The description of the walk to Fisherman’s Rock was wonderfully evocative- I could feel the humidity and hear the sounds of the area. Equally fine was Julian’s internal dialogue.

“

Sir Mazoga not only listens- but learns! This is proof of her character- but also of Julian’s positive influence.

Julian’s assessment of the bandits reminds me of Josey Wales explaining to Lone Watie how he chose which Union soldier to shoot first- “the second one from the left- he had crazy eyes.”

And then the fight itself was beautifully choreographed. Julian has learned her new tactics well- fighting alone or with just one companion, instead of in a battle-line.



The additional history makes Sir Mazoga an even more sympathetic character. Wonderful episode!

“You killed my best friend Ra’vindra. Now I’m here to kill you!”
Well that was a brief discussion!

Yet Mazoga has indeed learned the magic word. I suspect her relationships will improve from here on out. As three dog noted, the little bit at the end about her not knowing directions was a good touch. It makes her seem less like a tank, and more like a real person.

And of course once again a rousing battle. As others have noted, Julian's assessment beforehand show her experience. Not just a mindless hacker, she thinks about what she is going to do. I always prefer that over the Conan-types who just wade in with their mighty thews and rend the foemen to and fro. Also another excellent display of the new tricks learned by the old dog, with her use of Domina and her flare spell.

This chapter had way too many places to quote that shook me from my seat reading it.

I'll grab just a few I can't ignore:

1. Julian's assessment of everyone's weapons, armor, and position - AWESOME !!!!!
2. Mazoga wiping her blade on the Khajiit's fur - What a detail that paints a picture of the scene, of Mazoga herself and her personality !!!! AWESOME !!!!
3. Trudged south through the pouring rain - Huge, to have that image as a last to this chapter!!! Staging in its finest form!!!

I loved this chapter !!! It has been added to my list of favorite chapters in this story !!!!!

@D. Foxy: I accept the steel pen with humble gratitude. High praise indeed from a RL warrior! Where is that darn twirl emoticon! I’ll settle for this:

@treydoggie: Having to learn battle tactics when alone or with a single “follower” is exactly what Julian has been struggling with. One good thing about all those Oblivion Gates - practice, practice, practice. Nothing like the edge of danger to make one learn in a hurry! Though Mazoga was tough to write in the beginning, I actually ended up enjoying this part of Julian’s adventures.

@SubRosa: Yes, after Mazoga ask the PC to let her talk first, she sure didn’t waste any time with that fetcher!

@mALX: I’m glad to see you share everyone else’s opinion of the fight, and of Julian’s mental preparations for it. When I’m watching sword-slasher movies, I always wince whenever I see the actors sheathing swords without cleaning blood and gore off of them. Back in the days when carbon steel was the epitome of metalworking, that was a sure way to get corrosion on your blade. After all, blood is oxidized iron, a sure-fire way to get rust started. I take better care of my chef’s knives than that! So I wanted to get that little bit of warrior craft in the story every so often.

Julian goes back to the wily Count to try again . . .

************
Chapter 19.9 The Count Drives a Hard Bargain

“So, have you been successful?” The Count’s calculating gaze lowered to me as I bowed to him in greeting. “Did you find out what the Orc wanted?”

I met his eyes levelly from where I stood at the foot of the steps. “The Orsimer's name is Sir Mazoga, Count,” my quiet voice cut through the murmurings of the courtiers, bringing silence in its wake. At his side, the Countess drew herself up taller in her seat, her small frame swelling with indignation. Apparently she doesn’t think an Orc deserves to be called a knight. “She was on a mission of vengeance.”

“Vengeance?” Caro chose not to be offended by my directness. “Vengeance against whom?”

“A renegade named Mogens Wind-shifter,” I kept my eyes on the Count as I recounted Mazoga’s tale. Then I shifted my gaze to the Countess. They may not be Imperials or Altmer, but other races understand honor just as well. “Sir Mazoga swore to hunt Wind-shifter down and avenge Ra’vindra’s death at his hands.”

“Ah, I see,” The Count leaned back, steepling his hands before his face. His prematurely bald pate gleamed in the flickering lantern light, and his pale eyes regarded me for several moments. “And where is this Mogens Wind-shifter?”

