I think bringing the noise of the sigil keep up as cover and using a bow was brilliant, the loud twang would be suffocated in the sound of that roaring fire - brilliant !!!!

The idea of making a chain by holding hands - I love that too, when she takes the stone and the chains break away from that floating platform they can pull her back to safety - huge idea !!!

Another great chapter! Julian is def hero material !!!

The part where Julian heals Soren was really, really powerful. That part really stood out for me. I could almost see the surprised look on the poor guy's face after the (highly effective) slap.

@D. Foxy: Warrior prose. Is that like cowboy poetry? All the reading I’ve done of military history (including the battle reports of Little Cloud Top) has paid off, I guess. Thanks for the compliment!

@Acadian: I’m glad that you enjoyed it, and felt that battle with the mage and summoned Dremora. IMHO, this is the event that starts Julian on the path of becoming a Conjurer. Kind of like the arms race - she’ll keep improving her Conjuration skillz so she can summon more and more powerful creatures.

@hazmick: Maybe Haa-Rei can use the last two chapters as a primer on how to survive in the Deadlands!

@trey: If I can get you to stop thinking “Oh, great, another stupid Gate” I’ve done my task! As for Burd, well, in my imagination he’s a lot more fun to interact with than he is in the game. I’ve tried to convey the Burd that inhabits my imagination rather than the in-game Burd. It sounds like I’ve succeeded.

@SubRosa: I think you’re right, the old Julian with her vanilla Legion training and vanilla Legion gear would not have survived this. The new Julian, having been forced to learn how to survive on her own, has enchanted gear and a few spells up her sleeve to even the odds a bit more. I’ve added a couple of sentences to address your nit. I wanted to capture the intensity of the battle and the tunnel vision Julian had in focusing solely on the mage, leaving the other Dremora and the summons to the guardsmen.

@Destri: Maybe I'm odd, but I got the hang of the bow really quickly and was able to adjust and compensate for distance, crappy arrows, etc while still in the tutorial dungeon. I guess it comes from backyard target practice with my dad when I was a kid. He always called me Deadeye because I got better groupings on that paper plate than he did! Matius’s mail is enchanted, and that helped protect Julian so that all she got from that battleaxe was a few broken ribs. It could be that there is mithril mixed in, but I like to think her survival is due largely to gra-Sharob’s skillz. As for praying to Akatosh, well, he has always been her patron during her years in the Legion; but recent experiences have taken this to a whole new level with which she is still coming to terms.

@mALX: Thanks!

@Remko: I’m happy to see that my descriptions of healing still stand out. Those are the parts that come relatively easy for me and are almost boring to write. My problem is to keep them from sounding like dry medical records!

Julian brings her companions safely back to good old Nirn.

****************
Chapter 16.5 Return to Bruma

Our return was anticlimactic. We found ourselves standing in the remains of the Oblivion Gate, breathing the clean, clear mountain air. I smiled in relief at the three men who accompanied me. They released my arm, looking around in wonder. Then shouting and cheering reached us from the barricades.

Bor and Soren looked at Burd, then at me.

“You’re done,” I said hoarsely. “I’m not in charge anymore. Congratulations for a job well done.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Bor responded, his voice equally harsh, swinging his battered sword in front of his face in salute. Soren nodded at me. He still looks shaky.

“Bor, Soren, return to the barracks. You’ve earned the rest of the day off.” Burd ordered, but his frostbitten face was smiling too.

“Sir!” the two men responded before turning and heading back, Bor matching his stride to Soren’s slower pace. Before they reached the barricades, the other young men had swarmed them, hoisting them to their shoulders, cheering. They moved en masse towards the East Gate. Only two men remained by the barricades, watching Burd and I.

“Well, Julian,” the tall Nord turned to look down at me. “It was an honor to serve with you, ma’am. Now that we’ve seen how it’s done, I think we can do it ourselves should any more open.”

“The honor was mine, Captain,” I answered, meeting his gaze. “You’ve been as fine an officer as I’ve ever had in the Legion.” Burd raised his brows at me as he started for the barricades.

“Well, thanks, but you did a lot for our morale in there,” he remarked quietly. “I’ve never seen Bor and Soren so resolute.” He laughed and clapped my shoulder, almost unbalancing me once again. “They didn’t want to be left behind by a little woman! Gods know I didn’t!”

Little? Me? I stood eye to eye with most male Redguards and Argonians. Rather, it’s you that’s tall, sir. I kept those words to myself, but couldn’t hide the smile they triggered.

“You did it, Captain!” Senarel drew up before Burd. “You closed the Oblivion Gate! We thought we’d never see you again!”

“How long were we in there?” Burd asked suddenly, glancing up at the sky. I understood his confusion, for the sun stood only slightly west of its previous position, when we left Nirn.

“I’d say about twenty-four hours or so, sir,” I remarked as Brugels halted beside Senarel, his gaze on me. Together the four of us resumed walking towards the barricades and the East Gate beyond.

“She’s right, sir,” Senarel said. “You’ve been gone twenty-five hours.”

“An entire day!” Burd exclaimed. “No wonder I feel so tired!” He turned back to Senarel. “Set a double watch on the walls. We need to watch in case another one opens. Everyone who stood on the barricades gets the rest of the day off.” He turned to me and winked. “And that includes me, Julian. Why don’t you stay in our barracks? You can rest before climbing that long hill back to Cloud Ruler Temple.” He jerked his chin past the city walls, in the direction of the mountaintop fortress. “They can see the news from there.”

“Actually, sir,” I had not been looking forward to the climb, either. “I have a bed at the Mages Guild. I think I’ll rest up there.”

“All right, then,” the tall Nord nodded as we filtered through the barricades. “Do me a favor, Julian,” he glanced at me as we trudged towards the tall gateway leading into the city. “Stop by the barracks in the morning, after breakfast. I’d like to debrief Bor and Soren in front of the entire Guard, so they can understand what we are in for, and each one of them can close a Gate.” He slid a sidelong glance at me. “You know how young men are, I’d like you to keep them honest.”

Right, no tall tales. “Gladly, Captain,” I answered.

Within the city walls, Burd faltered in his stride to look at me. “Explain something to me,” he said. “Bor said it was cold in there, I felt it too. But Soren kept complaining about the heat, and I can see that both he and you are burned. Why is that?”

“The Deadlands are just that, lands of the dead,” I answered. “As best as I can explain it, the Deadlands are different things to different cultures.” I paused, thinking over my next words. “Captain, what happens to your soul after you die?”

Burd lifted his brows at me. “I never thought much about it,” he commented. “But I was raised on stories of Aetherius and Oblivion, and Oblivion is -” his voice trailed off.

“For Nords from Skyrim, and I believe the Wrothgarian Orcs, too, Oblivion is bitterly cold, cold enough to shatter your very bones,” I filled in. “For other cultures, Oblivion is hot, hotter than the smith’s furnace. We each brought our own versions of Oblivion with us, and that is what the Deadlands gave us.”

Burd suppressed a shudder. “That’s too much for me,” he complained. “But it makes sense in a weird sort of way.” He paused beside the statue of Tiber Septim. “Well, see you in the morning, Julian.”

***********************
I looked up at the gates of Cloud Ruler Temple. They were open again, but I could see two figures up in the watch towers, instead of the usual one. I waved up at them, and they returned my greeting. I entered the gates and started up the long stairway.

My stay at the Mages Guild had been restful. Orania had somehow put a damper on Volanaro and J’skar’s youthful pranks to give me much needed peace and quiet. I had asked Volanaro for a new summon spell stronger than Old Bones. He had gladly complied, teaching me how to call a flame atronach, the voluptuous daedra made of fire. This morning, as I had promised, I headed up to the barracks to listen to Bor and Soren, now recovered from their ordeal, recount their adventure.

Bor had the typical Nordic tendency to exaggerate, but he would glance over at me whenever he seemed to feel the temptation, and had kept his story strictly factual. Captain Burd had said little, only stood at the back of the room with his arms crossed.

The answers the young guards provided to questions flung at them by their colleagues revealed to me just how much they had understood, or failed to understand, the dangers of the Deadlands. From time to time I found myself clarifying the young men’s responses, or adding more information.

The whole process had taken up the entire morning, and when the young Guards had finally filtered out to take up their watches, Captain Burd had invited me to stay for lunch with him and Senarel. I had been all too happy to stoke my ravenous appetite before returning to Cloud Ruler.

“Julian,” Roliand greeted me when I reached the plaza. “Good job on that Gate, ma’am.”

“Oh, it was all Bor and Soren,” I answered. “And Captain Burd’s not too shabby with that big claymore of his.” Shaking my head, I caught the glimmer of a grin on Roliand’s face. “A little slow, but pretty unstoppable once he got going, like most Nords,” I grinned back.

The tall Nord’s grin flashed as he turned and continued his patrol, his chuckles drifting back to me. My smile faded when I recognized Captain Steffan’s slightly more ornate armor walking towards me. Taking a step forward to stop in front of him, I met his blue gaze.

“Captain, sir,” I coughed the nervousness I felt from my voice. “I apologize for the other day.”

The Imperial, himself almost as tall as Roliand, looked down at me, his black brows drawing down over his blue gaze.

“Apologize?” he repeated. “For what, Julian?”

“For overstepping my bounds, sir,” I answered. “I sent Ferrum for Grandmaster Jauffre instead of waiting for your command, sir.”

Steffan rocked back on his heels slightly, raising his eyes to the surrounding mountains. “Oh, that,” he mused. He shook his head, looking back down at me. “You were pilus prior for how long, Julian?”

“Seven years, sir,” I answered.

“The job of a good centurion,” Steffan’s expression remained austere, his blue eyes unwavering, “is to anticipate the needs of his commanding officer. In that moment you speak of, you were being my centurion.” Again he shook his head. “You did not overstep your bounds then, Julian. You were being a good pilus. I appreciated that, though I apparently did a poor job of showing it.” Now his smile flashed white in the shadows of his helm.

“Excuse me, Captain,” my inhalation came slowly against the relief I felt, “I’m still learning my place here in the Blades.”

“If you overstep your bounds,” Steffan’s gaze grew serious again, “believe me, you’ll know.”

“I’d prefer to know before I do so, sir.” I muttered, looking at the flagstones. Captain Steffan clapped my shoulder, not quite as heartily as Burd, but enough to bring my head up again.

“Just be as you were in the Legion, and you’ll be fine, Julian.”

