Here is the first of a third thread for Old Habits Die Hard. I appreciate all of you staying with Julian and I this far, and hope you stick with us to the end!

For those who want to go back to the beginning, here you go:
Old Habits Die Hard Chapters 1 - 7
Old Habits Die Hard Chapters 8 - 13

Now Julian has to confront her old nemesis.

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Chapter 14.1 Skooma Cravings

Neen-zun paused in his rowing to catch his breath. Slumped in the bow of the skiff, I glanced at the thin Argonian, then at the Bay surrounding us. Before we started out, he had cut the arrowheads out of my arm. The wounds still throbbed, but at least they didn’t grind when I moved my arm. I lowered my hand to the scabbard of my katana.

“I am ssorry,” the Argonian caught my wary movement. “I am tired today.” He shook his head, rubbing at his right shoulder. “Give me a moment.”

“How did you come to owe gro-Dragol so much?” I decided to learn a little more about him. It would help me decide if I trusted him or not.

“I wass addicted to skooma, yearss ago,” Neen-zun looked down at his hands, loosely clasped on the oars. “I sstarted borrowing from gro-Dragol to pay for it after I losst my job and ussed up my ssavingss.” Shipping the oars, he rubbed his thumbs into his palms. “I owed him a couple hundred drakess, and had become quite ill and usseless.”

I watched him as he fell silent, his eyes growing distant. “What happened, then?” I asked quietly when he didn’t speak for several seconds.

Neen-zun blinked dull eyes at me, his thumbs stilling in his palms. “My hatchling, my beautiful daughter -” his voice caught momentarily. “Sshe was ssupporting uss by gathering herbss for the Magess Guild. Banditss caught her while she wass outsside. They raped her, and killed her -”

I closed my eyes against the grief threading his tone. “I am sorry, Neen-zun.”

“I losst the will to live,” Neen-zun resumed after several moments. “I tried to kill mysself with sskooma. Ssilly me, Argonianss can’t overdosse on sskooma. Marz found me at the bottom of the bluff behind the Magess Guild.”

“She healed you?” I asked, thinking of what she had already done for me. “She’s very good at it.”

“Yess, sshe got rid of the cravingss,” Neen-zun nodded agreement. “But sshe couldn’t heal my heart. Nor could sshe make my debt to gro-Dragol go away. I had to go to work for him.” He picked up the oars, placing them back into the water with a soft plop. “I ferry people back and forth to Fort Grief to pay off my obligationss.”

We were silent as he rowed the rest of the way across the Bay. By the time we tied up at the Bravil city dock, the sun was already down. Neen-zun jumped onto the dock and turned to give me a hand out of the rowboat. With grateful acceptance of his help, I limped onto the weathered boards and turned to look at him. The thin Argonian, grey with ill health and malnutrition, returned my gaze steadily.

“Thank you,” I said to him. I fumbled the Khajiit’s drakes out of my wallet and gave them to him. He stared at the six heavy coins in his hand, then looked back at me. “Get yourself a good meal,” I said, “and some new clothes.”

“Thank you, Julian of Anvil,” he hissed gladly at me. He remained by the rowboat as I turned and began climbing the steep stairs back up to the top of the bluff overlooking the canal. The pounding headache caused vertigo, making me stop halfway up the steps to catch my breath. I fought down the craving for the wine in the makeshift sack I held in my right hand.

Finally at the top, I turned right, towards the Fighters Guild, instead of left, where the Chapel and the Mages Guild stood. I caught myself only when I reached the building housing the skooma den. The faint glow gleamed between the chinks in the shuttered window on the uppermost floor.

The flickering light of candles. The acrid taste of the skooma. The warmth cascading around me, enveloping me, shielding me from the world. The easing of the constant pain. The silencing of the smith’s hammer. The sensation of floating a meter above the malodorous bedroll I lay on. The stretching of time and space. Finally, limbo.

“Julian!” The voice broke into my fragmented memories and brought me back to the present, with the smith’s hammer, the bitter taste in my mouth, and the pain of my half-healed injuries. I turned my head to look west, towards the Mages Guild. A tall figure approached me, shrouded in shadows. I reached for my katana before the other stepped into a pool of flickering yellow cast by a nearby streetlamp. Carandial.

My hand moved away from the katana’s hilt and I turned to face him. The concern and worry on his face gave way to alarm when he took in my battered appearance. Halting before me, he reached for my shoulders, but I stepped back, avoiding his hands. “Julian?” he repeated, more hesitantly this time. “Are you all right?”

Slowly I shook my head, wincing at the pain the movement caused. “No, not at all,” I answered, my voice dry and crackling. He regarded me silently for several seconds, then his gaze moved upwards towards the skooma den above us.

“You need healing, not skooma,” he stated flatly. “Come, walk with me to the Chapel. I will get Marz for you.”

Again I shook my head. “It is late, and she is probably asleep. I do not want to wake her.”

Carandial was silent for another few seconds. “Can you make it through the night without going there?” he pointed at the top floor of the rickety building.

He is right, I won’t last the night. I hung my head, shamed by my weakness. Carandial laid one hand gently on my right shoulder. “Come on,” his voice turned quiet. “I’ll walk you to the Chapel.” He stepped to my right side and gently nudged me in that direction.

I didn’t argue, but limped west down the cobblestoned street. The tall Altmer matched his stride with mine, but did not speak again until we entered the Chapel. My eyes on the altar at the far end of the nave, I turned to him. “Wait, let me try something first,” I said. He nodded and waited near the stairs to the Chapel private quarters while I continued on.

Reaching the altar, I placed my right hand on the cold stone rim. Please, Akatosh, don’t turn your back on me now.

The smith’s hammer softened as the healing coiled from my belly over me, taking away the pain in my left arm and right knee. The horrid taste in my mouth dissipated, and my vision sharpened. I leaned forward onto my braced right arm in relief. Is it really so simple? Pray to Akatosh and trust in him?

“No, it iss not so ssimple,” Marz’s voice sounded behind me. Startled, I turned to look at her over my left shoulder. “But it helpss, doess it not?” she continued, joining me at the altar. My gaze slid past her to Carandial, where he remained near the stairs. I saw his shrug in the dimness. He didn’t get her. Marz came up on her own.

“Let me ssee you, Julian,” Marz held her hands up and touched my temples with her fingers. “You came sso closse tonight.” Her beautiful orange eyes closed, and I felt her warm healing pass into my skull, silencing the smith for good.

“Why is praying not so simple, Marz?” I whispered as she took her hands away.

“If praying iss automatic, and done without thinking,” she answered, holding my gaze with hers, “it iss meaninglesss. But when done from the heart,” she laid the palm of her right hand over my breastbone, “the Godss can only resspond.” Now Marz took my right hand in both of hers. “Tonight, you came closse to falling again. But you didn’t.”

“Carandial stopped me,” I began, but Marz shook her head.

“No, it was your own dessire,” she countered softly. “You knew what lay down that road, and you didn’t want to travel it again. Though your body may cry out for limbo, your heart would not let it go.” I looked down at her long-fingered hands, seeing the beautiful colors in her scaled skin. She gave me a gentle squeeze. “Carandial was there, yess, but ultimately you made your own choice to come here insstead.”

With a shake of my head, I stepped away from the altar and sat down. “I have no choice, really,” I murmured. “There is something I must do.”

“Yess,” Marz followed me, sitting beside me. “You have to tell Urssanne that her hussband iss dead.”

I glanced at Marz. “How did you know?”

“I knew you went to ssee the ussurer after Urssane sspoke to you,” Marz’s hissing voice was soft. “I knew you went with Neen-zun. He takess people to an island in the Bay. Ssometimess they come back, ssometimess they don’t. I guessed that Aleron had gone there when I found out he had dissappeared.” She shook her head, her eyes sad. “I didn’t think he would come back.”

I looked down at my hands. “Aleron is dead,” I confirmed Marz’s guess. “But that is not the only task before me.” For the first time that day, I let myself think about Martin and the daedric artifact I needed to obtain for him.

I realized that I hated the idea of going to a Daedric Lord, especially after seeing the sacrificial altar at Mehrunes Dagon’s shrine. The thought of Jeelius being killed for some tenuous being still made my blood run cold. With the recognition that I had been postponing this task as long as I could, I shivered.

Marz sat quietly, her eyes on me. Meeting her steady gaze, I stifled a sigh. “I must see Ursanne in the morning, give her the news,” I said. “Then I have to leave Bravil.”

“You need time to resst,” Marz protested. I shook my head.

“I’ve delayed this task long enough,” I answered, hearing the implacability in my voice. I tried to smile at the concerned Argonian. “Thank you, Marz, for your healing. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me tonight.”

Marz smiled, her pointed teeth gleaming in the dim light. She rose with me, and grasped my upper arms firmly. “Remember, if you are hurt and far from help, the Nine are alwayss near. They will hear you if you call them.”

“Even in the Deadlands?” I asked her. Her hands fell away.

“You would go into more Oblivion Gatess?” she asked. “Issn’t two enough?”

“If they’re opening outside cities all over Cyrodiil,” I answered, shrugging, “I don’t know what else I can do.”

“Call the Divines, even in the Deadlandss,” Marz said after a moment. “Who knowss, they may hear you and give you aid.”

“Who knows, indeed,” I answered. “I will remember.” Grasping her hands in mine, I smiled, more easily this time. “Good night, Marz.”

“Good night, Julian,” she answered, as we walked to the stairway, where Carandial still waited. She murmured a greeting to the Altmer mage before descending the stairs. Carandial fell into step beside me as we headed for the doors.

“I’m glad to see you feeling much better, Julian,” he said quietly as he opened one of the heavy panels for me.

“Yes, I’m glad, too,” I answered. “Now I need to sleep.”

“Of course you do,” Carandial fell silent as we walked the short distance between the Chapel and the Mages Guild. He paused at the bottom of the steps as I moved to the door.

When I turned to look at him, I was startled by his expression, revealed by the double moonlight. Then he smiled that crooked smile, and the expression was gone. “Good night, Julian. Sleep well.” He turned and walked away.

