh spell onto dirty targets,” he read my mind, amusement in his voice. “If I did, you’d be wearing clean shoes before you even stepped in the door!”

“Well,” I caught my breath again. “Forgive me, I’m not used to this kind of treatment from an Altmer.” Or from any man, really.

Carandial’s crooked smile widened as he stepped back from me, giving me a little space to breathe. “Kud-Ei expects all of us male mages to treat every woman with courtesy,” he explained. As I considered his words, my mind went to Aren. Carandial bowed gracefully to me, waving his arm in an elegant gesture. “Would milady care to join me for a cup of spiced cider before bed?” His twinkling dark eyes became serious. “Kud-Ei has filled me on your past visit, ma’am,” he added, “the spiced cider I speak of is non-alcoholic.”

With a push of my shoulder off the wall, I looked up at Carandial. “I’d be pleased to join you for a cup,” I found myself saying. “But I must be off to bed soon.”

“Of course,” Carandial led me to the comfortable sitting area off the dining room. A steaming flagon, a pewter cup next to it, sat waiting on the small table between two comfortable chairs. The Altmer held up a finger at me and disappeared into the dining room. I took the moment’s reprieve to sit down and sniff at the flagon. Wonderful aromas assailed my nose - apples, cinnamon, cloves. Lots of cloves.

Carandial soon returned with a second pewter cup. Setting it next to me, he poured the spiced cider into both cups before sitting in the other chair. He picked up both cups, and handed one to me. My chilled fingers cradled the pewter, heated by the cider, and I inhaled deeply of the spices.

“I love cloves,” Carandial commented as I took my first sip. “Such a versatile spice,” he continued after doing the same with the cup in his long fingers. “It brings a wonderful body to sweet delicacies, decreases the unpleasant acidity of tart fruits without taking away their tang, and adds an amazing depth to savory dishes, especially smoked meats.” His eyes twinkled at me again. “It is a very strong spice, to be partaken sparingly.”

“Hmm, it is wonderful,” I murmured into the steam wafting up from my cup. “Reminds me of the Gold Coast - warm, dry, sunny -” my voice trailed off into a sudden wave of homesickness. My eyes closed, I put the painful memories away. Home isn’t there anymore, I reminded myself. After another sip at the cider, I opened my eyes to see Carandial regarding me over the rim of his own mug.

“I hope you weren’t offended by Fathis Aren’s behavior at dinner,” he commented, his dark eyes somber. “He is not officially part of this chapter, so he does not come under Kud-Ei’s authority, but rather answers directly to Raminus Polus at the Arcane University.”

That explains why he was allowed to get away with his behavior, where Carandial is careful to obey Kud-Ei. Or is that just Carandial’s nature, to be kind and courteous? Somehow I found myself hoping the latter was the truth. “He did catch me a little off guard,” I admitted. “Is it because I’m new to the Guild? Because I’m a Redguard? Or -” I clenched my jaw at the unwelcome thought, “- because of my age?”

“All of these things, a little bit, yes,” Carandial admitted. He looked down at the pewter cup in his hands. “But mostly because you’re a woman. Fathis Aren is not - kind - to women, even Kud-Ei.” I glanced sharply at Carandial. Some of Aren’s words started to make sense to me. “If you’ve closed two Oblivion Gates, they must not be so difficult a challenge to face.” I remembered the contempt in his voice and eyes clearly. I set my cup carefully down on the table and leaned back in the comfortable chair, my left elbow on its arm and my chin in my palm.

“How do you mean, not kind to women?” I asked Carandial. He looked away, clearly uncomfortable with my direct question.

“He considers women weak,” he said finally. “Not just physically, but in magical power, heart and soul, and morally.”

“So I’m a second-class citizen to him?” Not about to let Carandial off the hook, I pressed him to elaborate further.

“Worse,” the Altmer met my gaze unhappily. “Women are a bare step on the social ladder above Orcs and the beast-races, who are meant to be slaves.”

“I see.” As I considered the prevalence of Khajiit and Argonians here in Bravil, I reflected a moment on the irony of Aren’s posting here. “Ironic, then, isn’t it,” I remarked, keeping my tone neutral. “Aren’s stuck with a town full of beings that should be slaves, not free citizens.”

Carandial’s black eyes flashed at me, then he laughed. “To be honest, I thought you handled him rather well at dinner tonight,” he commented. “For a moment, I thought you were going to whip out your sword and slice his throat.”

“You did?” I was honestly surprised. “Even though I wore no weapons?”

“I watched you go into that Gate with your katana drawn,” he admitted. “The way you looked then, you were afraid of nothing!” Again that charming crooked smile. “But then, I’m young, I know nothing of combat!”

I felt my eyes narrowing at the Altmer again. Just how young is he? I wondered. Altmer lived long lives, longer than men. His face was hard to age, though. “Just how young are you?” I asked him.

That crooked smile widened further. “Ninety-eight years,” he answered. “Sixty-three of them here in the Bravil chapter.”

Mentally grappling with the idea that this ‘young’ mage was fifty years older than me, I regarded him thoughtfully. “Will you teach me that spell that cleans your hands, then?” I wonder if it will work on blood as well as mud.

“Well, if you don’t have much Magicka,” Carandial mused thoughtfully, “you might find yourself depleted using this spell. I wouldn’t recommend doing so in the middle of combat, ma’am.”

“Well, if it gives you any idea, I can cast a small healing spell on myself four times in a row before I run out,” I said. With a shrug, I looked down at my hands. “Maybe if I keep practicing. Someone told me that if I do so, my Magicka will grow.”

“Yes, it will, up to a point,” Carandial agreed. “And there are enchanted items that can amplify your Magicka and reduce the cost of casting spells.” He drained his cup, and I realized that mine was empty. The Altmer rose to his feet. “Do you want more spiced cider, ma’am?”

I met his gaze and shook my head. “It’s getting late, and I’d best be off to bed now,” I told him. “But thanks for the company, it was nice sharing a cup with you, sir.”

Carandial smiled crookedly. “It was my pleasure,” he responded. “I am glad you came back when you did. Will you lock the door after me, please? I live across from the Warlock’s Luck.”

Below the skooma den. I nodded. Carandial held his hand out to me. Again startled by his unexpected courtesy, I took his hand and let him help me up out of the chair. He must be doing this because I’m so old and creaky. I followed him to the front door, waiting as he unlocked the weathered panel.

“Good night, Julian of Anvil,” Carandial nodded at me as he stepped outside.

“Good night, Carandial of Bravil,” I answered, smiling in response to his crooked grin. He turned and stepped off into the night, and I closed the door quietly behind him, making sure to throw the deadbolt.

The poem is the third stanza from The Eve of St. Agnes by John Keats, the hip-hop artist of his day. His rhythmic use of language still inspires me every time I read his work.

I see what you mean by Carandial taking over your keyboard!

Every once in a while you present us with a chapter in which Julian is reminded of her own femininity. True to her nature, even the motives for Carandial’s gallantry are called into question. I imagine the look on her face when entering the Oblivion Gate was much the same as the one that challenged Carandial for more information about Fathis. I am left wondering how this will color her future encounters with both of the mer.

I am still waiting for her to lay the smackdown on Kurdan! I hate that orc!

I'm glad you shared with us a character that struck your fancy. It is such fun to develop an NPC that 'sings' to you or your character.
A wonderful interlude and some insight into Fathis.

As Carandial magically cleaned his hands, I wondered why he didn't just clean Julian's shoes. A millisecond later you answered my question. Brilliant!


That's our Julian's way of thinking! Again, trying to deny that perhaps the Altmer may have taken a fancy to her.

Thank you for the delightful spiced cider you served on this lovely rainy night.

I suspect we will be seeing Carandial again if only because he clearly leapt out of the screen and wrote himself in and such characters are fun and let you concentrate on other things, like gently revealing a bit more about Julian and showing her own fustration at being female (or more correctly at being treated differently because of it) which has appeared before but never so clearly.

I also suspect that he will not be whatever love interest appears in spite of his flirtations. His waxing lyrical on the joys of cloves was unexpected but most amusing, personally however I prefer my cider fermented. Otherwise it's just apple juice.

I must say that Carandial was a treat. A true gentleman in spirit and behaviour. If Varon Vamori had been taking lessons from him, he might have gotten somewhere with Ardaline. Well, maybe not, but he certainly would not have come off like such an english ship.

Home isn’t there anymore,
Another tantalizing hint at Julian's past. More!


“Ninety-eight years,” he answered. “Sixty-three of them here in the Bravil chapter.”
A mere stripling! Seriously, I love how you put emphasis the very real differences between the life-spans of the various races.

Your ability to describe events, people, and locales is exceeded only by your skill at making them compelling and real. Julian is so fully-drawn that my knee aches in sympathy, and I cheer her every small triumph.

I am reading everything from the beginning (with great pleasure) and will comment on more specific moments as I get caught up on the new material. For now, it is like enjoying a long talk with an old friend.

Still reading the earlier material, and I again find myself amazed by your skill in describing the refugee camp and its inhabitants. The bonding with Paint is also a treat, adding a new central character to the story and also giving us insight into Julian’s personality.

Your introduction of Savlian is outstanding, painting a deeply textured word picture of a man strained beyond the limit- and refusing to give in. That strength and sense of duty resonates with Julian, of course. And we see her respond to the implicit challenge in the only way she can.

The hard choice of leaving Menien Goneld is a wrenching moment, one of the worst in the game. I want so badly to save him….

The scene with the dremora does so many things at once- it shows us a bit of Julian’s history, giving a context for her knowledge of alchemy; it shows us her willingness to get the job done; and it showcases your brilliant descriptive writing.

I still love the scene with Batul, and the fact that clever Haute allows the heroes of Kvatch a chance to rest before clearing the ruins. While I appreciate the fact that the game does not force the player to rest (which would be annoying), your take on things is much more realistic.

As before, the camp scene just sings- in a quiet, restful way.

The battle for Kvatch is as exciting as ever. As many times as I have played it, I still feel overwhelmed by the devastation and the threats that come from everywhere. And you depict that perfectly.

Your description of how Julian obtains her “Kvatch wolf” provides a lot more emotional depth than the in-game version, where Savlian just happens to have a spare lying around.

And I have commented before on you much more realistic treatment of Martin. He is a priest, not a warrior monk- so why should he insist on joining the fighting, rather than care for his parishioners? And if he did, I imagine Julian would smack him down in a hurry! (Although the fact that he is “unkillable” at this point in the game makes him handy to have around….)

Echoing others, the scene around the camp-fire, especially Julian’s inspiring discussion of the difference between soldiers and heroes, is one of my favorites.

The scene with Julian telling Martin who he really is was one of your best- filled with vivid description and emotion and silences in the right places.

@Destri: Have patience! Julian meets Kurdan for the first time in the segment after this one! I will give you a heads-up, though. This upcoming quest is probably the most grueling one I’ve written so far.