Stepping back to let Captain Steffan continue his rounds, I nodded. “Then that’s just what I will do, sir.” He smiled at me and resumed his walk.

“They didn’t want to be left behind by a little woman! Gods know I didn’t!”
Indeed, the shame would be unbearable to the fragile male psyche!

A nice, restful break from the headlong pace of the last few segments. We have time to take stock of events, and Julian starts to feel more at home as a Blade.

Did I detect a bit of an advance on the part of Burd when he suggested that Julian stay in the barracks? I suspect he had a bed she could sleep in!

WOOO HOOO !!!! Burd wanting Julian to sleep in the barracks? Now we're talkin' !!!!!

Very well done.

Regarding Burd, here is what I got- He likes and respects Julian, and I expect that feeling is mutual. It is completely unclear to me as to whether that could grow into something more personal. Inviting her to the barracks was not a sexual inneuendo. If you have ever been in a guard barracks, that is the last place one would invite a love interest. No, I suspect his motives are much more straightforward, just as he outlined to Julian. She was indeed extremely valuable to have in that debriefing to add her credibility and 'truth-keeping', allowing him to stand back as a captain should. I see him as quite the leader indeed. He realizes the value of training more soldiers who are capable of closing those gates. He cares about his people and recognizes the leadership and wisdom displayed by our Julian.

It is wonderful to see Julian becoming more comfortable with her role helping the guard force as well as being a sister in the Blades.

Things to like:

Well, the whole post, actually. But specifically-

The fact that the other guards actually demonstrate that they are happy the Gate is closed AND that their comrades are back safe.

Rant/ (How hard would it have been to set a 0/1 counter as to whether a Gate near a city is closed and to provide dialogue options for the inhabitants based on the counter?) That would beat the stuffing out of “I saw a mudcrab today.” rant/

The idea of a personal sort of Deadland, dependant on the individual’s beliefs.

Captain Burd. Everything about him speaks of your careful crafting- he is not just “random City guard officer, one each." He earns Julian’s respect, just as she earns his. And he proves himself again when he does not simply walk away from the closed Gate, but makes sure his entire force knows what to expect.

Julian getting in touch with her magical side- a wise choice.

Captain Steffan's wisdom and Julian’s dawning awareness that she is a valued member of a military organization again.

I know it, it didn't have any innuendo - but lets face it, Julian is beautiful and roaming the country all this time in the company of men - and not getting any action. Of all the people she has met so far, I think Burd should be at the top of the list of candidates for the position.

I personally know for a fact that Hauty can write a love scene without lemons, in perfect taste, etc. - so this isn't saying we saw innuendo in Burd's invitation, it is saying we are hinting to see innuendo in Burd's invitation !!!! WOOOOOOOOT !!!

At first I was a bit fuzzy about the whole Nord/cold, Redguard/hot Oblivion experience. It seems like it would be just the opposite, especially if what we fear is the unknown and Oblivion is looked upon as the manifestation of the unknown. After all, Nords know what cold feels like, and they have even developed a resistance to it. Redguards spend their whole life in the Alik’r experiencing temperatures that border on the insane. As I thought about it though, I realized that Oblivion isn’t the manifestation of the unknown, and what Julian was saying was that it is because of their familiarity that they would carry those particular concepts of Oblivion beyond those gates with them. Profound stuff when you stop to analyze it (as I have now done to an alarming degree! ). Suffice it to say that I echo Burd’s sentiment:


Julian characteristically deflects all credit onto Bor and Soren when Roliand greets her at the gate to Cloud Ruler. Now, correct me if I am wrong, but to my recollection Soren spent most of his time in the sigil keep trying to see how much lightning he could conduct! Okay, I know that Bor shot two scamps, but I doubt he was of more real use than Paint was in the Deadlands! Don’t worry. Like Julian, I will keep their secret and let them bask in the glory. I’m sure it will make them very popular at Olav’s later.

Oh, and I think you’re going to have to get Julian sexed-up soon if only to keep your devoted readers from chewing on the furniture!

SPEW !!!!! ROFL !!!!!

I really enjoyed the briefing, and the desired presence of Julian to keep the young man from bragging the true events out of proportion.

Something is confusing me though. If Oblivion is everyone's personal hell, I'd say it would just be the opposite to what they're used to and more or less comfortable with.
Something I have been wondering about myself; what if you don't want to go heaven? Then what is your hell?

Anyway; the point I am trying to make is: wouldn't a Nord's hell be the scorching heat like Julian encounters? And for Redguards who are accustomed to heat, wouldn't their hell be the bitter cold of Skyrim?

Per Britannica:

I just had a feeling about this . . .

As for the representation of hell, it is very culture dependent. In cultures that live in cold climes, hell is presented as freezing, bone-cracking cold. In hot desert cultures, it is burning, scorching heat that shrivels everything into ash.

I look at it this way - hell is the worst thing you can imagine. If you're an Eskimo or reindeer herder living north of the Arctic Circle, what is the worst thing you can imagine, based on your experiences? Freezing to death of exposure. Alternatively, heaven is a cozy igloo/tent with a warm fire, cooking blubber/reindeer, because warmth means life. Eskimos and reindeer herders have no experience of the dry scorching heat desert dwellers experience. The warmest temperatures they experience is a (relatively) balmy 50 degrees during a two-week period in high summer. Is that uncomfortable for them? Not.

Desert dwellers likewise have no experience of cold or snow. The worst they may experience is a damp rainy evening with temps (again relative) a cool 50's or possibly the 40's. Is that even uncomfortable for them? But they are very familiar with the discomfort of 100+ degree temps, dry air that literally suck the very moisture from your lungs, and death by heat prostration. Easy to visualize hell as an exaggerated version of this.

What is hell for tropical jungle dwellers? I'm not sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was being choked to death by vigorous liana vines while monstrous creatures chew on your fingers, toes and bowels while you are still alive. Or maybe it's a slow death from poison (plant or animal venom). Or being eaten alive by fire ants.

My point is, cultural concepts of hell are based on the worst experiences that culture's environment has to offer.

Burd and Julian! go on, indulge your readers! lol.

A good explanation of the deadlands, Haa-Rei's first visit was fine---Spent a few minutes in the Kvatch gate to collect new ingredients and then left without destroying it.

A brilliant return to Nirn for our heroine, those 25 hours flew past, more please! (Definately more of Burd and Julian )

@SubRosa and mALX: Boy, you chicks sure are itchin’ for some romance (or at least some lust)! Don’t you know Julian’s gotta save Nirn first??

@Acadian: Your paladin past shows in your assessment of Burd’s offer of a barracks cot (chicks, read a narrow mattress barely wide enough for a skinny Redguard!). Julian also knows what a barracks is for - after all, she slept in one (when not sleeping in a tent) for twenty years!

@treydoggie: I agree that the “I saw a mudcrab today” is so infuriating when they are standing in front of a screaming Oblivion Gate! How about “I saw a scamp today”????

@Destri: Your comments about Bor and Soren made me laugh out loud! Remember I left out a bit of the lesson (the part from the first set of the fire towers outside to the sigil keep). Trust me that Bor and Soren did get some combat experience in during that part (under Julian’s tutelage, of course), and Burd got to do more with that claymore than stand there looking heroic. As for Julian’s fans chewing on the furniture, better theirs than mine!

@Remko: I’ve listened to enough young men (and women) to know when to take their tales with a grain of salt. I hope I have answered your confusion regarding the Deadlands.

@hazmick: et tu, hazmick? I’m glad to hear Haa-Rei survived his first visit to the Deadlands just fine. They are great for popping in to get ingredients, but it is possible to find ingredients around the gates themselves (like the Chorrol Gate), even after they are closed by the end of the MQ.

So Burd seems to be everyone’s favorite for Julian’s love interest? And I thought he already had a thing going on with Yvara Channitte?

This time, Julian gets not one, but two tasks to carry out. And the one task is going to take a looooong time!

***********************
Chapter 16.6 Two New Assignments

Heading to the Great Hall, I saw Caroline at the sentry post. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” she greeted me.

“Good afternoon, Caroline,” I responded. “Do you know where Grandmaster Jauffre is?”

“Inside, ma’am,” she answered, “in the Great Hall, I think.”

Caroline was right. I discovered Jauffre seated at Martin’s study table, evidently explaining something to the heir apparent. Martin, who faced the front of the Hall, recognized me and waved for me to join them. Jauffre spun on the bench to look at me, then gestured for me to sit next to him.

“Good work, Julian,” he said as I set my bow and katana to one side and joined him on the bench. “I understand Captain Burd feels confident that his guardsmen can handle any new Gates.”

“I think so, sir,” I responded. “As long as they don’t go charging in there waving their swords.” Jauffre spluttered klah into his hand.

“That’s how they do it in the Legion, isn’t it?” he asked when he had cleared his throat. I slid him a sidelong glance.

“Yes, sir, and that didn’t get Savlian Matius and his men anywhere,” I remarked. Jauffre’s good humor dissolved at the reminder. “I’ve had to unlearn a lot of things when I went into that first Gate.”

“Actually, Julian,” Jauffre poured some klah from the steaming pot into a cup that Belisarius brought to the study table and pushed the mug at me. “That’s how the foresters operate. They’re typically on their own, and they use stealth as their primary weapon.” He nodded for me to drink the klah. “They know how to assess their environment and utilize cover as much as possible.”

“But the riders also work alone, too,” Martin had been listening intently to Jauffre. The Grandmaster nodded agreement.

“The job of the riders is to draw trouble to themselves,” he clarified. “But the job of the foresters is to find trouble and nip it in the bud.” The Grandmaster glanced at me. “I’m certain you’ll agree that the foresters are the most underrated, underestimated and underutilized soldiers in the Legion.”

I nodded, thinking of Kaeso Marsias. “Those daedra are quite nasty. I’d rather stick with wolves, bears, and minotaurs, thank you.” His voice echoed in my mind. “Yes, they are on their own for much of their assignment as foresters, sir,” I agreed. “They have to survive solely by their wits.” I glanced over at Martin. “I’ve only met a couple, and they tend to be loners.”

“They have to be,” Jauffre confirmed. “And most Blades, as well,” he continued. I glanced at him, startled. “Yes, most of the Blades work alone,” he smiled at my confusion. “What you see here are but a small fraction. What Captain Steffan and his garrison do here is maintain the visible headquarters of the Blades, but the bulk of our ranks are scattered far and wide.”