“It took Sir Mazoga several years to find him. He now lies dead at Fisherman’s Rock.” Murmurings rose again at my words. “Disemboweled by Sir Mazoga’s sword.”

Caro’s forehead crinkled as his brows climbed toward his pate. “Really? So close to Leyawiin?” He cast his gaze around at the courtiers, tacitly silencing them. “Such vengeance is a noble deed. Leyawiin thanks you for your service, Julian of Anvil.”

“Me?” It was a struggle to keep the scorn I felt out of my voice. I shook my head. “No, it was Sir Mazoga who performed this service, and it is to Sir Mazoga Leyawiin is beholden.”

“Leyawiin beholden to an Orc?” the Countess could no longer contain herself. “How dare you!” She ignored the restraining hand Caro placed on her wrist. “Orcs are corrupt! Leyawiin shall never be beholden to -”

“Corrupt, my lady?” I broke in, hearing the pilus resurface in my voice. “Corrupt? Who held the line against the daedra for two days, without respite, while your guard protected you against citizens who intend no threat to you?” I locked gazes with the sputtering woman. “I have served twenty-five years in the Legion, Lady, and believe me, I’ve seen my share of corruption. Enough to know that Imperials and Altmer are just as susceptible to its seductive lure as any other race in Tamriel!” Stop now, Julian. Remember your real mission here. Don’t alienate these people. I turned my gaze back to Caro as Mothril bent down from her great height and murmured into the flushed Countess’s ear.

“Count, I have done as you have asked,” I took a deep breath. “About the matter we discussed before -”

“Yes, yes,” Caro waved his hand dismissively. “You and Sir Mazoga may have eliminated one - no - two threats to Leyawiin. However, I still can not spare my guard, for there is yet another that concerns me.”

What? Are you reneging on our agreement? I felt my jaw clench tightly. “What is it, sir?”

“Thanks to you and Sir Mazoga, we do not have to worry about Oblivion Gates or a renegade named Mogens Wind-shifter. But the outlaw Orc Black Brugo continues to plague the peace and prosperity of Leyawiin.” Caro’s expression remained bland. He knows he has the upper hand right now. “He is the marauder leader of the Black Bow Bandits, have you ever heard of them?”

“No, sir, I have not,” I answered, my voice more calm.

“Find Black Brugo and kill him, and bring me his black bow as proof,” Caro’s eyes hardened. Now he smiled, a small, cold smile. “Ask your friend Sir Mazoga about him. Somewhere in her shadowy past, I’m sure she has had some dealings with him. Do this, and I’ll make both of you knights-errant.”

Knights-errant? You can take your knights-errant order and shove it up your - I stopped my thoughts with a deep breath. Mazoga might like to have a purpose in her life. She won’t mind this supercilious fetcher - any sarcasm on his part would be lost on her.

Now the Countess regarded me with a smug expression. “Seeing how this Black Brugo is an Orc, do you consider him honest?”

I bowed to her. “Depends on how he treats me, Lady.” My gaze moved back to the Count. “Are there any additional threats to Leyawiin that concern you as well, Count? Perhaps I can address those issues too.”

His pale eyes sparkled as his smile widened. “Not at the moment, Julian of Anvil.”

“Very well, Count,” I bowed to him, then turned and strode out of the hall, my head held high and my back straight.

*************************
I was still seething when I found Mazoga at the Five Claws Lodge. She was nursing a tankard of ale, its round sides shimmering with condensation in the warm, humid atmosphere. Witseidutsei brought me a tumbler of cold water as I straddled the chair opposite the Orsimer.

“Well, Julian?” Mazoga met my gaze steadily. “Any luck?”

“What do you know about Black Brugo?” I got straight to the point. After all, it’s Mazoga. Any subtlety would be lost on her.

Her brows rose at me. “Black Brugo? I know him.” She scowled. “Why?”

“The Count wants us to kill him,” the water was cool in my throat. “Kill him and bring back his so-called Black Bow.”

Mazoga’s black eyes narrowed at me. “And what do we get for it?”

I crossed my arms on the chair back and regarded her for several moments. “The Count has promised to make us knights-errant.”