@Acadian: I think you have just right - Julian is so unused to being seen (and treated) as an attractive female that when Carandial is flirting so openly with her, she just can’t accept it at face value. And you’re welcome for the spiced cider!

@Olen: You’re right, Carandial is not Julian’s love interest, but he is still such a charmer, isn’t he? The spiced cider is out of respect for Julian’s present teetotaling status (which makes me regret never having the chance to vicariously enjoy Tamika’s).

@SubRosa: I’m very glad you enjoyed Carandial. I’m strongly partial to him because of his interest in Ayleid ruins. As you know, Julian will be making the Grand Circuit of Cyrodiil in upcoming chapters. When she reaches Anvil, brace yourself! Her past will really come out then.

@Treydoggie!: So good of you to drop in and visit! I’m glad you’re enjoying revisiting this story from the beginning. Julian has changed so much since those early chapters, I’m just awed by her progress. Do drop back in when you feel like commenting on something.

Julian takes care of a few odds and ends before heading off to be a hero again.

********************
Chapter 13.6 Another Bravil Morning

In the morning, my knee felt better after my usual healing spells, but it still hurt to walk on it. Slowly I made my way downstairs. Kud-Ei sat at the common table, with a couple of Mages I had not yet met.

“Good morning, Julian,” Kud-Ei greeted me. “I’d like you to meet Ardaline,” she pointed at the Altmer sitting across from her, “and Ita Rienuss,” she indicated the older Imperial seated next to the Argonian. “Come, join uss.”

“Thank you, I will,” I answered, sitting down next to Ardaline. Trying not to be obvious, I greeted the shy Altmer first. “Good morning, Ardaline. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“As am I, ma’am,” Ardaline ducked her head in reply. I could see her wide eyes, kind, innocent and shy. Thick blond hair cascaded down either side of her high-cheekboned face. Pretty enough.

“I’m interested in furthering my alchemy knowledge,” I recalled the strange plant in my pack. “Perhaps you could help me?”

“I’d like to,” she murmured, so quietly I had to lean towards her to hear her whisper.

Ita Rienus, the Imperial woman, smiled fondly at Ardaline. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Carandial,” she said to me. I raised my brows at her. The square-jawed woman only smiled wider at me, and again, I felt a heat rising in my cheeks. “He seems to think you’re the bravest person he ever saw.”

Spluttering on the tea, I shook my head. “That seems to be common among those who have never seen combat,” I muttered. Rienus laughed heartily. “Honestly, I was pretty scared the whole time I was in there,” I added.

“You can protest that as much as you like,” Rienus assured me, “but that won’t change Carandial’s opinion of you. You see, his aunt was a Battlemage in the Legion, and he wanted to become one like her.” She shook her head sadly. “Unfortunately he is better at alteration than he is at destruction.”

To my relief, Kud-Ei changed the conversation to more mundane topics, discussing the garden behind the Guild chapterhouse, where Ardaline apparently grew several ingredients for her alchemy. It didn’t take me long to finish my breakfast, but Ardaline and Rienus left the table before I did.

For a moment, it was only Kud-Ei and I left. She looked at me meaningfully.

“I spoke to Varon Vamori last night, ma’am,” I said quietly, looking into my tea. “He has sold the Staff to a person in the Imperial City, a man named Soris Arenim.”

Kud-Ei inhaled slowly, her breath hissing softly through clenched teeth. “That iss mosst unfortunate, indeed,” she growled softly. “You undersstand, we musst get that Sstaff back!”

I nodded. “I have an outstanding task that will take me south from here,” I explained. “But once it is completed, I will see this Soris Arenim and get the Staff back from him.”

Slowly Kud-Ei rose from the table. She left the dining room without a word. Aware of her anger, I remained in my chair, drinking the last of my tea slowly. I heard her moving around in another room, then she returned to me. A small sack clinked as it hit the table in front of me, and she met my gaze. “It iss all I have,” she said, her tone neutral again. “I trusst you will make it enough.”

“It will be,” I agreed, not bothering to count.

****************
Marz was happy to see me when I limped into the Chapel. “Good morning, Julian,” she greeted me. “I ssee you are not limping sso badly.”

“No, I’m not,” I agreed, taking the indicated pew. “But I can still use your skills, ma’am.” Again, I placed my hands into Marz’s long-fingered ones. This time, she clasped my hands gently as she closed her eyes. I could feel the healing warmth gathering in my right knee, as Marz concentrated on her spell. This time, she stopped just as her fingers started shaking. The pain in my knee decreased to a dull ache, not enough to slow me down, but just enough to remind me of the injury. As Marz released my hands, I smiled at her. “Oh, that was wonderful, Marz,” I said. “I wish I could do that.”

“Ah, but that iss why you joined the Magess Guild, iss it not?” Marz returned my smile. I nodded and rose to my feet, testing the strength in my knee. It felt sturdy enough, strong enough for me to walk into another Oblivion Gate. Honestly, though, I hoped I wouldn’t have to do that again for a while. “Now, Julian,” Marz continued, “be careful when fighting. Don’t brace yoursself on that leg. Fight off the other one, if you musst.”

“Yes, I will be careful,” I agreed with her assessment. While Marz had decreased the pain considerably, the old injury still remained, leaving my knee permanently weakened. Still, I could walk more than limp, which was a considerable improvement.

**********************
Daenlin greeted me with a cheerful “I’m so happy to see you I could burst!” His turn of phrase caused my step to falter.

“Don’t burst, please,” I smiled in response to his infectious mood. “I’d hate the thought of having to clean up the shop after you.”

Daenlin laughed heartily, and brought up my armor from beneath the counter. “Here you go, ma’am,” he said, still cheerful. “All ready for your use.” I held up the cuirass and inspected it. As he had said the scorch marks had buffed out well, and he had tightened up gra-Sharob’s handiwork. “Whoever did the custom work on this did an excellent job,” Daenlin commented.

“As did you,” I responded. Daenlin’s face brightened even more. “I’m happy with what you did with this,” looking at the greaves and boots, I noted that they were in the same condition - not quite brand spanking new, but still very solid. “And with these, too.”

Daenlin handed me my bow and a couple of new strings. “The old one you had on it was badly stretched,” he remarked. “I’ve thrown in a couple of extra ones, free of charge.”

“It must have been the heat,” I commented, taking the strings gratefully and tucking them into my belt purse. I tested the bow and found its spring restored. “This feels good,” I assured him.

Now Daenlin handed over the Kvatch Wolf. The shield was restored to its original shape, but the Wolf bore several scratches in the paint that nearly obscured its eyes. “Be careful with that,” he warned me. “It is starting to show signs of metal fatigue.” I glanced at him, alarmed. He nodded. “You may want to find a replacement for it soon.” My heart twinged at the thought of losing the Kvatch Wolf - it had saved my life on numerous occasions. “I’d recommend Stonewall Shields, in the Imperial City,” Daenlin said somberly. “They have an excellent selection of shields there.”

“All right, I’ll look into it the next time I’m there,” I agreed. “And my swords?”

“Well, Daedra Slayer just needed a buff and a quick wiping, but you may want to see Ita to have it recharged,” he commented. “You don’t want it running out of Magicka in the middle of a fight, now, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” I admitted. “And the katana?” After his comment about the Kvatch Wolf, I was concerned about the katana, which had taken as much a beating as the light iron shield.

“Ah, still good,” he handed me the sheathed blade. “No damage to the blade, just a few nicks that were easily smoothed out. You’ll find it just as well-balanced and keen as ever.”

He was right about the balance, I noted, weaving the blade through the Sunbird Dance I had learned from Jelin all those years ago. The katana felt light and musical in my hand, as it did the day I drew it out of the armory chest at Cloud Ruler Temple. I finished the movements with a sword-salute to Daenlin for his smithing work. “I’m impressed,” I told the delighted Bosmer. “That was a lot of work, and I appreciate it.”

“That was mighty fine blade-dancing,” he complimented me. “I’ve never seen anyone swing one quite like that.”

“It’s an old art,” I responded. “I was lucky that my pilus prior, back when I was a munifex, was a master in the Sunbird Bladework.” Sheathing the katana, I gave Daenlin a little bow of appreciation. “And your work is just as good. Thanks.”

“Will you be in Bravil much longer?” Daenlin asked me, nearly wistful. I shrugged.

“Ursanne Loche has asked me to speak to gro-Dragol about her husband.” Dismayed to see Daenlin’s smile disappear, I cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Be careful, Julian,” he said to me, his voice dark. “That man’s a bad one to cross.”

“I’ve already heard that about him,” I agreed. “I’ll be careful. ‘Til the next time, Daenlin.” I gathered my things and headed to the curtained alcove. I wanted to have my battle gear on before I went to see this gro-Dragol.

What a delightful morning in Bravil! You are bringing so many of the wonderful residents there to life.

It's wonderful to see the old warhorse's knee gradually continuing to improve.

Julian can't escape her 'hero' title it seems. And my goodness, she does have quite the list of tasks now. Seems like Kurdan is next. He is one scary orc - I'm with Daenlin, Julian; be careful!

Ah, a bit of foreshadowing on the 'Wolf of Kvatch' you told me about after my installment where Rales loses Wretched. Very nice having the smith warning her of metal fatigue I hope it doesn't break up on her on the worst timing possible.

Poor Julian, people are calling her bad names - like hero - again!

Ahh, Ardaline. She is one of my favorite Altmer. I thought you did an excellent job of portraying her shyness. Her voice being so quiet that Julian could barely hear her was the perfect touch.

“Don’t burst, please,” I smiled in response to his infectious mood. “I’d hate the thought of having to clean up the shop after you.”
Julian made a joke?!? Well it is about time she stopped being such a stick in the mud and had some fun!

This chapter feels like the end of the calm before the next storm. I am glad to see that Julian’s knee isn’t going to be a greater hindrance than usual in the battles to come. I am glad that Daenlin was able to repair her katana, but I agree with Remko in that it feels like our time with the Kvatch Wolf is coming to an end. Given her returning strength and expertise, it may be time to upgrade to a heavier shield. Spellbreaker immediately comes to mind, but if Julian’s purse can bear it the Tower of the Nine may also suit her. Now, about some new armor . . .

Ah, the practicalities of fighting goblins and zombies. Yes, I'm still only at the beginning of your story, and I'm finding Julian's journey through the tunnels quite engaging. I prefer combat scenes that involve personal as well as practical inner dialogues, and yours delivered. I'd never thought about how nasty fighting a zombie would actually be, but...



And a random thought concerning this: even though mold forms on liquids like heavy cream, I wouldn't describe the fluids coming out of a corpse as moldy. That description sounds strange considering that when bodies decompose, the liquids that begin oozing forth don't look moldy at all. They look...brownish and gooey. Of course, maybe zombies are different, and Julian's concerns about clean-up were a nice touch.

Well I suspect we'll be meeting a certain orc in the very near future and then continue onto a very good quest... Than... well you've certainly got the hooks in deep.

