His knee-length nightshirt barely concealed his readiness for more than sleep. My sheathed weapon rose again as I struggled to keep my eyes on his face.


Nautee Hautee!!!

Looks like someone experienced the 'Big Vigge's Big Dig', eh! I still get goosebumps everytime I see that Nord! Sleeping with ...

(groans as a disturbing image no doubt sent by the new Daedric Lord Theen-Aged Hhor-Moans invaded his teenaged mind.)

I FINALLY caught up! Loved how you potray Awamus Philliwa, Count Marius and even the Big Vigge himself! Still ROFLing over here!

Well youn certainly make the Skingrad guildhall sound like a... welcoming place... As if Skingrad didn't already have enough crazy the guild has sent all the leches there to be together.

You pointed out a couple of peculiarities quite neatly too. The lack of beds is an odd one (though perhaps not so odd as the Cheydinhal beds in the living room thing), also all argonians seem to be rather friendly. The observations on the game help keep the fiction linked to it ratgher than running away on a course of better worldbuilding so improves on it. I certainly won't see the Skingrad guild in quite the same light again...

Don'cha just love it when you settle down for a nap in a public bed in-game and awaken with some creepy NPC staring at you because you took his spot? The moment I started this chapter, I began to wonder if that would happen to dear Julian... you never fail to disappoint, Haute.

Using the nightmare of the grasping Dremora to lead into Julian's encounter with the grasping Imperial was a good touch. I am still trying to figure out why they call him the "the Cautious" when he sleeps with everything that moves!

mischief sparking in his brown eyes
This is a wonderfully evocative passage!

“Neither of us are fond of sleeping with Adrienne. That’s Erthor’s job, when he’s here.”
I loved this!

Well, looks like Julian struck out again. 22 Chapters and she has still not gotten any action!

I almost forgot about how you and mALX were clamoring over yourselves about Julian's "special someone" over the last couple threads.

What a fun! I'm so glad you decided to grace us with a full story on the nocturnal quirks of the Skingrad guild!

Like SubRosa, I loved how you transitioned Julian from her dream to reality.

'It took all of my self control not to run away from the two lechers. I’m no prude, but I certainly won’t sleep with just anyone! What do they take me for? The memory of the singing Redguard pirate surfaced in my whirling thoughts as I descended to the second floor. He’s more tempting than these two mages!'
You go, girl!

'Why is it every single Argonian I meet treats me with such kindness? Tar-Meena. Jeelius. Sakeepa at Aleswell. Kud-Ei and Marz in Bravil. Deetsan in Cheydinhal. Now Druja? The Countess of Leyawiin needs to get out more. Fat chance of that ever happening, though!'
So very right, on both counts! Druja is a tiny bit cranky when you first meet her, but she warms right up. When Buffy goes somewhere new and hopes for a friendly face, she always looks first for an Argonian. And yes, it is such a shame that Alessia Caro will never understand that. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful observation, Julian! *contented sigh*

Buffy has also endured trying to find a safe place to sleep at the Skingrad guild of musical beds. She has never had to do the walk of shame down to breakfast in the morning, but sometimes she has had to do this:
Back off guild mate, or I'll turn you into a chicken!

Oh yes, the musical beds at the Skingrad Mages Guild - I did a take on them in my original story on the BGSF, lol. Great rendition of it, especially Vigge - ROFL !!! Lucky Julian didn't try to share Druja's bed - she was quite "active" as well, lol.

"Oh, I was busy with Servilia the Serpent."

“That’s easy to rectify, ma’am,” the Nord clambered out of the bed, rising to his full height.
And then he stood up. I am so glad Vigge wears a nightshirt!

“Neither of us are fond of sleeping with Adrienne. That’s Erthor’s job, when he’s here.”
My most puzzling moment in the Skingrad MG apart from waking up with Vigge was playing around before bed on the empty third floor, so all of the doors were open. Along came Vigge and Adrienne, and they both went in and got in bed together. And they left the door open. Hmm. So I fooled around with my inventory some more, learned that the red velvet outfit is not a good look for a Nord, and about an hour game time later they both got up and went separately to the two other rooms and got into the beds. I thought, WTF, in someone else’s bed!? Maybe that was Erthor’s bed, and Vigge was just standing in for him.

I’m sure I enjoyed Julian’s late night adventure far more than she did! And someone would like to point out that a cushion under the behind is a handy thing to have in Skingrad.

@Foxy: The juxtaposition of those two sentences you quoted was very deliberate! Yes, I’m Nautee Hautee, and right damn proud of it!

@ureni: I’m glad you caught up and ended up ROFLing. That was my intent with the last chapter. Julian insists it wasn’t that funny at the time!

@Olen: Yes, it’s so welcoming at the Skingrad chapterhouse!

@TK: Thanks!

@SubRosa: I think the Nords have an underrated sense of irony when it comes to names, especially those that end in “the Something-or-the-other.” As for getting action, well . . .

@Acadian: I had to chuckle at your screenie of Buffy in the Mages Guild when she found out Vigge’s “cautious propensities!” For Julian it was a case of “my sword is bigger than your dagger.” That’s how Vigge lived up to the epithet “the Cautious!”

@mALX: Druja has the only single bed in the whole place. And I don’t blame Druja for not wanting to go upstairs. After all, the two men probably read “The Lusty Argonian Maid” before bed!

@Grits: I think Vigge was already up before he stood up!

After a night of bed-hopping, Julian learns what she has to do for yet another recommendation.

********************************
Chapter 22.4 The Missing Mage

The faint chiming of the Chapel bells through the leaded glass windows roused me in the morning. What time is it? The sky above the tall stone buildings across the street gleamed with the soft rose of dawn. Stiffly I rose from my makeshift bed, shaking out the quilted coverlet and folding it neatly.

The front door snicked softly, then the smell of fresh pastries and bread wafted into the dining hall ahead of Druja. She set the laden basket on the dining table and glanced at me. “Did you ssleep well?” she asked as she began unpacking.

“Yes, well enough,” I answered, ignoring the creaking of my joints as I joined her at the table. I watched, my mouth watering, as she set platters of sweet rolls and fresh baked bread onto the table, next to wedges of soft white cheese and bowls of fresh fruit. “Anything I can do to help?”

Druja glanced at me, her gaze mildly startled. “You can bring the klah pot from the fireplace,” she said, nodding at the hearth behind me. I turned and found the black kettle hanging off to one side of the massive stone structure. As I returned to the table with the pot in hand, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. I looked up in time to see Vigge, now dressed in a luxurious burgundy brocaded garment with black fur trim on the neckline, enter the dining hall with a yawn splitting his pudgy face. His gaze fell on me, and red ascended from his collar to the top of his bald head.

“Good morning, Vigge,” Druja greeted him, not looking up from her arranging. “I think you’ve met Julian of Anvil.”

“Ermm, yes, we have - met,” Vigge mumbled and averted his eyes from mine. “I apologize for the misunderstanding, ma’am.”

“Oh, there was no misunderstanding,” I kept my voice quiet. Druja shot a glance from me to Vigge. “The situation is quite understandable under the circumstances.”

Vigge met my gaze cautiously. “Then you’ll forgive and forget?”

“Oh, I suppose I’ll forgive - for now,” I shrugged. “But I won’t forget.” To soften my words, I poured a cup of klah and offered it to Vigge. His brows rose as the Nord mage accepted the mug.

“What will you do today?” Druja asked as Vigge sat down at the table. I took the chair across from him and helped myself to some of the soft cheese and fresh bread.

“I’ve got to get my weapons and armor repaired,” I replied. “I’m not good enough yet to repair enchanted armor.”

Vigge glanced up from spreading the cheese on a chunk of bread. “Armor?” he repeated. “You’re a battlemage?”

I smiled at the incredulity in his tone. “No,” I replied. “Legion for many years. I’m much more comfortable with plain weapons. But I’m learning the advantages magic can give you in combat.”

“Do you use destruction spells, then?” Vigge forgot his embarrassment. I nodded around a mouthful of cheese and bread. After I swallowed the delicious morsel, I reached for the bowl of grapes. “Which spells do you use?”