Mazoga’s tankard stopped halfway to her mouth and returned to the table with a thump, shaking off some of the beaded moisture from its sides. “Knights-errant?” She blinked as she considered my words. “Are you pulling my leg, Julian? I may be a stupid Orc, but I’m not -”

“You’re not stupid,” I corrected her. “Uncouth and ill-mannered, maybe, but stupid? You make the Countess seem about as smart as a slaughterfish.”

“Julian!” Mazoga’s shout brought the attention of the other patrons around to us. “Don’t talk about the Countess like that!”

“Very well,” I locked gazes with her. “What about Black Brugo? Are we going to go after him, like the Count requested?”

“You bet!” Mazoga smacked the table with her hand. “Brugo’s a jerk! He’s got a hideout not far from here, in a ruin called Telepe.” Her voice died down to a more normal volume - normal for Mazoga, that is. “He goes there every night after midnight to collect his take.” She quaffed the last of her ale, then wiped her wrist across her mouth. “Hey, we’re pals, right? Let’s go get him!”

“Do you know where it is?” Doubt surfaced about her ability to find the place, especially after her admission yesterday about her lack of navigational skills.

“Of course!” Mazoga countered. “I hooked up with Black Brugo long enough to learn my way back and forth to Telepe. That’s how I found out that fetcher Wind-Shifter was at Fisherman’s Rock!” She shook her head fiercely. “That Brugo’s a real piece of work, though. I’d be happy to see the end of him and his gang.”

“How long will it take to get to Telepe?” I asked. “I want to scout the area before Brugo shows up. If we get there before he’s inside the ruin, it may be easiest to ambush him.”

“It’ll take a couple of hours,” Mazoga thought a few moments. “There’s usually a sniper above the entrance, and one or two guards in front of it. Inside - well, there might be no one, or there might be a whole gang full. Depends on how much traffic is on the Green Road.” Her eyes darkened. “He’s got two top people with him - Alonzo and Roxy Aric. They’re tough characters. Alonzo’s a Redguard, and he likes to slap people around with his hammer. Roxy’s a Breton, but she’s tall for one. She’s quite deadly with her bow.”

“I’d like to be there before dark,” I mused, taking another swallow of the water. “We’d better get started now.”

The table wobbled slightly as Mazoga placed her palms on the flat surface and pushed herself up out of her chair. “Then let’s go!”

I loved Julian's audience with the Count and Countess! The subtle nuances were wonderful, such as Julian's use of the word Orisimer where the others used Orc. Then of course Julian out and out throwing down on the Count and Countess. Yippie! I think Mazoga has found quite a good friend in our Redguard.

Knights-errant? You can take your knights-errant order and shove it up your
Well thought! By this time I was a frustrated as Julian. Yet once again we see that in spite of her fury, her wisdom held out. Biting her tongue, she did what was best for Mazoga, no matter how satisfying it would have been to spit those words into the face of the devious Count.

She was nursing a tankard of ale, its round sides shimmering with condensation in the warm, humid atmosphere.
This was an excellent piece of description!

And once again Mazoga shines, as we see more of her true character beneath that initial bluster. Story. Good. More!

HOLY COW!!!!!! The Countess was absolutely rabid!!! - and the Count restraining her by grabbing her wrist? - WHEW !!! I did not see any of that coming !!! If I were Julian, I'd do business with the Count while she is away each mid-month!!!

Like Sage Rosa, I loved the descriptive "tankard of ale" paragraph. Awesome Write !!!!!

Chapter 19.7 Weebum-Na

I like how you brought the Mazoga to Weebum-Na instead of fetching Weebum-Na for Mazoga. This subtle shift makes Weebum-Na’s refusal seem more real to me. Little details like the rising of his temporal spines and the way that his voice slips though the cracked panel really makes him stand out. Couple that with your usual brilliant incorporation of the in game dialogue and we get a new character that we wish to see more.
And I cannot let this chapter go by without commenting that Julian’s tendency to parent/scold another is finally manifesting itself with a member of her own sex. I think that the fact that it is Mazoga that brings it out in her is absolutely perfect.