The note on the Kvatch Wolf and the dreaded metal fatigue is a good touch as per realism goes, I've always wondered how in game you can repair endlessly without annealing and not have problems. But what new shield to get, I imagine you have one in mind but I can't think what is down that end of Cyrodiil.


I like musical there, it works well as an image.

I am trying to catch up, Buffy, Destri, Hauti, and Remko - you all have posted so many chapters since I was last on here that it will take a while to catch up - just letting you know "I'm on it!" Lol.

@Acadian: Yes, Kurdan is scary, but Julian will meet worse. And yes, that knee will continue improving, until it completely gives way. Make sense? Wait until Chapter 15!

@Remko: Yes, Daelin’s comment about the Kvatch Wolf is foreshadowing! As for breaking up on her at the worst possible time, I’ll let you be the judge.

@SubRosa: I had a classmate who was horribly shy - I felt so bad for her when she had to stand up and speak in front of the class. Though we weren’t friends at that time, I wanted to jump up and take her place. And I hated public speaking too! As for jokes, funny that you should say that now.

@Destri: You’ll see what Julian decides to do when the Wolf finally dies on her . . .

@Nonsense: Ah, but on zombies, the flesh does turn moldy along with the standard bacterial putrefaction. Anatomy and necropsy (post-mortem on animals) are part of my education and profession, and I’ve worked on plenty of long-dead bodies to know! And certain molds are slimy and goopy, ranking right up there with pus for the gross factor.

@Olen: Your suspicions are correct!

@mALX: Welcome back, kitty! No need to comment until you feel like it!

Once again, Julian calls on her Legion experience to deal with a potential opponent.

**************
Chapter 13.7 Kurdan gro-Dragol

As I entered the Lonely Suitor Lodge, I approached the Orc behind the bar. Before I could address him, I heard a Summurset-accented voice shout, “For Lord Dagon!” Turning in time to deflect the falling mace with my shield, I stifled a groan and dashed for the door. I needed room to draw my katana, and inside, there were too many people.

The armored figure followed me out, but I had already drawn my sword and braced for her assault. Behind me, I heard one of the guards shouting something to me, but my attention was focused on the tall opponent in front of me. Again, the assassin swung at me with her mace, but I spun to my left, the mace flashing past my shoulder, and raised my shield to bring its edge down on the assassin’s right arm near the elbow. I felt bones cracking beneath the shield, and the woman, for the voice was female, screamed in pain.

She tried to raise the mace again, but her broken elbow was too painful. As she hunched to her right, I raised my katana and used the hilt to pound the back of her neck, just below the demonic helm. She fell to her knees with a sharp grunt, and I stepped back. Now I became aware of one of three guards shouting at me to step back, to let them finish the job.

The injured assassin collapsed as the guards swarmed her, and the armor dissolved into a red haze. After a few moments, they stepped back to reveal the Altmer securely bound and unconscious.

“Julian!” Frederick ran up to me. I realized he had been the one shouting at me. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

“Yes, I am,” I replied, looking down at the unconscious Altmer. “She was working for the Mythic Dawn,” I told Frederick. With a shake of my head, I sighed. “She wasn’t the first one to try and kill me.”

“The Mythic Dawn’s after you?” Frederick asked, frowning. “I know they assassinated the Emperor, but why are they after you?”

“Because I closed the Kvatch Gate, that’s why,” I answered. Actually, it’s because I destroyed their Shrine, killed several of their members. But the Kvatch Gate is as good as any other reason. “She was likely involved in that Gate outside the walls,” I told Frederick. His face changed from concern to horror. “Be careful, there may be more.” A glance at the Kvatch Wolf revealed minimal damage. “There was one in the Imperial City, two in Bruma.”

“Three other assassins!” Frederick exclaimed, pulling my attention back to him. I became aware of the other two guardsmen standing behind Frederick, their expressions equally horrified beneath their helms.

I nodded confirmation, meeting their gazes. “Their guards are very good, as are you all,” I encompassed the three with a quick look. “I’m in better shape today than I was then, and I’m tired of running from these -” I couldn’t think of a word to describe them.

“Traitors?” Frederick supplied. I nodded. “Well, I’ll be sure to tell Captain Lerus about it,” he finished. “Do be careful, Julian.”

I smiled at him. “Sure, I will. Thanks for being here for me.”

Frederick sketched a sloppy salute at me, then turned to the other two men. “All right, mates, let’s get this fetcher out of here!”

Back in the Lonely Suitor Lodge, I looked around warily, but no one made any hostile moves towards me. The innkeeper greeted me gruffly.

“Bogrum gro-Galash,” he introduced himself. “What in Oblivion happened there?”

Aware of the others’ rapt attention, I met the Orc’s dark gaze as levelly as I could. “That was a Mythic Dawn agent,” I answered. “She broke her cover when she recognized me.”

“Ranaline?” A slender woman came up behind the Orc, dark hair framing a pretty face. “But she’s harmless!” I looked at her as she glanced around the common room. “She’s always been a quiet one, kept to herself mostly. How could she fall in with such evil - characters?”

“Agh,” gro-Galash growled at her, “You know it’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch out for, Luciana.” He turned back to me. “So you’ve got the Mythic Dawn after you, eh?”

I shrugged. “I’m here looking for Kurdan gro-Dragol, actually,” I said.

“Oh, you want to borrow from him?” the woman gro-Galash had called Luciana chirped. I shook my head.

“No, I’m looking for someone,” I responded. “Aleron Loche.”

Watching the change come over the faces of those within my vision, I felt a growing worry. They know something I don’t.

“Yeah, he came to see gro-Dragol a couple of days ago,” gro-Galash said in his grizzled voice. “You’ll find the big man upstairs,” he added, jerking his head towards the stairs. “Second floor.”

“All right, thanks.” With a nod of thanks at the Orsimer innkeeper, I turned and headed for the stairs. Light footsteps behind me jarred my already tense nerves, and I turned around, reaching for my katana. It was only the slender Breton woman, reaching to tug at my leather sleeve. Her dark eyes looked up at me in an assessing manner that belied her chirpy voice.

“Be careful, Julian of Anvil,” she whispered quietly, her voice not so bird-like now. I could hear the steel in her tone, and the concern in her dark eyes.

“I’ve heard enough of gro-Dragol to be on my guard, ma’am,” I assured the Breton. Acutely aware of her eyes on my back, I went up the stairs. At the second floor landing, I almost bumped into a massive, steel-clad mountain of a green mer.

He looked down at me contemptuously, the haft of a great war-axe rising past his left shoulder. “Kurdan gro-Dragol?” I asked him.

“Yeah, who wants to know?” he growled at me. Unlike gro-Galash’s gruff manner, which felt neutral, gro-Dragol’s tone held hostility. I wondered how Captain Lerus stood up to him. Probably very carefully. How best to approach this? The Captain likely tried the direct approach, and got rebuffed for it. I’ll likely as not get the same response.

“What’s the one thing you never say to a vampire?” I asked him. Gro-Dragol frowned at me, puzzlement in his beady eyes.

“Huh?” he cocked his head, considering the question. “Beats me.”

“Bite me,” I answered, years of practice as a pilus prior allowing me to keep a straight face.

The frown remained on gro-Dragol’s face, then dissolved into mirth. Laughter rumbled in his chest, causing the haft of the war axe at his back to shimmer in the dim light. “Heh, heh, you got me with that one,” he chuckled. “Where did you get that?”

“Same place I got all the others,” I responded. “A skeleton walks into an inn and says, ‘Give me a shot, and a mop.’”

This time gro-Dragol guffawed so loudly dust and cobwebs drifted down from the rafters. “A shot and a - a mop!” he spluttered. “Oh, that is great!”

“Did you hear about a pirate walking into an inn with a peg leg, a parrot on his shoulder, and a ship's wheel on his pants? The innkeeper says, ‘Hey, you’ve got a ship's wheel in your pants.’ The pirate says, ‘Argh, I know. It’s driving me nuts.’”

The big Orsimer collapsed into a nearby chair, tears running down his cheeks. I heard footsteps behind me, and glanced back to see the Breton woman, gro-Galash, and a couple of other folks peering into the room at us. I winked at the Breton woman, who winked back at me.

“A pitcher of ale for gro-Dragol, please,” I said to gro-Galash. He ducked his head and disappeared, the the others shuffling to fill the space he had vacated. The laughter stopped and I turned to look back at gro-Dragol. He was regarding me intently.

“Why are you telling me these jokes, when we’ve never met before?” he rumbled at me, suspicious.

“Oh, where ever I go, I like to try and make the biggest, toughest, meanest person in town laugh,” I responded with a shrug. “Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”

“And you came to me?” he rose to his fullest height. “How do you know about me?”

“Well, you’re the biggest Orsimer I’ve ever seen,” I responded, though that’s not quite true, but still . . . “And I heard you’re so mean you make people disappear without a trace.” Cocking my head at him, I nodded respectfully. “And with a Watch Captain like Viera Lerus, that’s a mighty tough thing to do.”

If someone had told me it was possible for gro-Dragol to get bigger, I wouldn’t believe him, but gro-Dragol did seem to swell in his plate armor. “Aye, that’s me, all right,” his fist clanged his chest for emphasis. He waved me to a chair as gro-Galash reappeared with a couple of steins and an overflowing pitcher of ale. The innkeeper set them on the table, gro-Dragol taking the other chair opposite me. The usurer glowered at the crowd of regulars gathered at the top of the stairs.

The onlookers retreated down the stairs, but something told me they remained within earshot. gro-Galash shot me a look as he followed them out of sight. I turned back in time to see gro-Dragol fill the two steins with the foaming ale. Oh, crap. I can’t be drinking that stuff, not with the skooma den just across the canal. I picked up the stein nearest me and proffered a toast. “To the biggest, toughest, meanest guy in town.” His black eyes glinted at me as he raised his ale, then quaffed it in a single gulp. I lowered my stein to the table quietly.

I dug deep into my memory and fired off one joke after another, pausing only to refill gro-Dragol’s stein whenever he emptied it. I knew it wouldn’t be enough to get him drunk - it would take an entire barrel to do that - but I wanted to get on his good side so he would tell me what I needed to know.

After about thirty minutes or so, my joke well ran dry. I leaned back and sighed. I had managed not to take a sip of my ale.

“Who would’ve thought the Hero of Kvatch would be so funny?” gro-Dragol asked. He focused on my stein. “Hey, how come you haven’t drunk any of that?”

“Actually,” I answered, “I’m allergic to the stuff.” I pushed the stein to him. “I was only pretending to partake of it because I didn’t want you thinking I’m rude.”

“Allergic, huh?” gro-Dragol took my stein and drank heartily from it. “Then I’ll have gro-Galash bring up some wine for you.”

“Wine puts me to sleep,” I countered, keeping my voice calm. “And if I’m sleeping, I can’t tell jokes, can I?”

“Not so tough now, are you?” There was a hint of a challenge in gro-Dragol’s voice. I shook my head.