“The basic flare spell I’ve known since I was little,” I answered. “I’ve also started using a shock on touch spell. It helps with the big Dremoras and spares my katana. Ducking their magic spells is still tricky, though.”

“You want a drain magicka spell, then,” Vigge became enthusiastic. I caught Druja’s eyeroll as she handed me a cup of fresh klah. “Follow it up with a strong shock spell.”

“I’m not sure I have enough magicka for that,” I remarked.

“After you drop off your armor and weapons at Agnete’s,” Vigge said, “come back and I’ll give you some instruction.”

I shot him a look. Instruction in what?

“In destruction magic, of course,” he added hastily. “First I’ll evaluate your skills and your magicka, then we’ll study some new spells you can use in the Deadlands.”

“Anything to improve my odds of survival,” I remarked dryly, tilting my half-filled cup in his direction. His smile transformed Vigge’s face from that of a middle-aged lecher into one of a pleased boy.

“But that is not why you came here, iss it?” Druja sat next to me and began buttering a sweet roll. “You’re alsso looking for a recommendation from our chapter head, aren’t you?”

I popped the handful of grapes into my mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Yes, I’d like to study restoration and alchemy at the University.”

“Not destruction?” Vigge helped himself to his second sweet roll.

“No, I’m getting too old to keep fighting like this for much longer,” I answered. “My mother was an alchemist, and I’l like to learn what she knew.”

“I take it your mother has passed away, then?” Druja refilled my mug. Silently, I nodded. “I’m ssorry to hear that. But alchemy’ss an honorable profession, if ussed to help people.”

“That’s how my mother regarded it,” I nodded agreement. “And I’m getting tired of seeing my friends get hurt, while I’m unable to do anything about it.”

“Having some restoration skills can be invaluable when you’re out in the wilderness,” Vigge agreed, tipping his mug at me. “You can’t find mandrake just anywhere, you know. Cure poison and cure disease spells certainly come in handy when you’re far from a Chapel.”

“And I won’t have to carry those potions around so much, either,” I added. “Without a horse, the lighter I can travel, the better.”

“Then you’ll want to sspeak to Adrienne Berene about the recommendation,” Druja commented, nibbling on some strawberries. “But don’t be surprised if she acts annoyed. She doesn’t like being interrupted when she’s reading.”

“And she’s always reading!” Vigge waved the butter knife before spreading it on yet another sweet roll. No wonder he’s a bit on the heavy side. He must be addicted to those things. I decided to try it myself and began tearing one into bite-sized pieces. “So you can’t help but interrupt her. But don’t mind it, don’t mind it at all. She’s like that with all of us.” Then he winked at me. “Except maybe Erthor.”

“Sspeaking of which,” Druja turned to him. “Have you sseen Erthor lately?”

“Can’t recall if I have,” Vigge’s eyes grew thoughtful. He shook his head before popping the last of the sweet roll into his mouth. “Nope, it’s been a while.”

I remained silent, savoring the sweet roll I had claimed for myself. Druja caught the look on my face as I tasted the rich cinnamon flavoring of the soft dough. “Thosse are Ssalmo’ss ssweet rollss. He’ss quite famouss for them. I get them from hiss bakery every morning, otherwisse I’d never hear the end of it from Vigge!”

“And he’d better leave some for the rest of us!” The sharp voice drew my attention to the elegant Breton woman I had seen last night. She took a seat next to the Nord, her slight frame dwarfed by his bulk, and slapped his hand away from the remaining sweet rolls. “And you must be Julian of Anvil,” she said to me. “There can’t be too many Redguard women with long white hair running about Tamriel.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I nodded, finishing the last of the sweet roll. I resisted the temptation to help myself to another by filling my palm with strawberries instead.

“I’m Adrienne Berene,” the Breton woman spread some of the cheese on a piece of bread. “I’m the head of the Skingrad chapter, but I don’t like to be bothered with guild details. I’d rather study than administer to a bunch of childish mages.”

“I see,” I murmured, averting my gaze from her. “I’m here for a recommendation to the Arcane University.”

“I haven’t considered anything for you, Julian of Anvil,” Berene took a bite of her bread and chewed it thoughtfully. “I’ve been too busy with other matters. But come to think of it, I have a small problem concerning Erthor. He’s one of the mages here. Do you think you can do something about it?”

Vigge hid his grin behind his klah, and Druja rose to her feet and left the table. As she disappeared into the entry hall, I met Berene’s gaze. Another hunt for a missing mage? Am I going to have to bust someone for playing practical jokes? “What can I do, ma’am?”

“Excellent!” Berene leaned back in her chair. “I just don’t have the time to search for him again. I need to consult with him concerning some research notes he borrowed from me. If you ask around with the other mages, they might tell you where to find him. I’ll write your recommendation as soon as I speak to him again.”

“Erthor?” I repeated. “I understand the others haven’t seen him for some time.”

“Yes, yes,” she waved her hand impatiently. “He’s - well, he’s an interesting fellow. Sulinus Vassinus can tell you more about Erthor, if you wish to know. He’s around here somewhere.”

I glanced at Vigge, who shrugged. “I don’t know where Erthor is,” he waved his hands defensively, then tried to sneak another sweet roll. I rose to my feet.

“You might get lucky in bed if you cut back on those sweet rolls, sir,” I said quietly as Berene slapped his hand soundly. Again the big Nord colored brightly and averted his gaze sheepishly. “I’ll see what I can do about Erthor, ma’am,” I added as I left the table. Berene waved me away with an imperious gesture, not looking up from her plate.

The problem with sweet rolls is that they interfere with sweet rolls..



...


...


...in the hay.

The sky above the tall stone buildings across the street gleamed with the soft rose of dawn
This was a wonderful passage, especially the "soft rose" description.

A tasty breakfast and discussion. Once again you have made the Skingrad MG a lively place. I see Vigge is being a bit more - reasonable - after the previous night's escapades. What I really honed in on was Julian's admission that she is getting too old to go around saving the world every day. Many people have a hard time admitting that. That she is looking to the future - after being a fighter - shows a great deal of wisdom.

Fat chance.

Urgh... that one must sting...

*TK was carried away by the joke police*



Much more natural way on introducing us to the fact that Erthor is missing. I like it.



One bite, and you are in heaven! On top of the world, yes? That was a most lovely breakfast you served for us, Hautee.

Hmmm.... I might have to try to make sweetrolls... mmmm...

I enjoyed Julian's handling of Vigge, not as harsh as I would have suspected. Though her thinking negatively of him as middle-aged is a bit rich. It does sort of highlight how she isn't really middle aged at heart, even if she knows she's getting older she still goes closing gates like a young thing.

Nice introduction of the quest, though whatever's going on between Adrianne and Erthor certainly passed me by...

Strawberries and sweet rolls! Yum!!! Breakfast is the most important meal of the morning!

I looked up in time to see Vigge, now dressed in a luxurious burgundy brocaded garment with black fur trim on the neckline, enter the dining hall with a yawn splitting his pudgy face. His gaze fell on me, and red ascended from his collar to the top of his bald head.
A wonderful - and efficient - description of the Cautious one with the sweet roll addiction.

“And I won’t have to carry those potions around so much, either,” I added.
Just think Julian! That will leave more room in your pack for dresses (with matching shoes, of course). Oh, wait. . . .

The sharp voice drew my attention to the elegant Breton woman I had seen last night. She took a seat next to the Nord, her slight frame dwarfed by his bulk, and slapped his hand away from the remaining sweet rolls.
Berene waved me away with an imperious gesture, not looking up from her plate.
These two passages capture Adrienne very well. I can't help but like her in game, but she is indeed acutely aware of her position - and wants you to be aware of it too.

Interesting and fun twist you provide by indicating some hanky panky potential betwixt Ms Blue Velvet and her missing mage.

@Foxy: You might be right!

@SubRosa: I would say that Julian is suffering a bit of a mid-life crisis. Will she go out and buy herself a sports car? We’ll see!

@TK: I suppose my fondness for fresh baked cinnamon rolls is very evident in this chapter segment!