Chapter 19.8 Fisherman’s Rock

Corinthe and Cheydinhal? Mazoga certainly gets around. This gives a lot of flavor to her character. Since her past has been spent dealing with Khajiit in Corinthe and, presumably, Dunmer in Cheydinhal, one is left with the feeling that her abruptness is more of a defense mechanism than a true lack in social graces. I imagine that Ra’vindra saw the wellspring of nobility that resides under the surface of the rough and tumble Orc (I mean Orsimer) just as Julian is beginning to.

Chapter 19.9 The Count Drives a Hard Bargain

This was one of those times when I was actually rooting for Julian’s scolding. Someone needs to take Countess Alessia to task for her attitude. And, since that someone will not be her husband, I suppose that Julian will have to do. Too bad her point wasn’t made by the end of her katana, she would have truly been doing a service for all Tamriel. I would have been happy if Julian had chosen Domina Incendia to do her negotiating for her!

I am left to wonder how effective any help from Leyawiin will be to Bruma when they are so woefully incapable of taking care of the problems that plague their own gates!

This is a chapter where Julian really shines. Well, I think she always does , but her personality and strength of character are particularly strong here. That is especially true as she maintains her focus on her main mission and on helping her friend- refusing to allow the Countess' rampant bigotry to derail things.





Two moments that give lots of insight into Julian (and Mazoga). One thing that comes through clearly- Julian has a temper, but refuses to be ruled by it. Those years in the Legion probably have something to do with it.

The battle at Fisherman's Rock was gritty and well-done. That Mazoga is a terror with a blade, yes?

I was delighted to see Julian restrain (sort of) herself in the Court of Leyawiin for two reasons. It kept her out of the dungeon, and she wisely realized that becoming a 'real knight' would be a big big deal for Mazoga. I'm proud of Julian for helping Mazoga become a knight. Hopefully, the Count will run out of errands for her and give up the help for Bruma that Julian is there for.

Both the chapters I just read were very well written, Rider - and a real pleasure to read!

I loved the way that you do not confuse the reader with too many, un-needed, nor neccessary details here.

@SubRosa: If you liked this throwdown with the Count, wait until Julian really lets 'er rip!

@mALX: The Countess gets her comeuppance in this next segment. Enjoy!

@Destri: Your question about the effectiveness of the Leyawiin Guard will be addressed here!

@treydog: Ah yes, Julian has a temper, indeed. And you’re right, all those years in the Legion has tempered her temper (sorry - couldn’t resist!).

@Acadian: Thanks for the praise, paladin! Welcome back! Please give my regards to Acadian Sr.

@Ginner: Welcome to Chorrol! Thanks for the input!

Julian lets a bit of the savagery she is capable of show here when she matches wits for the last time with the Count of Leyawiin.

*************
Chapter 19.10 The Knights of the White Stallion

The guards eyed Mazoga and I as we strode through the entrance hall toward the throne room. The Orsimer remained at my side, her hands full of black bows, her stride matching mine in both length and purpose. I carried one black bow in my left hand, and the cloth-wrapped object in my right.

As I expected, the two guards at the entrance into the throne room clashed their pikes together in front of us. Beyond, Count Caro lifted his gaze from the petitioner in front of him, his brows lifting at the sight of us. I slammed the bow I held into the crossed weapons, breaking them apart and opening the way for Mazoga and I.

The Countess half rose from her seat indignantly at the sight of the Orsimer walking across her green carpeted hall. “How dare you - !” Her spluttering words subsided when Caro murmured something to her. His pale eyes remained fixed on mine as Mazoga and I stopped at the foot of the dais. We bowed to the Count.

“Black Brugo is dead,” I tossed the bow down, the ebon stave clattering on the stones at Caro’s feet. “There is his bow, as you requested. Sir Mazoga has the bows from five others of his gang, including his two top lieutenants.”

Beside me, Mazoga dropped her burden onto the steps in front of the Countess. The woman recoiled from the weapons with distaste. Cupping the object I carried in my left hand, I unwrapped the cloth and grasped the tousled topknot. Gasps and screams rippled around the hall as I held the Orc’s head up for all to see, congealed blood slowly dripping from the severed neck. Caro leaped to his feet, his face pale, while his wife fainted dead away in her chair. A perverse part of me noticed that no one stirred to her aid.