“Good night, Carandial,” I murmured to his retreating back.

Locking the door behind me, I leaned against it, my breath shallow. That look Carandial gave me. Was that a trick of the moonlight? Or a figment of my imagination? It reminded me of how Jared looked at me all those years ago, when I was young and foolish. He had stolen my heart, then cruelly destroyed it. After that, I had joined the Legion, vowing never to be so vulnerable again. Since then I had not received that look from a man, not until recently. First that Redguard -no, Blackguard - from the Marie Elena, now Carandial. Why him? What does an Altmer see in me anyway?

Strange that I had just watched, and liked, "I'm not afraid" by Eminem just before I read this new thread...

(Yes, I have both Eminem and Bing Crosby, R.Kelly and Edith Piaf in my CD collection. Make what you will out of that.)

Remember, Julian
A kiss has no age
A smile stands out of time
Like the remembered scent
Of Rosemary and Thyme -

If it is true that Hearts can sing
Past the wasteland that flesh brings
And also true that the mind does know
Secrets beyond the Winter's aching blow

Then smile as you take the gift of spring in the Winter
And laugh with the wrinkles in Flesh and in Fate
Old apples may be shriveled, but their taste's far from bitter
And Love is always welcome no matter how Late.

Hurrah for Carandial. Hurrah for Marz. Hurrah for Neen-Zun! It's good to see more Argonains helping people out. Such a friendly race.

That skooma den is naught but trouble, good to see Julian resist the temptations.

Onward towards the next task, a daedric prince. *shudder* It should be fun.

So Carandial is sweet on Julian! *imagines all the slash possibilities* I thought you portrayed him, and his restrained, feelings for Julian quite well.


nits:
Neen-zun's story is heart-breaking. All the more so because of how often reality is that way. However, it all comes off as an infodump. I realize that taking the time to bring it all out gradually though dialogue might have taken an extra segment, and you are probably trying to avoid being long-winded when you have already spent a lot of story time in Bravil already, but you might want to look for a better way to bring that information out.


Finally, limbo.
This would feel more ES-like if it were Finally, Oblivion.

I'm glad that you displayed Neen-Zun as an example of the, no doubt, many tragedies in Kurdan's wake.

Wonderful that Carandial happened upon Julian that night and coaxed her towards the Chapel of Mara.

Marz is amazingly insightful! I can see that Buffy will have to spend more time getting to know her. Yes, the eyes and voices of Argonian women are so very beautiful. I'm delighted that Julian sees it too!

I'm also glad that Julian is beginning to realize that she certainly does have qualities that would attract a man. I think Carandial has excellent taste. Perhaps they will go riding together? He has a beautiful big bay. Ok, I'm just teasing - I know Julian has a very full plate right now.

Did I tell you that this story continues to be a joy to read?

Another wonderful entry. And you capture the compulsive nature of addiction quite well-

Saved by Carandial! Good to see a non-snooty Altmer to go with the endearing Argonians.

Your ear and eye for detail are first-rate, and your characters are all beautifully 3-dimensional.

Good show on that chapter though I suspect that the cravings aren't done yet... and what's coming, if she accepts it, won't help. Certainly she's a rich character and that makes her fun to read because the slate isn't so blank and I can't imgine how her daedric quest will end up. With duty on one side and her morals on the other... well...

The mention of the races also has me thinking that you've handled tht very well. It's so subtle that I didn't really notice (barring the whole double s thing with the argonians which I not a huge fan of but that's entirely my preferance), but there are differences which fit with the game description but aren't nearly as glaring. Your Altmer are rather superior (even Carandail in his own strange way) but it makes sense the way you show it. The Argonian's are claerly different too, they seem to be generally quite stolid and trustworthy, no wonder Julian likes them.

As the others have said, a joy to read.

@Foxy: Thanks for pointing out that even old women can feel frisky!

@hazmick: Do you happen to have a twin named hazmat? I didn’t realize until you pointed it out how many friendly Argonians are in that segment!

@SubRosa: I chose limbo over Oblivion to differentiate the bliss/oblivion of a drug-induced haze from the insanity that characterizes the plane of Oblivion in TES. I’m glad you liked the way I portrayed Carandial’s reaction at finding Julian so beat up. I’ll take your comment regarding Neen=Zun’s story under consideration, and revisit it at some time soon.

@Acadian: As someone who grew up on stories of Capone’s Chicago (not to mention a couple of cousins of my dad’s who actually ran bootleg for the guy), I know all too well the price such gangsters exact on their neighborhoods. As for Carandial and Julian going for a ride, well, maybe to the nearby Ayleid ruin . . .

@Auggie Doggie: Carandial is one of those NPC’s that just took over my keyboard and started telling me this is how it is. I had no choice but to go along with him. TBH, he is one of my favorite Altmer in TES IV.

@Olen: Julian will have to confront something even bigger than her skooma addiction or her loyalty to Martin. I’m glad you enjoy the way I’ve portrayed Altmer and Argonians so far, I hope to develop the other races as well as I have those two. As for the conflict between her duty to Martin and her innate nature - oh, well . . .

Julian wraps up a couple of loose ends.

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Chapter 14.2 Bearer of Bad News

Ardaline was shy until I showed her the strange plant. “Oh, this is what you were talking about the other night,” she remarked, turning the leaves in her long fingers. She stepped to the window, where the overcast light streamed in, and held it up. Sniffing it, she stroked the soft leaves thoughtfully. “Yes, I've seen them before. Don't really know much about them. I'm not a specialist in plant samples.”

After she handed the plant back to me, she considered the situation for a few moments. “I know someone who does. If you make your way to Skingrad, look up Sinderion. He's one of the foremost authorities on the alchemical properties of plants.” She smiled at me. “Let me know what you find out!”

“Thanks, I will,” I promised Ardaline.

************************
Ursanne Loche was walking towards the Chapel when she saw me. She stopped and waited for me to catch up to her. As I drew near, her face fell. “Oh no, something’s wrong, I can tell. Tell me what’s happened to Aleron?”

“I’m very sorry, ma’am, he’s dead,” I answered slowly, looking away from the pain in her face.

“When I saw the grave look on your face,” she said quietly, “I knew something bad had happened to him. And,” her voice hardened, pulling my eyes up to her angry expression, “what of that fetcher, Kurdan?”

“Gro-Dragol lives no longer,” I matched her tone. Ursanne took a deep breath, her face sagging into grief.

“Then Aleron’s death has been avenged,” she murmured. “I told him not to gamble, foolish man. But he wouldn’t listen.” She touched my right arm. “Come with me, please. There is something I must give you before you go.”

The old Breton woman led me to her home on the second floor of one of the ramshackle buildings along the north wall. Inside the humble but tidy dwelling, she moved to a chest at the back wall. I limped to the table, and took out the gold I had set aside. Quietly I placed the coins I had collected from Loche and gro-Dragol on the rough wooden surface, along with Loche’s ring and key. Ursanne returned to me with a large book in her hands. Her gaze fell on the coins and ring, then she looked back at me, pale.

“You know the ring,” I said softly to her. “I think your husband would want you to have it. The gold, too.”

“He never had that much gold,” Ursanne eyed the small stack. I shook my head.

“He only had a few drakes,” I told her. “The rest is a donation from gro-Dragol.” I shrugged. “Small consolation for losing your husband, I’m certain, but better than nothing.”

Ursanne looked down at the volume in her hands. The book, its leather cover worn, was nevertheless of good quality. She pushed the book into my hands. “Here, let me give you this,” she muttered. “Aleron told me to use this to bail him out of jail if he ever got into trouble. He - he won’t be needing this anymore,” she fought back the sob in her voice, raising teary eyes to meet mine bravely. “I want you to have it. I won’t take no for an answer. Thank you for all you’ve done.” As I accepted the book, she turned away, her left hand touching the brass pearl ring on the table. The sob escaped her control. “Now, please, I want to be alone.”

Unable to think of something to comfort her in her grief, I turned and limped to the door. Quietly, I let myself out, feeling quite depressed by the woman’s loss.

************************
Thirty minutes later, I found Captain Lerus in the barracks, preparing to head out on her rounds. She spotted me and waved me into her room. As we took the same seats we had used a couple of nights ago, I met her gaze.

“Aleron Loche is dead,” I told her bluntly. Her fine brows drew down in a scowl.

“Explain,” she said icily.

I told her about gro-Dragol’s operation on Fort Grief Island, and how he had lured first Loche, then me out there, for clients to kill. The muscles in her jaw clenched visibly as I described finding Loche there, his request that I go into the Hunter’s Run to find the key. Skimming over my time in the dungeon, I told her how gro-Dragol killed Loche before I could stop him, and that he tried to kill me, as well. I also explained how Neen-zun had become bound to gro-Dragol. When I finished, she leaned back in her chair and regarded me intently.

“Some of my guards report that you came back in very bad shape, Julian,” she said quietly. “Metternach said you were standing outside the skooma den before Carandial found you.”

I closed my eyes and turned my face away. “I was concussed,” I murmured. “The headaches that drove me to skooma in the first place came back.”

“And now?” her voice was just a whisper. I met her gaze.

“They’re gone, thanks to Marz,” I answered. “And to Akatosh. I’m much better now.” Lerus held my gaze, as if judging the truth of my words.

“gro-Dragol did that to you?”

Shaking my head, I held her eyes. “No, gro-Dragol fights like a street bully. Two of the hunters weren’t hard, I just sicced a summoned skeleton on them. Old Bones wore them down for me. But the last one -” I trailed off, seeing again how the big Orc carried his weapon, how he circled me. “He fought like a Legion soldier,” I said finally. “I think he was trained in the Legion, at least.”

Lerus scowled. “A deserter?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I didn’t look that closely at him.”

Lerus made her decision. “All right, I’ll send a squad of the Guard over there to collect the bodies. Think Neen-zun will ferry them over?”