@Olen: Julian is no prude, and after twenty plus years in the Legion, surrounded by horny men, she knows it’s inevitable at times. She would have come down harder on Vigge had he pressed the matter further than he did. As for the relationship between Adrienne and Erthor, one time when I was playing the MG questline, and I brought Erthor home late that night, he went right up to her room and got into bed with her! I was like WTF?? Then I just laughed myself silly!

@Acadian: I thought the most important meal of the day is the next one? I knew you would enjoy breakfast!

Julian meets yet another charming male member of the Skingrad Mages chapter.

***********************
Chapter 22.5 Erthor

As the seventh zombie lay dismembered at my feet, I leaned against the wall to catch my breath. A quick cast of my detect life spell indicated yet another life-form down a short passage. As I watched it, waiting for the movements that would give its identity away, I found myself wondering about the zombies in the cave.

“There was that awful scamp incident last year,” Vassinus’s voice echoed in my mind. I had spoken to him yesterday when I returned from dropping my armor and weapons off at Agnete’s forge. “That’s when Adrienne told him to practice somewhere else. Meaning somewhere far away from the chapterhouse. So he set up his laboratory in Bleak Flats Cave. Comes back once or twice a week to check in with Adrienne.” His grin reminded me uncomfortably of our first encounter the night before. “But I can’t remember where it is. So sorry.”

This morning, after I retrieved my repaired armor from Agnete, I had asked Druja about Bleak Flats Cave. “Bleak Flatss Cave? Oh, yess, that’ss where Adrienne told Erthor to go to conduct his conjuration sstudiess. It’ss jusst northwesst of here. You might want to remind Adrienne of her idea.”

This time, I had to dig Berene’s nose out of a book to ask her about the cave. Once she got over her irritation, she had become thoughtful. “Oh, I recall telling him to set up there. Well, I suppose we’ll have to do something about that. By we, I mean you, of course. I’ll be here when you get back with Erthor. Good luck!”

This is turning into a little more dangerous mage hunt than the one for J’skar. I hope it won’t have the same outcome as the search for Vidkun and that blasted ring of Falcar’s. The pink glow had remained motionless while it lasted, so I still had no clue what waited for me beyond that short passage. As the spell faded, I looked down at my katana, dripping with slime and mold from the rotting bodies. Green sparks flickered along its slender blade as the disgusting material fled from my fingers and the refresh spell blooming from them.

My sword still ready, I took a deep breath against the lingering nausea and started into that dark way. Ahead, a warm, flickering glow brightened the end of the tunnel. I began to catch glimpses of mundane things - a trunk with clothes folded tidily on top of it, a small bookcase with writing materials and books on its shelves, even a green and gold Mages Guild banner draped across the rock wall.

The slight figure turned at my approach, backing up to the wall beside a narrow cot. The Bosmer and I stared at each other for several moments.

“Erthor?” I asked, sheathing my sword once I was certain he was unarmed.

“Yes!” His exclamation held a Nirn’s worth of relief at the sound of a mortal’s voice. “Are all those zombies gone? I can leave the cave?”

“I’ve dispatched seven of them so far,” I replied. “The way back is clear, unless there’s more to this cave than I’ve seen.”

“Well,” he pointed at a short passage that led off the rocky chamber off to my right. “There’s the shortcut back to the entrance.”

“All right, let me check it out,” I said. His shy voice stopped me before I entered the hallway.

“You’ll let me know if they’re all gone, right?” I glanced back at him. Now that he stood next to the candelabra, I could see the worried brown eyes in the handsome face watching me.

“I’ll come back and let you know, sir,” I assured him. Turning away from him, I cast another detect life spell and progressed down the passage. A few steps within, I encountered a dead end. Shortcut? I looked around, and spotted a handle in the dimness. It turned with some groaning that brought a squeak from behind me, then the rock wall before me rumbled down into the floor. I found myself in the initial cavern, a rotting corpse of a zombie laying where I had left it. Almost back to the entrance. I turned around and returned to the chamber Erthor had converted to his living quarters.

“Really?” He stepped forward when I nodded. “Oh, thank you!” Erthor hesitated. I could see he was still badly shaken by his recent experience.

“What’s the deal with these zombies?” I asked him, keeping my voice soft in the echoing chamber. “Have you been practicing necromancy?”

“No, no!” Erthor protested, his hands coming up in a warding gesture. “I’ve been studying summons - their nature, what sets them apart from natural life forms.” His gaze grew thoughtful. “Although, I’m not sure if zombies count as life forms, but you understand what I mean, don’t you?”

“And these summons turned on you?” I asked, frowning. What happens if Domina Incendia turns on me? Would she?

“I - I’m not sure how that happened,” Erthor shook his head. “I was testing calming spells on them, and they started acting hostile toward me. I ran back here, and they’ve been keeping me from leaving!”

“Have they tried entering this place?” I looked around, trying to find something that would repel zombies. What could repel the most repellent creatures that ever walked Nirn?

Erthor shook his head. “You know, they never did. Do you think maybe they were trying to keep me here? But why?”

“They attacked me,” I responded. “Obviously they thought I was a threat. A threat to them, or maybe -“ I inhaled at a sudden memory of Glenroy and Baurus with the Emperor. “Maybe they were protecting you. From what, only they know.”

“You mean, they were acting as my guardians?” Erthor rubbed at his chin, dark with an incipient beard. “Maybe you’re right!” He clapped his hands. “There’s some resources at the Guild library that can help!”

“I’m supposed to take you back to Berene to get my recommendation for the University,” I offered.

“You are?” Erthor’s face glowed with a wide grin. “Then you’ll let me come with you back to Skingrad? I’m still a little jumpy, see -“

“Of course,” I answered. “Are you ready? I’d like to be back before dark.”

“Yes, ready whenever you are!” Erthor exclaimed, taking a step toward me. “Let’s go!”

Outside the cave, the countryside lay quiet in the afternoon sun. As we struck southward toward Skingrad, we approached a tall stone surrounded by smaller menhirs. Its carved runes glowed softly in the bright daylight. I studied it as we walked by.

“Ah, you noticed the Aetherius Stone, did you?” Erthor had followed my gaze. “It’s a Heaven Stone. Supposedly if you pray before it at night, and have certain qualities, it will grant you a greater power that you can call on once a day. It’s like the adrenaline rush you Redguards have.”

“What do you mean, certain qualities?” I glanced at him as we left the mysterious stone behind.

“No one’s really certain,” Erthor responded as I shortened my stride to match his. “There are those at the University who feel that the stones no longer hold any magicka. But at least one lecturer thinks it will still become active for certain people” His brown eyes drifted to me. “I think you will succeed, Julian of Anvil, if you were to come back at night and pray before the Aetherius Stone.”

I realized with a lurch of my heart that I had not introduced myself to Erthor. Yet he knows who I am. As did Vigge and Vassinus the other night. I suppose there are not that many white-haired Redguard women traveling around Cyrodiil closing gates and rescuing housecats. “Would it be worth it for a Redguard to do that?” I asked.

Erthor apparently caught my reference to the common understanding of the Redguard’s aversion to magic and the limited magicka available to those of that race. “Yes, it would be!” His voice became enthused. “It doesn’t matter what magical skills you have, or how much magicka you possess. The greater power is invaluable to have, as I’m certain you are aware of, with your adrenaline rush.”

“It’s more dangerous than it’s helpful,” I grumbled, recalling the last few times I had used it. Fortunately Jeelius had been beside me the last time I had used it, or I would have collapsed and given up once the spell wore off. His presence had given me the motivation I needed to keep going in the face of extreme exhaustion.

“Ah, yes, the crash that follows.” Erthor nodded knowingly. “That’s a natural response to the fight-or-flight reaction every living thing has. When you use the adrenaline rush power, it exaggerates that reaction to supermortal levels. The resulting crash is correspondingly greater.” He turned and glanced back at the great stone, now barely visible through the thick branches of the Weald forest. “But not all greater powers are like that.”

He continued chattering about little-known arcane facts about the Heaven stones, then moved on to the Birthsign stones. I listened with half of my attention, the other half constantly scanning the countryside around us for hostile creatures. The westering sun was low in the sky by the time we reached the western gates to Skingrad. The guardsmen standing duty outside the gates greeted us, Erthor with familiar coolness, and me more warmly.