“I brought you his head in case you wanted further proof,” I said to Caro, casually tossing the grisly object to rest next to the bow at the Count’s feet. His bulging eyes moved from the contorted green features to me as he slowly sat back down, his hands clenched on the arms of his chair.

“J- justice has been served,” his voice wavered at first, then firmed into its light tenor. “Henceforth, Sir Mazoga and Julian of Anvil may be known as the Knights of the White Stallion.” He snapped his fingers, his usual insouciance restored. “And I shall pay you both a bounty on these black bows - one hundred drakes for each.” Behind his throne, On-Staya Sundew appeared and bent down to him. He whispered something into her ear. As she disappeared from the dais, he turned his gaze back to me. “You will have access to the White Stallion Lodge, just north of town.” Caro added. “Leyawiin appreciates the service you have provided.”

“Count Leyawiin,” I clenched my hands. “I must return to the matter that brought me here in the first place.”

“Yes, yes,” Caro nodded, waving his hand dismissively. “There are more than six members in the Black Bow -.”

“Count Leyawiin,” I interrupted, bowing from the waist. “It is becoming quite clear to me that your Guards would be quite useless in the task that faces Bruma. After all, they have done nothing while Mazoga and I closed two Oblivion Gates, eliminated a bandit leader, and decapitated a marauder gang.” I tipped my head at Mazoga. “Sir Mazoga has accomplished more in the past six days than I’ve seen of the Leyawiin Guard.”

Caro’s pate flushed, as the hall grew still with shock. But I was not finished. “Keep your guards, or send a contingent to Bruma, as you see fit, sir. I don’t care. But consider this carefully.” My gaze flickered from him to the Countess at his side, just beginning to stir out of her faint. “Mehrunes Dagon will be defeated. When Tamriel looks back on the greatest crisis that we have ever faced, how will history consider the Count of Leyawiin?” The Countess sat up, blinking at me in confusion. “Already the Count of Cheydinhal, a Dunmer no less, has secured a place for himself in the book of legends. Will Leyawiin be counted among those who stand with Bruma, or be considered a traitor to the Empire?” The Countess’s gaze fell on the disembodied head at her husband’s feet, and she slumped away unconscious again. I bowed to Caro one last time, Mazoga echoing me. “Farewell, Count. I am leaving.” I spun on my heel and stalked out, my Orsimer friend again matching strides with me.

*************
We did not speak again until we reached the Five Claws Lodge. When we had ordered our respective drinks from Witseidutsei, Mazoga and I regarded each other across the table.

“Gods’ goolies!” Mazoga exclaimed, slapping the table hard with her palm. The patrons glanced around at us, but she ignored them. “Not just knights, but knights-errant!” She took a gulp of her ale. “That’s got to be some special kind of knight, isn’t it?” Her black eyes sparkled merrily at me as she raised her tankard. “Go ahead and say it! ‘I greet you, Sir Mazoga!’”

I matched her grin and clinked her ale with my tumbler of water. “Hail, Knight of the White Stallion!”

“Why, thank you kindly,” Mazoga’s adoption of the courteous manner was somehow ironic. Her face turned thoughtful. “‘Knight of the White Stallion,’ huh? Has a nice ring to it.” She leaned back until the wooden chair complained under her weight. “Now I’ve got to go out and do good deeds.”

“You can go black bow hunting,” I reminded her. “One hundred drakes per bow. That’s enough to support yourself comfortably for a while.”

“Oh, I’m certain the Count will find something else for me to do once I get rid of all the Black Bow Bandits,” Mazoga remarked. Then she frowned at me as I took another sip. “But what about you, Julian?”

My eyes locked with hers over the top of my tumbler. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you came here to get aid for Bruma,” Mazoga spoke slowly. “But it doesn’t look like you’ll get it. So what will you do now?”

“It doesn’t look good, does it,” I could hear the rue in my voice. “Never mind, I still have other Counts and Countesses to see.” I met Mazoga’s gaze. “I’m from Anvil, and as I remember it, Countess Umbranox is a kind woman. She takes care of her people, and as I used to live there, she likely will listen to me.”