“I never said I was tougher, or meaner, than you.” I eyed him up and down. “And forget about claiming I’m bigger than you.” With a shrug, I watched him take another swallow from what used to be my stein of ale. “I’d rather take on bandits my own size, thanks very much.”

The mountainous Orc leaned back in his chair so far it creaked alarmingly under his spine. His eyes narrowed at me. “Hmm, you came here looking for Aleron Loche, didn’t you?”

Keeping my expression as neutral as I could, I shrugged. “Well, it’s all over the town that his wife is weeping her eyes out in the Chapel since he disappeared. I wondered if he vanished because he wanted to?”

His calculating gaze on me, gro-Dragol rubbed at his lower lip thoughtfully. “Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t,” he grunted. “But since yer so interested, I know somethin’ that could jog my memory.”

Getting close. I tilted my head at him. “And what’s that?”

“I just learned that a family heirloom, the Axe of Dragol, which one of my stupid relatives lost, is located on Fort Grief Island in Niben Bay.” He watched me intently, and I hoped I was keeping a neutral expression on my face. “My informant tells me it’s hidden in the main keep at the center. Dunno what’s guardin’ it, but I’m sure you can handle it, seeing how you’ve closed two Oblivion Gates.”

I didn’t respond to his goading, but continued watching him, forcing my breathing to remain slow and calm. If he wants me to play fetch, he’d better keep his promise then.

“If you go there and bring it back to me,” gro-Dragol continued after a few moments, “I’ll tell you exactly where Aleron is.”

“And if I refuse?” I asked.

The big Orc scowled. “Then Aleron may not be coming home from his - ahh, journey, for a long, long time. Like, permanently.”

“Oh, well, when you put it that way,” I knew I had gro-Dragol. “How do I get to Fort Grief Island?”

“Let me know when yer ready, and I’ll have a boat take you over there. It’d better be soon.”

“How do I recognize this Axe of Dragol?” I asked him.

“It’s a battleaxe with the word ‘Dragol’ carved into the haft. Huge. You can’t miss it. I ain’t gonna draw you a picture.”

“Okay, let’s do it, then.” I rose to my feet. Gro-Dragol grinned at me, and this time his grin was menacing.

“Fine. I’ll have it waiting for you at the dock next to the magic shop. Now get outta my sight.” He downed the last of the ale and belched.

I turned and headed for the stairs. Scurrying sounded on the steps as I started down, but I found the regulars in their seats, looking suspiciously innocent. I gave them a nod and left.

Now THAT was CLEVER....


...and FUNNY too!!!!


My admiration of Hautee grows by leaps and bounders - er, er, bounds. Zounds!!

Now that is a rousing way to start a post! Julian shows excellent presence of mind to retreat from the inn and get outside. There is nothing more embarrassing than getting your sword stuck in one of the rafters during a fight (or in one of the patrons!). She also does a marvelous job of disabling the assassin rather than killing her. I wish you could do that in the game.

a massive, steel-clad mountain of a green mer.
An excellent description of Bravil's mafia kingpin!

I may have to borrow some of those jokes for Vincent in the TF! I liked Julian's change of tactics with Dragol. There is nothing like appealing to a man's ego to get what you want from him!

I loved it!

Julian was brilliant with Kurdan. What a delightfully unexpected tact she took. I guess that's why she's the old warhorse she is. You have, over time, developed her as knowledgeable, clever and wise enough to pull this off in the most natural way. Well done!

I was delighted to see her get a touch of support from Luciana.

Finally, I liked the way you skillfully wove some of Kurdan's in-game dialogue right into this is such a natural way. It fit perfectly, yet still gave that nice familiar 'ah, I remember that!'.

What a fun episode!

Julian might be clever but that doesn't mean the local kingpin can't pull one over her... This quest works well that way in this stage of the story, it shuld make her look a bit less perfect. Still she dealt with him well enough and in a way which makes sense (going in sword flashing wouldn't end well I imagine).

I can't wait to see the next part though.


That line was brilliant, funyy and it fits his character so well.

Nit (vaguely):
steering wheel - this had too many modern connotations for me and makes me think of cars (or hydraulic systems), perhaps tiller or helm would be better (or even ship's wheel)? I would suggest whipstaff but it might cause Foxy to explode.

*Foxy explodes*

The whole episode in the Chapel of Julianos is so good. If I was to try and highlight everything I liked, I would simply copy and paste the whole thing. The description of the Chapel, Julian’s memories and doubts, the “getting to know you” conversation with Martin…. It all just flows so naturally that I was completely absorbed. I could smell the beeswax and candle smoke, hear the quiet pacing of the guards outside and the low murmur of conversation.

The magic lesson and your description of how Restoration magic works add so much to the sparse concepts that the game provides- and it makes a great deal of sense, to boot. Better still is the insight we are given into Julian’s essential nature, as perceived by Tumindil.

The discussion of the relationship between destruction magic and anger and fear also “feels right.” And the earthy humor and this small moment is a true gem.

As with Tumindil, Aelwin allows us to see Julian through eyes that are less doubtful. And the interaction with Martin, as she tells of everyone’s role at Kvatch- except for her own- is perfect.

Following that quiet moment is the battle at Weynon Priory, a fight that you describe with great skill. And you provide a reasonable explanation for how the Amulet of Kings is stolen, something which the game rather ignores. The death of Maborel is a hard one to take, especially for Julian. And it is a harsh reminder that she cannot save everyone. The following passage says a great deal in a few words:

“Thank you for your help, Julian,” Piner turned to me. “I’ll take care of this.” It was a dismissal. I understood. Brothers take care of their own.

The conflict between Julian’s desire to keep Martin alive and his own tendency to protect his friends is a great moment of character development- an area in which you are excellent. The bit of lore regarding Martin’s foster father being a retired Legionary added a touch of history (cf. the Roman Empire practice of granting retired soldiers land in frontier provinces).

The brief stop in the Jeralls to admire the view was a wonderful moment. I always take the time to turn my graphic settings all the way up while in the mountains, just so I can enjoy the glorious scenery.

“Very well,” I answered, glad of the chance to get down and walk a bit. My behind is almost frozen to the saddle.

And Julian learns a little discretion- managing to avoid saying out loud the thought that is in her mind.

Another part of your story which you manage to infuse with your own experience is the discussion of the horses’ personalities. And the writing is much richer because of it.

The arrival at Cloud Ruler and Martin’s uncertainty are powerfully expressed, especially as he turns to Julian for guidance. And, good NCO that she is, she provides the best advice available- “eat and get some sleep; you’ll make better decisions when you are rested and fed”.

And the powerful follow-up as Julian is asked to join the Blades… Here is another place where you illustrate the concept of “show- don’t tell.” It would have been easy to gild the lily with a lot of “I’m not worthy” interior monologue; but you didn’t. You leave it to your readers to recognize her welter of emotions.

The tour of Cloud Ruler is a wonderful display of description; even if I had never played Oblivion, I could find my way around the Temple.

The memories that come back to Julian during her “down time” are powerful and evocative- and sneak up on her exactly as such thoughts seem to do. The conversation and camaraderie at the meal is beautifully done- again, I felt as if I was there.

Breakfast- yum! And less palatable, but equally necessary decisions. Your conversations are the pillars that hold up this brilliant story, you know. Martin’s feelings of being alone and losing his companion and closest remaining friend are poignant without being soppy- nicely done.

Another wonderfully economical moment is when Julian responds to her orders by asking Martin for his permission…. In a few short words, you give a foreshadowing to us (and to Martin) of what his new role means. He is no longer a comrade, a companion, or a priest. And he will never be any of those again.

“You can travel all of Cyrodiil, nay, all of Tamriel, and never find anything better built than Cloud Ruler Temple.”

Except maybe Sigrid of Kvatch…

And I really enjoyed your depiction of Roliand- I think he might rather like our Redguard, even if she is completely oblivious.

The joyous ride out of the mountains is a perfect jewel- no words of mine are needed.

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

Yup, Julian spent her time in the Legion…

The whole conversation with Atellus is a pleasure to read- Julian’s self-deprecation, and the Legion rider’s sharp-eyed awareness that there is much more to the story.

I really like the decisions you made with regard to the difference between the games “telepathic” guards and Julian’s legitimate concern that there could be a handbill out in the Imperial City with her description.

The details you weave into the description of th City really bring it to life- the directions, the lamp-lighting, I could go on (and probably will).

“He stood out like a minotaur in a crockery shop”
I think I mentioned something about your use of detail, just a moment ago- and there it is again.

Wirich’s suicide is a nice touch that fits the Mythic Dawn’s methods- and is better than the game’s “never retreat or surrender AI.”

Yep, they seem to add more steps once you have a knee injury- I learned that during my university days.

And Julian becomes an investigator, proving that the years have given her wisdom as well as white hair.
I really enjoy the life you bring to the Imperial City in this chapter.

Add me to the list of people who want to smack the smug Phintias on general principles. And we do indeed see the strength of Julian’s resolve in a more direct way with Gwinas.

Baurus attitude in re the deaths of three more cultists is a good bit of characterization. He is the last of the Blades who failed to save Uriel, so he is certainly going to have a rather- ah, stringent- approach to members of the Mythic Dawn.

And we close with Julian’s discovery of the secret in Green Emperor Way. (Sounds like a Bobbsey Twins mystery- though I do not think she will solve it and be home in time for tea….)

And I promise to faithfully catch up with thread 2, so that my remarks will be more to the point.

That’s got to be a little disconcerting. There you are, minding your own business, when some normal, quiet, closet wack-job yells out “For Lord Dagon!” and, suddenly, you have to fight for your life! Julian acquitted herself much better in this battle. Looks like Marz’s sessions are indeed paying dividends.

I thought it was very subtle of you to have gro-Galash lament that ‘it’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch out for’ to Luciana Galena, a Thieves Guild fence.

As the others have already said, Julian’s approach to handling Kurdan was inspired. The jokes were all very funny, but I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that the steering wheel joke might be an anachronism in the world of the Elder Scrolls, not that it matters very much. I don’t even know if I would advise you to change it since it worked so well.

I can't wait for that orc to get what's coming to him (but don't worry I will, albeit impatiently)!

Julian was as sharp as a razor here. First she slips outside before the battle begins (that bloody Suitor Lodge is so small you cannot swing a cat!!) and then she has tremendous presence of mind to disarm the burly Kurdan with a series of delightful jokes.

My admiration of Julian (and Haute ) grows with each chapter. Wow!!

@Foxy: I rather thought you would get a kick out of those groaners, especially the last one (one of my favorites).

@SubRosa: I’m glad you saw what Julian was trying to do with gro-Dragol. I agree that it’s pretty embarrassing when your sword hits everything but the guy you’re trying to hit!

@Acadian: I liked your portrayal of Luciana so much in the BF that I had to borrow her for Julian! At this point Julian does not yet know that Luciana is an expert in light armor use. And thanks for your PM regarding Ranaline. I’ve always thought of her as a Nord, but it seems the game devs consider her an Altmer. I’ve changed the details accordingly.