“If you pay him better than gro-Dragol did, I’m sure he will,” I answered. “But tell your men to stay out of the Hunter’s Run. There’s a lot of bad traps in there. Not worth dragging bodies of vermin out.”

“We need to identify them, if we can,” Lerus responded, her voice hard. “I’ll warn them to be careful.” She drew a blank parchment and picked up her quill. “What kind of traps are we talking about?”

I held my left hand out for the quill. Surprised, she handed it to me. My left arm on the desk, I sketched out a rough map of the Hunter’s Run, marking the locations of the hunters and the traps. As I drew, Lerus rose and moved to look over my shoulder. Explaining each trap as I marked them, I told her about the hole in the floor with the spikes beneath.

“They can bring boards for that,” she commented. “And healing potions for the gas. But the darts worry me.”

“I got by them by sticking close to the wall,” I said. “And waiting until they stopped to reset. Your men can use the bodies as shields on the way out.”

“Yes, but if that Orc is as big as you say, it will be tough to carry him out past them.”

“No, just take the short cut and drop him over the edge onto the bridge.” I answered, indicating the route on the rough map I had created.

When I put the quill down, she took the parchment from me and studied it. “This is good, Julian. You’ve got a head for mazes.”

“I’m not sure how accurate that is, Captain,” I responded warily. “Remember, I was concussed on the way back, my memory could be off.”

“Thanks, Julian,” Lerus held her right hand out to me. Startled by the unexpected courtesy, I clasped it firmly, matching her pressure.

Poor Ursanne, going back to face her is always so heartbreaking. I think you did a good job of conveying that hearbreak.

Thanks, SubRosa.

I just wanted to let everyone know that I rewrote the opening paragraphs of Chapter 14 (post #2) to better convey Neen-zun's story.

That comes out much more organically. The added details like Marz finding him behind the Mages Guild make the story feel more real as well.

No, I don't have a twin. Why do you ask? All of the best stories have at least one friendly Argonian

Poor Ursanne You did a good job showing her grief.

I agree with SubRosa, the extra details of our boatman are brilliant.

I went back and read the revision of Neen-Zun. Yummo!

Three scenes.

I. Yay, it sounds like Julian will get to meet Sinderion at some point!

II. Oh my. Your whole scene with Ursanne was masterful. Not only did it convey your intent, but I was quite struck at your brilliant use of dialogue and speech tags and the like to bring it to life. In fact, I read it twice - the second time to learn from you.

III. Respect slowly earned seems somehow more valuable. It seems the two ladies have a better understanding of each other. I very much liked thier interaction - especially the unspoken parts.

Julian has quite the full dance card in the Niben Bay area it seems. Lucky me!

A sad but necessary task, telling Ursanne that what she already feared has come to pass. But, when the worst has happened, you at least know it is the worst.... And we have another living, breathing individual to populate your rich and detailed world.

And Julian takes an important step on the road to self-respect (and respect from a certain guard captain, whether she wants it or not) by admitting her temptation.

This installment has the feel of some doors closing and others opening... A breath taken between bouts.

Julian is so real to me, that I can feel her aching head and bum knee. More important, I can feel her determination. All of that is a credit to your brilliant writing.

Well I for one always thought Julian was beautiful. But that is one chapter back. I always like the way you personalize the quests, no matter how many times I've done these quests you have found a new way to tell the story that keeps it intriguing !!

Chapter 14.1 Skooma Cravings

Neen-zun’s story is heartbreaking. Once again you have crafted an Argonian with whom it is impossible not to sympathize. I think when you finish Julian’s story your next character should be from Black Marsh (maybe in the Shivering Isles, or as the Divine Crusader ).

This was a perfect description of the lure that leads one to addiction. I like the fact that you chose limbo over Oblivion. An addict is never seeking Hell, an addict is seeking escape.

Chapter 14.2 Bearer of Bad News

I am beginning to agree with ‘Rosa from a few chapters ago. I find it maddening that Captain Lerus knows so much about the goings on in her city, yet had no idea people were being ferried out to Fort Grief. Even Marz knew about that! Okay Marz might be a bad example, given her perceptive nature, but you get the point I am making. Her guards are giving all these reports, yet she does nothing about them. It sounds more and more like Lerus is all talk and gruff posturing while she waits for someone else to do her job. Even her grudging respect at the end rubbed me the wrong way. Julian closes the Oblivion Gate outside the city and stops gro-Dragol’s murderous Hunter’s Run while Lerus sits scowling in her office, and Lerus finally deigns to shake Julian’s hand? It is not in her nature, but I would have cheered if Julian had spit on the offered appendage!

@SubRosa: I’m glad you liked the rewrite of the opening paragraphs in 14.1 better.

@hazmick: Every time I see your name, I think of hazmat, which around here is an abbreviation of Hazardous Materials. In my line of work, we deal with OSHA, and have to place hazmat labels on everything, which borders on the ridiculous. That's why I asked about your twin!

@Acadian: I always found the nirnroot quest to be the best excuse for exploring Cyrodiil! Aww, you liked how I handled the dialogue with Ursanne? :Blush: Thanks for enjoying the interaction with Lerus.

@treydog: Your summation is much, much appreciated!

@mALX: I’m glad you are enjoying familiar quests! I hope to keep you entertained!

@Destri: I really don’t know why I treat the Argonians in my story the way I do! I guess it may be because I’m sensitive to discrimination, and every time I hear one being called pondscum in the game, I just want to leap to their defense! An Argonian as the Divine Crusader? Hmm. As for Lerus, I hope to explain her situation to both you and SubRosa’s satisfaction in just a few more posts (Chapter 14.7).

Julian has another unsavory task to perform.

***************
Chapter 14.3 The Shrine of Sheogorath

Paint stopped beside the Wayshrine. I looked around, noting the worn stone steps in the road that led down to the waterside, the bridge across the Niben River and the ruins of the old fort on the opposite bank. All the landmarks were as Gwinas had said.

“When you reach the Wayshrine of Stendarr, the Green Road will turn east, towards the river, and drop down to the riverbank over a series of old stone steps. Be careful if you ride your horse down those steps, they can be slippery. On the bank, the Green Road turns back south to follow the river, but there is a path that continues east across a small bridge. You’ll see Fort Redman on the other bank there. Beware at the bridge, bandits like to ambush travelers there.”

Dismounting from Paint, I limped up to the Wayshrine. We had met a couple of bandits on the road south of Bravil, where it followed the southern shore of Niben Bay, and again where the road passed between a cave on the riverbank and a fort perched high on the hill to the west. Apparently they thought me fair game, since they attacked me. However my Legion training and Jelin’s Sunblade Dance educated them otherwise.

I prayed to Stendarr, and felt his healing response. My face turned west, I looked past Paint’s profile towards the high ridge beyond. Here, the Elsweyr border pressed close to the road, roughly paralleling the high ridge of hills that led to mountains beyond. Again, Gwinas’s voice echoed in my mind:

“From the Wayshrine, turn west and hike up into the hills. Sheogorath is almost due west from the Wayshrine, but you may need to detour a little bit to get around the steep slopes in between. It’s only about a kilometer or so.”

Do I leave Paint here by the Wayshrine? I looked east at the bridge. I could just make out a couple of figures standing there. Under cover of the shrubs and boulders between the Wayshrine and the road, I moved to where I could see them more clearly. A Khajiit and a Dunmer, both in leather armor, stood watching the Green Road. The Dunmer was armed with a bow, the Khajiit with a mace. They had the scruffy appearance of bandits, but I wanted to be sure. I would be leaving Paint alone for an unknown period of time, and bandits were known to abscond with unattended horses.

Back on the road, I walked openly down the worn stone steps, still wet from recent rain, toward the pair. The Dunmer unshouldered her bow, stepping back towards the bridge. The Khajiit ran at me with mace upraised. A sidestep put him between me and the female Dunmer while I drew my katana and braced for the blow. As I expected, the Khajiit dropped the mace in an overhanded strike. With another step to the right, I deflected the mace with the Wolf and spun into him, hooking my left foot behind his right knee and kicking his right leg out from under him.

He fell towards me, and I backed up, just in time to avoid an arrow which whizzed past in front of my chest. The Wolf lifted high, I brought the edge of the shield down hard on the Khajiit’s back. While the bandit lay howling in the mud, I whirled the buckler up towards the archer. The arrow smacking into the Wolf staggered me, but I kept my feet and darted towards the Dunmer.

She lowered her bow and turned, running for the bridge. Once she gained a little distance on me, she nocked another arrow to her bow and turned back to me. I risked exposure and tossed a flare at her, more to distract her than to do her harm, and ran after the spell.

The bridge, constructed of boards laid on a rope suspension, trembled under our feet as I closed on the archer, katana ready to stab forward. She released her arrow a little early, and I ducked, simultaneously raising my shield. When I lowered the buckler, she had dropped her bow and drawn her dagger, ready for melee. As I closed with her, I knocked her dagger hand aside with the back of the katana blade and slashed the tip across her chest. The fine blade left a deep gash in her tough leather, and blood seeped through it.

The Dunmer looked down at her chest, and I took advantage of her distraction to stab the katana into her abdomen, just below the edge of her cuirass. The tip of my blade struck the bone of her spine, and I lowered the handle of the katana, driving the tip upwards within her body to do as much damage as I could before withdrawing the blade. She cried out, and fell away, blood and foul fluid oozing from the wound.

I felt pounding footsteps on the shivering bridge and spun to my left in time to deflect the Khajiit’s mace. His enraged eyes glared at me as I knocked his right arm aside with the Wolf and brought the katana down on his right shoulder. The blade bit through his tough leather into the flesh of his upper arm. The mace dropped from his fingers, and he snarled, his left hand coming up to claw at my face. I ducked back to avoid this onslaught and brought the tip of the katana against the Khajiit’s throat to give him a new breathing hole, blood splashing back at me.

Breathlessly I crouched down on the bridge between the two newly dead bandits, and looked back east at the Fort ruins across the river. It would make a logical Bandit hideout, I knew, but I saw no one, heard no outcry.