“I hope you’re right, Julian,” Mazoga’s eyes shifted beyond me, and she set her tankard down carefully. Caelia Draconis closed the door to the inn behind her when I turned to look over my shoulder. Her icy gaze met mine as she strode up to me. I rose to my feet to face her.

“I resent what you said about the Guard being ineffective,” her voice matched her eyes.

“Never would I say your Guard is ineffective,” I kept my voice even. “But I’ve been here for eight days, and I have yet to see your Guardsmen do anything beyond the town gates. Black Brugo’s hideout is a mere couple hours’ fast walk from here, and yet nothing has been done about him, nothing until Mazoga and I came along.” I recalled Lerus’s words “- your hands aren’t tied.” Could the same be true of Draconis? Beyond her, a young guard entered the inn, his arms laden with shields. He paused at the sight of the Captain facing me.

“What do you know of the Guard!” Draconis snapped. “Where do you get off criticizing us?” Mazoga jumped to her feet, the chair clattering to the floor.

My hand twitched for the hilt of my katana, but I kept it clenched at my side. With a warning glance at Mazoga to keep quiet, I took a deep breath. “I’ve served twenty-five years in the Legion,” that old pilus resurfaced in my tone. “I’ve watched the City Guard of other towns do everything they could to protect the people they were sworn to protect. The Kvatch Guard sacrificed themselves selflessly for the sake of the survivors. The Bruma Guard followed me into that Gate and learned how to close it, which they continue to do as fast as Dagon opens them. And Cheydinhal held the line while they waited for the Count’s son to return from accomplishing his mission.” I held her gaze levelly. “So tell me, how does yours compare to them?” How does Bravil’s compare? Not very favorably, come to think of it.

“I had heard what had happened at Kvatch!” Draconis’s eyes narrowed. “What purpose would it serve to run into the Deadlands waving our swords?”

“You are the Captain of the Guard,” I bowed my head to her. “As such, it is your decision, and the Count’s, how best to handle these Gates. All you needed to do was send to Kvatch or better yet, Bruma, and ask how their Gates were closed. They would have gladly shared their successful and unsuccessful tactics with you. Such is the nature of veteran soldiers.”

Draconis’s jaw clenched. “I’ll have you know that I, too, serve in the Legion!”

I lost my patience. “Then start acting like it!”

Her head reared back in surprise like a startled horse, and her face turned white. Without another word, Draconis spun on her heel and stalked past the nervous guard out of the inn.

Silence fell over the common room as the guard turned his face from the door to me. The shields in his hands clattered slightly as we regarded each other. I took a deep breath. “What is it, sir?”

He straightened his shoulders and approached us. “The Count has ordered these shields to be presented to the new Knights of the White Stallion.” He presented a shield to each of us with a bow of respect. I gazed at the light iron oval, emblazoned with the white horse of Leyawiin rearing on a grass-green background. It resembled those of the City Guard, except for the golden collar around the horse’s neck. “And here is the bounty for the six bows you collected,” he added, setting a blue silk pouch on the table. “Six hundred drakes in all.” He set a pair of ornate keys beside the pouch. “The keys to the White Stallion Lodge, on the Green Road just north of town.”

Mazoga and I murmured our thanks to him. He saluted us smartly, then turned and left without another word.

Always better to throw down than to throw up!

Julian was awesome! From bursting into the throne room with Mazoga at her side, to hurling the decapitated head of Black Brugo to the Count's feet! Whew! Teresa wishes she had those kind of ovaries!

Will Leyawiin be counted among those who stand with Bruma, or be considered a traitor to the Empire?
Not only is the threat implicit in Julian's words, but is given emphasis by the head of Black Brugo at the Count's feet! Bravo!

my Orsimer friend
Indeed she is. I wonder if Julian herself knows exactly when Mazoga moved into that category?

And finally a second throw down with the guard captain who watched as Julian spent two days in the Deadlands and Mazoga protected her city against the Daedra issuing from within. I was cheering for Julian the whole time!

OMG!!! I have been screaming and jumping up and down on the seat of my chair over this chapter!!!!! This is my absolute favorite chapter of all !!!!!