“Right, you’ve got an agent in every city and town, sir,” I muttered into the steaming klah.

“Aye, that we do,” Jauffre nodded emphatically. “They keep their ears to the ground, and listen and watch for any threat to the Emperor, be it from a skooma addict in Bravil,” here he locked gazes with me - did I ever speak ill of the Emperor when I was out of it? flashed through my mind - “to the highest ranking noble on the Elder Council.”

I set the cup down carefully on the table. “And where did I fall in that spectrum of threats, sir?” I wondered aloud, suddenly anxious.

“Nowhere,” Jauffre assured me with a crooked smile. “You were just a skooma addict with a propensity for getting into fights with any one who dared slur the Legion.” Now he gripped my shoulder. “That’s why I trusted you to find Martin. As sick and unwell as you were, you managed to get the Amulet to me safely. I knew you wouldn’t take unnecessary risks. Besides, you were the most clear-eyed soldier I ever met, and believe me, just about everyone in the Blades is clear-eyed.” He nodded at the impassive Blade behind Martin. “And when Baurus’s report reached my desk, I knew as long as you had a purpose, you would remain sober.”

“Is that why you kept giving me missions, sir?” I asked, reeling inside from Jauffre’s words.

“Ach, I don’t think that reason applies anymore,” Jauffre responded. “You’ve managed to accomplish so much more than the missions you’ve been assigned. Joining the Mages Guild shows that you are capable of constructing an effective cover. Helping Marc Atellus at Sercen, clearing Kvatch of daedra, reporting to Viera Lerus when she requested it of you, those indicate you have a strong sense of loyalty, which can be easily transferred to the Blades, and ultimately, your Emperor.” His eyes twinkled when he caught my stare. “And your assistance to Jeelius, to the poor townsfolk of Aleswell, to a grieving widow in Bravil, is only proof of your dedication to the tenets of the Nine.”

“Huh,” my tone was muted, while my head spun. I could feel the heat in my cheeks, the heat of embarrassment. Embarrassment of a different kind.

“And in spite of all the little side trips and investigations you’ve undertaken,” Jauffre continued, rubbing things in a little more, “you’ve remained steadfast to Martin’s cause.” He straightened up, setting his fists on the table and meeting Martin’s gaze. “Now Martin and I have been discussing the situation at Bruma. They can not hold off these Gates forever. Losses are inevitable, and they are few against the hordes of Oblivion.”

I thought about the situation as he described it. “Neither can the Blades,” I volunteered. “As much as Baurus would like to think otherwise.” I met Jauffre’s gaze. “What should we do, sir?”

“Go to the other cities, speak to the Counts and Countesses, and ask them to send some of their garrisons to Bruma.” His eyes were steady on mine.

Wait a minute.

“Wh - who m- me?” I stammered. “I’m just a centurion, I don’t know how to talk to Counts and Countesses, sir.”

“Just talk to them as if they are the legates in your Legion,” Martin volunteered, smiling at my discomfiture. The smile faded from his face as he considered me. “You’re courteous enough to avoid offense, Julian, and modest enough to avoid distrust.”

“It will take you a long time to accomplish all this,” Jauffre added. “But the more we can reinforce the garrison here at Bruma, the easier it will be to hold off the daedra until Martin can complete his research in that evil book.”

“Of course, you can say no,” Martin glanced at Jauffre. “After all, I’ve made some progress in the Xarxes, and have need of your services yet again.”

“Those are your orders, Grandmaster?” I asked Jauffre. “To gather aid for Bruma?”

“Not orders,” he replied. “Rather, a request.” He nodded at Martin. “The Emperor’s needs are greater.”

“If Bruma is to be the focus of the Oblivion invasion, Sire, sir,” I said, glancing from one to the other, “then we must not let them gain a foothold here. Once they open that Great Gate, and that siege crawler comes through, Bruma is lost, as was Kvatch.” I looked down at the cooling klah in my mug. “After that, all the other cities will fall. Cyrodiil must unite here, at Bruma. Piecemeal, it will die.”

There was silence for several moments. “That was very well said, Julian,” Martin’s voice slipped through the quiet air. “Be sure to tell the Counts and Countesses that.”

I looked up to see Martin’s respectful gaze on me. I shifted uneasily. “You said you made some progress on the Xarxes, Sire?”

“Yes, I have, Julian,” his face brightened. “The second item needed to open the portal to Paradise is the counterpart to the first - the blood of a Divine.” He smiled at the scowl I sent him. “Yes, that puzzled me at first, too. The Divines leave no artifacts like the Daedric Princes do. So how? Jauffre solved it.” My right eyebrow rose as I shot a glance at Jauffre, who was intently studying the cover of a small volume on the table in front of him.

“He told me of Tiber Septim,” Martin’ soft tone drew my attention back to him, “who shed blood for the Blades long before he became one of the Divines. It is a secret known only to the Blades, and has been handed down for years.”

“I really wish there was another way,” Jauffre commented, his gaze still on the little book. “The armor of Tiber Septim is in his shrine, deep in the heart of Sancre Tor.”

Sancre Tor? Where did I hear that name before? “Then there’s Sancre Tor - That place’s haunted!” Brugels that first day I was in Bruma. I also recalled a tidbit of ancient history from my years in the Legion: it had once been a city which had been captured by High Rock and Skyrim forces; Tiber Septim had taken it back, well over four hundred years ago.

“The shrine of Tiber Septim is there?” I asked, wondering why it was not better known.

“Tiber Septim gave the Blades his bloodstained armor in honor of our service in the victory at Sancre Tor. The Blades built a shrine around it, known only to ourselves.” Jauffre sighed. “But evil overtook the place.”

“What evil?” Shivers passed up my spine, and I could feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck. Jauffre shook his head.

“I do not know,” he replied, his voice that of an old man’s. “The first and greatest of the Blades, Alain, Valdemar, Rielus, and Casnar, went there to drive it out, but they never returned. The first Grandmaster then sealed the catacombs.” He picked a long steel object up from the table and handed it to me. “Here is the key to Sancre Tor. I fear I am sending you to your death, but there is no other recourse. We must obtain the blood of a Divine.”

“Where is Sancre Tor?” I asked. If it is going to be so dangerous, I’d better get as many reinforcements for Bruma as possible before I go there.

“It is on the unmarked road that runs through the Jeralls, from west of Bruma, through the mountains, down to the Northgate at Chorrol,” Jauffre answered. “Sancre Tor is the biggest ruin on that road, in the style of the Imperial forts.”

My elbows on the table, I studied the ring of klah in the bottom of my mug, and considered the options. Go to Cheydinhal first, then loop south to Leyawiin. Stop at Bravil, head over to Skingrad. Anvil beyond that, and check in with Matius at Kvatch - maybe he will lend help. Then on up to Chorrol. After that, Sancre Tor. That will take time, maybe as much as several weeks. The roads are getting worse. Cross-country is not likely to be much better. I’ll need Paint.

“All right, Sire,” I said finally, looking up at Martin. “I’d best see about getting reinforcements for Bruma first,” I sensed Jauffre’s easing at my side, but kept my gaze steady on Martin’s hazel eyes. “Then I’ll go to Sancre Tor before I come back here.” I shook my head. “It’s going to take me a while.”

“I understand,” Martin answered. “Things are urgent, but you must do what you need to do.”

Si, Si. . Julian is formulating a plan that will take her on a full circuit of Cyrodiil! I can't wait to see what little adventures she will find on her trip!

Make sure she doesn't start the quest involving Ulrich Leyland in Cheydinhal, his 'Essentiality' is quite handy for the up-coming battle.

I would not say Burd is my favorite for a love interest for Julian. I would go with Selena Orania for that I think. (I am saving Nerussa for Teresa!) Still, anything at this point would be good.

I must say, the real gem here is Jauffre's assessment of Julian and the revelation of how much he knew about her before he even met her. This all makes him sending her out to find Martin much more believable. At the same time it adds much more to his own character. Here we see him as very much the fat spider sitting in the midst of a web.

The first and greatest of the Blades, Alain, Valdemar, Rielus, and Casnar, went there to drive it out, but they never returned.
Hmmm, I think I have heard of those guys from somewhere else...


nits:
Yes, they are on their own for much of their assignation
The word assignation often means a secret, sexual encounter. Perhaps assignment would be better?

Or the Countess, they could lay the relics on the floor and roll in them. I like that little Redguard girl that paints too, she is very sweet if you don't turn her in, and she could do a portrait of Julian. What about Caroline in CRT?

Burd is good, or maybe that nice Cirroc - OH! Martin could succumb to her beauty and allure one night...



AHA !!! So she is having an encounter !!!!!




...Save Nirn FIRST????? No way, in the heat and adrenalin after battles people always give in to temptation !!!!


PS: SANCRE TOR !!!!!!!! WOOOOOOOOOT !!!!!

Many hooks are set in this episode- aid for Bruma, Sancre Tor, etc.

Some of my favorite moments are when Jauffre reveals the depth of his knowledge about Julian and the foreshadowing of the guardians of Sancre Tor.

This was an excellent bit of writing, as we see the symbolism of Julian "but I'm just a centurion!" sitting with the Emperor and the Grandmaster. It is ironic that she can protest that she doesn't know how to deal with nobles while sharing a companionable table with the Emperor. Of course, Martin was not raised as a noble, so he is more "comfortable."

Some nice insights and, it seems, somewhat of a road map indicating Julian's intermediate plans.

I also enjoyed Jauffre's assessment of Julian.

I quite liked your analysis of Legion Foresters and Riders and their strengths/roles. I agree with your observations here.

As you said, gathering allies will take a very long time - especially with Julian's propensity to stop and help folks along the way. I was delighted to hear that she still considers Kvatch a valid city - at least in some ways. Yay Julian!

I am hoping to hear some of her observations on the various courts of Cyrodiil.

Jauffre continues to play his role well within your story, and I continue to despise him for it. Just once I would like to see Martin 'go Septim' on him and smack him like he was his daddy! That said, Jauffre's knowledge of Julian’s character and activities before she was thrown into the dungeons gives much needed logic to his decision to trust her with what has to be one of the most vital missions of the Third Era. I’m sure that, as the story progresses, we will learn that he secretly dispatched an entire company (or maybe a century) of Blades to secure the heir in the event that Julian failed. They were probably playing dice down in the camp while Julian was in Oblivion closing the gate.