@Olen: Yes, the local kingpin is pulling one over on her, and I think she is suspicious, but has taken a ‘go along with it and see what happens’ attitude at the moment. The line you quoted for gro-Dragol is my personal favorite of the lines he gets. Cracks me up every time! I have fixed your nit with the pirate joke - ‘steering wheel’ didn’t sit right with me, but I couldn’t figure out what else to use. Thanks!

@Treydoggie: You’ve covered a lot of ground! Thanks for giving me a recap of the high points of the story thus far. It reminds me of how far Julian has come. Judging from the reactions of others, doubtlessly it just gets better. Great praise from one who is bringing a strange land (Solstheim) alive for one who’s never visited.

@Destri: That’s exactly what I wanted to convey with those surprise attacks by the MD agents! And I’m glad you caught gro-Galash’s comment about the quiet ones - here where we have John Wayne Gacy and Jeffrey Dahmer within shouting distance of each other, that line especially resonates with someone like me.

@Wolf: Thanks for the wonderful words! I just hope my head still fits through the door.

Julian finds a surprise waiting at Fort Grief.

*****************
Chapter 13.8 Hunter’s Run

After a stop at the Mages Guild to drop off my pack, bow and Daedra Slayer, I headed down to the harbor. As gro-Dragol had promised, a rowboat with a taciturn Argonian waited near the dock. The thin Argonian only nodded when I asked him if he had been hired by gro-Dragol.

First I stowed my shield and katana, then clambered into the boat and sat down. The Argonian took his place behind me, and began rowing us down the canal and out of Bravil.

Two hours later, the reticent Argonian tied up at a weathered dock jutting out from a small island. Nearly the entire surface of the island above the waterline was occupied by a ruined fort, one nearly as large as the one near the Quaking Bridge. Fort Grief was in better shape, though, its walls intact past the second level. The archway was blocked by bronze gates, which resisted my pull on them. Looking around, I spotted a crank handle nearby. The gates creaked open behind me when I forced the handle to turn. I drew my sword and stepped to the archway, scanning the interior. Unlike most ruined forts, the keep here was full of recent debris. On the stone wall just in front of me, I saw a splash of dried blood.

My warning sense tingling, I crouched down and moved carefully within, placing my booted feet on sandy soil, which absorbed the sound of my steps. Behind me, the gates swung shut, and I turned to see the Argonian walk away from the crank without a backward glance. Cacat. This smells like a trap.

“Who’s there?” a querulous voice called. I turned toward the sound, which came from the center of the keep, beyond the bloodied stone wall. My katana ready, I moved slowly through the debris, avoiding the skeletons on the ground and the shackles hanging from the walkway above. First I cleared the stairway, then rounded the pile of debris and spotted an old Breton man. He seemed scared and jumped when he saw me. He looked around himself, as if seeking somewhere to flee.

“It’s all right,” I sheathed my katana and held my hand out to him reassuringly. “I’m Julian of Anvil. I’m looking for the Axe of Dragol.”

“Oh, no,” he groaned, turning to look at me up and down. “It appears as though Kurdan has tricked another poor soul with his ‘axe’ story.”

“‘Axe’ story?” I repeated. Something suddenly clicked into place. “You’re Aleron Loche?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “There never was any ‘Axe of Dragol,” he added. “It was just a ruse to lure you out here.” He frowned. “I fell for the same trick. In my case, he told me if I brought it back, he would clear all my debts. I was such an idiot to believe him!” Loche’s voice turned angry. I inhaled slowly.

I’m an idiot, too. He got me, instead of the other way around. “I’ve got a boat . . .” My voice trailed off. I turned to look at the closed gate.

“Oh, no, that won’t work.” Loche shook his head. “The gate is locked, and we can’t get out. We’re now caught up in Kurdan’s insane hunt. Here, we’ll most likely die.”

“What hunt are you talking about?” I didn’t like the sound of things at all.

“Kurdan doesn’t make most of his money being a simple usurer,” Loche explained. “He also created something he calls the Hunters Run. It’s simple, really. He gets fools like me to come here, and people pay him good money to hunt us.” He now pointed out the door into the keep beneath the stairs, behind me. “He uses the dungeons below Fort Grief as the hunting grounds. He brought me here because he knew someone would come looking for me. I’m really sorry you got mixed up in all of this. I hope you can fight, because it’s the only chance both of us have of getting out of here.”

“So how do we get out of here if the gate is locked?” I asked.

“You have to go inside and kill all the hunters. One of them will have the key to the door. That’s Kurdan’s rules. It’s the only way we can win.” Loche locked gazes with me, his brown eyes turning pleading. “I’m not a rich man, but if we get out of here alive, I’ll do what I can to reward you.”

A thoughtful regard of him determined that Loche was unarmed. I looked around at the keep, taking in the mostly intact walkways above, the clutter of debris on the ground floor, the closed door into the interior of the Fort.

“Wait here,” I said to him. Loche was only too glad to comply, moving to a rough lean-to of boards propped against the wall. I looked around again, then moved for the stairs. Instead of opening the door tucked beneath them, I took the steps upwards. I wanted to make sure no one else lurked here, if I was going to leave Loche alone.

It only took a few moments to clear the second walkway, but the third level was a little challenging. I found half of it fallen away, with a small fragment remaining on the far side. On that small bit of stone decking, I spotted a chest. What if there is a key stashed in there? I judged the gap to be just a little too wide, but the supporting arch below the collapsed floor had a much smaller gap in it. I carefully edged out onto the damaged arch, acutely aware of the long drop below, and easily jumped the meter long gap. Back onto the decking, I knelt before the chest.

It was locked, but I was able to pick it, breaking three lockpicks in the process. Inside, I found, not the key I was looking for, but two bottles of wine. I picked one of the bottles up and blew the dust off the label. The red dragon of the Legion looked back at me, a sign clutched in its talons. Shadowbanish Wine. I recalled stories about the rare vintage, fermented for the Legion in the days when they held these forts for the Empire. Someone somewhere may pay well for these.

My fingers easily held the two bottles by their necks, and I jumped back across the gap to make my way down the stairs. I moved to Aleron where he huddled beneath the lean-to. “Here, stow these somewhere safe,” I said to him. “I’ll want them when I come back.”

He looked at the bottles, then tucked them under a faded red silk robe without a word. Loche’s brown eyes looked back at me miserably, tugging at my heart.

“Your wife is missing you,” I said to him quietly, gripping his shoulder with my right hand. “I’ll see you back with her, safe.” He smiled bravely at me, the courage not quite reaching his eyes, and nodded. I turned away from him and headed for the door.

The Hunter’s Run turned out to be simple in layout, but difficult due to the number of traps I encountered within. On the first level, I managed to defeat first a Nord, then an Imperial, both bigger and stronger than me, only by distracting each with my summoned skeleton. The bony companion proved valuable in dealing them some damage before being overwhelmed, improving my odds a little bit. I found keys on both bodies.

The traps, however, were another story. I managed to avoid tripping the lethal gas traps, but in trying to jump across a gap in the floor, I missed and fell down onto a bed of spikes set into the tunnel below.

Luckily, the spikes only gashed my legs, and failed to pierce anything major, but I had to break them with my katana before I could step out of them. The new healing spell I had learned from Jeelius took care of the slashes in my skin, though it couldn’t do anything for the damage to my boots and greaves. Fortunately, the tunnel led me back to the passageway on the other side of the hole. Better yet, I found another sample of that mysterious glowing plant. With a pause to tuck it into my belt purse, I kept going.

The dart traps I found in the passageway were deadly, but because I was moving slowly, they went off before I entered the zone of damage. Keeping close to the wall, I was able to pass them without further injury.

Ahhh.....my heart beats faster...already...


...even though I know the whole layout and story...

For that is how good Hautee is -

(though not TOO good on the sci-fi, otherwise she wouldn't have mixed up a quotation from 'Star Trek' with Heilein's 'Starship Troopers' ) hee hee

Pay attention Julian, you're supposed to be walking into a trap! Sorry, could not resist...

Ahh, the trips and traps of Hunter's Run. This quest always makes me look for Jean-Claude VanDamme and Lance Henrikson (from the movie Hard Target). I see the skeleton summoning she learned from Edgar is now paying off. Those things are so handy, even if they only last for a hit or two before being pulverized.

And Shadowbanish Wine as well! Julian should have drank some to see in the dark. Still this way she can take them back to hook up with Nerussa (hubba hubba...)

I am sure that the people over at Bethesda meant for Caught in the Hunt to be a parody of the 1932 RKO film, The Most Dangerous Game. The film stars Joel McCrea, Faye Wray, and Leslie Banks. It was produced by Merian C. Cooper, the man who brought us King Kong. In the film Joel McCrea plays a big game hunter and author who, as the sole survivor of a shipwreck, swims to a small lush island. There he becomes the guest of a reclusive Russian Count who shares his enthusiasm for hunting, but only for ‘the most dangerous game.’ You can pretty much guess what happens next.

I always thought that this was one of the more well-conceived quests in the game (even though the reward you get for completing it is crap). There is something positively satisfying about beating Kurdan’s trap. I just wish there were a way to, well, you know.

I do like this quest, it is certainly one of the better ones an well written. The fights seemed somewhat glossed over though I can see why, too many get boring. I still expect a bit of action with the boss later though.

I also want to read the second half.

Is that another threat of Julian slash?

And my spammage of your thread continues (although I hope to be current by the end of the week).

The descriptive passages during the trip to Cheydinhal were up to your usual high standard. I really liked the continuity imbued by giving the “generic Legion patrol riders” names and set sections of road to cover.

Hmmm, I somehow missed the Orum Gang. I loved learning new things about the game.

My characters always had trouble leaving their stuff- especially weapons- behind before going to join with Marooned Dragon. That is when they usually went on a killing spree.

And speaking of killing sprees- you do a remarkable job of handling the fight at the shrine. It is all so good,
I don’t feel the need to single out any particular bits.

“I won’t deny it,” I said finally, finishing my food. “But I’ won't talk about it, either.”

Nice, economical way of expressing Julian’s philosophy- even with the stray apostrophe.

Woo-Hoo! “I have a rule when things scare me- I kill them. Then I don’t have to be scared anymore.” A paraphrase, but a motto that ought to be sigged.

Expanding Jeelius’ role was a stroke of genius- we learn still more about Julian and about the world she inhabits through their interactions.

And a cameo appearance by Guilbert Jemane.

Chapter 9 is short- but it does all the needed scene-setting with the economy that is your trademark. And I have to agree with Destri- “Excuse me? I didn’t lose the Amulet of Kings- or the Emperor and his legitimate sons for that matter.”

Clothes! So Julian still has a bit of “girlie stuff” in her, after all. And somewhat to Jauffre’s discomfiture.

A nit, a palpable nit, missed by our raven-eyed SubRosa and accurate Acadian!
From 10.1- “Also, Captain Burd of the City Guard in Bruma may also be able to help.” I guess Captain Burd is going to be extra helpful, also.