Once we were inside the city walls, Erthor turned to me. “It’s nice talking to you, Julian,” he said wistfully. “Most people don’t seem as interested in what I have to say, but you listen well.” He smiled up at me. “I get the sense that you don’t find Bosmeri irritating.”

“Oh, well,” I shrugged and smiled back. “I spent my first Legion posting in Valenwood. Learned a lot about Bosmeri and Bosmer culture there.” At the sparkle in his brown eyes, I added, “And I learned that Bosmeri usually have something to say. It may not be immediately relevant, but the things I’ve learned from Bosmeri have come in handy over the years. I’m certain the things you’ve told me about the doom stones will be useful sometime in the future.”

What could repel the most repellent creatures that ever walked Nirn?
Vigge the Cautious?

I like the extra depth you put into the explanation for the zombies being in the cave to begin with. That is something the game just ignores. An especially good touch was that the zombies were trying to guard Erthor.

Erthor was a fun fellow, with just the right amount of "eeep!" in him that a person trapped by zombies ought to have. His going on and on about the Doom Stones really got across the fact that he is a mage, as he showed that knowledge.

And Doom Stones too I see? I always ignore those in the game, as I hate once a day powers. I never use them, as I am always saving them for that one really important event. But of course you only know what that was after the fact. Fiction is a little different though, as you (the writer), have a much better idea of what is going on than when you are playing the game. I plan to eventually use one in the TF as well.

What could repel the most repellent creatures that ever walked Nirn?
My cooking?

I too enjoyed your portreyal of Erthor, he was fairly well done in game but you added a bit to him. He seemed alarmed enough but also was 'mageish' enough that once out of immediate danger he started talking about magic. Also it introduces what I suspect might become a section.

The zombies made more sense too, I always wondered how they got there but with the scamp referance I suppose summons make sense. Julian's worry about her flame atronach was a good touch too, mages always seem to be losing control of their creatures.

What a lovely job with this nice little quest! Let me echo the compliments on the thought you put into why the zombies were there.

I liked very much how you started the story in-progress after the zombies had been killed, then caught us up and continued. Nicely done!

You portrayed Erthor as a perfect Bosmer mage.

Regarding those Doom Stones, Buffy sure likes her Cobra's Dance from the Serpent Stone.

“And I learned that Bosmeri usually have something to say. It may not be immediately relevant, but the things I’ve learned from Bosmeri have come in handy over the years.
Awww. Thank you on behalf of all the little wood elves. Even if some of them do like to prattle on a bit.

@Sage Rose: Heh heh. As for the zombies, I always wondered about them. What did they really have to do with Erthor? I figured it had to be one of his backfired experiments. Thanks for your kind words concerning the short charmer.

@Olen: I think the mages are a great resource for the esoteric things that baffle Julian and me. Doomstones are one of those things I used to avoid, until I learned about them on the UESP wiki. Even so, I still don’t use their greater powers all that much. Someday . . .

@Acadian: Combat in this story is a lot like closing Oblivion Gates. One after another gets downright tedious. I prefer to highlight just a few critical events and focus instead on characters. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the characters like Burd, the Cautious, Erthor, and yes, Kud-Ei that are worth developing because they help move Julian forward. As for Hassildor, will he be one of those characters? I’m not sure yet, it isn’t apparent in this visit. But a few are coming up that will play a big role in Julian’s story.

And my friend, in spite of what most people say, Bosmer are mostly nice people. It’s just a few bad apples that paint the whole race in such a undeservedly negative light. Yes, that means you, Adoring Fan, and you, Glarthir!

What is it about Skingrad that brings out the musings in Julian? Just a little stream-of-consciousness here.

***********************
Chapter 22.6 The Aetherius Stone

I sat before the tall tumulus, surrounded by alkanet, peony and columbine blooms. How does one pray at these stones? To the Nine? Or just one of the Nine? One of the daedric lords? No, I won’t pray to one of those things ever. Certainly not Sheogorath!

Above me, the stars twinkled into being as the last of the daylight disappeared from the sky. The stone took on a soft glow, the red runes on it brightening in the twilight. I considered Erthor’s words from this afternoon. Do I have the requisite qualities? He seems to think so.

Thinking of Erthor drew my thoughts to the events of this evening. On our return to the chapterhouse, the Bosmer had immediately sought out Berene.

“Adrienne! I’m back! I’ve been rescued!”

Seated at the library table, Berene looked up from her book. “So I see,” she remarked with her customary irritation. “You seem all right to me.”

“Well,” Erthor toed the rug sheepishly. “Just that my pride’s been wounded -“

“Oh, please spare me,” Adrienne waved him away impatiently. “You should be glad that I needed to speak to you about some notes you borrowed. Otherwise I would have never sent someone to fetch you back!”

“Erm, well,” Erthor shifted his feet, then bent down and smooched Berene soundly on the cheek. “But thanks for sending Julian of Anvil for me!”

“Erthor!” she exclaimed, her face suffusing as she brushed him off. “Scoot!” As he skipped away, he winked gleefully at me. When he had disappeared up the stairs to the third floor, Berene met my gaze, her face composed again. “I see you have completed your task, Julian.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered. “About that recommendation -”

“Yes, yes,” she waved her hand impatiently. “I’ll write it when I have time. You can see how terribly busy I am. But I assure you, I’ll get it off to the University - eventually.”

I looked up at the Aetherius Stone. To whom do I pray? Does it really matter? It’s called Aetherius for a reason. My mind still blank, I looked up at the stars in a sky now gone black. The double moons hadn’t risen yet. Well, here goes nothing. I rose to my feet and approached the stone. Taking a deep breath and gazing up at the sky again, I touched the glowing runes with the fingers of my left hand.

Ta’vias pa’toluku. It was barely a whisper in my mind. “Ta’vias pa’toluku?” I repeated. Instantly I felt a warm glow in the core of my being, and magic surged through my fingers. I closed my eyes and returned to the meditative state I had used when restoring Paint’s magicka. The glow that represented my magicka seemed brighter, stronger than before. As I watched, the sense of increased potential appeared in the light of my core. What does this mean? I sighed and stepped back from the stone. Will I feel as depleted as I do after summoning the adrenaline rush?

My mind back on my surroundings, I sat back down beside the stone. It’s been so long since I could watch the stars. The cold breeze, a harbinger of snow, only served to make the stars feel more crystalline. The Weald lay quiet around me, with an occasional hooting of an owl to break the silence. With my elbows on my upraised knees, I considered how far I had come in my journey.

Has it been two months since the Emperor was assassinated? More than that. It felt like a lifetime ago, almost as long ago as my days in the Legion. Mentally I counted the days. It’s the second of Sun’s Dusk. Two months ago, I helped Savlian take back the city and castle of Kvatch. I wonder how he is doing now? And the refugees in the camp, how far have they been able to recover? Will they be ready for winter? Kvatch’s heights would be cold, exposed to the winds that spilled off the Imperial Reserve to the north. Will this crisis be resolved in time to help those people? Or will they receive help from some of the other counties? I considered the thought for some time. Skingrad and Kvatch have been allies at times in the past. And Countess Umbranox in Anvil is a kind-hearted soul. Perhaps they will lend aid. They certainly can act quicker than the Legion or the Elder Council.

Why is it that some folks become so selfish when confronted by a crisis that involves all of Tamriel? Maybe it’s a good thing that Kvatch has the history with Skingrad that it does. Maybe it’s good that its other neighbor Anvil is ruled by a wise and kind woman. If Count Leyawiin ruled in either county, be certain he wouldn’t lend aid! Neither would Count Bravil - he’d be too busy counting the profits from the skooma and black market trades to look outside his own walls.

I sighed and lowered my hands to the ground behind me, leaning back on my braced arms. And Countess Chorrol, what is she like? Is she like her daughter Countess Alessia Caro? Or does she have more wisdom fitting her years? I knew she had taken over the reins of the highland county after her husband the Count passed away several years ago. I also knew how different mothers and daughters could be. Look at me and my mother. She was kind and patient. I was hot-tempered and reckless by comparison. I shouldn’t have lived so long in the Legion, let alone made it through recruit training. But my first pilus, Carius, had tempered my anger and self-destructive behavior and taught me to be cautious and to keep a cool head in times of crisis. Thanks to him, I not only survived my first posting to Valenwood, but rose through the ranks until I became pilus prior of the Ninth Cohort in the Sixth.