As much as it pains me to say it, I agree with his choice of sending Julian to panhandle for troops up and down Cyrodiil. If nothing else, his intelligence (the network I mean) has given him ample evidence of Julian’s innate ability to sow trust wherever she goes. I would weep for Bruma if this were a task he decided to handle personally. I doubt he would be successful at anything other than blackmailing the Count of Bravil into sending Viera Lerus to Bruma.


Ask Julian to tell the boys that Destri says hi when she sees them.

I'll turn all French and say this: Sancre Tor = Sacre Bleu!!!

And 181,533 words later, Julian's off to bang heads with the Knights of Ni the Thorn as part of her grand tour. And end up dealing with Mazoga, And knocking some sense into Count whatsisface of Bravil. And... well, should be fun.

Any chance she might visit Cropsford on the way?

@hazmick: Don’t worry - we will get the benefit of Ulrich’s sharp sword and equally sharp tongue before she investigates him in Cheydinhal.

@SubRosa: Settle down! It’ll be a long wait for that love interest! As for Jauffre as the fat spider, that is EXACTLY how I’ve pictured him all along.

@mALX: You need to take a cold shower, too!

@treydoggie: Your catch of the symbolism of Julian sitting with the Emperor and Grandmaster made me laugh. You’re right about the irony of that scene!

@Acadian: I think you will find her experiences interesting as Julian proceeds through her Grand Tour of Cyrodiil. And yes, she’ll stop and help a few folks along the way!

@Destri: If Julian ever finds out there were a cohort of Blades playing dice in the Kvatch camp while Matius was holding the barricades and she was closing the gates, there’d be Oblivion to pay! I will be sure Julian passes on the message before she hightails it out of Sancre Tor!

@Foxy: Sorry, don’t speak French myself. But I’ll assume it’s a warning and take it accordingly!

@Boxee: I think you described upcoming chapters quite well. BTW, have you been counting??

On the way to Cheydinhal, Julian checks out that overgrown path leading off the Blue Road. This is one of the shortest chapters I’ve ever written, only two segments. But once more, this is one of those things where I thought it would be just a little scene, and the NPC ends up monopolizing an entire chapter.

*******************
Chapter 17.1 Finding Jenseric

Paint tossed his head and pawed at the ground. Absent-mindedly patting his neck, I studied the overgrown path leading north of the Blue Road. Time to walk down that path, see if Roland Jenseric is at the other end of it. I reined Paint off the cobblestoned road and through the rundown gateway. His hoofbeats thumped softly on the hard-packed dirt that wound north, up into the forest blanketing the foothills of the Jeralls.

By the time I began to wonder if I had been misled, I spotted the squat form of a cabin through the branches ahead. The trees opened out into a meadow. A well with a bucket perched on its rim stood before the cabin. Water. Time for Paint to have some water. We had been traveling all day, and it was getting late in the afternoon. The westering sun sent golden beams between the trunks of the trees. The shafts of light picked out the shingled roof of the cabin, the profusion of azalea and roses around the door, and the small windows in the front wall, shutters thrown wide open. No smoke rose from its stone chimney.

Dismounted, I led Paint to the well, where I dropped the bucket down the shaft. When it had filled noisily, I worked the windlass to draw it back up. The screeching of the rusty mechanism was loud in the stillness of the forest, but no life stirred from the cabin.

Paint plunged his nose into the bucket when I set it down, and I walked towards the cabin. A knock on the front door elicited no response from within, and I found the handle locked. Widdershins around the structure, I heard rattling snores from an open back window. Continuing my walk around the small cabin, I found another door in the side. This one was open, and I entered.

The interior was dim except for the sunbeams that fell through dirty windows in the front wall of the house. Where the light hit the floor, I spotted empty bottles of various sizes and shapes - beer, ale, wine, all drink. The fireplace at the opposite wall was dark and cold. I moved past the littered table, shuffling to kick bottles out of my way, and headed for the bed. The rumpled covers were empty, and the snores emanated from the far side of the bed. Past the foot of the bed, I discovered the source. He lay slumped among a litter of more bottles, and the reek coming off of him sent me reeling back. Between the breath, the vomit and his own soaked pants, the odor was vilely overpowering.

Something clicked in my mind as I looked around the filthy cabin. Of course! No wonder I don’t trust Seridur! The memory of Jenseric’s house in the City, its uncovered windows letting unfettered moonlight into its interior, crept into my mind. The open shutters here provided the same function. I compared them to Seridur’s stuffy home, lit only by smoking torches, heavy tapestries blocking out the sun. We meet only at night, Seridur’s voice. The shadows hiding his eyes. Would I see the vampire in his eyes?

Best to sober up Jenseric and talk to him about Relfina. First I’ve got to air out this place. I unlocked the front door and opened it, then moved to the side entry and threw it back. I took a few minutes to raise the filthy glass panes of the windows as well.

Paint lifted his head from the grass as I stepped outside and moved to him. “We’ll be staying here for the night,” I said, unbuckling the girth and slipping the saddle off. After I set it on a nearby fence fragment, I removed the bit from Paint’s mouth, leaving the headstall in place. Tying up the reins so he wouldn’t step on them, I left him loose. By now, I trusted him to stay close to me, or where ever I told him to stay. The meadow had plenty of good grazing, which I knew he would appreciate after days of grain and dry hay.

Back in the cabin, I found a burlap sack, and started filling it with the empty bottles. Among them, I discovered a couple of vials of skooma, now empty. Either he is hiding from himself, or he is hiding from grief, if he loved this Relfina. The sack was not large enough for all of the bottles, but fortunately I found another bag that took care of the remaining junk. I took them outside and placed them next to the outdoor privy.

Paint was grazing again when I took the water bucket and brought it inside. As I held my breath against the stench, I emptied the half-full container over the man’s head.

“Wha -” he spluttered, rolled over, and resumed snoring. With a sigh, I returned to the well and refilled the bucket. Again, I emptied it over the man. This time, he flailed at me, cursing unintelligibly. I stepped past him and threw a log onto the fireplace, then piled tinder and kindling against it. My back to his stream of swearing and his ineffectual movements, I lit the fire. Ground klah rested on the mantel. I placed some of the powder in the kettle and filled it with yet another bucketful of water from the well. Placing the klah pot over the fire to simmer, I looked at the man.

Medium brown hair waved unkempt above an unshaven face formed of regular features. He was slightly pudgy around the jaw, none of the sunken cheeks, prominent bones, and pale skin typical of long-term addiction. His unfocused eyes were hazel and bloodshot.

I pulled a chair from the table to the foot of the bed and sat down, straddling its back and crossing my arms on the top crossbar. The flailing settled down, the swearing died into grumbling, but the snoring did not return. Years of waking inebriated tironii had taught me that while I could wake a drunk up, he or she would become coherent only at his or her own pace.

The sun sank below the western horizon, and cold air seeped in through the open windows. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, warming the air closest to the fireplace. Moonlight soon appeared at the eastern windows, along the back wall. I moved around the cabin again, lighting candles and lamps. A tousled head appeared above the edge of the bed with a groan.

“Who’re ya?” he mumbled. “How’d ya get in?”

“You left your back door unlocked, sir,” I replied, hearing the pilus prior in my voice. I picked up a battered pewter cup from the table and headed to the fire to pour the klah into it.

The Breton cringed from me when I extended the cup down towards him. After a moment, he reached out a shaking hand and accepted the offering, drawing his knees up with a shiver. Drawing the blanket off the bed, I tossed it at him so he could cover himself. Back to the chair, I sat down and waited while he fumbled the coverlet around his shoulders while trying not to spill the hot klah. He managed to keep most of the liquid inside the pewter mug, and cupped it in both hands, huddling around it. “You’re Roland Jenseric, aren’t you?” I asked, more to make sure of his identity than anything else.

He drank before looking at me where I sat. His gaze took in my mail cuirass, the katana at my left hip, the white hair on my head. Oh boy, here we go again. His next words caught me off guard. “Go ‘way!” he shouted at me, fear in his gaze. “I know wha’ ya’re here for! Leave me ‘lone!”

“What am I here for, sir?” I asked, feeling the icy calm in my tone.

“Ya’re goin’ to kill me, ain’t a?” Jenseric began shuddering violently, closing his eyes. “Gods! The headache!”

“Pipe down, Jenseric,” I said quietly. “All your shouting isn’t helping you at all. Now tell me, why should I kill you? Know anything about vampires?”

He shot me a look. “Vampires? Why woul’ ya ask me ‘bout those filthy creatures?”

“Seridur says you’re one,” I answered. The cup dropped from Jenseric’s hands as he shot up to his feet, fists clenched, the blanket falling from one shoulder.

“Tha’ filthy bas’ard!” he shouted again. “He ha’ some nerve to accuse me of bein’ a vampire! He’s tha ‘un tha’s a vampire!” His clumsy feet kicked the spilled cup into the fire and he fell back onto the bed with a groan, his hands holding his head as if it was going to explode. Probably feels like his head is splitting in two. Part of me was sympathetic to what Jenseric was likely experiencing, but the pilus prior remained foremost in my awareness.”I can’ believe him!” Jenseric moaned. “I knew he would try to pin thi’ on me!” He dropped his fists and slammed them together. “If I could only get my hands on ‘im -”

“Settle down, Jenseric,” the familiar tones of authority crept into my voice. I went to the fire and pulled the pewter cup out with the poker. Rolling it to one side to cool, I turned and picked up the blanket, tossing it at him again. “Cover yourself before you catch your death of pneumonia.” After I poured more klah into another cup and emptied a vial of restore health into it, I handed it to Jenseric and returned to my seat. “My name is Julian, of Anvil,” I introduced myself. “I was contacted by the Order of the Virtuous Blood, which is supposed to hunt vampires in the Imperial City. Seridur, who is their leader, told me you had killed Relfina as a vampire.” I held up my hand when Jenseric shot up again. “Whoa, whoa, sit down, Jenseric,” I ordered.

When he was seated again on the bed, huddled into his blanket, I continued. “But it’s obvious to me that you’re no vampire. You have no covering on your windows at your house in the City, and here I found your shutters wide open, with the sun pouring in.” After a few moments, Jenseric seemed calmer. “Now, I’d appreciate it if you would tell me what happened.”