Your Jauffre seems to have been slightly infected by Rachel’s version:
Jauffre- “We’re running out of heads, Julian. Go fetch some more from those strangers near Bruma.”
Julian- “But Grandmaster, how will I know if they are strangers?”
Jauffre- “Simple. You won’t recognize ‘em. Now bring me those heads!”

I liked the history you give Julian- and the game world- with the discussion of Nord-Redguard conflict. Nicely worked into the current storyline.

10.2- A painter working the North Gate? Well, my wife artist frequently talks about “northern light.” But he is a long way from Leyawiin, or perhaps Bravil...

I really enjoyed the little bit of “tradecraft” revealed by the comment- “Only Blades use the North Gate…”

And Julian discovers that the Oblivion gate at Kvatch was not a one-off. /Rant- which is fine, except that I think Bethesda overdid the number of them, especially as there isn’t much variety, and it quickly becomes a grind and a nuisance. Rant off/

Loved the conversation at Olav’s. Your depictions of Ongar and Alga are wonderfully revealing and make the characters come to life.

10.4 “I’m not used to running, sir, especially from danger.”
Now there’s a Leroy Jethro Gibbs line if ever I heard one!

And it was good to see that Julian uses her head for more than just holding her hat up- if you are unarmed and in mortal danger in a city- run for the guards! What a great chase scene, perfectly framed to the location and particular environmental hazards of Bruma.

10.5 Suurootan’s parting words and Julian’s reaction were priceless. Better still was the scene in the chapel, esp. Julian’s flashback.

10.6 Julian’s fish-out-of-water doubts as she joins the Mages Guild, especially as juxtaposed with Jeanne Frasoric’s bubbly social-climbing was a hoot.

And the whole, “Let’s see if you have what it takes to join. Are you breathing? Congratulations, Associate!” bit.

Now that was a most satisfactory chewing-out. And it fits perfectly with Julian’s background.

11.1 “At least, no enemies followed me through the Gate, but then, few were left alive.”
Not bragging here, just being accurate.

11.2 For a day off, Julian had rather full plate (pun intended)- Daedric Artifacts, and Wisps, and Shrines- oh my!

Your plotting is brilliant- bringing Gwinas back, the MG as cover, etc.

11.3 Aleswell. I rather enjoyed this quest, even though it seems rather trivial. But it is a nice bit of window-dressing even so.

Excellent, and lots to like here!

I wondered why you included the free reptilian rower along with Kurdan's boat. As he walked away from the gate's crank handle though, your brilliance became clear. More clever than being magically sealed inside indeed.

Bravo to Julian for fully assessing her surroundings in a tactically sound manner. By that, I mean clearing the upper decks of the fort before venturing inside.

I loved this characterization of his smile - so very Aleron.

Your choices on what to include and what to gloss over inside the dungeon were sound. Focusing on the traps vs the hunters for this worked well. Getting a skeleton to help - you go girl!

I join others when I say I like this quest very much. I'm so glad that you decided to include it!

Just one more chapter to go... One thing reading your amazing story in this way has shown me is how good it truly is. Certainly there are moments that stand out- and I have called out many of them; but the real take-away is how smoothly it all flows and how professional it is. Way back in my English teacher days, I used the concept of the "well-crafted story," comparing it to cabinet-making or carpentry, where what you see is the completed whole, without being able to spot how the craftsperson did it. OHDH absolutely fits that definition. And now for my specific spamming:

11.4 Julian’s situational awareness, gained on many a field, saves the day. I also appreciate how your wolves act more like real wolves and bluff people, but then retreat if they can. I really wish the AI would give creatures (and NPCs) that option. Although I hear there is a certain amulet available, crafted by a woodcrafty witch, that might help.

Salespeople and Julianos’ Witnesses bothering you? Just use Ancotar’s Patented Go-Away Spell. If they can’t see you, they can’t annoy you.

“Better head to the inn and see if Serethi can be seen.”

Now that’s alliteration I can live with!

11.5- Ah, is Drift a Great Valus or a Great Jerall, perhaps? His presence really made the scene in the sheepfold come to life. And the bickering about who gets to do what for their savior was great fun.

The conversation with the Aleswellian’s is a shining example of Julian’s skills as a peace-maker. Seems to be another aspect of her role as Protector.

11.6 Ontus Vanin is another gem of a character who inhabits Julian’s world- “Now I’m completely useless, and I’m proud of it.” Sounds like what I aspire to!

The conversation with Gwinas shows your “ear” for interactions, as well as providing Julian with the information she needs to make a decision.

11.7 The way you work Julian’s history so perfectly into the story is brilliant. I am rewriting my original ES fiction and noticed that I did an “info dump,” which I highlighted as needing work. Your approach gives me ideas to steal- um, consider. And she buys a house- that is a big deal to someone who has lived in accommodations for the last nearly 30 years.

11.8 Jeelius! First Gwinas and now (one of) our favorite Argonians. Having Julian reconnect with people she has encountered really adds a sense of realism to your story. So does the description of the passageway to the Waterfront.

12.1 The meeting with Armand was interesting; he is willing to be neighborly- but only to a point. And the teasing by the pirate was a fun scene, especially Julian’s response. And a little history and more food! (Quiets rumbling doggie belly with a promise of an apple later).

12.2 Your “European-style” dining arrangements were a pleasing touch of cultural background. I rather wish we in the States were less “territorial” about restaurant space- we would have an opportunity to meet more people that way. And this from a Southerner, where folks are reputed to be “more friendly.”

And Julian’s nature as Protector reappears in response to Adanrel. The whole conversation and Julian’s kindness are delicious- as was the meal.

She also discovers that not everyone on the Waterfront is helpless- and some of them will look for trouble…

12.3 “I’m Julian of Anvil, I need of wood for my fire,” I said. “I just bought old Tormund’s house.”
And already the thieves on the Waterfront have struck, absconding with Julian’s “am in” from before “need.” Those two-letter words are so small and easy to lift…

“I’d like the two drawers here in the corner,”

Did you perhaps mean “two dressers?”

Have to add that having the furnishings delivered and the bit of by-play with the Argonian names was a lovely touch.

12.4 The Inn of Ill Omen appears to have been transformed into the Inn of Ill “Women”- one drunk on ale; the other made queasy by Mannheim’s “cooking.”

Agree with everyone else’s points about the random gates- Bethesda really dropped the ball on making the crisis seem “critical.” Better to have built side quests with random Daedra (of varying difficulty) terrorizing villages or preying on livestock. The sameness (and sheer number) of the Gates was one of my biggest disappointments. That is true even if you ignore the randoms and just deal with the MQ. I mean, come on, each County (and Count/Countess) has different needs. How hard would it have been to write quests that were more “location specific” instead of, “Sure, I’ll be glad to send some of my guards- as soon as someone deals with that darned Gate.” There could even be a moral dilemma invoked by having the Count/Countess ask the player character to do something questionable in return for assistance. Like no politician has ever done anything like THAT before. Apologies, your thread and your story are not really the place for this- but, you do such a brilliant job of world-building that I want you (and Julian) to have an equally brilliant game-world in which to write and live.

Anyhow- I completely accept Julian’s decision-path- “Near habitations or major roads? It goes. Out in the sticks? Let the cougars (but not Nerussa!) and bears (Mannheim?) deal with it.

@ureniashtram- “Macintosh?!” I suppose Julian should have an apple tattooed on her arm instead of a dragon. I love that one- I hope Rachel starts writing again, as I will happily “plant” that idea in her mind.

12.5 I also applaud your decision to give only a brief description of closing the random Gate- “It was like a scamp- ‘short, brutish, and nasty.’”

The conversation with Kaeso was great- “I did it for you.” Woo hoo, Julian!

12.6 “Are you going in there?” “Are you remaining at your post, Frederick?” I asked in response.

Is water wet? Does a Daedra poop in the Deadlands?

Excellent choice to cover the latest sojourn inside a Gate via Julian’s injuries.

12.7 I continue to appreciate your giving the city streets names that make sense and provide context.

And another master-stroke is letting us see the changes in Julian through Frederick’s eyes.

The whole scene with Marz was a shining example of how to tell a story, how to write conversation, how to let characters reveal themselves…

12.8 Ursanne Loche and Daenlin. Followed by a less pleasant meeting, but one which provides more needed background.

@Foxy: You might want to take some lidocaine (to slow down your ventricular tachycardia, aka rapid heartbeat) before reading on. . .

@SubRosa: I always felt the Nord and Imperial hunters were a joke, and those traps were harder! As for drinking the wine, well, you’ll see why she didn’t in 13.11.

@Destri: Not only movies have been written about the most dangerous game, but novels also. Yes, I agree, this is one of the more satisfying quests, though it ends . . . Well, not quite the way we want it to.

@Olen: The fights with the first two were glossed over because in the game those two guys were pretty much a joke. Now the one in the basement . . .

@Doggie!: I spent a few minutes chuckling over your humorous synopsis of Julian’s story thus far. More than twice! It's funny that you should compare my story to a cabinet - my grandfather was a cabinet-maker in his spare time - he learned it from his father.

@Acadian: I figured Fort Grief was a good place for Julian to practice her summoning skills with Bones. I doubt she’ll ever get as handy with spells as Buffy, but she’s finding certain ones useful!

Julian encounters an opponent that is as well-trained a fighter as she is.

****************
Chapter 13.9 Hunter’s Prey

Eventually, I found a door leading me deeper, into a second level. This level was much smaller, a short passageway leading me past more lethal gas traps into an open room with a flooded center. My life detection spell showed me the bulk of an Orsimer pacing around the water. Crouching down, my gaze never left the orc as I slowly crept behind him and attacked.

It did cross my mind that this was gro-Dragol, but the weapon he swung at me wasn’t an axe, it was a hammer. I managed to duck the first blow and moved to slash him as the hammer went down, but the big Orc handled it like it was a cane, recovering much faster than I expected. His rising back knocked my katana away like it was a twig, spinning my arm to my right until the muscles in the front of my chest complained. I managed to dance back in time to avoid his counterstrike, and caught his left biceps, beneath the edge of his pauldron, with the tip of my blade, drawing first blood.

We drew back from each other, circling to gain advantage. The Orc held the hammer athwart his face, ready to block anything I sent his way. I kept my shield side towards him, prepared to deflect his weapon. It is starting to show signs of metal fatigue, Daenlin’s voice sounded softly in my mind. I wondered if that hammer would be the finish of my Kvatch Wolf. In the weeks since Savlian Matius had given it to me, I had carried it with an unspoken pride. While the shield made me recognizable as the Hero of Kvatch, it served as a constant reminder of the bravery of the men who had faced the daedra alone, protecting unarmed civilians who knew nothing of combat. I could not look at the Wolf without thinking of Matius, of Vonius, of gra-Sharob and the other brave souls living with loss and tragedy.