“- you think I don’t know what the Ninth Cohort is in any Legion?” Martin Septim’s voice snaked back to me on the cold northern breeze. “Good only for arrow fodder? Any soldier who found himself or herself in your cohort didn’t stay there long, and more importantly, most of them lived to move into more prestigious cohorts.”

Martin Septim. The next Emperor. The target of the Mythic Dawn. Can he find the secret to Mankar Camoran’s Paradise in the Xarxes? Can he even study that infernal book without becoming corrupted by its power? Jauffre’s concern over Martin’s study of the Xarxes came back to me. I recalled how I had brushed it off, expressing my faith in Martin’s ability to withstand the temptations of the daedric manuscript. But was I right to have so much trust in him?

The slow increase in the ambient light made me aware that the double moons now stood high above the eastern ridge that separated the Great Forest from the West Weald. It’s getting late, time to head back to town. I should leave in the morning for Anvil. Some part of me dreaded returning to the city of my childhood. But I have to do it. For the sake of the guardsmen at Bruma. I didn’t put so much effort into teaching them how to close Oblivion Gates to abandon them because of my own ancient nightmares.

My thoughts continued skipping around during the long walk back to Skingrad. I avoided thinking of the path that still lay ahead, the Oblivion Gates that doubtlessly awaited me outside Anvil and Chorrol, not to mention those along the roads. Instead, I wondered about the Mages Guild chapters in these two cities. Are they like the ones at Bruma and Skingrad - loosely run with little restraint? Or are they oppressive like Cheydinhal’s chapter under Falcar? I recalled that I had sensed an easing of a tension I had not noticed, once the overbearing Altmer disappeared. But hopefully Deetsan is in charge there now, and she’ll be much kinder and more supportive of her colleagues than Falcar ever was. And Leyawiin - has Dagail resumed her role as chapter head? Or is she still having trouble maintaining her focus in view of her voices? I remembered her reading of my palm, and shivered again at her words.

A sudden weakness surged through me. I paused, wondering at it. It’s as if I cast several spells in a row. Am I out of magicka? I looked within, as Marz had taught me. The core of flame that represented my magicka had returned to its former size. Ah, no, that blessing from the Aetherius Stone has worn off. No major crash this time. I didn’t feel shaky or frail. That weakness is relative compared to what the new spell does for me. Increase my magicka? I recalled that a couple of healers sold fortify magicka spells. Whew, that lasted a long time! It might be worth something against those daedra mages.

I turned my thoughts back to the different chapter heads. I like Kud-Ei in Bravil the best so far, I thought as my feet hit the cobblestones of the northern road that skirted Skingrad. Turning west to follow it to the gates, I considered the Argonian chapter head. She takes good care of her mages, but expects a certain standard of behavior from them. It’s funny, but the women live in the chapterhouse, while the men have their own residences in the town. Did Kud-Ei arrange things that way, or did it just work out like that? I thought again of Carandial. I didn’t see him the last time I was in Bravil. He must have been out studying the ruin at Anutwyll. I wasn’t certain if I was disappointed at not seeing him, or relieved. I’m not ready to get involved with someone again. I may never be ready, not after what happened with Jared.

“Hello, Julian of Anvil!” the guardsman at the gates, a different one from the afternoon, greeted me as I approached the closed portal. “Turning in for the night?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered, as he knocked on the heavy timbers. With a grating of the bolt and a grinding of the iron hinges, the left panel swung open far enough for me to slip inside. I helped the second guardsman close and secure the gates, then turned for the Mages Guild.

I think I will sleep by the fire again tonight.

A nice little flashback with the self-important Adrienne and the bubbly Erthor.

The rest is a thoughtful well, rest, by Julian. It is good to see her take a moment to just sit back and take stock of her life. How she turned out so differently from her mother, her early years in the Legion, plus even a handy nod at the irl legions, whose 9th Cohort was for the newest and weakest troops.

I may never be ready, not after what happened with Jared.
And what, pray tell, did happen with Jared?

Well, it looks like Julian is finally headed into the fire of her own past. Perhaps soon we shall see some light cast upon her mysterious past, and learn what happened to her mother, brother, and this mystery man Jared or is it Jared?

nits:
Skingrad and Kvatch has been allies at times in the past.
has sounds odd here. Perhaps have or had instead?

I admire the way you sometimes start in the middle of things. It’s something about your writing that I find myself going back to study. I really enjoyed Erthor, his bubbly mannerisms conveyed as much about him as his speech. I guess with Erthor and Adrienne, opposites attract? Or did he just draw the short straw?


I’m so glad we got to spend some quiet time star-gazing with Julian. We know so little about her past, it makes me very curious. And yet I like her so much, I don’t want her to be upset by whatever she’s dreading in Anvil.

I think I will sleep by the fire again tonight.
Good idea. Vigge is no Carandial!

A wonderful pause to take stock of things. What a perfect balance you have here between what Julian is thinking, reviewing Erthor's return to the guild and the physical setting around Julian as she waits for dark, then touches the stone.

'I sighed and lowered my hands to the ground behind me, leaning back on my braced arms. And Countess Chorrol, what is she like?'
What a magical stream of natural flow from subject to subject this began: Countess Chorrol to her daughter Alissia to Julian's own mother to the Ninth Corhort to Martin Septim. Magnificently done!

I turned my thoughts back to the different chapter heads. I like Kud-Ei in Bravil the best so far, I thought as my feet hit the cobblestones of the northern road that skirted Skingrad. Turning west to follow it to the gates, I considered the Argonian chapter head. She takes good care of her mages, but expects a certain standard of behavior from them. It’s funny, but the women live in the chapterhouse, while the men have their own residences in the town.
I agree that Kud-Ei is wonderful. I so hope Julian likes and gets on with Carahil in Anvil.

That section was different but I suspect it will serve as a good introduction to whatever events of Julian's past we meet in Anvil. Her thinking back was good too, it works well to reinforce things as well as showing her thinking about her life which brings her to life even more. Not sure I agree with her on the chapter heads, but it certainly is the way she would see it.


Lovely metaphor.


I think I might have found an inn

You've vertainly laid a hook for whatever happens in Anvil, though with mention of Kvatch might we be seeing some familiar characters soon?

@SubRosa: What happened with Jared stays with Jared. Actually, we’ll start getting hints in the next couple of chapters. Thanks for catching the nit. It’s been fixed.

@Grits: Who will ever understand the situation between Erthor and Adrienne? Some things are better left alone!

@Acadian: It was quite the stream-of-consciousness, wasn’t it?

@Olen: Kvatch will be in the future as well, once Anvil is out of the way. But it is always on Julian’s mind!

Julian is not quite done with Skingrad, as she soon finds out.

Chapter 22.7 Another Oblivion Gate

As I fumbled in my belt purse for the chapterhouse key, soft footsteps approached me on the cobblestones. “Julian!” Dion’s voice caught me. I glanced around to see the slight figure in the red Skingrad surcoat approaching me.

“Yes, Captain?” I wondered why he was seeking me out. I thought we already talked about the number of men to send to Bruma? “What can I do for you, sir?”

“The Count is asking for both of us,” Dion stopped in front of the stone porch. “I know it’s late, but it must be important if he has sent for both of us.”

“Of course,” I responded. After all, vampires like to keep late hours. Does Dion know of the Count’s true nature? “Let’s go, then.” I stepped off the porch and joined Dion as he stalked back the way he had come, toward High Street.

“Are you leaving Skingrad soon?” Dion asked as we walked through the chilly night. “I imagine you have a few more places to visit.”

“Yes, I do,” I replied. “Then it’s back to Bruma to see what’s next.”

“Do you have any idea how to end this crisis?” As we passed Agnete’s shop the glow of the forge spilling through the windows momentarily turned Dion’s serious face amber.

“Not really,” I shrugged. “Daedric magic is something I never bothered to study. If they had a lecture on that in the Legion, I must have played hooky that day.”