After a pause long enough to gather drakes, lockpicks, and healing potions from the dead, I stepped over the Khajiit and limped back to the Wayshrine. Leaning against a boulder next to Paint, I cast Carandial’s cleansing spell on myself to remove the blood.

Paint watched me intently, then turned his head and looked southwards. I glanced over my shoulder in that direction, but saw nor heard nothing. After a moment, I took the pack from the cantle and slung it over one shoulder. The bow and quiver were both attached to the saddle; I would leave them with Paint. I had Daedra Slayer at my back, and my katana at my hip.

“You stay here,” I whispered to Paint. He blinked a round brown eye at me before he dropped his head and rubbed his nose on the inside of his foreleg. He shook his head, the motion traveling down his neck into his body, until even his legs shuddered. Then he blew at me. I smiled at his antics and turned west, finding a path that wound uphill among boulders and twisted trees.

As Gwinas had said, I hiked about a kilometer before I spotted a tall statue on the steep slope above me. From my lower altitude, I could only see the top half of the statue. It was of a sharply-dressed dandy, with a neatly trimmed beard and an elaborate waistcoat. I paused, and looked around, for boulders separated me from the shrine. A rough path sought out a relatively gentler slope between large rocks, curving first north before bending back to the shelf in the side of the ridge where the statue stood.

A few minutes later I stared, shocked, at the four half-nude worshippers walking around the shrine. The nearest, a Nord wearing only a shirt with suspenders dangling below its hem, turned and looked at me. “I wish there were children here,” he said to me. A smile warmed his face, but did not touch the madness in his eyes. “Scrumptious, darling children. I haven’t eaten in so long.” He licked his lips. “Ravel will tell me what to do. You, too.”

With a barely suppressed shudder at his words, I avoided looking below the hem of his shirt and moved forward, stepping onto the shelf of rock. An Argonian woman, clad only in a leather helmet and worn, frayed quilted shoes, walked up to me. “I ussed to be a dog,” she hissed at me. “Then I got better. Not a better dog, though. I’m a terrible dog now,” her eyes shifted away. “Tomorrow - who knowss? Ravel may know. Talk to him.”

A hand touched my shoulder, spun me around to face a Breton man. Like the others, he wore little, only a cuirass much like mine, but worn and dirty. “Bugs!” he shouted in my face, spittle spraying from his lips. “Bugs everywhere! All over! Wonderful, tasty bugs!” He released my shoulder, stepping back and shaking his head dismissively. “No time for you. Talk to Ravel. He doesn’t like the bugs. Not even with mead.”

I kept my eyes on his face as I backed away from the raving Breton until I nearly bumped into a female Altmer. Like the Argonian, she was nude except for a helmet, gauntlets and boots. “Have you seen it?” she exclaimed excitedly to me. “Have you seen the light? The bright shining light?” She tapped her naked breast. “I know it. It waits for you. Speak with Ravel,” she pointed at a Dunmer, the only fully clad worshipper in the bunch. “He knows the way.” She wandered away from me.

Uncomfortable with my struggle to keep my eyes on their faces, I limped towards the Dunmer. His white mage’s robe, turned dingy from living in the wilderness, somehow lent him the air of a high priest. The fur helmet he wore did not diminish that sense. “Hello, Ravel,” I said to him.

He turned his head to look at me. “Place?” he answered. I frowned, puzzled by his question, but he continued without waiting for an answer. “Not place? Here. Not here? Welcome to the Grove of Madness, stranger. Or go away. Who knows? Time will tell.”

“I’m looking for the Shrine of Sheogorath,” I said. “I assume I’ve found it?”

“Killed and ate a Bosmer here,” Ravel said to me. “But it made me sick. Saw Lord Sheogorath in the vomitus, so that’s all right. Here to sacrifice? A limb would be nice.”

“How do I summon Lord Sheogorath?” I asked, gathering my courage. I need to get that artifact for Martin. Gods help me if I have to kill someone.

“Then approach the shrine,” Ravel said. He sniffed the air. “Of course, he won’t appear. Because it’s not raining. He loves the rain.” He grinned at me, insanity flickering in his red eyes. “And you’ll need an offering.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “I think a lesser soul gem, a head of lettuce, and some yarn will do the trick.” Giving a decisive nod, he smiled. “Yes. That’s what Sheogorath wants.”

Nonexistent ants crawled up my spine as I approached the statue. I swung the pack off my shoulder and knelt down to rummage in it. You were right, Gwinas. Thank you. I drew out the lettuce and the yarn I had gathered in Bravil, and the lesser soul gem from Calindil’s shop, placing them on the statue’s plinth.

“Another mortal dares to summon me, and already I am bored,” a light tenor spoke, causing me to jump. I stepped back and looked up at the statue, but it remained motionless. “But enough about me. Let’s talk about you.” The voice paused, then continued, “I could turn you into a goat. Or a puddle. Or a bad idea. I could make you eat your own fingers. Or fall in love with a cloud. Perhaps I could make you into something useful. Let’s find out.” Silence fell for several seconds. A glance behind me revealed that the worshippers had continued with their senseless behavior, ignoring me, with the exception of Ravel, who watched me intently.

“There’s a little settlement called Border Watch,” the disembodied voice drew my attention back to the Shrine. “It’s a nice, peaceful place - and dull, dull dull. You’re going to make their lives interesting. They’re a superstitious bunch. Everything is an omen or a portent. Let’s make one come true. Find their shaman and ask about the K’Sharra prophecy. You are to find a way to make the first two parts come true. I’ll take care of the rest, because it’s the most fun. Now run along.” Again the voice fell silent. I waited, but it did not speak again.

Turning around, I nearly bumped into Ravel. “You’ve spoken to the Madgod. Joy of joys! Are you elated? Excited? Aroused? Blessed are you. Blessed is he!”

Are you nuts? Yes, you are, indeed. With a stifled sigh, I started off to find this settlement.

I wondered how the cool, rational Julian would fare with the Mad God... Rather well, actually. The addition of Gwinas' directions and his useful advice add some continuity and remind us of one of your many supporting characters.

Something about the bandit fight bothers me, but I cannot quite put my paw on what it is. Perhaps it is the fact that Julian's reason for deciding to take them out is missing? Although it can also be a danger to over-explain. Perhaps it is as simple as: ex-Legion NCO sees outlaws in position to threaten travelers and deals with it. Or, in broader terms-"old habits die hard."

Excellent descriptions again, in a fun (but disturbing) installment.

And the last few lines capture Julian perfectly.

would that be the occupational safety and health administration?

YAY SHEOGORATH!! The worshippers are crazier than the residents of the shivering isles, which is strange.

Another Argonian: Beewos and her reference to monty python an the holy grail.

If Julian thought they were crazy, just wait for the K'Sharra prophecy

I love this quest! Can't wait to see the rest!!!

Fun and variety!

Ah, the dilemma of not quite being sure of a stranger's intentions at a distance. See, this is what Buffy admires so much about Julian. She has the courage and skills to confront threats head on.

If I didn't mention it when Carandial introduced this spell back in Bravil, let me say now how clever I think it is.

Ah, I am feverishly taking notes as I read a passage like this - crafted by the grand mistress of horses herself. *where is that darn twirl emoticon?*

This piece of dialogue in game is absolutely among my very favorites.

Something tells me Julian will not be terribly impressed with the task Sheo has in mind.

Hmm, now I am wondering if Julian will meet Wrothken at some time in the near future...

Watching those samurai films is certainly paying off with your combat descriptions. Too bad you do not watch more romance movies, Julian's love life might improve...

He doesn’t like the bugs. Not even with mead.
Some people just have no taste!

Lots of fun a the mad god's shrine. But then Sheogorath is the most fun of all the daedra, to be certain. I am looking forward to seeing Julian, who is such a straight-man, starring in Sheo's comedy.


nits:
the bridge across the Niben River and the ruins of the old Fort on the opposite bank
In this context, fort is not a proper noun (as it would be in the case of Fort Meade), so it ought to be lowercase. Has it ever struck you as odd that Bethesda uses the term 'fort' rather than 'castle' or 'keep'?

That quest is by far my favourite, brilliantly funny and well put together. I can't imagine Julian appriciating the bizarre humour and sillyness though... or to feel great about what happens.

14.2:
A good rounding off to events in Bravil and the suggestion that she feels annoyed by her moment of weakness but not hung up (or hugely surprised) by it. I do wonder if putting it all down to the headache will prove wise though.


So she's a lefty. Nice little detail though I don't recall any comment on her fighting on the left...

14.3
As I said Sheogorath is a fluffy bunny of a Daedra... and the dialogue is excellent. I can't wait until she has a shot with the reward either.

I'd never thought of him that way... nice description.

Nit:
I think I may have mentioned it in which case ignore but kilometer struck me as lore unfriendly because it is linked to the size of the Earth and has modern connotations. Also miles are mentioned in game here and there, but if you prefer metric then I suppose it's about time fantasy worlds started using a saner system.

I am still here, reading along, and enjoying this amazing tale more than ever!!

Julian and Sheogorath, I cannot wait. Lucky it is flaming wolves and not flaming Argonians, otherwise the soldier in Julian would jump to their defense and things could get nasty indeed. Lol.

The way you have written Marz over the last few chapters was awesome. The wisdom and the prescience that you have given her goes perfectly with our little Bravil. Sometimes the most interesting people can be found in the most incongruous places. Bravo!

@treydog: For a long time I wondered how Julian would find Sheo’s shrine - after all, there is no one in the game that tells you where to find it. I hate the game compass that shows landmarks as you pass them by, even though they’re not visible. Julian isn’t psychic! Then during one of my playthroughs, Gwinas’s comment just turned on the light bulb, and I knew that’s how! I went back and added a sentence about why Julian went to check out those scruffy folks on the bridge to Fort Redman.

@hazmick: Yes, you must have dealt with OSHA in the past! I agree that the worshippers are nuttier than most folks in the SI. Go figure.