All of this flashed through my mind in an instant. Beyond the Orc’s shoulder, I spotted the stairs that led back to the corridor through which I had entered. I kept circling, until the stairs were behind me, then spun to my left and ran up the first couple of steps. It gave me some height, above the big Orsimer, and got me out from under that hammer.

He recognized the tactic and snarled at me, sweeping the hammer sideways at my knees. At a disadvantage because of the limited space to maneuver on the steps, I skipped backwards out of his reach, then hopped down to slice through his left arm again, turning the blade on contact to carve out a chunk of muscle. He roared and backhanded me into the wall.

The wind knocked out of me, I dropped the Wolf with a clatter. The round shield slid down the stairs to lie against the Orc’s booted feet. We both glanced down at it, then he looked back at me, a snarling grin on his face. He kicked the buckler away and leapt onto the stairs, raising his hammer.

I jumped forward, slamming my left shoulder into his chest. He barely staggered, but the hammer hit the stone behind me. With a turn beneath his arm, I sank the edge of the blade near the hilt, where it was strongest, into his left elbow. I felt the steel bite into bone, then his fist smashed into the top of my back, driving me into the stairs. I felt my right knee give way, and I tumbled backwards off the side of the stairs, somehow holding on to the katana.

Landing near the Wolf, I rolled over it, managing to slip my left arm into its straps and rise onto my left knee with the shield before me. I couldn’t stand, not with my bum knee throbbing so badly. Warm fluid trickled down the back of my neck from when I had hit my skull on unyielding stone somewhere. My head spun, and my back hurt when I breathed. I looked up to see, not one, but two Orcs coming at me, those accursed hammers lifted one-handed.

I ducked to the side, falling onto my right hip, and managed to deflect the hammer with the Wolf. There was just barely enough room for me to point the katana at his side and ram it home, through the chink in the side of his cuirass. His momentum trapped my blade against the edge of his backplate, and the katana tore out of my hand as he crashed to the ground. The hammer -hammers?- skittered out of his hand and splashed into the water.

As I forced my body up on my left knee, I reached for the hilt of the katana, still protruding out of the Orc’s side and quivering with his gasping breaths. I twisted the blade while I pulled it out, blood cascading black in the unsteady torchlight. I stabbed his side again, angling the tip of the blade upwards within the rib cage, again twisting it as I pulled it back out. This time, I heard hissing, and knew I had punctured a lung. More blood followed my blade, frothy this time. The Orc’s breath rattled one more time, then the iron clad mountain fell silent.

Crouched near him, gasping for breath, I held my katana ready for another stab, the blade flickering wildly with my shaking. The Orc did not move, did not breathe. Finally convinced he was dead, I looked up, scanning the area for more enemies. Instead, I saw double torches, and realized I’d been concussed. Damn. The smith’s hammer pounded again in my head, amplifying the pain in my knee and my back where the Orsimer had hit me between the shoulder blades.

My katana in my left hand, I cast a life detection spell, but no pink flared up anywhere. Truly alone, I collapsed to my left side, shield held in front of me. With violent tremors, I laid my katana down on the floor, ready to my hand. From my belt pouch I fumbled out a couple of healing potions, recognizable by the distinctive shape of their vials. I managed to uncork one without spilling the precious fluid, and drank it greedily. My eyes closed, and I waited as its warmth spread from my gut through my body. My shaking calmed down, my breathing slowed, but the damned smith’s hammer still battered my skull. As I downed the other potion, I prayed for the banging to stop. It slowed down, but persisted.

I searched the Orc’s body, and found a key, much like the ones I had found on the other two hunters. I rolled to my hands and knees and straightened my right leg out to the side, avoiding the deep flexing that always aggravated the old injury. The throbbing in my knee subsided to the point that I felt I could stand on it. With a pause to sheathe my katana, I struggled to my feet, groaning as the torches spun faster around me. I staggered to the wall, leaned carefully against it, and wiped the cold sweat off my face with trembling hands. I couldn’t take a deep breath without pain stabbing into my back, and wondered if the Orc’s blow had broken a rib.

Focused on the pain, I cast the healing spell Jeelius had taught me. The piercing agony in my back subsided to a dull ache, and my right knee stopped throbbing, though it still hurt to walk on it. Unfortunately, it did nothing for the pounding in my head, or the double vision. I waited for my Magicka to replenish itself, and when I felt less shaky, I tried again. This time, the double vision disappeared, though things still remained blurry, and the damned smith kept working. But I was out of Magicka, and needed to get back to Aleron. I had three keys now, at least one of them should work . . .

The rest of the Hunter’s Run was a blurred mosaic of torchlight, shadows, and rough, unyielding stone. I encountered no more enemies, fortunately, and found a shortcut that led me back to a point in the upper level that bypassed all the traps. It involved jumping down onto a bridge, though. By this time, my magicka had replenished enough to let me use my childhood healing spell before I jumped, and again after I landed.

I am glad that my poor jokes did not fall on deaf ears... Of course, if I had been keeping up, I likely would not have thought of them. Anyway, the last of the spamming- for I am officially caught up! Yup, we definitely need a :twirl emoticon.

13.1 Got to love your version of Kud-Ei.

“perpetuators?” Is that how you want Kud-Ei to say it, or do you mean “perpetrators”?

Beyond that- add me to the list of those who absolutely admire that sentence.

13.2 Doeskin shoes- wonder if the material was supplied by a certain blonde Bosmeri archer?

Fathis Aren- somehow, I always render that as “His Fathead Arrogance.”

And again, much is revealed in a conversation over a meal.

13.3 The barracks scene was detailed and moving, especially as it brought back those Legion memories.

“…I looked around the small room. It was as lean and spare as the woman…” Example number 1,958 of how to write beautifully, presented by haute ecole rider.

The conversation or “interview” or perhaps “interrogation” with Captain Lerus provides a great deal of insight into both women.

13.4 You give a good view of the contradiction that is Vamori- he is a supposed master of words, yet he cannot find a way to apologize….

Poetry… must defend myself as a member of the Professional Order of English Majors. I think most of you would like Robert Service:

The Cremation of Sam McGee

And I imagine at least Acadian and Foxy are familiar with certain gems by a fellow named Kipling:

Chant Pagan

And a bit of The Ballad of East and West just for haute:

The Colonel's son has taken horse, and a raw rough dun was he,
With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell and the head of a gallows-tree.
The Colonel's son to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to eat
Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat.
He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly,
Till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of the Tongue of Jagai,
Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal upon her back,
And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the Pistol crack.
He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide.
“Ye shoot like a soldier," Kamal said. " Show now if ye can ride!
It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust-devils go
The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren doe.
The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head above,
But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars, as a maiden plays with a glove.
There was rock to the left and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between,
And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho' never a man was seen.

They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the dawn,
The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn.
The dun he fell at a water-course - in a woeful heap fell he,
And Kamal. has turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider free.
He has knocked the pistol out of his hand - small room was there to strive,
“ 'Twas only by favour of mine," quoth he, " ye rode so long alive:
"There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree,
"But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee.
"If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low,
"The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all in a row.
"If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high,
"The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly."
Lightly answered the Colonel's son: "Do good to bird and beast,
"But count who come for the broken meats before thou makest a feast.
"If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away.
"Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a thief could pay.
"They will feed their horse on the standing crop, their men on the garnered grain.
"The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the cattle are slain.
"But if thou thinkest the price be fair - thy brethren wait to sup,
"The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn - howl, dog, and call them up!
"And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and stack,
"Give me my father's mare again, and I'll fight my own way back! "

By all means, read the whole thing- anyone who likes TES should enjoy it. And it almost makes us want TES V to take place in Hammerfell and the Alik'r Desert.

13.5 The whole scene with Carandial- as delicious as the spiced cider. Rather makes me long for the wet, cold days of January so I can build a fire and bake a loaf of apple-raisin bread…

13.6 And you seamlessly slip a bit of Carandial’s history into the conversation…

The meetings with Marz and Daenlin were up to your high standards, to no one’s surprise. And I like the realism that the Kvatch Wolf cannot last forever.

13.7 Brilliant writing throughout the scene with Dragol. Loved Julian’s approach and her savvy tactics, even if she is about to fall victim to the gangster’s trick. And I believe our good veteran knows a trick is in play, even if she cannot see all of its angles. So she will walk into the trap, eyes open and sword ready, showing that sometimes the game has teeth, as well.

13.8 And now we are inside the aptly-named Fort Grief (Charlie Brown). Clever Julian scouts the ground before committing herself. Her method of reaching the isolated sections shows ingenuity and skill.

Again, I concur with your decision to keep the discussion of the actual fights minimal. First, we have seen Julian fight, so we know she can; second, what is new here is the traps, which get more attention in the narrative. Surprised she has not considered sending “Uncle Boney” in to trip the dart traps…

Nit:

“He looked around himself, as if looking for a place to flee to.” Two “looks” and two “to’s” in close proximity- how about: “He looked around himself, as if seeking somewhere to flee.”

13.9 The fight with the Orc should satisfy anyone- I hurt from just reading it. The pounding in Julian’s head is a more frightening enemy than the Orc, though; I fear what measures she might be tempted to take to get it to go away.

As the dog said, a very intense scene fighting the orc. Glossing over the previous fights paid off here, as it would have felt redundant if this were the third battle scene. Especially seeing that we know there is at least one more to go...

It seems to be that the fight with the orc would have been a good time for Julian to have used her summon? A skeleton might only absorb one blow from that orc, but that still would have bought Julian time.


nits:

He kicked the buckler away
You might want to rethink describing the Kvatch Wolf as a buckler. A buckler is small, usually about the size of a dinner plate, although some were a little bigger. I was under the impression that the Kvatch Wolf was much larger, something like the size of a Viking shield, as you describe it having straps. A small shield like a buckler just had a handgrip in the center.

You might find this to be a useful resource regarding shields. Not all-encompassing by far, but chock full of good info and pictures.

This was superb, and my heart is still pounding! Such a powerful fight and so skillfully described.

It is a challenge to pause for rumination during an intense fight, but Julian's flashing recollections about Kvatch and her shield were magnificently done. Woohoo!

Those unstoppable green mountains of flesh are very scary indeed. Oooh! I hope Julian is healed up enough for what I fear comes next.

It didn't occur to me until trey mentioned it, but I too hope Julian will not resort to desperate measures to control that pounding in her head. Marz can help once you get back to Bravil, gurl!


Nit?
'Him' x 3 in close proximity surprised me. Might you consider something like: 'Crouching down, my gaze never left the orc as I slowly crept behind him and attacked.'

Oooh fighting, and well described. Exciting stuff there and well written. The continued mention of the knee tied it well to the story and makes such details important so I enjoyed it getting a part even if Julian didn't. Certainly my hopes for action have been well sated (indeed I suspected there might be, as SubRosa said three fights in a row would get repetitive).

SubRosa got the only nit I saw. As for not using the skeliton that worked for me, I'd assumed that it just hadn't really occurred to her in the heat of the moment (not being a mage and all).