Jenseric hung his head, hunching over the steaming mug. “I’m shorry,” he mumbled. “I’ve been hidin’ in thi’ cabin and I’ve forgot my manners.” He inhaled shakily, drinking from the cup. “Relfina was the love of my life,” his voice cracked a little, but already the potion I had put in the cup was taking effect on his speech. “She gave me a positive new look on life.” His gaze grew unfocused, as if he saw something that was not here in the cabin. “She had taken to walking in the garden at night. I became concerned when I noticed Seridur watching her with covetous eyes. If only I had trusted her - oh, Relfina!” he sobbed.

While Jenseric wept himself out, I moved around, closing the shutters and the doors against the night air, which was growing colder. Finding clean clothes in a dresser, I brought them to Jenseric, laying them on the mattress next to him. “Get out of those filthy clothes. You’ll get warm faster if you’re wearing dry clothes.” I pointed at the mug in his hands. “And drink up. I’ll wait outside. Let me know when you’ve finished, and we’ll talk some more.”

I'm so glad Julian's path allowed her to continue this quest!

What a picturesque scene you painted throughout.
This is just one example of many compelling descriptions that drew me right in.

As ever, I love reading (and learning) as you write Paint.

Everything flowed very naturally and at what seemed a perfect pace.

Well done!

The westering sun sent golden beams between the trunks of the trees.
This was a wonderful description.

Between the breath, the vomit and his own soaked pants, the odor was vilely overpowering.
Ewwwww!

I do not envy Julian for doing this quest! Not the way you have described Jenseric's bender. It is right up there on the disgusto-meter with Olen's tale of Firen doing the same. Which is to say, well done! It sounds like you have some personal experience in cleaning up drunks.

It was not only good to see Julian come back to this, but also to see the gears finally click into place in her head concerning the windows. So now I guess the question is does she go to the Imperial City to deal with Seridur? or on to Cheydinhal to deal with the gate and allies quest there? After she hears Roland's sad tale at least.

Hooray for Julian's excellent observation skills! (Although Athlain may not feel that way...)

There are several subtexts here- Julian's experience rousting drunken soldiers is the obvious one. But I believe there also may be a bit of inward cringing at the thought that- "There, but for the grace of Akatosh, go I." Not so long ago, Julian was the one collapsed in a drunken stupor. And she has certainly not forgotten.

I do not think it is a matter of whether she will go to deal with Seridur, only a question of when...

As always, your descriptions are vivid and immersive- which is a compliment, even when what you describe is squalid and unappealing.

SPEW !!!! I've been laughing at this since it popped up in my email !!!! I couldn't get online then, but had to tell you - you made my day with this line !!!!




SPEW !!!!! It's...It's...Andronicus...only male !!!!!!


WOO HOO! Julian pieced together the window shades clue (something I never would have thought of looking at, BTW) - AWESOME !!!!

I loved being taken step by step through Julian’s thought process in this chapter. By the time she wakes Jenseric we already know that she isn’t going to kill him, and that she already suspects the truth.

I also like the fact that, when presented with the path toward the cabin, Julian doesn’t hesitate to continue this quest. Given that she is currently embarked on not one, but two vital missions for the Blades, one could excuse her if she thought there were bigger fish to fry. But, thankfully, our Julian just isn’t built that way.

And, since Foxy is currently unavailable, it falls to me to tell you that Sacre Bleu is an old French profanity, meant as a cry of anger or surprise.

@Acadian: So you liked the descriptions of Jenseric’s place? I loved the location - it’s so peaceful and quiet, an ideal vacation home. I tried to capture that.

@SubRosa: As I was writing this scene that grew into an entire short chapter, I realized that Julian was used to seeing this sort of scene from her years of dealing with raw recruits. Julian has far more experience with cleaning up hungover sots than I have, so I listened very carefully to her advice here. As for what she does after hearing Jenseric’s tale, you’ll soon find out.

@treydoggie: You’re right, there are quite a few subtexts here, and I think you picked up on most of them. Thanks for the comment about the squalid and unappealing descriptions. It’s nice to know I can get the dark side of things as well as the pretty stuff.

@mALX: I’ve been laughing every time you pounce on the merest hint of lust in perfectly innocent interactions between Julian and the men around her. She just shakes her head and smiles sheepishly. We both know who he is, and I for one enjoy keeping everyone guessing.

@Destri: thanks for the translation of Sacre Bleu. I know it’s usually uttered only under the most dire of circumstances.

Julian’s suspicions are fortified by the tale Jenseric has to tell.

*******************
Chapter 17.2 Jenseric’s Story

The door opened when I nearly finished brushing Paint down. He turned his head, tipping his ears towards the cabin, but remained relaxed, so I gave him a last swipe with the soft brush before stowing it away in my traveling bag.

Jenseric stood slumped against the door jamb. He still looked terrible, but at least he felt awake enough to shave himself and brush his hair back from his high forehead. The clean clothes made a considerable improvement in his appearance, as well.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes moving from Paint, to the water bucket I had set down for him, to the saddle on the last portion of the fence still standing. “I’m not much of a host -” his voice trailed off.

“Don’t apologize for the same thing more than once, Jenseric,” I said quietly. “How’s that headache?”

“Tolerable,” Jenseric responded.

With a final pat on Paint’s back, I walked towards the Breton. “How does food sound to you?” I asked him. He shook his head. Still nauseated. It’ll be a while yet before he gets his appetite back. “All right, then let’s have another cup of klah,” I suggested.

“Oh, come in, then,” Jenseric shook himself and stumbled back inside the cabin. He picked up the pewter mug that had been in the fire, inspected it, and swished it in the half-full bucket of water sitting beside the hearth. He repeated the same with the other mug, then placed them on the table.

Noticing that his hands still shook, I motioned him to sit at the table, and picked up the klah pot. I poured slowly to minimize the grounds in the cups, then set the pot aside and drew up the chair I had been using. Seated opposite Jenseric, I poured a second vial of healing potion into his cup.

“What happened the night Relfina was killed?” I asked quietly after each of us had taken a sip of the strong klah. “You said you should have trusted her?”

Jenseric slumped over his klah. “I decided to follow her,” he spoke softly, his voice still ragged from his hangover and grief. “I saw Seridur leap from his hiding place and put his mouth to her neck. He flung her aside when he saw me, and I heard her head hit a stone with a sickening crack -” again, his voice caught, and his hands clenched on the pewter mug, the knuckles showing white. While he fought for control, I took another sip of the klah.

He looked up at me, anguish and shame in his face. “I tried to stop him, but I was no match for him - he knocked me unconscious. The last thing I remember was his sickening laugh.”

“Why didn’t you tell the Watch?” I asked him. He shook his head, wincing at the movement.

“By the time I awoke, her body was gone,” he answered. “I knew he had taken her. I panicked. So I came here to collect my thoughts.”

And drown yourself in drink and skooma, I added silently. Way to collect your thoughts. Somehow I couldn’t be judgmental - I had been in his place not so long ago. I appreciated all too well the appeal of inebriation. So Seridur is a vampire, according to Jenseric. I’ve seen evidence that indicates that Jenseric himself is not a vampire, but where is the proof for Seridur? Just because he covers his windows and hides his eyes does not make him one.

“What will you do now?” Jenseric watched me warily.

“I’ll need to talk to some people,” I answered slowly. “But first, I have errands in Cheydinhal.” I looked around the cabin. “How are you for food?”

“I’m okay for three or four days -” Jenseric’s voice trailed off.

“Well, you can’t go back to the Imperial City until I get to the bottom of this,” I told him. “If what you say about Seridur is true, he’s likely to attack you, or turn the Watch on you, if he knows you’re back in town. I’ll get you some fresh grub for another week or so when I come back this way from Cheydinhal.”

“You - you would?” Jenseric stared at me, startled. “I can go in Cheydinhal myself -”

“Better not,” I answered. “Seridur has spoken with the Imperial Watch, they are looking for you. It’s possible they have notified the Guard in the other cities, as well.”

Jenseric paled. “The Watch thinks I killed Relfina?”

Recalling Forenze’s words, I shook my head. “I think they just want to question you at this point.”

“Question me!” Jenseric exclaimed. “Beat a confession, true or false, out of me, more like!”

Maybe so, maybe not. I shrugged my shoulders. “That’s why I think you should stay here. I’ll try to get this wrapped up as quickly as possible, but it could take a couple of weeks.” Add another week or two to my Grand Circuit of Cyrodiil, I thought ironically.

I rose to my feet and picked up the bucket, carrying it outside and leaving Jenseric staring at his mug. The last of the klah tossed to the side, I rinsed the cup in the water remaining in the pail, then upended it at the base of the azalea bush. After I refilled the container, I returned to the cabin.

Jenseric looked up at me. “You know vampires can’t stand sunlight, right?” he asked me. With a nod, I found a clay tumbler and filled it with the fresh water, setting it in front of Jenseric.

“What about it?” I asked him.

“I bet you’ll never see Seridur outside during the day,” Jenseric took a gulp of the water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Talk to Phintias at the First Edition. I doubt Gilen and Grey Throat know anything, but talk to them, too.”

“All right, I will,” I answered. I set the bucket beside the bed. “Now, you need to get some sleep. Part of the reason you feel like fresh caca right now is because you’re dehydrated. Drink that glass up, go to bed. You won’t sleep well, I assure you, but every time you wake up, have another glass of water before you go back to sleep.”

Jenseric gulped at the glass greedily. He looked up at me. “What about you, ma’am?”

“I’ve got a bedroll,” I answered. “I’ll get a fire going outside and bed down by it. Paint sleeps light,” I added firmly. “He’ll wake me up if trouble comes this way.”

“Drink water every time I wake up?” Jenseric repeated uncertainly. I nodded. “But I’ll be peeing every hour!”

“Not right away,” I answered. “You’re still dehydrated, so you won’t be making urine for a while yet.” Assuming my pilus prior persona, I shook my finger at him. “Best cure for a hangover is rest and water. Lots of both. I’ll see you in the morning, maybe you’ll be ready for some real food.” When I reached the doorway, I paused and looked back at Jenseric. “By the way, I hope you don’t mind Legion cooking. That’s all I know.”

I see another pair of wet pants in Jenseric's future with all that water and his problem holding it !!!! I love this quest, and what you are doing with it in your story is AWESOME !!!!!




GAAAAAAAAAAAAH !!!!!!!!! ARGH !!!!!!!!!!


Now I'll be eaten up inside till I figure it out !!!!! If someone was to PM you and guess correctly, would you tell them they guessed it? ???????? ARGH !!!!