@mALX: I’m glad you love this quest! Personally, as someone whose job is to take care of animals, this is one of my least favorites. The senseless killing of rats, sheep and dogs just don’t sit well with me. Julian doesn’t like it either, as you’ll see.

@Acadian: I think I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again - Paint carries the spirit of my beloved old mare, who passed away last year in March. She had a ton of personality, and often would do little things such as I have described Paint doing, one of which is the tendency to shake herself at appropriate (or inappropriate?) points in a conversation!

@SageRose: It’s funny you should make that comment about romances. Most of what I write are romances - just in the guise of espionage, science fiction, fantasy and historical genres! I love the romance in Robert Ludlum’s novels, and in some of the Korean sageuk I’ve been watching lately. As for Julian, right now she’s too focused on her job to think about romance! Don't worry, it'll come and smack her on the back of the head one of these days.

@Olen: Sheo a fluffy bunny of a Daedric Lord? I don’t think so! TBH I much prefer Azura.

@Winter Wolf: I am delighted that you enjoyed Julian’s stay in Bravil and getting to know Marz.

I know many of you are hoping Julian will tell Sheogorath off. However, both she and I know all too well the futility of reasoning with insanity, especially that of Daedric Lords. So, sorry.

*******************
Chapter 14.4 Sheogorath’s Reward

S’thasa set the rarebit platter in front of me. I sniffed at the aromatic cheese and glanced askance at her. “The house specialty,” she bragged. “My yellow sheep’s cheese is the best in all of Cyrodiil, and Elsweyr, too!”

Cautiously, I tasted the rich dish. The bread was fresh and nutty, complementing the hint of ale and the mustard I could taste in the savory cheese sauce. My empty belly ceased its complaining at the first bite. “Hmm!” I couldn’t help myself. The Khajiit innkeeper smiled, her fangs gleaming in the soft lamplight of the common room.

“We have a fine collection of cheeses herre,” she purred. “It’s been a hobby of mine for yearrs. I've collected cheeses from all over Tamrriel, including the rrare Olrroy cheese!”

“Olroy?” I repeated. “Is it special?”

S’thasa drew herself up, indignant at my uncivilized ignorance. “A morre pungent cheese you'll neverr find. It looks smooth, but it stinks to the heavens and beyond! I keep it locked away tight.” She gestured toward the display cases near the entrance. I had noticed them when I first entered the Border Watch inn. “If I were to trry cooking with it, the smell alone would drraw rrats for miles! It's a lovely converrsation piece, though."

Something clicked in my mind. Rats. They carry bloodlung, bone break fever, and quite a few others. Plague of Vermin, maybe? I recalled Ri’bassa’s words. “It has been told from our fathers, and our fathers’ fathers, that our time in this place will come to an end. My great-great-great-grandfather, K’sharra, foretold of a time when the gods would send us three signs to signal the end of the world.” Ri’bassa had mentioned the Plague of Vermin, in which the town would be overrun by disease carrying beasts. “Rats, I imagine. Filthy creatures. I always keep a few packets of powerful poison around just in case.”

I had to figure out how to attract rats, and how to kill the sheep. I hated the thought of killing the innocent beasts just to please a Daedric Lord. Better than blood sacrifice of man, mer or tailed beast-kin. Though I knew many folks considered Argonians and Khajiit to be less than humans or merkind, I had fought too many of them, and alongside them, to think them less intelligent than myself.

The rats might be too easy. The Olroy cheese would attract them, as S’thasa had said, once I put it in the communal pot just outside the inn. “The second sign,” Ri’bassa’s voice echoed in my mind again, “is the Plague of Famine. All our livestock will fall dead in their fields. But we only have the six sheep, and we take very good care of them.” But how to kill the sheep? Would Ri’bassa leave poison out for the rats? Would any remaining poison be sufficient to kill all six sheep at once? Would such poison leave any tell tale signs? How to get the poison into each of these creatures at the same time? Do I even have to kill the sheep?

I spent the rest of the day sitting in S’thasa’s inn, drinking her strong tea, trying to think of ways to bring on the second sign without killing the sheep. As the night grew late, I rented a room from the innkeeper and retired for the night. I did not sleep, however, but sat on the bed, listening to S’thasa move around as she closed up for the night. Finally the inn fell silent as the female Khajiit went to bed.

Slipping my leather boots off, I crept out of my room into the foyer. First I set the boots down silently next to the door, then I moved to the display cases. One held three different cheeses, and the other, only one. The first case was unlocked, and when I opened it, the mingled aromas were pleasant, not stinky as S’thasa had described.

The second case was locked. I pulled out one of my lockpicks and stroked the lock, counting the tumblers. Five! This has to be the prize. It took me several minutes, and three broken lockpicks, to raise those tricky tumblers and release the lock. Any remaining doubt that this was the rare Olroy cheese disappeared as I swung the case open. The fetid aroma smacked me in the face with the force of a zombie slap. I cringed to touch it with my bare fingers, and dug into my cuirass for a field dressing, something I had begun carrying with me since my trial at Fort Grief. Tearing off a strip of linen, I folded it on itself, and covered the cheese with it before picking it up.

I carried it out the door, my leather boots in my other hand, and dropped it into the fire. The now foul-smelling linen strip was tossed into the fire and I replaced my boots. As the cheese bubbled and melted, the odor wafted on the cool night air, pervading everywhere. I stifled a cough and began breathing through my mouth. Gripping the pot handle, I took it off the fire and set it on the cobblestones of the terrace. Then I withdrew into the night. The terrace wall provided a good place to sit and watch.

Chirrups and squeaks alerted me to the arrival of the small brown rodents. A dark shadow swarmed up the central stairs that bisected the small community, broke apart into rats that headed for the fire. They gathered around the pot, squeaking as they devoured the cheese that had drawn them. Amazed at the sheer numbers, I remained frozen in place. The odor of the cheese dissipated in the soft night breeze that sighed down from the ridge above the village.

Light flickered in the window one of the small houses near the bottom of the stairs. It spilled across the cobblestones as the door opened and closed. Ri’bassa’s black-robed form dashed up the stairs, wading into the mass of rodents. He placed several packets he carried in his arms around the upper terrace, hissing angrily at the rats whenever they brushed against him. He stepped back and watched.

Remaining where I sat unseen, I also watched as the rats, their appetites stimulated by the melting cheese, turned onto the packets and tore them open, devouring the powder within. Within minutes, silence settled over the community as the rats succumbed swiftly to their fatal meal. When the entire swarm lay dead, Ri’bassa turned from the cooking fire and returned to his home.

When his house was dark again, I rose and returned to the cooking fire. By its light, I picked out the few remaining packets that had not been devoured by the rodents. The remaining poison gathered, I turned for the sheepfold to the south.

The pale forms rested around the enclosure, barely visible in the shadows beneath the night sky. Their eyes reflected the faint moonlight as they watched me approach the manger in the center. I pulled some fodder from the nearby hay bale, placing it into the wooden trough. Then I sprinkled the powder over the top of the fragrant stems.

As I left the sheepfold, I glanced back to see the six creatures float slowly toward the manger. I latched the gate, and leaned my arms on the top bar to watch them. They picked at the hay, each woolen beast nibbling at a few stems, before they meandered away. Did they ingest enough of the poison? They didn’t seem to care much for that meal. My hopeful doubts were brutally smacked when first one, then another of the sheep collapsed in mid-stride. Before long, all six lay sprawled in grotesque imitation of the rats around the communal cooking fire.

“You’ve done well, mortal.” Sheogorath’s voice wafted on the night breeze, and I flinched away from the gate. “I’m amused, I think. Go to the center of the town. And be certain to duck!” Shame sour in my mouth, I limped up the steps from the sheepfold to the upper terrace, then started down the central stairs. At the middle terrace, I stopped and looked around at the sleeping town. A sense of foreboding grew over the settlement as the night sky above transformed into the red and black storm clouds I knew so well from the Deadlands. As I looked up, dark forms, trailing fire and agonized howls, began to fall from an incredible height. I winced involuntarily as they landed around me with sickening sounds of shattering bone and splattering tissue. Horrified, I stared at the charred bodies of dogs scattered over the cobblestones.

Lights came on in the various houses, and Khajiiti bolted out. Screams and hisses pierced the night when they saw the smoking bodies. Panicked shouts of the end of the world stabbed at my heart as they ran past me toward the communal fire. The residents ignored me, and I took opportunity to slink away, my soul heavy.

***********

Depressed, I returned to the Shrine in the predawn light. “Good times, good times,” the Daedric Prince’s voice sounded gleefully. “I hope you had as much fun as I did. Here take this. It’s a fun little toy. Now go away. Before I kill you.”

A heavy staff, about two meters long, shimmered into being and dropped to the ground in front of me. Picking it up, I could feel power thrumming in its shaft. Fighting my revulsion, I slung the thing on my back and turned away from the Shrine. Again, I nearly bumped into Ravel.

“You’ve pleased the Madgod!” he exclaimed. “You must be proud of yourself. I, for one, still would like to eat your eyes. But, good for you!” I stared at him, then stepped past him, anxious to leave the Grove of Madness behind for good. “Drunk with madness!” he called after me. “Madness for all!”

By the Nine, I thought to myself, fighting the nausea that surged in my throat. I never want to deal with another Daedric Lord again. If they’re all that crazy, or evil as Mehrunes Dagon - I shook myself back into the present and made my way carefully down the rocky slope, returning to where Paint still waited beside the Wayshrine as the sun rose over the trees on the opposite bank.

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

We reached Bravil in the late afternoon, I decided to stop for the night, and let Paint rest up. Imperial City lay a day’s ride to the north, and Bruma yet another day. I didn’t want to push Paint too hard. Stabling him at the Bay Roan, I gave Bienne a septim for his care, gathered my gear, and headed into the city.

Again, I had dinner at the Mages Guild. Aren tried goading me again, but I ignored him, too preoccupied with bringing the Daedric artifact back to Martin, and recovering Ardaline’s Mage Staff. Carandial was not present to distract me with his crooked smile. In a way, I was relieved. His solicitous attention towards me was more than a little - unsettling.