Still I see the end coming... unless...


*sniggers* Well it is lore specific...

That moment after Julian drops her shield, when both she and the Orc look down at it, is one of those cinematic moments in which a thousand words is encompassed in a single glance and I thought that you just nailed it! When I read it my breath literally caught in my throat and the first thought that came unbidden into my consciousness was “Oh No!” But then Julian’s wonderfully described recovery filled me with admiration for her yet again. Then she looks up and sees not one, but TWO Orcs coming at her! I admit to feeling like Buffy when confronted with her first zombie! Julian’s eventual victory elicited from me a sigh of relief even as I sympathized with the toll that the battle had taken on her.

Did I say that I liked this chapter?

HAUTEE AND TREY...


First, Trey. DANG but you HAD to quote Service and Kipling...Don't you know that I am under an uncontrollable compulsion to quote nearly ANY Kipling, especially "The BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST" at the top of my lungs while stamping my feet and waving my fists???

NOT a very dignified thing for a secretary to see....GRRRR

*and if she even THINKS about repeating what she saw - watch out, Miss, there's this thing called a recession going around, huh?*

HAUTEE - again, DANG. WHAT a battle scene! (I locked the door and switched off the phone this time. Frigging messages be damned.)

Heart was pounding all right.

Now let's give that other Orc what he's got coming! Hey Hautee, do me a favour - do us all a favour - get Julian to make a witty wisecrack as she finishes him off, hey?

@Augie Doggie!: All caught up now? Whew! Thanks for the poetry, though the title “Cremation of Sam McGee” made me think of the Lord of the Rings! I especially liked the The Ballad of East and West. Thanks for pointing out your nits.

@SubRosa: I thought about having Julian use the summons, but I wanted to demonstrate the rapidity of events. Julian is still new at spellcasting that she has to think her way through. It’s like learning a new language - first you have to think what you want to say in your native language, then translate it to the new language before you can finally say it. It’s only after practice that it becomes second nature. When I played the game, I found the first two guys easy to sneak up on, which meant I could think to cast the spells; but the orc was harder, so I didn’t fight with magic, just straight up melee fighting. As for buckler, I’m aware that it usually means a small fist-sized shield, but I have seen it refer to larger shields on occasion. I wanted to avoid using ‘shield’ too often. It’s a hard one to find synonyms for.

@Acadian: I’m glad you felt the fight here. It was gritty in the game, and I kept that gritty feel in the story. Besides, Julian has to encounter scary situations from time to time, otherwise the story would get boring!

@Olen: You’re right about why Julian didn’t use the summons during her fight with the Orc. And yes, treydog’s comment is priceless!

@Destri: That is exactly how I write my fights (and almost everything else) - I visualize it as a movie first. It’s all pictured in my head beforehand, right down to the cinematic glances. I’m glad you felt this combat as well. It is one of the hardest chapters I’ve written thus far, and subsequently one of the chapters I’m most proud of.

@Foxy: I agree, that Ballad of East and West has a great rhythm to it when read out loud, which I did! Thanks for the rousing approval on my fight scene. I take it your secretary didn’t have to call the medic for some lidocaine, heh? Sorry, no wisecrack this time, but would an insult suffice?

Julian is unable to save Aleron, but she manages to finish things with gro-Dragol.

******************
13.10 Hunter’s Revenge

Finally I reached the door leading out of the Fort. I opened it and stepped out into fresh air, pulling it deep into my lungs. A scream pulled my attention out into the far side of the keep, where two blurry figures stood. I saw a green, iron clad mountain swing a heavy weapon against the smaller figure, and heard the sickening sound of a skull being splattered.

Didn’t I just kill that fetcher? Then it hit me. Kurdan gro-Dragol! I drew my katana and moved out. A sudden sound above distracted me, and I saw a lithe form moving on the second walkway above. I sidled into the cover the walkway provided, and looked back at gro-Dragol, where he stood with his face turned down at the still form at his feet. Standing up, I limped to where he would see me.

The big Orsimer did not act surprised when he spotted me. Though my vision remained blurred, I could recognize him by the way he walked up to me. “So, Julian,” he greeted me heartily. “You’ve managed to kill all my clients.” He shrugged. “No worry. More will come with their heavy purses and their insatiable thirst for blood.” He laughed shortly. “Too bad about Aleron, at least his debt is paid!” As he turned away from me, he started walking around the pile of debris in the middle and headed for the door. “Yer stuck here, friend.”

I thought of the three keys in my belt purse, and limped back deeper in the cover of the walkway, acutely aware of the other above me. “I have the key,” I called after gro-Dragol, his form less blurred in my vision. He paused, turning to look back at me, his black eyes sparkling in the shadows thrown by the late afternoon sun.

“The key you have is fake!” he called back. “Too bad. It’s my game, and I’m changing the rules!” He turned away again.

He has the real key! I can’t let him leave the Fort! The thought flashed through my mind, and heat built up in my right fingers. The Wolf slid up my forearm, and I placed the katana in my left hand, clenching my right fist and holding in my anger. “So you’re not the biggest, meanest, toughest butterfly whacker I’ve ever met, gro-Dragol,” I growled, pitching my voice to carry across the keep. The big Orsimer came to an abrupt halt. My fist raised, I waited for him to turn around. “That Orc in the Hunter’s Run at least could beat a rabbit.” Got him. I flung the flare full into his face as he spun around.

“Gah!” he spat as the fire streamed around his face. Unslinging his axe, gro-Dragol ran at me. Though he was bigger than the Orsimer down in the lowest level of the Hunter’s Run, I could tell by the way he moved that Kurdan gro-Dragol was no trained fighter, but rather a street bully.

The hilt of the katana dropped into my right hand, the straps on the back of the Wolf slid into my left, and I waited, watching that crescent blade as it started its descent towards me. Unlike the Orsimer hunter, gro-Dragol let the inertia of the heavy weapon pull him off balance when I dodged the axe. The katana whipped down in a chop, slicing into his right elbow until the blade bit bone. Then I skipped away, ignoring the pain in my right knee.

My actions drew me out from the cover of the walkway, and an arrow whizzed past my left ear. Before I could react, a second one embedded into my left shoulder, staggering me sideways. A startled cry escaped my lips, and I moved back again, under the walkway. My left arm couldn’t hold the shield up to protect my side, though I still clutched the straps.

I could hear booted footsteps as the archer ran around the walkway, trying to find a clear shot at me. I forced my attention back to gro-Dragol, who had switched his axe to his left hand. A place under the walkway where the ground rose nearly to the underside of the walkway, its arched support providing additional cover, appeared in the corner of my eye. I retreated into the corner created by the exterior wall of the keep and the support pillar.

The space restricted my movements, but it also restricted gro-Dragol’s one-handed swings. Additionally, he stood between me and that archer. Gro-Dragol could not get his bulk behind his axe as he liked to do, while I could keep him at arm’s distance by darting my sword at the weak points in his armor. While each bite of the katana was not disabling, the effects of each added up, wearing his stamina and his not-considerable patience down.

With a roar of pain and rage, gro-Dragol started hammering the stone pillar with his axe, as if trying to bring the walkway down on my head. The axe rebounded unpredictably off the stone, throwing sparks everywhere. I just kept jabbing at him with my sword, pushing at gro-Dragol’s rage until he became blind to the damage he was causing his axe.

Finally the axe blade shattered, leaving him with half a shaft in his two fists. The katana fell into my shield hand, and I called up the flare and flung it into his face. At this close range, the flare sizzled on his skin, and gro-Dragol reeled back, screaming. The light color of the padded linen shirt he wore appeared beneath the dark iron cuirass, exposed by the Orc’s arching back, and I had my opening.

The katana back in my right hand, I darted forward, careful to keep as much weight off the right knee as possible, and aimed the blade at that light sliver beneath the cuirass. Again, I twisted the blade as I pulled it back out, all the while my senses straining for sight or sound of that irritating archer. As gro-Dragol crumpled forward, my blade became momentarily trapped between the edges of his cuirass and greaves.

In that moment, a twang from the bow warned me of another shot from the pesky bowman. This one thudded into my left arm, just above the rim of the Kvatch Wolf. I was knocked down, my right wrist wrenching as I hung on grimly to the sword. My teeth gritted in pain, I managed to get the katana out of gro-Dragol’s side, and scrambled further back beneath the walkway, groaning as the arrowheads in my left shoulder and arm grated into the muscles.

Panting hard against the pain, I switched the katana back to my left hand, focused for a moment and reached out with my senses as Edgar had taught me, then cast my life detection spell.

The pink blob that gave the bowman away shimmered above the walkway to my left, inching towards the stairs at the far side of the keep. My eyes closed, I visualized the clanking skeleton, armed with sword and shield, and summoned it. The spells, cast in rapid succession, left me shaking even harder than before.

As the archer crept down the stairs, sidling for a clear shot at me, my summoned skeleton started, then ran flat-footed at him, bones and shield clanking. The pink glow disappeared in time for me to recognize the lithe form of a male Khajiit as he shot arrow after arrow into Bones.

Hurriedly, for Bones didn’t have much time before the spell ran out, I fumbled for the single vial of magicka replenishment I had found in the Hunter’s Run. I managed to choke it down as the skeleton disappeared. The archer, still standing, though he bled from several wounds, inched closer to me, his bow ready.

My shaking steadied, and I let the rage build up again in my fingers. The Khajiit was within two meters when I cast the flare directly into his eyes. I followed with two more flares into his body before my magicka fizzled.

While he staggered with the flames licking at his face and chest, I struggled forward, my katana right-handed again, and sliced the tip of the blade across his exposed throat. A bubbling hiss escaped through the new breathing orifice as the Khajiit dropped to his knees, his large eyes wide in shock in the midst of scorched fur.

Depleted of everything - my strength, my Magicka, my will, I echoed the bowman’s slump and fell onto my back, panting hard. With a groan I pulled my right foot out from underneath me to ease the throbbing in my knee. Pain and weakness overwhelmed me, and I closed my eyes, silently cursing the untiring smith in my skull.

This was fabulous. As always, so much to like!
I love how you obviously 'feel' Julian and that she helps you write. The first half of this passage had me thinking about Julian's poor knee. The second half of the passage made it clear that you and Julian felt the same thing. You are so in touch with her that I don't think it is possible for you to overlook or miss her knee pain if she were to do something that aggravates it. It is clear that you 'feel' every move she makes.

I love that Julian cannot cast a fire spell with a blade in her hand. I guess perhaps some accomplished battlemages can do that, but not Julian. Don't feel bad, Julian. Buffy can't cast a fire spell when she has her bow nocked either.

I also liked how you portrayed the archer. Those arrows knocked the crap out of Julian, yet she managed a couple tricks that allowed her to get within biting range of that darn archer. Yup, a pissed off Redguard with a katana in your face is the stuff archer nightmares are made of. We know.

Again, this was a real joy to read. I don't envy Julian now though. I'm know it will pain her greatly to report Aleron's death to poor Ursanne.