Very enjoyable. Grand circuit of Cyrodiil is right! I, for one, am delighted that it seems you will take your time with her grand tour. There is just so much wonderful stuff to see and do!

The interaction between Julian and Roland was great, and I enjoy how you smoothly weave dialogue with mundane actions and evocative speech tags. Very natural. Again, I am enjoying the pace, and love that Julian is not franctically racing through Cyrodiil.

Your conversations are so smooth and natural that I lose myself in the scene... When I reached the end of this episode, I was surprised- it seemed as if no time had passed.

Julian's careful deliberation is a treat to watch- as is her willingness to help Jenseric. It would be easy to feel contempt for him- running away rather than confronting his nemesis, losing himself in drink and drugs. But- he has cause. This is a place Bethesda got it right- and you do as well. Vampires are scary and strong and crafty. What proof does Jenseric have to take to the Guard? What resources does he possess to fight a dangerous undead creature? So he reacts as many normal citizens would.

And Julian no doubt recalls when she was herself perhaps worthy of contempt, running from her problems- and someone looked deep into her soul and saw there the strength that simply needed a purpose and a direction.

For a chapter where nothing much seems to happen, Julian covers a lot of ground.

I am glad to see that Julian recognized her own fall from grace in Jenseric, and that you allowed it to color her interaction with him. Even when the pilus was barking orders one could sense the empathy she felt for the man.

Maybe I'm wrong, but it doesn’t seem likely that Seridur would have reported Jenseric to the authorities. Habeas Corpus holds no sway in Cyrodiil (that I know of), but I imagine the Watch would still need a body in order to accuse a suspect of murder. If they brought Jenseric in for questioning, his story would be easy to confirm during daylight hours (“Please step outside for a moment, Seridur”).

I think you may have inadvertently (or advertently, who knows) created a brand new subplot for your story. With Julian gone for what may be weeks, the now sober Jenseric has ample time to ruminate on his circumstance. Soon grief and fear will give way to anger and thoughts of vengeance. Given so much time alone, I can see him deciding to take matters into his own hands.

As the others said, the conversation between Julian and Roland comes out very well, conveying Roland's story in a smooth, well-paced way. It makes the entire episode fly by, as we are caught up in the words.

@Destri: Seridur did tell the Watch that Relfina was murdered by Roland. It was back in Chapter 14.7. However, the Watch seemed unconvinced, and only wanted Roland for questioning. They apparently did have the body, because the watchman, Claudio, reacted to being asked about it. Later, the Claudio made a point of not noticing when Julian broke into Roland's house to look for clues.

One thing I learned in Oblivion, is that if anyone accuses someone of being a vampire, it means that they are definitely one themselves. It is exactly the same with Bruma vampire quest.

Whoops. I forgot all about the Claudio.

@mALX: I’m greatly tempted to leave everyone hanging until it comes out in the story!

@Acadian: I thought I would race through this Grand Tour, but Julian has other ideas. So I’ve decided to just kick back and relax and let her tell her tale.

@ treydoggie: Again you offer an uncanny insight into Julian’s character and her essential nature. On the one hand I’m awed by your perception, on the other hand I’m pleased that I’m writing well enough for you to pick up on all my feelings and impressions about this grizzled character of mine.

@Destri: I had no intention of introducing a new subplot into this story, but you do raise some interesting questions. How will Julian ensure that Jenseric will know all is well and it is now safe for him to return to the Imperial City? That is something I will have to address in the future (less than a week from her POV).

@SubRosa: Thanks for the comments about the conversation.

Now we skip ahead to the most frustrating Gate to close of all, thanks to a certain privileged Dunmer. Huzzah! This has turned out to be one of my favorite chapters to write, simply because the NPC's are so - well - colorful.

******************
Chapter 18.1 Huzzah!

Back in the familiar blood and fire of the exterior Deadlands after the hot and dark caves, I paused to get my bearings. A narrow path twisted to my right, towards a pair of tall gate posts that marked the beginning of the long bridge I had noted earlier on my arrival at the top of the hill. That was all the time I had to see, for two armored figures appeared around a cluster of rocks.

One of them, a slightly built young Dunmer beneath the bulky steel plate, put his fists on his hips. “Well, it’s about time!” he exclaimed haughtily. “What took you so damned long?”

Farwil Indarys. Gregori did warn me about him. “Here I am, serjo,” I said, snapping the katana smartly before my face in the salute usually accorded only to Legion officers.

“Where are the others?” Indarys demanded. “Didn’t you bring more reinforcements?”

“What reinforcements, serjo?” I responded. “There is only me, but that should be all you need.” I slid my gaze from the Dunmer to the almost equally young Imperial standing just behind Farwil. “Please fill me in on what happened, serjo,” I turned back to Indarys.

He puffed his chest out. “I set out with the rest of the Knights to dispatch this blemish on the face of Cyrodiil. We struck as fast and true as lightning. We numbered only seven but attacked like a century! Huzzah!” His light tenor voice barely hid the pain and fatigue I could see in his face.

My brows wanted to rise, but I kept my gaze level. I had seen the other five Knights, dead and stripped of their weapons, scattered along the path down from the Gate at the peak of this island. I doubted it had happened as Indarys claimed.

“I see,” I commented blandly. About to say more, I saw that Indarys wasn’t finished.

“We swept all before us. We fought our way nearly to the keep,” he pointed at the sigil tower barely visible at the other end of the long bridge. “Then daedra reinforcements arrived, and we had to fall back to this redoubt.”

I looked around. Redoubt? “Very well, serjo,” I looked closer at Indarys. “How badly are you injured?”

“Just a couple of scratches,” he answered bravely. The gash on his face was more than a scratch, and blood seeped from beneath the pauldron on his left arm. I handed him a vial of healing potion I had purchased from the Mages Guild chapter house in Cheydinhal.

“Sit down here, serjo,” I said to him. “Rest for a couple of minutes. I’m just going to look around for a bit.”

Indarys seemed all too happy to take my advice. Turning away from him, I caught the Imperial’s eye and jerked my head to step away. The young man had struck me as being a little less, well, confident than the Dunmer. “Who are you, sir?” I asked him.

“Brennan Senyan,” he answered. “Please don’t judge Farwil too harshly. Most of what he says is - fabricated,” he shrugged. “But he’s young -” Now I let my brows climb my forehead. You’re not that much older, Senyan, I thought, but kept silent. Senyan pressed on, “- quite brash and inexperienced. All he wants to do is please his father,” Senyan glanced at the Dunmer.

I nodded my understanding. Akatosh knows I’ve seen that often enough in the Legion. Officers’ sons are the worst. “I’ve known him since we were lads, and fighting to protect Cheydinhal is in his heart. I just wish -” Senyan looked away, his voice dropping so I had to lean forward to hear him, “I just wish his heart was bigger than his hubris.”

“All right, sir,” I said, silently thanking Martin for explaining hubris to me so long ago. “I’ve heard what Indarys has to say. What happened here?”

“I suppose you want to hear the real story rather than Farwil’s version,” Senyan admitted. I nodded to encourage him. “As soon as we entered the gate, Farwil decided a direct assault was called for. We lost three in the first wave, then two more in the second skirmish,” he pointed at the foot of bridge, at the end of the path. “Farwil and I made it to the sigil keep, only to find our way blocked. We tried to retreat -” Senyan stopped, struggling to keep control. I looked down at the ground between us to give him a moment. His story sounded authentic so far - consistent with what I had noticed on my way down the hill.

“We were cut off and stuck here until you arrived.” Senyan continued after a moment. Hearing the weariness in his voice, I nodded. “It’s just like Farwil to leap before looking. Had we brought a Guard contingent, we might have taken the sigil stone with minimal losses.” He shook his head. “But Farwil wanted to prove a point. The City Guard doesn’t think we have what it takes, and Farwil wanted to show them.” He met my gaze pleadingly. “That doesn’t matter now. Help us get that sigil stone, please, ma’am.”

The young man, so serious compared to Indarys's braggadocio, looked paler than I liked. “Give me your hands, Senyan,” I ordered. He looked at me warily, but obeyed the pilus in my voice.

Ever since my desperate healing of Soren, I had been practicing my convalescence spell. I had found it made more effective use of my magicka if I could touch the other, rather than casting it from a distance. While discussing it with Cirroc, I had learned that the physical contact allowed me to borrow a little bit of energy from my patient.

Now, I concentrated on finding Senyan’s pain and taking some of it into my own hands. I used it to drive the formation of my spell, then sent it back into Senyan’s hands. His breath deepened as the pain released, and his bruises and injuries healed.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, relief clear in his voice. With a smile at him, I returned to Indarys, pausing to drink down a vial that restored my magicka.

“Serjo, how are you feeling?” I asked the Dunmer. He stood up eagerly.

“Now that you are here, we’ll proceed to the keep and take the sigil stone,” he declared. “I suggest we use the Reman Sweep formation. You lead the way, and we’ll cover your back. Huzzah!”

Again I fought to keep my face, and voice bland. What war manuals has this boy been reading? ‘Reman Sweep Formation?’ “Very well, serjo, that works for me.” Let’s see if he’ll really cover my back.

As I led them down to the bridge, I moved into a crouch. Wincing at the sound of their clattering armor behind me, I wondered if I could pull off my usual sneak attacks. Fortunately, the lava we crossed provided plenty of noise as cover. The air was typically heavy with soot, heat, and sparks, making it hard to see any considerable distance.

One knee grounded, I peered into the dense atmosphere. There! I could just barely see two shadows moving from side to side, just at the limits of visibility in this gods-forsaken place. My katana returned to its sheath, and I reached for my plain steel bow and strung it easily. With a steel bodkin tip from my quiver, I sighted on one bulky figure. By the way it walked, I recognized the heavy stride of a Dremora Kynval. When he stood at the edge of bridge, with his partner across the full width of the structure, I released the arrow.

The bulky form staggered back as the arrow impacted him, somewhere high on the left side, judging by the way he spun in that direction. As I had hoped, he disappeared over the edge of the bridge. With another arrow nocked, I swung in the other direction and looked for the other Dremora. When he turned around to continue his patrol, he hesitated, whipping out his weapon and scanning the area. Lose something?

The bodkin point flew from the twanging string as I pulled another arrow and aimed without waiting to see the effect of the first. Unlike the first Dremora, this one kept his balance and started running toward us. Waiting until I could see the red glow of the helm’s eye slits, I aimed at the left hand one and released the bowstring.