Dion laughed shortly. “Me too,” he added. “Best left up to wizards and mages, if you ask me.” His grin faded in the shadows between streetlamps. “Are we doomed to be closing Gates forever?”

“No, not forever,” I shook my head as we neared the High Gate that led to the Castle. The guards saluted Dion and swung the portal open for us. “No new gates opened near Bravil since I closed the last one over a month ago. But that’s not the problem, really.” I glanced at the City Guard captain. “Things will escalate and come to a head in the foreseeable future. But we’ll beat Mehrunes Dagon.”

“Think so?” Dion’s voice expressed the doubt I avoided facing.

“We have to,” I could hear the fatality in my voice. I fell back to let Dion lead the way across the narrow bridge to the bluff where the Castle stood.

Dion did not speak again until we left the bridge behind and started up the rocky path toward the Castle. “Will we all live to see that day?”

“The day we beat Dagon?” I barely saw his nod in the darkness. “I’d like to think we will. After all -“

A red flash turned the world around us blood-red, and the very air sizzled and crackled. The energy coursing through our bodies forced both Dion and I to the ground. The fine hairs on my arms and nape stood up as scarlet lightning popped overhead, followed almost immediately by loud rolling thunder.

As we struggled upright, I could barely hear Dion cursing fluently. A glance at the sky showed the familiar red-and-black thunderheads to the north. I staggered to the rocky slope next of the path and clambered over the boulders to the top. Where the bluff dropped into a thin ridge pointing north, I could make out the focus of the daedric weather, just out of sight beyond.

“Escalating, you said?” Dion shouted in my ear above the thunder. He passed me and worked his way to the top of the ridge, following its line north. I fell in behind him, cautiously feeling my way through the red darkness. We stopped at the end of the ridge, looking down at the new Oblivion Gate. I recognized the old graveyard that lay just north of the Gold Road where it bent to pass around Skingrad. Its central monument lay obliterated by the oblate lens of fire that marked the portal into Dagon’s Deadlands.

“Why here? Why now?” Dion groaned. I clasped his shoulder.

“Let’s go see the Count, then we’ll worry about that,” I said.

“I have to get men down there to set up barricades!” Dion shouted. I shook him.

“The Count may have orders for us! Your men can figure this out themselves!” I hauled him back to the path, away from the screaming of the Gate. “After all, they’ve done it once, they can do it again!”

“But we can’t hold them off another month!” Dion shouted back, breaking my grip on his arm. He turned for the bridge and Skingrad beyond.

“I didn’t say you need to hold them off that long!” I caught him again, pulled him around to face me. “By the time they get down there and the barricades up, I’m certain the Count will be done with us. Come on, let’s not keep him waiting!”

Fortunately Dion must have been a very sensible man, for he wordlessly turned back for the Castle. We ran up the steep path to the foregate, where a shaken Castle guardsman gaped at the red sky in dismay. Dion grasped his shoulder. “Man!” he shook the younger soldier. “Run down to the High Gate and tell the guard there to send a contingent out to the graveyard and get some barricades up! I’ll be joining them shortly!” When the guardsman drew breath to protest, Dion shoved him away. “Run! Don’t waste time arguing! Go and deliver my message, then get back here on the double! I’ll talk to Artellian!”

That convinced the guardsman. “Sir!” He ran off into the red gloaming. Dion and I continued pell-mell across the high bridge that led directly to the castle. I pounded on the gates with the hilt of my katana.

“Open the door!” Dion shouted up at the watch turrets overhead. “It’s Dion and Julian! Open the door!”

A moment later Artellian greeted us as we burst through the cracked portal. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

“A new Gate opened in the cemetery,” Dion reported without faltering his stride toward the County Hall. “I sent your man at the foregate down to the City to tell my men to head there straightaway. He’ll be back at his post in a jiffy.”

“That’s my Guard!” Artellian hollered at Dion’s departing back as we reached the County Hall doors. “You have no jurisdiction -!”

“Stuff it, Artellian!” Dion shouted back while I swung the door open. “My men are taking the first watch!” He strode after me into the Hall.

Hal-Liurz greeted us with wide eyes and wringing hands. “I will take you to the Count immediately,” she hissed, turning for the stairs.

“Quickly, please,” I said, lengthening my stride after her. “We’ve little time to lose.”

To her credit, the voluptuous Argonian set a rapid pace through the maze to the tower room where I had previously met the Count. As Dion and I emerged from the stairs, we looked around for Hassildor. He stood at the northern parapet, his hands clenched at his sides.

“Where?” was all he said between gritted teeth.

“The old graveyard north of the Gold Road, sir,” Dion answered. We moved around to join Hassildor. “I’ve already ordered a contingent of my men to sally down there and set up barricades.”

From the tower room, all we could see was the red glow beyond the bulk of the bluff. But the clot of blood-colored thunderheads in the sky above left no doubt of the existence of the Gate.

Count Hassildor turned to me. “I was about to ask if the number of men Dion is proposing to send to Bruma will be adequate, but with this -“

“I’m not leaving Skingrad until it is closed, sir,” I answered. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Are you certain?” Dion asked me. “You’ve just closed one a couple of days ago!”

I turned to Dion. “I’ll tell you what I told Sir Mazoga outside Leyawiin. Hold the line outside that Gate, and let me worry about the Deadlands inside.”

“I’m with Dion, I hate to ask you to go in there again,” Count Hassildor said quietly. “But you know I can’t let him send men to Bruma as long as a Gate stands open so close to us.”

“There are two Legion Riders that patrol that stretch of the Road,” I countered. “I can’t leave that Gate open for them to deal with, either. The goblins at Derelict Mine are enough work for the two of them.”

“Will you take one of my men in there with you,” Dion spoke into the silence, “show him how to close the Gate like you did at Bruma?”

“If you have one that can sneak like a Dark Brotherhood assassin and snipe like the best marksman,” I said. “Yes, I’ll be glad to show him how.”

Dion glanced at Count Hassildor. “If one of us knows how to do it, I think we can spare the men for Bruma and still deal with any new Gates that may open after this one.” He shrugged. “After all, they’re doing it at Bruma.”

“Do you have such a man?” Hassildor asked the captain.

“That’ll be Pell Fortran,” Dion stated flatly. “He’ll go with Julian.” He turned to me. “I think you’ll find him a good man to have at your side. He was a Legion forester before he settled in Skingrad.”

I thought of Kaeso Marsias. “Sounds perfect,” I nodded at Dion.

“All right, Captain,” Hassildor turned to Dion. “See to it.”

“Sir!” Dion saluted the tall Imperial smartly and headed for the stairs. I turned to follow him, but Hassildor held a beringed hand out to me. When I glanced quizzically at him, he turned his head away.

“Julian, Kvatch’s been on my mind for the past couple of months. Are you familiar with the situation there?”

“The survivors are few, and have set up a camp at the base of the mesa,” I replied. “They have very little by way of resources, only what they can glean off the land. But that was two months ago. I don’t know how they are faring now.”

“Whom of the Counts and Countesses do you have left to see?” Hassildor faced me.

“Anvil, and Chorrol, sir,” I answered. “Cheydinhal sent a century, Leyawiin sent five contubernii, and Bravil three.”

“And Dion thinks he can spare five contubernii as well, as long -“ Hassildor’s gaze turned toward that red glow.

“I’ll make certain he can spare the men, sir,” I kept my voice even.

“I believe you,” Hassildor said quietly, “that Bruma is the target. But new Gates are constantly opening around Cyrodiil. How easy will it be for Dagon to switch his focus to another city?”

“Technically, it’s very easy, I think,” I thought I knew the source of Hassildor’s concern. “But from a strategic standpoint, I really believe Bruma will be next, and these other gates are meant to be a distraction, sir.”

“It doesn’t make this Gate any less deadly,” Hassildor turned his gaze back to me.

“No, it doesn’t, sir,” I agreed. “That’s why I’m not leaving until it’s closed.”

“Back to the original purpose of this visit,” Hassildor straightened his shoulders. For a moment I found myself looking up at him, then our gazes were level again. “Will you come back this way after Anvil?” I nodded silently. “Do you plan to stop in at Kvatch?”