As the other mages dispersed after dinner, Kud-Ei spoke my name. Turning to look at her, I caught her gesture to sit beside her at the head of the table.

“You’re very quiet, tonight, Julian,” she said quietly.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind, ma’am,” I answered.

“Aleron Loche?” Kud-Ei poured a cup of hot tea from the pot, pushed it towards me, then refilled her own. I didn’t answer. Can’t tell her about Martin, or this staff of Sheogorath’s I’m carrying. “From what I undersstand, you couldn’t sstop him from being killed, even if you tried.”

“That’s just it,” avoiding Kud-Ei’s gaze, I sipped at the warm tea. “I did try, and I failed. And a street thug nearly killed me.” Shaking my head, I set the cup down with a soft clink. “There was a time when I would have shrugged him off without trying.”

“What you mean, ‘shrugged him off?’” Kud-Ei asked, her voice curious.

“Put him down,” I answered. “Killed him easily.”

“And what wass different thiss time?” Kud-Ei dropped a cube of raw sugar into her tea, her spoon making soft clinking noises as she stirred it. Her eyes remained on her cup when I glanced at her.

I leaned back in the chair, keeping my left hand cupped around the warmth of my tea. “It was hard,” I spoke slowly. “Though I remember how to fight, my body couldn’t keep up.”

“Then how did you manage to closse two Oblivion Gatess?” Kud-Ei stopped her stirring and tasted her tea.

“I hid a lot,” my eyes closed against the memory, I recalled my journeys through the Deadlands. “I moved slowly, looked before I entered each new area, and used the shadows. I used my bow a lot to keep them at a distance. I couldn’t do that so easily in the Hunter’s Run.” I met the Chapter head’s gaze. “It’s different when the enemy is charging you in close quarters.”

“How long have you been addicted to drink and sskooma?” The Argonian’s voice turned soft.

I considered the question. My first impulse was to refuse to answer. But Kud-Ei honestly seemed like she was trying to help, not remind me of my shortcomings. “I started drinking too much right after my discharge,” I said finally. “The skooma started two years ago.”

“Sso the addiction iss a fairly new thing,” Kud-Ei mused, taking another sip of her tea. “When you were in the Legion, you were young, sstrong, and healthy, correct?”

“And now I’m old, broken down, and sick,” I responded dryly. Kud-Ei shrugged.

“You ssaid it, not I,” she commented. “Sso why are you sstill fighting?”

“It’s the only thing I know,” I answered. “That’s why I joined the Mages Guild. I’m hoping to learn something new, so I can leave the fighting behind.”

“But it’ss turning out harder than you expected, no?” The Argonian looked into her cup, then refilled it again. She waited while I sipped at my own tea.

“Hard to leave the fighting?” I echoed. “Yes, I suppose. It’s a tough world out there, and many people are struggling to survive. When they need a hero -” my voice trailed off when I realized what I was saying.

“You’re that hero for them,” Kud-Ei smiled faintly. I shook my head.

“I’m not a hero,” I responded, “but I can’t say no when they ask me for help, or when they need help of the sort I know how to give them.” I rose to my feet. “That’s why I keep fighting, I guess.”

“Thesse are uncertain timess, indeed,” Kud-Ei remained seated. I looked at her.

“Ma’am,” I said softly, “I need to rest. I’d like to leave early for the Imperial City in the morning. Unless you need something else -”

“No, Julian.” Kud-Ei drained her cup. ‘That will be all.” She rose to her full height and met my gaze. “Good night.”

living in England, I'm not that knowledgeable with OSHA but when I visited the U.S I met someone in Florida who worked for them or with them... or something.


"Though I knew many folks considered Argonians and Khajiit to be less than humans or merkind, I had fought too many of them, and alongside them, to think them less intelligent than myself."- hurrah! I loved this!

I hope Julian recovers from this quest, it would be easier if those Khajiit weren't so friendly!

I enjoyed the conversation at the end, it did well to highlight how out of character she had to act to do a greater good. Quite dark but she does know she had too, not that I think she won't consider it again and wonder if it was the right thing. I also wonder if she'll have cause to use wabbajack before she gives it to Martin.

Now I want to know what she'll do next. There's the staff to collect but then martin really needs that artefact and to give her another task she's really not going to like... Indeed I suspect there may have been some foreshadowing in her complaint about not liking fighting at close quarters.

Adding in the concern that Paint might be in jeopardy (previous installment) makes her decision a very "Julian" choice.

On to the new one- Julian's (and your) distaste for Sheo's idea of a joke is made quite clear. It makes sense that she only relates as much of the story and her interactions with the inhabitants of Border Watch as she must.

As to random killing of creatures, I agree completely. In Morrowind, my characters never bother the scribs or netch, because they are non-aggressive. And I think it makes sense for Julian, who has seen plenty of "necessary" violence to be disgusted by wasteful slaughter.

The scene with Kud-Ei is bittersweet, as Julian struggles with many issues- her doubts about her abilities, her decision to try a new path, and her need to confide in someone. You capture quite well the almost overwhelming number of interwoven tasks that she faces.

Poor Julian. I never liked that quest either, for the same reason as Julian.

The fetid aroma smacked me in the face with the force of a zombie slap
Who cut the cheese!

“I’m not a hero,”
You took the words right out of Teresa's mouth!

The ending with Kud-Ei was imho the best part of the segment. Again, you continue to portray her very strongly. I really like your and Acadian's Kud-Eis. I get the feeling that of all the MG chapters, Bravil is the one that Julian feels most at home, in spite of it being in the same city where she completely fell off track.

And of course, even though the discussion contained nothing new to us readers, it summed up everything we have seen about Julian. What is new is that it was all coming out of Julian's mouth this time. That self-awareness shows her growth as a person, as she faces whom she has become.

I'll bet that is a hard quest for you to enjoy, being a vet. I like it in spite of being an animal lover, lol. Great job you did on it, and gave us another insight into what makes Julian tick !!!!!!!

Superbly done, Rider.

Initially that quest seems like perhaps a harmless prank, but it turns quite cruel in my opinion and I fully agree with Julian's revulsion. Such a lovely little Khajiit settlement that so warmly welcomes strangers. You also made it clear and reasonable that she felt it must be done and why. As I said, perfectly managed - Julian shined here (even though she was nauseated).

Ah, that is our dear Kud-Ei. Understated wisdom from behind an everpresent teacup. I love that we see her so similarly.

I totally agree with the brilliance of the lines quoted by those above me.

Although Julian may not consider herself a hero, I know a couple wispy wood elves that would heartily disagree.

@hazmick: Yes, both Julian and I would feel less guilty if those kitties weren’t so nice to us! Especially after that rarebit!

@Olen: I wanted to illustrate the quandary of the ends justifying the means - something soldiers and veterinarians wrestle with quite often.

@treydog: The aggressiveness of so many of the beasts in Oblivion is one of my pet peeves. I’d rather leave the lions, wolves and bears alone, thank you very much. But they won’t leave me (or my horse) alone!

@Sage Rosa: Wow. I guess we don’t call you Sage for nothing. Kud-Ei is one of my favorite of the Mages Guild heads, along with Carahil in Anvil. I think we can all figure who is Julian’s least favorite! Yes, I had noticed that Julian feels comfortable enough with this Argonian lady to confide her insecurities in Kud-Ei. It won’t be the last time . . .

@mALX: You hit the nail on the head about Sheo’s quest. I only do it for the Wabbajack - it’s the one artifact I have the least use for (and there are quite a few useless ones!).

@Acadian: Understated wisdom from behind an everpresent teacup? I’ll have to remember that!

We get to see more of the Legion in Julian as she finishes one more loose end from Bravil.

*****************
Chapter 14.5 Ardaline’s Staff

Replete with Merowald’s generous fare, I took my leave of the old Breton and Paint to head into the City. The Watch directed me to Soris Arenim’s house, within the Talos Plaza District, one of a block of rowhouses facing the exterior City wall.

Knocking on the portal, I heard a tenor voice call “Enter.” The door creaked on opening, and I paused just within to let my eyes adjust to the interior. It was well lit with tall windows at the rear admitting unfiltered sunlight into the main floor. A Dunmer man, thinning hair swept back from a high widow’s peak, turned from his reading desk. “Good day, ma’am,” he said. “How may I help you?”

“Varon Vamori told me to look Soris Arenim up the next time I was in the City,” I answered. “It seems Vamori considers Arenim a good friend.”

The Dunmer’s face lit up in a smile. “Ah, yes, Varon, Varon,” he nodded. “I am Soris Arenim. And you are -?”

“I am Julian of Anvil,” I answered. “Vamori suggested I see you about a -” I hesitated for effect, “sensitive matter.” I regarded him thoughtfully.

“Erissare!” Arenim called. A beautiful Altmer woman appeared from the rear of the house. “Please, some wine for our guest!”

“No, no wine, please,” I looked at Erissare. “I can’t have any drink. If you have water, ma’am, that would be fine, please.”

“Of course,” Erissare disappeared momentarily. Arenim waved me to an easy chair next to a brazier. Unbuckling my sheathed katana and leaning it against the arm, I took the indicated seat. He sat down on the nearby couch as the Altmer returned, bearing a flagon and three silver goblets. She poured water in all three, then seated herself next to Arenim.

“This is my lovely wife, Erissare,” Arenim introduced her. “My dear, this is Julian of Anvil. She is a friend of Varon’s.” After a sip from his goblet, he turned expectantly back to me. “What is this sensitive matter you speak of?”

“This requires the utmost discretion,” I shifted my gaze to Erissare. Arenim patted her knee affectionately.

“My wife is discreet, very much so,” he answered. “She knows all my secrets, and shares them with none.”

As I kept my face as neutral as I could, I regarded the couple for several moments. “It has come to my attention,” I spoke slowly, “that Vamori has committed a grave insult to a member of the Mages Guild.”