The clatter of passing armor startled me as Indarys ran past, waving his steel longsword and shouting. But my backup arrow had done its job, and the Dremora keeled over backwards. Indarys slowed, Senyan catching up to him, and they stopped beside the Dremora. Idiots! If he’s still alive, he can skewer them like pheasants on a spit!

On my feet again, I advanced forward, angling to the right to approach the Dremora from the other side. The two young men looked up as I came near, my katana in my right hand, the bow still in my left. I stabbed downwards with the slender blade, aiming it just beneath the chin-line of the helm into the Kynval’s throat. Without stopping my forward movement, I let the sword slide out behind me before sheathing it. No skewering anyone now.

At the spot on the bridge where the two Kynvals had been patrolling, I dropped to my knee again. The doors of the sigil keep were barely visible ahead, with two more shadows pacing back and forth between them. With the same tactics, I managed to drop both Dremora before the two young bravos behind me noticed them.

After another moment of watching and waiting, I decided the bridge was clear and unstrung my bow. If this keep turned out to be like the others, I wouldn’t need the bow again until we reached the sigil chamber at the top. We? Let’s see if I can keep these two numbnuts alive that long.

****************
In the winding passage, I moved to the wall and started up the long ramp that led to the first of the side halls. Again that damned clattering behind me destroyed all hope of ambushing the daedra that infested the place. Heavy footfalls sounded above us, and Indarys started past me. I barely managed to grab the edge of his pauldron with my left hand and found myself nearly pulled off my feet.

The young Dunmer spun to me, his red eyes blazing at me. “We have a mission to complete!” he said angrily. “Why do you keep holding me back?”

A screech from above warned us of the oncoming clannfear. As the reptilian creature beelined for Indarys, I spotted the hulking form of a Dremora standing at the top of the passage. He seemed to be watching the clannfear, not me. By sidling along the wall, I managed to get close before he spotted me. With a challenging growl, he ran at me, great sword lifted high for an overhanded blow. I slid to the center of the passage and kept my eyes on that big blade. Since it would be vain to try and block that sword, even with Matius’s enchanted cuirass, I resisted the automatic impulse to lift my shieldless left arm.

Instead, I visualized lightning, and flung a bolt of white light at the Dremora as he swung his weapon down. A skip to my left allowed me to avoid the descending blade, and I tapped his shoulder with my new Daedra Slayer. A katana, it had been enchanted with one of the fire damage sigil stones recovered from one of the earlier gates. Flames engulfed his cuirass for a brief, yet endless moment. A nearly soundless shriek ripped through the sounds of battle, and the daedric metal turned a sooty black. Before the Dremora could raise his heavy sword again, I stabbed the katana through his now brittle covering, deep into his side. The smell of burning flesh and blood hit my nostrils as the fire from my weapon ate away at his lungs and heart.

Behind me, the two knights - no, boys playing warrior - managed to finish off the clannfear in rather sloppy fashion. In the side hall, I determined that there were no more enemies present. Back to my full height, I turned and stalked towards the young Dunmer as he entered the hall, bloodied sword ready for the next assault.

“Serjo,” I went toe to toe with Farwil while lowering the tip of Daedra Slayer to the floor. “Your mission is to close this Gate and save Cheydinhal. My mission,” I jerked my left thumb at the Wolf on my breast, keeping my voice even, “is to keep you alive long enough to do it!” The frustration crept into my voice at the end, and I hoped he didn’t hear it as disrespect. Though it’s near impossible to respect this fool!

I saw the pain beneath the furious look in Indarys's eye. “Do you have any of those healing potions I gave you?” I asked him. He shook his head, still angry with me. “You drank them all?” I can’t believe this! One little scratch and he’s guzzling the stuff!

“Farwil,” Senyan laid his gauntleted hand on the Dunmer’s armored shoulder with a soft clank. “Julian is an experienced soldier, and knows what she is doing here. We should do well to let her lead the way. After all, she needs to have her back covered.” He looked past Indarys at me. “Right, Julian?”

I took a deep breath. “Yes, I do,” I responded. By real soldiers who know how to cover each others’ backs. Indarys is no different from the tironii I used to lead. And it was a damned tiro that ended my career. I turned away and moved to the opposite side of the hall, where another passageway wound further up the side of the sigil keep. If I have to look at that idiot another second I’m going to throttle him!

WOO HOO !!!



QFT !!!

I hate this quest, but I love reading Julian doing it !!! Finally we found something that tries her patience !!!! Wonderful job you are doing with this, I am loving reading what you have done with the most hated quest in the game (to me) !!!!!!

Your use of the word “colorful” puts me in mind of the scene in Butch Cassidy where a tobacco-chewing Strother Martin explains to the boys: “I’m not crazy. I’m just colorful. When you run a gold mine in Bolivia for 10 years, you become colorful.”



And haute officially enters the “No Beverages While Reading” Club.



And we get a little more information about what happened to Julian. Plus a perfect summation of the feelings of most anyone who has had to deal with these more-idiotic-than-usual "followers." Whenever I had to close that Gate, I was tempted to kill them myself, just to get it over with.

But- so far at least- Julian is able to rise above her justified anger and stay focused on the mission. Of course, I wouldn't exactly mind if she grabbed Farwil by the scruff of his neck and indicated the Kvatch wolf while explaining: "I may not fancy myself a knight, but I earned this. And not by bopping bunnies in the woods!"

Poor Julian. Often, it seems so much better to do these things alone. Unfortunately, the game doesn't always allow it.

I found this delightfully humorous!

Very nicely explained!

I really liked the simple, but effective image this evoked!

Nit? You might want to bypass some of the duplication of 'me' with something like: 'The clatter of passing armor startled me as Indarys ran by, waving his steel long sword and shouting.'

For brother treydog:

Poor Julian, surviving Oblivion is one thing, but surviving her "helpers" is quite another!

I liked the part about Julian borrowing Senyan's pain and using it to fuel her healing spell. That was a good touch.

And it was a damned tiro that ended my career.
Ahh, yet another glimpse into the mystery of Julian's past!


nits:
We numbered only seven but attacked like a regiment
It is purely a matter of flavor, but since you have already been very dedicated to portraying the Roman Legionary system, perhaps a term like Cohort might be better here?

Talking to the worng person. You need to explain it to Farwil Numbnuts Pimpleeyes PleasebyallthegodsgivemeonereasonwhyIshouldn'tletyouremoveyourselffromthegenepool Indarys.

Ra'jirra is willing to offer you his favourite mace as a teaching aid.

Whew! I see I’m not the only one with a weakness for long, elaborate sentences. One could sprain a synapse reading this one!

Once again your clinical explanation of the inner workings of magic demystifies it for us mouth breathers. What I enjoy the most is the complicated methodology of restoration vs. the ‘think of lightning’ simplicity of destruction.

Does the reward for keeping Farwil alive justify the aggravation? I hope so for Julian’s sake. Given everyone’s reaction to this quest, I am glad that I have never done it.

*Must . . . resist . . . Dhertee Inuu-Endo!!!*

@mALX: Actually I had a lot more fun writing this than I did playing it! Something about this quest really brings out the tongue-in-cheek side of Julian.

@treydog: Julian’s thoughts during this quest caught me off guard and had me laughing. And so did your comments - I learned a long time ago to put my drinks down before reading anything you write - whether it’s Athlain or a comment. I never know what’s going to nab me!

@Acadian: I found Julian’s recognition of the term hubris quite funny too. Your nit has been fixed.

@SubRosa: regiment is what was used in the in-game dialog, but you make a good point. I went back and changed it to be more Roman-flavored, though I think cohort is a bit excessive, even considering the speaker.

@Boxee: Julian said to tell Ra’jirra thanks for the offer. She’s got her own methods, but truly appreciates the thought.

@Destri: Have you ever read Faulkner? Talk about long sentences! Dhertee Inuu-Endo is always welcome! Thanks!

Julian manages not to throttle Farwil Indarys - yet. Huzzah!

*****************
Chapter 18.2 Indarys Comes Through

It took all my patience and skill to get the two bravos to the top of the keep. When we finally entered the sigil chamber, I turned to them. The noise of the sigil fire drowned my voice enough that I could talk to them, our heads together, without being overheard.

“I’m going to put a few arrows in one of these guys first,” I told them, pointing out the locations where I suspected daedra patrolled. “Then I’ll need you to finish him off while I take care of the next one.” I locked eyes with Indarys. “Watch your step, if you fall into that fire, I can’t help you. No one can.”

Stringing my bow again, I pulled out three bodkin-tipped arrows. I handed two to Senyan with an admonition to hold them ready, and drew out the vial of poison I kept tucked with my bowstrings. Carefully, I dribbled just enough of the vile stuff to coat the arrowhead.

Senyan reached for the vial. “I’ll treat the other two, Julian,” he offered.

“Be careful, then,” I told him. “Don’t spill any of it, and don’t get it on yourself.” He nodded and mimicked my actions with the two missiles he held, corking the vial and handing it back to me. Then he held the arrows so their points aimed at the wall, at a slightly downward angle to avoid the poison running down the shafts onto his hand. I nodded at him in approval. Senyan may be a little yes-man, but at least he has sense.

We crept up the familiar taloned ramp, with myself in the lead. Here, the racket of the sigil fire drowned out the noise their plate armor made.

On the long ride from Bruma, I had thought long and hard about how close I had come to losing Soren to a Dremora spell. Yes, he was young, and inexperienced, and scared the whole time we were in there. But he never hesitated to meet battle when battle came for him. Somehow he found courage in his shaking knees, and that’s the best kind of recruit an old pilus like me can ask for. He learned fast. But how can I keep young tironii like him alive long enough to kill spellcasting Dremora?

A conversation with Eilonwy, the Altmer alchemist at the Cheydinhal Mages Guild, had resulted in this poison. It would drain the target’s magicka to such a low level that he or she would be unable to cast powerful spells such as the one that had nearly killed Soren. Let’s hope this works.

At the top of the ramp, I paused to scan the circular balcony that formed the second level of the top chamber. The roar of the sigil fire was underscored by the screaming of tortured souls within the enchanted stone suspended at the peak of the pillar. Above my head, the leathered platform sagged under the weight of a Dremora. From the shape of his shadow, I knew he was a mage.

Two Dremora stood in the usual positions across the immense chamber, and I motioned to Indarys and Senyan to hold their positions before I sighted on the left hand Dremora. As I had on the bridge, I waited until the other was facing away, then loosed the poisoned arrow at the first.