“Yes, I do, sir,” I answered. “I have a couple of friends there I’d like to check up on.”

“Find out what they need, and report to me.” Hassildor’s voice resumed its usual smooth authority. “We have had a very good summer here, and have plenty of provisions to spare. And if they need help rebuilding, we can provide what aid we can.”

I stared at Hassildor. “Is there a catch, sir?”

“Kvatch and Skingrad has a long history of helping each other, Julian,” he responded. “I’m only honoring that history. Besides, who knows when I may have need of their aid?” He shook his head. “Count Goldwine was a strong neighbor to have on my right hand. His passing, and the devastation of Kvatch, is a blow to us, both politically and economically.”

“I will stop on my way back and let you know, sir,” I bowed. Hassildor returned the bow.

“Go, Julian, and do what you have to do.” He remained in place while I headed for the stairs. As I started down the steps, his voice followed me. “And may Akatosh be with you.”

An exciting episode, as the Daedra do indeed continue to up the stakes in the Crisis. A wonderful description of the creation of an Oblivion Gate! Or should I say eruption? That it was not immediately seen by Julian and Dion, but rather felt and heard, made it all the more powerful.

“And may Akatosh be with you.”
This sounds so strange coming from the lips of a vampire. Yet your depiction of the Count makes it all seem so unsurprising as well. I like how you portray Hassildor. He does indeed seem to be a descendant of Rislav the Righteous.

A good touch, I was expecting Kvatch to make an appearence in the last meeting. A new gate and Hassilfor asking works well, and I agree that the gate's opening was quite spectacular.


Wooo!

A nit?
Fortunately Dion must be a very sensible man... -- the tense here struck me as a bit odd, 'must be' is present while everything else is past. Either 'was' or 'must have been' might jar less, though the second is a bit cumbersome and the first has a slightly different meaning... Just a thought.

This was electrifying! Literally, I could not escape the red sky and crackling urgency once that gate opened. Between your descriptions and pacing, you really excelled here!

I love how you are portraying the Count. I'm even more impressed that he seems up for helping his neighbor city of Kvatch. And that he is willing to lend assist to Bruma as well.

It looks like Julian will have a helper and someone to help disseminate her experience with this gate.

GAAAAH! I love the new avatar !!

OH Hautee!!! I LOVE YOUR POSSE!!!


er...


well...


YOU know what I mean

@SubRosa: I always felt that Hassildor can’t be like your typical self-serving vampire and survive as long as he did as Count of Skingrad. The people regard him with too much respect for the typical Vlad image to fit him. And though he revealed his secret to Julian, he continues to treat her as an almost equal, out of respect for her lifetime of service in the Legion, and her selflessness when it comes to Oblivion Gates.

@Olen: The name Pell Fortran just popped into my head. I thought it sounded Colovian enough to use here, with just the right amount of masculinity. I do know it’s a computer language, but who cares? The sound of it is just too cool! You know, I struggled with that sentence you pointed out, and I appreciate your input. I’ve gone back and fixed it.

@Acadian: Ever been outside during a lightning storm? I had one break almost right overhead. Luckily I was under cover, but boy, that was close! I just imagined the opening of an OG as being like hit by lightning, only a thousand times more powerful and redder!

@mALX: Thanks! The avatar is actually Schrödinger’s cat, the quantum physics paradox that I love so much.

@Foxy: Of course, I know whut you mean!

In game, this gate was actually quite mundane (and Julian actually says so). But she feels better leaving Skingrad in the hands of a capable person like Pell Fortran. And this is the last segment of the Skingrad chapter.

Chapter 22.8 Ending One Task, Beginning Another

The sound of heavy, cold rain replaced the screaming of the sigil keep. My hand on his shoulder kept Pell Fortran from collapsing to his knees. He groaned at the sudden translocation and gagged momentarily. Crouched over the sigil stone in his hand, the tall Breton met my gaze.

“By Akatosh!” His voice croaked beneath the hissing of the rain on our heated armor. “Is it always like that?”

“Disorienting?” My own voice mirrored his. “Yes, though you can get used to it after a couple of times.”

We looked around ourselves. A crater filled the center of the graveyard where the Gate once stood, surrounded by broken grave markers and shattered coffins. The smell of decaying flesh mingled with the characteristic sulfurous odor of scorched earth. The bulk of Skingrad’s walls towered through the gloom to our right.

Once we clambered out of the crater, we could see the guardsmen approaching us cautiously through the remnants of the cemetery. “Hail, the Guard!” Fortran waved his left arm at them. Their weapons lowered and several of the younger men ran up to us.

“You did it!” “You closed it!” “Hurrah for Fortran and Julian!” Their voices surrounded us before the men did. Fortran shot me a glance as we were buffeted by hearty claps on our backs and shoulders.

“Back off!” Dion’s stentorian bellow drove the guardsmen away before we were overwhelmed. They gave way to their Captain as the slight figure strode up to us. “Welcome back, Fortran, Julian,” he greeted us, meeting our gazes. “I know you’re exhausted, so let’s head back to town and get out of this rain!” He turned and led us out of the cemetery toward the Low Gate. The rest of the young men fell in behind us as we followed.

When we reached the road, Fortran turned to me and held out the buzzing stone. “Here, you take this. I don’t want to hold it anymore!” I accepted it and slipped it into my belt pouch with a smile. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it, either,” Fortran added. “I’m not much for daedric magic.”

“Neither am I,” I answered. “But they have their uses. I’ll leave it with the Skingrad Mages Guild chapter. Maybe it’ll keep them out of trouble while they study it.”

Fortran guffawed. Apparently the mages of Skingrad have a certain reputation for finding trouble. “You would hope!”

“Listen,” Dion spoke over his shoulder as we passed through the Low Gate. “I know both of you are tired, but I’d like you to brief the Guard on your time in the Deadlands. Julian has to leave as soon as she is rested, and all of the Guard is on alert in the barracks, so now’s as good a time as any.” He turned and walked backwards a few steps, meeting our gazes. “I’ll make certain you get food and drink.”

“Make it water for me,” I advised. “And one of Salmo’s sweet rolls would be good.”

Dion glanced at the sky behind us before turning forward again. “He’ll be starting his baking just about now, so I’ll make sure to send a sentry along with some as soon as the first batch is done.”

“What time is it?” Fortran asked.

“Just past three bells in the morning,” Dion answered. “You’ve been in there twenty hours.” He glanced at the older guard over his shoulder yet again. “I don’t have to tell you that you get a couple days off after your briefing.”

“Yes sir!” Fortran managed to put some energy into his parched voice.

Less than an hour later, we were seated in front of the fireplace at the Guard barracks. Fortran took a long drink of his hot spiced Surilie wine and set the goblet down with a sigh. “Ahh, that hits the spot!” he exclaimed.

“Certain that water is fine for you, Julian?” Dion asked. “I can get you something hot.”

“The fireplace is hot enough,” I answered. “No, the water is perfect.” Just then, one of the sentries entered, a shallow linen-covered basket in his hands. The cinnamon aroma gave away the contents of the basket as the sentry set it down on the table, already groaning with hot soups, crusty day-old bread slices, sliced roast mutton, soft sheep’s cheese and butter.

It took another fifteen minutes before the gathered guardsmen filled their plates. One of his comrades brought a heavily laden plate to Fortran, but Dion served me himself. Once everyone had settled down and the sound of smacking lips and chewing filled the common room, Dion glanced at us, then rose to his feet, wiping his mouth.

“Listen up, everyone!” his voice, though quiet, carried well through the large space. “Some of you will be leaving for Bruma in twenty-four hours, while the rest of you will remain behind. But there’s no question, each of us will have a chance to go into the Deadlands. We all know what happened at Kvatch, and what nearly happened at Cheydinhal. Is it agreed that 'tis better we know what lies ahead of us, rather than going in blind?”

“Agreed!” The chorus rippled around the room.

“Now, Julian of Anvil here has closed -“ he turned to me and bent forward conspiratorially, “- how many, fifteen Gates?” I nodded silently. “Fifteen Gates,” Dion turned back to the room. “There’s no question who in this room has the most experience, is there?”