Erissare shifted beside Arenim, her eyes not moving from mine. I took a sip of the water, and looked at the Dunmer. His jaw was clenching tightly, his lips a thin line.

“Is that so?” he asked, his voice as taut as his jawline. “What did he do?”

“He stole a Mage’s Staff,” I answered bluntly. The Altmer woman inhaled sharply, shooting a glance at her husband. He did not return her gaze, but held mine locked in an unspoken challenge. “Vamori,” I continued, keeping my voice neutral, “faces charges of theft, harassment, and unlawful profiteering. The City Watch is looking for the man Vamori sold the Staff to.”

“Ah,” Arenim leaned back, his casual air unconvincing to my eye. Too many years of recruits squirming under my gaze made it hard to miss the subtle signs of unease in Arenim’s posture. “Do they know who this man is?”

“Vamori told me.” Arenim scowled at the implied meaning in my answer. If he told me, what did he tell the Watch? “It’s just a matter of time before the Bravil Watch submits a request to the Imperial City Watch,” I continued. Arenim hid his growing unease behind another sip of the water, but I could see Erissare’s hand clenching on his, still resting on her knee.

“And how are you involved?” He’s smooth, this one, I thought. He’s not admitting he has the Staff, yet.

“Vamori wants to make amends,” I answered. “He wants to get the Staff back.”

Arenim took another sip, his red eyes reflective. “As much as I like you, friend, and as much as I like Vamori,” he said slowly, “I’m not willing to part with the Mage’s Staff. It’s my Staff now.” He shrugged. “Nothing personal, you understand.”

“Of course,” I nodded calmly. “And you understand that anyone caught holding a stolen item can be charged with possession, profiting from illegal activities such as theft and interfering with the duties of a mage.” I recalled an incident from my Legion days. “Believe me, the Legion Battlemages frown on these sort of antics. If one were to pay you a visit -” I let my voice trail off. I had heard the chill creeping into my voice, the same chill that had scared Vamori so badly.

Arenim set his goblet down on the low table in front of him, his gaze hardening on me. “Are you threatening me, Julian of Anvil?” his voice slipped through the silence.

“On the contrary,” my own tone remained chilly. “I have personally seen what the Legion Battlemages are capable of when they set their mind to torture.” After a sip of the water, I met Erissare’s frightened gaze. “Exquisite, really,” I continued. “Their methods are very elegant, and very, very cruel.”

Erissare rose suddenly, spilling a few drops from her goblet. “Excuse me, please,” she whispered breathlessly, and bolted from the front room. Arenim turned his head as her footsteps faded away, then he looked back at me, his expression grim.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” he inclined his head at me. “I need a couple of minutes.”

“Of course,” I replied, leaning back in the chair and taking another sip from the silver goblet in my hand. Arenim rose and headed after his wife. A few moments later, I could just barely hear their voices, hers frantic, his tensely calm.

I was eyeing the flagon on the table, my goblet empty, when Arenim returned. His ashen complexion was paler than before, his lips only a thin gash in his tense face. He sat down and gulped the last of the water in his goblet with a grimace as if it was firewater.

“Look,” he said, his voice matching his expression, “I can’t just give it to you. Give me at least a portion of what I paid for it.”

“I have two hundred septims with me,” I placed Vamori’s purse on the table beside the flagon. “That and a clean resolution to this matter that will not involve jail time, fines, or besmirched reputations.”

Arenim reached for the purse. In a smooth motion, I picked up the sheathed katana by the blade and rapped the table with the brass ball in the sword’s hilt, narrowly missing his fingers. “Let me see the Staff, first,” I said quietly. The Dunmer glared at me.

“Wait here, then,” he said tersely, with another glance at the sack on the table.

“I won’t touch it,” I promised him. “You can count it before I leave.” Arenim threw me another glare, then headed to the rear of the house. I waited, my weapon across my lap, my left hand on its sheath, my right resting on the hilt.

Erissare reappeared, her eyes puffy and her face pale. She hesitated when she spotted the katana resting across my knees. “S- Soris d- doesn’t w- want any trouble, ma’am,” she stammered.

“I’m sure he doesn’t, ma’am” I responded smoothly. “But I didn’t survive this long without being ready for the unexpected.” I smiled to warm my tone.

Erissare moved slowly to pick up the flagon. She carried it with her to the rear of the house. Her unspoken message was clear: Finish your business and get out. I wanted nothing more than to do just that.

Arenim returned, passing his wife in the doorway. He carried a two-meter long staff, made of knurled wood with a forked end. I could see the whisper of power along its edges. As I rose to my feet, I clipped my katana at my belt. The Dunmer handed me the Staff with a scowl.

A close examination indicated it matched the description Kud-Ei had given me: “Worn smooth on the handle, it hums with Illusion power. The head is engraved with morning glory vines.” Meeting Arenim’s gaze, I nodded at the table, where Vamori’s pouch still sat. “Thank you, serjo,” I said to him.

The butt of the Staff grounded on the stone floor, I cradled the shaft in my crossed arms and waited. Arenim tossed me an inscrutable look, then moved to the couch and sat down. He reached for the purse, more warily this time, but when I did not move, he opened the flap and emptied its contents onto the table.

“Ah,” he said, his tone more satisfied. “I see you are as good as your word,” he looked up at me, “at least as far as the gold is concerned. Now for the rest -”

“I leave in the morning for Bravil, to wrap things up with Vamori,” I said, picking the Staff up to clear the floor and heading for the front door. My hand on the door handle, I turned to look at Arenim. “On his behalf, thank you for your cooperation.”

Now that is Julian at her scary, ex-Legion best! You write confrontational conversations as well as you do the more friendly sort. Something I liked- and that the game rather ignores- is the fact that the staff is "stolen property." The player character can be given a fair amount of grief for "holding;" why should the same not be true for NPCs?
Inspired.

Then there is the wonderful by-play between husband and wife in their home- which I think may affect our single, somewhat homeless Redguard more deeply than she yet knows.

Thanks for breakfast in Weye, and glad to see Paint is not staying at the stables with that Snak grabbing orc.

Buffy was taking copious notes as we read how a true professional calmly goes about completing a quest. Julian's wisdom, born of a lifetime of hard seasoning really shines here. Honorable and direct - but brilliantly negotiated. No B&E in the middle of the night for our Redguard.

Not only was this well done, it was so very Julian.

Now, unless I'm mistaken, it seems Julian's 'Bravil dance card' is almost full. I'm saddened somewhat to expect that her duties will soon take her from our City of Mara. Ah, duty calls though and there is an Empire for our hero to save.

Hautee....


Ever consider a career as a bill collector???

I wouldn't want to mess with Julian, powerful stuff. You've one a good job with my least favourite recommendation.

I thought you all call me sage because I remind you of the herb used for smudging!

An excellent segment! You kept the tension ratcheted up during the entire thing, which was wonderful. Especially good was Julian's caution at the end. For a few moments I was wondering if Soris was going to come back downstairs and shoot Julian with the staff!

I had wondered how you would resolve that quest. Well done, not so far from the game but still in character. Somehow I can't see Julian buying back stolen goods with her own money but sneaking around at night isn't really her style. Dialogue like that, however, is very much so.

The real crowning jewel for me though was the interaction between the Arenims, which Julian played well on. You really brought them to life as for all that Soris's wife 'knows all his secrets' she didn't really and lent on him. Nice three way interaction to bring this to a satisfying end.

I agree with SubRosa that I thought Soris might come up staff blazing only to find that it's rather useless charming was grossly insuficient.

Now how to speand an afternoon/evening in the IC...

SPEW !!!


@ Hauty - Julian would make a good mother, not just for her rapport with children - but for her ability to read when they are fudging on the truth !!! Great chapter !!!!

@trey: I see you thought the relationship between husband and wife felt real. I’m glad.

@Acadian: I knew you were due for a meal! Julian never leaves Paint in Snak’s den - why when Merowald is so cheerful and happy to see her and Paint? Yes, you are right - Julian’s time in Bravil is coming to an end. But like MacArthur, she shall return (only without the ego).

@Foxy: there are days when I feel like half of what I’m doing is collecting money! Please, no thanks!

@hazmick: Thanks for the thumbs up. That’s a piece where we see the old drill sergeant in action. I love bringing that part of her past up.

@SubRosa: It’s just a matter of knowing when the other guy is ticked off at you - better be ready than dead.

@Olen: TBH, I laughed at the Sage’s comment because that Charm spell was only going to keep Julian from attacking Soris, which she wasn’t going to do anyway. As for your question about how to spend an afternoon/evening . . .

@mALX: Isn’t that what all good sergeants do - be good mothers (while the officers are fathers)? I’m not sure if that’s really a workable solution, but sergeants do need to know when their grunts are squirming on the inside!

Julian is sidetracked yet again by her growing fame as Hero of Kvatch (and Bravil).

*****************
Chapter 14.6 Order of the Virtuous Blood

As I entered the Temple District on my way to my home, a Dunmer woman shyly accosted me.

“Pardon me, I’m sorry to trouble you,” she spoke timidly. “But I was sent to ask for your help.”

“I’m sorry, and you are?” I responded.

“Oh, where are my manners,” she exclaimed softly. “I’m Ralsa Norvalo. My husband, Gilen, has requested that I find you and ask if you’d assist him.”

“Assist him how?” I asked.

“Normally I wouldn’t approach a total stranger like this, but Gilen seems so insistent,” Ralsa hesitated. “Please, forgive my audacity . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“It’s all right,” I assured her. “Go on, please.”

“Thank you. Gilen always tends to exaggerate, but in this case he sounded earnest, which worries me a bit . . .” She glanced around. “He said that the matter he needs help with is of the utmost importance to the citizens of the Imperial City. Please meet him at Seridur’s house, which is located here in the Temple District, just southeast of the Temple. He said all will be explained when you get there.” She looked at me uncertainly. “That’s all he told me to say.”

“All right, Ralsa,” I stifled a sigh. “I’ll be there.”