As I stepped onto the balcony and slid left, I nodded for the two bravos to come charging up, which they did. As he passed me, Senyan handed me the arrows he held. I placed the shaft of one between my teeth and nocked the other. With my head tilted slightly to the left to avoid the poison dripping onto the ironwood and into my mouth, I sighted on the other Kynval as he spun around. The first Dremora was already running for the two bravos, but his magic fizzled in his hands. Before the other could raise his hand to cast a spell, my second arrow had buried itself in the flesh of his thigh, just behind the edge of the greave.

The last poisoned arrow nocked on my string, I glanced up in time to see the shadow of the Dremora mage move to my left toward the clash between the two inexperienced bravos and the hulking Kynvals. I ran to my right and rounded the balcony in time to see the mage reach the bottom of the ramp and turn towards the combat.

My feet braced, I sighted on a point just above his head, took my routine half breath, and loosed the arrow. The broadhead dropped slightly across the distance to hammer into the mage’s unprotected ribs, and I saw his unarmored head turn a faint green tinge before he collapsed.

My bow back on my shoulder, I drew Daedra Slayer and continued my pell mell run around the balcony. The Dremora mage may be dead, or close to it, but the silenced Kynvals were still more than a match for the two bravos.

Still at speed, I spiked my hand and visualized my flame atronach. Need to equalize this fight somehow. As the creature braced herself to start casting her fireballs, I dodged to the right to stay out of her line of fire.

As I passed the mage’s body, I stabbed the enchanted blade into his rib cage, then raised it to strike at the nearer of the two Kynval warriors. Catching the red glimmer of my sword out of the corner of his eye, he turned in time to catch a fireball from Domina Incendia full in his face. His screech momentarily drowned out the screaming of the sigil fire, and his hands came up to wrench the helm off.

Daedra Slayer struck the front of his cuirass, weakening the armor enough for me to punch the tip through the brittle metal. With the handle lowered, I shoved the sword upwards into the Dremora’s rib cage. He threw the helm at me, the heavy object striking my right shoulder and dropping me to my knees.

My hand clenched on the hilt, I flung myself back as the Kynval bent over the wound in his belly, then pitched forward to land beside me, shaking the balcony with the force of his collapse. My right shoulder screamed as I tried to raise the blade from the corpse. I grabbed the hilt left-handed and readied the sword for another attack.

As Domina Incendia disappeared in a swirl of purple smoke, Senyan went skidding on his back along the floor, his steel plate throwing off sparks. The remaining Dremora raised his mace at Indarys, who was screaming - what? Insults? Defiance? - at the Kynval, blood pouring down his face from a cut in his scalp. The young Dunmer was flailing his sword against the Dremora’s impenetrable armor.

I struggled to my feet, my right arm dangling uselessly at my side, and lurched toward the taller of the two combatants, aiming the tip of Daedra Slayer at that spot in the other’s right armpit which was exposed by the open joint in the armor. Flames shot out along the blade and from the wound as the sword sank in half its length before hitting something hard.

The Kynval staggered, spinning towards me as his right arm dropped. The mace clattered to the floor and the Dremora’s armored limb crashed into my already injured shoulder. A scream of pain ripped through my throat as both of us fell to the floor. I managed to land on my behind, and kicked at him savagely, recovering my sword from his body. Howling from the burning fire in his chest, the Kynval fell backwards, slipping over the edge of the balcony.

On my back, gasping against the red-rimmed agony that was my right shoulder, I turned my head to look for Indarys. He was on his knees, panting as hard as I, bracing himself on his sword. Beyond him, I could see the steel lump that was Senyan, still prostrate.

All my healing potions were gone, and my magicka was still depleted by casting that atronach, Domina Incendia. Thank you, Volanaro, for teaching me that spell. She had proven to be more durable and effective than Bones.

As I rolled to my left side, I leveraged myself off the floor and sheathed the katana awkwardly. I stumbled to Indarys and put my hand on his shoulder to get his attention. He looked up at me, his eyes barely redder than the blood from the gash in his scalp. Superficial. Bloody more than serious.

As I straightened up with some difficulty, I looked over at Senyan. He hasn’t moved. My heart skipped a beat. His stillness scared me, and I moved quickly to the prone Imperial. Once on my knees next to him, I touched his face. Clammy. Damn! The pulse in his throat was weak and thready.

His bruised eyelids flickered, and breath whistled between his clenched teeth. “Senyan!” I shouted to be heard over the sigil fire. “Senyan!” His brown eyes opened, the left more than the right, which was already swelling shut. His lips barely moved.

As I leaned down to him, I caught a barest whisper. “Farwil?”

“He’s fine!” I spoke into his ear. “Bruises and cuts!” Though my magicka was not yet fully replenished, I could feel the overwhelming pain Senyan must be feeling, worse than the torment in my shoulder.

Indarys staggered over and clanked to his knees at Senyan’s other side. I saw fear in the Dunmer’s face for the first time. He’s afraid of losing his best friend.

“Is he going to die?” Indarys asked me. Shrugging, I shook my head.

“Not if I can help it, serjo.” Meeting the Dunmer’s gaze, I let him see my worry. “I’m going to try a convalescence spell, but it’s going to take all I’ve got. You may be dragging both of us out of here on your own. Understood?”

He nodded, his jaw developing a grim set. “Anything I can do to help?”

I started to shake my head, but peered closer at Indarys. It was the first time I heard him say anything other than his usual self-centeredness. “If I’m useless after this, serjo,” I told him, “you’ll need to get the both of us up there,” I pointed at the dais near the sigil stone. “Somehow, you’ve got to hold both of us while you’re taking the stone. If contact is broken, one or both of us will be left behind in this Godsforsaken place.”

“No one’s staying behind,” Indarys vowed. He looked down at Senyan, brushing the other’s brown hair back from his face. “You hear me, Brennan?” he leaned down to the Imperial. “You’re not staying behind!” Senyan showed no response that I could see, but Indarys leaned back and nodded at me urgently.

As I had with Soren, I put my hands, moving my right one with great difficulty, on either side of Senyan’s head. Hunched forward so our foreheads almost touched, I closed my eyes and focused on the pain. Agony, his and mine, cycled back and forth between us, growing stronger in my hands, until I could bear it no longer. With a gasp, I released all the energy back into Senyan.

Weakened from the effort and the depletion, I collapsed to the floor beside Senyan, curling up against the pain in my right shoulder. My teeth bit back the scream that tore my throat, and I forced myself to open suddenly heavy eyelids to look at Senyan’s profile.

His chestplate moved with his deepening breaths, and Senyan blinked a couple of times. “Oh, damn!” he groaned, just audible beneath the howling of the sigil fire. “That hurts!”

Amen, I answered to myself, letting my eyes fall closed. Senyan’s armor clattered as he sat up, then I felt his touch on my right arm. “How bad are you hurt, Julian?” he spoke into my ear. “Don’t lie to me, I could feel it!” he shouted when I shook my head.

“Damn shoulder’s broken, I think,” I panted. “Too many heavy things falling on me.”

“Help me with her, Brennan,” Indarys’s voice reached me. Hands slid under my arms, grasped the side buckles on my cuirass.

“Be careful with her right shoulder!” Senyan exclaimed as Indarys hefted me to my feet. My eyes opened as I staggered, but the Dunmer steadied me on my feet, taking my left arm across his shoulders.

“Let’s get up there, Brennan,” Indarys said, turning us to head toward the foot of the ramp. In spite of his care avoiding my shoulder, blackness swamped my consciousness for several minutes -

- Then we were standing on the dais before the sigil stone. Indarys turned his head so he could speak into my ear. “Can you reach it, Julian?”

“No, serjo,” I panted. “You’re the protector of Cheydinhal. You should be the one to take it.”

Senyan traded places with Indarys. By the Nine, he isn’t much stronger than me! Both of us leaned against each other as Indarys stepped onto the metal ring that held the sigil stone balanced on top of its fire. He looked back, holding his right hand out to Senyan. We wobbled a bit when Senyan reached forward with his own right hand to grasp Indarys’s wrist, his left still holding my arm across his shoulders.

“Indarys!” I managed to make myself heard. “That stone is going to feel funny - all squirmy and noisy. For the love of Akatosh, do not drop that stone!”

WHEW !!!!!! I have chill bumps from reading this !!! Riveting from beginning to end, powerful !!!! And how you made that Indarys brat pull it together and be the hero !!!! I had tears reading this !!! AWESOME WRITE !!!!! just AWESOME !!!!!!!!!

Senyan may be a little yes-man, but at least he has sense.
Sounds like he would do well in the legion then. He does indeed show some common sense, unlike his buffonish leader.

And the old dog has a new trick up her sleeve as well I see. Drain Magicka, very clever. Although she might have gone with a Silence as well. Or was that a silence, and you just described at as reducing their magicka?

Domina Incendia is perfect! With Old Bones for her skeleton, I cannot wait to see what she calls her next summoned creature!

A very exciting conclusion to the gate run. I am glad to see that at least the two bravos pitched in and helped. It looks like Farwil did a lot of growing up as well. Perhaps the spoiled kid he was will remain behind in the gate, and instead a man will return? To be honest, you really did an excellent job portraying both him and Senyan, giving them a lot more depth and life than either has in the game.

I loved Julian's creative use of poison!

We share two wonderful things. We like to name our summons, and our characters are empathic healers. How neat!

Julian truly is a Daedra Slayer!

How very Julian for her to uplift the confidence of her companions, expecially near the end.

Yeah, all squirmy and noisy.

You absolutely nailed this chapter. The battle was well-described and the development of Farwil’s character made him someone that we hope to see again (imagine that!). Through her actions, Julian imparted her wisdom into the spoiled young dunmer and put him on the path to being the kind of leader Cheydinhal requires. We’ll just see if his new-found humility and courage accompany him outside the gate.

And Domina Incendia? Awesome!

You know what, hautee? If I didn't know you were both a civilian and a female, I would think a warrior - current or retired - was writing this story.

One of the things I like about Julian- besides everything, I mean- is that she learns. She finds new ways of dealing with things based on earlier experiences. You also show her so clearly as someone who would have been a good pilus. Despite her impatience, she does all she can to keep her young charges alive, and to instill in them the knowledge they will need to survive when she is no longer around.



A perfect example of "show, don't tell." In fact that is true of this entire episode. Simply wonderful in all of its gritty, crunching, realism.