“No!” Again the voices spoke nearly simultaneously.

“And now Pell Fortran has been in there, as well.” Dion was in full stride now. “Obviously he’ll be staying here in Skingrad, in case more Gates open around here. Those of you heading up to Bruma will have the benefit of the experience of Burd’s men, but I want you to know what you’re getting into before you head out.” He turned to me. “Julian?”

“Like the Captain said,” I leaned back in the chair and stretched my legs in front of me, “I’ve closed several Gates. While it’s still pretty scary in there, the Deadlands are becoming mundane to me. So I’ll have Fortran tell you about it, since everything is still new to him. If he misses something important, I’ll fill in. But you’ll more than likely get a more comprehensive overview from him.”

The Breton slid a sideways glance at me. He knows what I’m doing - making him do all the work. Ah well, seniority does have its perks. He sighed melodramatically. “I’m certain all of you know that you’ve got to touch the damned thing to get through to the Deadlands -“

I listened to his narrative, as I had at Bruma. Again, as I had done with Bor and Soren, I interjected details or clarified details occasionally. When Fortran finished with our return to the cemetery, the guardsmen were silent for several moments, half-finished food mostly forgotten on their plates.

I cast my gaze around the gathered men. Mostly Imperials and Bretons, it seems. “Any Nords here?” A couple of hands rose tentatively into the air. I recalled Burd’s experience. “If you grew up on Skyrim tales of Aetherius and Oblivion, you may find the place cold, rather than hot.” I caught the flicker of interest among the men. “It seems each of us bring our own Oblivion into the Deadlands.” I nodded at Fortran. “For both of us, it was hot, and we risked burning and scalding. But for Captain Burd and one of his Nord guardsmen, Bor, it was freezing cold. They suffered frostbite, in spite of their innate resistance to frost.”

“So we’ll want to bundle up, then?” The Nord accent marked one of the few upraised hands. “Hopefully we’ll be done with this business before summer comes ‘round again. I’d hate to wear winter gear on the barricades!”

***********************
After dropping my weapons and armor off at Agnete’s for repair, I dug out the strange plant I had found in the countryside on my way to the Aetherius Stone. Time to see this Sinderion as Ardaline suggested. Let’s see what this plant does. Then I’ll come back to the chapterhouse and get some sleep.

I entered the West Weald Inn and paused a moment to shake the drizzle from my skirt. Already at this hour of the morning there were quite a few patrons. A sour-faced Bosmer in full iron plate stood at the bar, tankard in hand, holding forth to a bored-seeming Nord woman. A nattily dressed Orsimer, brown hair neatly parted to one side, shared a table with another Bosmer, this one outfitted in plain homespun.

A blonde Imperial woman, quite attractive with her upswept hair and elegant green silks in spite of the fine lines that belied her age, met my gaze from behind the bar. “Hello!” she greeted me warmly. “I’m Erina Jeranus, proprietor of the West Weald Inn. How may I help you on this fine morning?”

At her words, the Nord woman turned away from the filibustering Bosmer and stared at me. She did not move, however, but glared at me as I approached Jeranus.

“Don’t mind Else God-hater,” the older woman assured me. “She’s got a chip on her shoulder about the Nine Divines. Don’t bring up the church with her, or she’ll use her sword on you!”

I glanced at the taller woman, taking in her steel shortsword. “Thanks for the warning, ma’am,” I turned my attention back to Jeranus. “I’m actually looking for Sinderion. I’m told he lives here?”

“Yes, in the basement,” Jeranus pointed out the heavy wooden door off to the side. “Just head down the stairs and you’ll find him among my wines.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I responded with a nod. Warily I skirted Else God-Hater and moved to the door. Once I was on the stairs with the heavy panel closed behind me, I sighed. Something about that Nord really sets off my alarm bells. For some reason I have the feeling that she’ll stab me in the back if she thought she could get away with it. I made a silent resolution to always carry one of my katanas with me whenever I spent time in Skingrad. At least there are plenty of other people here, she won’t try anything. I think . . .

At the bottom of the stairs, a grey-haired Altmer stood next to a wine barrel, tapping its side with a wooden mallet and listening. I realized he was determining the level of the liquid inside when he marked the front with a piece of chalk. He glanced up as I drew near.

“Hello, what can I do for you, ma’am?” His eyes crinkled above a wide smile.

“I’m looking for Sinderion,” I answered. “Are you him by any chance, sir?”

“Yes, I am, indeed!” Sinderion bowed low with a flourish of his left arm. “And who might you be?”

“I’m Julian of Anvil,” I answered. “Ardaline at the Bravil Mages chapter suggested I see you about a strange plant I found.” I pulled the object from my belt purse and held it out to him. He took it and examined it with growing delight.

“Ah! A nirnroot!” His voice brightened even further. “Quite a good quality sample, in fact. Say, this gives me an idea. Since you already know what they look like, are you interested in obtaining more samples for me?”

“More nirnroot?” I felt my brows rise at his words. “I haven’t seen too many of them around. But I’ll keep my eyes open. I have a few more samples at home in the Imperial City, I’ll bring them sometime.”

“Excellent!” Sinderion clapped his hands enthusiastically. “You’re going to need to learn a bit more about nirnroot, though. Otherwise you’ll be wasting a lot of your time.” He paused. “A few years ago, I was able to obtain a musty old tome containing alchemical formulae. Most of them were worthless, of course, but one of the moldy pages contained a recipe for something called the elixir of exploration.” He rubbed his hands. “Apparently it’s a sort of ultimate dungeon delver’s brew. It looked sound, but it required an extremely rare ingredient -“ his voice trailed off as his eyes regarded me with anticipation.

“Nirnroot?” My guess was rewarded by another of his warm smiles.

“Exactly!” He shook his finger in the air. “But unfortunately, I had a lot of delicate experiments going on at the time that required all of my attention. I had to put the book aside since I haven’t had time to go plant hunting. So if you bring me ten samples of nirnroot, I’ll be able to make the weakest magnitude of the elixir.” He moved to a tall shelving unit tucked in a corner of the cellar. “Hmm, where did I put it?” he scanned its contents, which ranged from books to piles of paper to various alchemical equipment. “Ah, here it is! I wrote a missive about nirnroot and the elixir of exploration for the Imperial Alchemy Institute,” he drew out a thin bound sheaf of parchment and handed it to me. “It contains everything I’ve been able to find out about nirnroot. It should be useful in your search. Good luck!”

I liked the contrast between Julian's experience and Fortran's greenness to the deadlands, it goes further to show how Julian's developed and also how her experience has made her almost confortable with the deadland compared to Fortran's shock. Having him recount it is very Julian, she's still got a lot of the legion in her even if she's more freelance now.

And then Sinderion, one of my favourite characters. I liked how you showed him, definately a bit of the mad professior there but also likeable enough and not totally up in the clouds. The 'Imperial Alchemy Institude' cracked me up too, it stands to reason they'd have journals...

Maybe it’ll keep them out of trouble while they study it.
I would not count on it!

Once again you serve a fine board. Mulled wine, mutton, cheese, and cinnamon rolls. Does any character eat better than Julian?

He knows what I’m doing - making him do all the work. Ah well, seniority does have its perks.
The voice of experience!

“Just head down the stairs and you’ll find him among my wines.”
Now I see why he works down there! Good thing it is Sinderion, and not Reynald Jemane!

Yet again, you present another Oblivion Gate closing in a unique and interesting manner! I love how you handled this by starting as they finished, then back filling us - in this case, not by rumination, but by dialogue and actions. And of course, over another wonderful meal from Iron Chef Oblivion, our own Haute Cuisine Rider!

A wonderful description of the familiar faces in the inn. A treat for us who know them well and could readily identify those you did not name.

I could feel Julian's spider sense tingling over Else God-Hater. Good instincts, girl!

And dear Sinderian. I just loved how you portrayed him, for I see him the same way! Gallant but awkward. Brilliant but absent-minded. Buffy was quite taken by his charm.

Thanks to everyone who has been reading this looong story. It has now become quite the epic.

For Julian's return to her hometown of Anvil, please find Thread Five.