A Watchman directed me to Seridur’s house, east of the tunnel entrance. A large stone building, it faced the outer wall, fronting a narrow street that ran along the fortification. I knocked on the door. A voice called from inside for me to enter.

As I paused just inside the door, closing it behind me, I found myself in a fusty atmosphere, lit by torches, dark after the bright day outside. Heavy tapestries hung on the walls, covering the few windows at the front and rear of the building. Waiting to let my eyes adjust from the bright sunlight outside, I heard footsteps approaching me. A tall Altmer in gold-trimmed blue velvet greeted me, his eyes shadowed beneath tilted brows.

“It’s an honor to finally meet you. When I heard you were in town, I just had to send for your help. Your reputation precedes you.”

I stared at him. Reputation? “I’m not sure what you’ve heard about me -” my voice trailed away.

“You’re Julian, the Hero of Kvatch, aren’t you?” he asked. I inhaled slowly, and nodded. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Seridur,” he continued, pressing a long-fingered hand over his flat chest.

“Pleased to meet you, Seridur,” I returned politely.

“Likewise,” he bowed slightly to me. “Sorry to send Gilen’s wife to get you in that manner, but it seemed safer if we weren’t seen on the streets right now. Now, if you’ll come with me, please.”

“Lead the way,” I said.

“Splendid!” Seridur exclaimed. “Watch your step.” He turned away and walked towards the rear of the house, past the stairs rising to the second floor. At the back of the room, a Dunmer in steel plate looked up from his cold lunch. We passed him, and Seridur led me to a door beneath the stairs.

He opened it, and started down another flight of stairs that led into his cellar. I found the steps well-lit by torches, and followed him down. If anything, the air in the cellar was even more suffocating, aggravated by the smoke wafting from the open brands.

Seridur stopped in the center of a room at the end of a short passageway. I looked around as I followed him, seeing the bookcases along the walls, benches and chairs, a patterned rug on the floor, and more tapestries on the walls. Two men, an Argonian and a Dunmer, rose from their seats as Seridur faced me.

“Welcome,” he said to me. “You’re now in the sanctuary of the Order of the Virtuous Blood. Few outside our circle have ever set foot in our hallowed hall.” Hallowed hall? I thought to myself, but kept my mouth shut. “We are, for lack of a better word,” Seridur paused briefly, “defenders. We guard this city from an infestation that plagues it. We are vampire hunters.” He turned and took a couple of steps away from me, then spun on his heel and looked back at me. “I’m sure you are familiar with these despicable beings, feeding on the innocent as if they were cattle. Well, this group was formed to combat them.”

He waited as I looked around at the other two men. The Argonian’s posture revealed the age that did not show in his face, and the Dunmer had more creases, and deeper ones, in his than I did in mine, though his close-cropped hair was much, much blacker than mine. As for Seridur, he had the typical ageless look common to the Altmer. He must have read my mind, for he continued, “Alas, we are but three old men, not able to match the fighting prowess of the vampire. We lack the strength to defeat them in battle.”

“What do you hope to accomplish, then?” I asked Seridur.

“Our goal is to root out the vampires that live in our fair city,” Seridur responded. “So far, we’ve been unsuccessful at finding one, until now.” Now his shadowed eyes gleamed in the flickering light from the torches. “It’s come to the Order’s attention that Temple District resident Roland Jenseric is a vampire, and has already claimed one victim.” He scowled at me. “That’s where you come in. We want you to find this vampire and cleanse the city of his filth before he can feed or kill again.”

I regarded Seridur thoughtfully. “What makes you sure this Jenseric is a vampire?” I asked finally.

“A few nights ago, I was roaming the city as I often do, looking for any signs of a vampire. As I headed past Roland’s house I heard a cry,” Seridur’s voice took on the rhythm of a recitation. “I rushed into the back garden to find Roland struggling with a woman he’d been courting. I tried to intervene, but he was too strong. He threw his lover to the ground and turned his attention on me.” His brows rose, but his eyes remained shadowed. “Luckily, I managed to run back into the street and escape his grasp. I hid for a while, then returned to the garden. Roland was gone and the woman was dead.” He paused, his eyes steady on mine. “She had two puncture wounds on the nape of her neck. That’s when I realized he was a vampire.” Now he scowled. “The Order needs you to track him down and destroy him.”

Something about Seridur, and his story, bothered me. His monotone delivery was not what I expected, but that was not all. Still, I couldn’t pin it down, so I decided to play along, for now. “Where do I find this Roland Jenseric?” I asked.

“I would start by searching his home,” Seridur answered, his expression brightening. “He hasn’t been there for days, so it should be safe. Return to us here if you have questions. We meet at night.”

“And where is his house?” I held Seridur’s gaze, unable to see his eyes in the flickering shadows cast by the torches.

“His home is located in the Temple District. Right across the garden from my home in fact,” Seridur’s lips curved in a sardonic smile. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ironic,” I answered. “Anything I should know about vampire hunting?”

Now Seridur’s slanted brows lowered over his shadowed eye sockets. “Vampires are nasty creatures,” his tone turned cold, “drinking the blood of others to conceal their true natures. Such trickery makes them difficult to find.” He smiled. “You should ask Gilen Norvalo,” he indicated the dark-haired Dunmer, “or Deep-Throat,” the Argonian, “about these creatures as well. They’ve learned much.”

I looked at Norvalo, his Dunmer-red eyes returning my gaze as steadily as a fellow soldier. “My knowledge is at your disposal, Julian,” he said, his voice velvet-smooth and as dark as his skin.

“What do you know of Jenseric?” I asked him. His face darkened even further.

“Roland was always a quiet man,” his tone held compressed anger. “It was only recently he’d met that young lady. Poor girl. We must avenge her death.”

“Aye, we should,” I agreed. Norvalo seems honest enough, I thought to myself. “Any vampire-hunting advice for me, ser?”

His brows lifted, and Norvalo’s eyes gleamed like rubies in the flickering torchlight. “It’s said that the bite of a vampire has the chance of infecting the victim. If this occurs, they’ll become a vampire in a few days. Be cautious.”

“Thanks, I will be careful,” I responded. Deep-Throat, the Argonian, greeted me. I turned to face him.

“How can I be of sservisse?” Deep-Throat’s voice was not as velvety smooth as Norvalo’s, or as melodious as Jeelius’s, but his tone was welcoming enough.

“Did you know Roland Jenseric?” I asked him.

“He wass very much the loner,” Deep-Throat responded. “He never married, and wass rarely sseen outsside hiss housse. I’m ssurprissed hiss ssecret wassn’t disscovered ssooner.”

“Have you ever hunted vampires before, sir?” I was beginning to get the same feel from this Argonian that I had from Norvalo - just as honest and earnest.

“The vampire cannot exisst in the daylight for long,” Deep-Throat responded. “As the ssun’ss rayss sstrike hiss flessh, it will burn as if on fire.”

“So daylight would be my best friend,” I mused aloud, “if I can get one of these creatures outside.”

“Aye, if you can,” Deep-Throat responded. “Be ever vigilant,” he warned me. “Vampiress are creaturess of deceit.” He turned and walked towards the stairs leading upwards. I looked around again, reflecting on the conversation. Something about Seridur still bothered me.

We meet at night. His words echoed in my memory. It was now after noon, but they were still here. I looked up to see Norvalo and Seridur follow Deep-Throat to the stairs. I fell into step behind them, curious to see what they would do.

Upstairs, they passed the Dunmer guard with murmured greetings, and while Seridur headed upstairs to the second floor - where his private quarters are, I presumed - Norvalo and Deep-Throat headed out the front door. After a moment, I assumed that I had been dismissed, and headed out myself.

Woo Hoo !!!!! Deep Throat, huh? That will draw Foxy's comments !!! I can't wait to see Julian do this quest !!!! Her brain is already working things out, noticing things I never did when playing - AWESOME !!!!!

I was just playing through this mission this morning, good work!

Good ole' Julian, she knows somethings up. hopefully she will kill the right guy.

Little to add to what has already been noted. Just that your conversations- and Julian's observations- are as good as ever. There is an appropriately creepy feel to this part. I will be interested to watch Julian's investigation proceed.

I like this quest, and I suspect Julian will too, she's certainly an observant one. I failed to notice the drapes, though his wierd manner was enough to make me suspect. I think I can see why you put this quest here too, after the clear relationship between the Arenims and then Jenseric and his lady... well I think it might get her thinking.

One question: you seem to have the dialogue almost word for word. How? (I know you can use the cs but I thought you played it on a console).

As Julian admitted herself, she just cannot say no to anyone.

I liked your description of the interior of Seridur's house. Stuffy air from all the windows being closed up, dark from tapestries hanging over them. The only light from guttering torches. One might say it is laden with clues about the nature of the owner...

Deep-Throat? Why the change from Grey-Throat? Is he a porn star? Or did he work on Nixon's Ocato's re-election?

Now there's a tempting thought!

No, honest mistake on my part - Deep Throat was a spy in Tom Clancy's novels (as well as a popular porn star from the '70's known for her ability to - ahem, never mind). I've gone back and fixed it so the Argonian is Grey Throat, as in the game. Thanks!

Actually...not correct. It was the name of the movie. The porn star's name was Linda Lovelace - it wasn't so much her skill, but an anomaly (per the movie script) of something that starts with a 'C' in her throat instead of its usual place...Just saving Foxy the trouble of correcting you with #7 fonts, lol.

I actually met her in person at the racetrack in Miami, FL - she had 'B' stuck up her 'A' - probably why the 'C' moved to her throat.

Julian has really good spider senses and and powers of observation. I noticed that the Dunmer and Argonian popped outdoors into the afternoon with apparently no ill effects. Seems Julian noticed too.

Nice descriptions and atmosphere building throughout.

Julian - vampire hunter. This should be great fun!

Deep throat...

I wonder what that is???

I am SOOOO innocent....and stooopid....could someone give an explanation, preferably with pictures???

And I still dont understand how someone could have their CALF stuck up their throat.

Is that an extreme case of foot-in-mouth disease???