There is no where to begin to quote, all of it was so AWESOME!!! But I could not stand it if I didn't repeat these:




GAAAAAAAAH !!!! WOOOOOOOOOOT !!!!!!!




OMG!!! GAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!




WOOOOOOOO HOOOOOO !!!!!

Julian has it going on in this chapter !!!! I will re-read this a hundred times and never tire of it !!!

YES!!! Like 'Rosa and mALX, I was cheering for Julian all the way!

Julian makes her point and counts coup on the endlessly annoying Countess Alessia in one fell swoop. She also manages to show just how unpopular the bigoted Countess is even among those who curry her favor. Bravo!


The implication being that they would be willing to provide the aid to Leyawiin that Leyawiin withholds to Bruma. Brilliantly said.

There were so many other parts of this that I could have quoted, but I don't want to spam your thread with a post longer than your chapter. Suffice it to say that this was just excellent!

Loved the cinematic quality of that image. And even more cinematic was the reveal of Brugo’s head. Clever Julian! No chance for Caro to wriggle out with the proof staining his carpet! And her ringing condemnation of the Leyawiin’s (apparently) useless guard force and its feckless Count had me standing up to cheer.

There is something interesting afoot with these Captains who seem unable to do their jobs- and I have to wonder if there is a geographical as well as political reason…

A rousing episode indeed. A couple times I found myself wondering if the Count would order Julian and Mazoga arrested. Now that would have been fun. I don't believe all the Count's horses and all the Count's men have the firepower to restrain Dames Julian and Mazoga!

It will be interesting to see if the seeds of shame that Julian planted will take root and bear productive fruit.

Doggone that Caelia; I sure hope she grows a pair. Same for the Count. I fear Countess Alessia is, unfortuanately, hopeless.

Oooh. I have a soft spot for Countess Millona of Anvil as well. I bet she'll help.

Best of all, Julian helped her friend, Mazoga become a knight errant. Ya, that's some special kinda knight!

@SubRosa: I rather thought that segment would get your blood going! Damn! It felt good writing it!

@mALX: I hope you didn’t break your chair!

@Destri: That scene with the Countess passing out and no one coming to her aid just popped into my head. That bit of tongue in cheek was so genius I just had to write it in! And I wanted to point out that Draconis is not the epitome of a Legion officer that she apparently thinks she is.

@treydoggie: That entire scene in the Leyawiin Court was playing just like a movie as I was writing it. It was a lot of fun!

@Acadian: I think the Count was too shocked at Julian’s bluntness to think about arresting her. Besides, she’s there on behalf of the Countess of Bruma, a far more interesting character than the vapid lady at his side. He wouldn’t make a good impression on the Northern Countess if he did arrest her representative.

Julian does one last thing for Mazoga before resuming her Grand Circuit of Cyrodiil.

***************
Chapter 19.11 The Lodge

After lunch, we gathered our gear and headed out of Leyawiin. Paint greeted me quietly when I stopped by the stable to settle his account, but I was dismayed yet again at how much weight he had lost in a little over a week. Atahba, the Khajiit who worked in the stables, advised me that Paint still wasn’t eating well. Though I visited him every day, the news remained the same. Paint just wasn’t his old self. Again I made the decision to walk.

“What’s the use of a horse if you can’t ride him?” Mazoga asked as we trudged up the muddy road in the rain. I glanced at her. Orsimeri see horses mostly as dinner on the hoof. Especially when they’re as broken as Paint is.

“He was a loan from a friend,” I answered finally. “The prior - died, and I made a promise to Paint that he would be well cared for as long as he lives. He has been of tremendous help to me.” Paint flicked an ear at me as I ran my hand down his neck, feeling the dullness of his coat beneath my palm. “I don’t desert my friends, Mazoga. I’m certain you understand that.”

“A horse a friend?” Mazoga snorted. “All right, if you say so, Julian.” She eyed the gelding again. “But what happened to him?”

“Will o’wisp,” I shifted Daedra Slayer at my waist. As long as I remained in the swamps of the Southern Niben, I intended not to be caught off guard again. Both my plain katana and my unenchanted bow were secured to the saddle, and I carried Akatosh’s Fury at my back, strung and ready for use.

The rain had stopped and the sun raised steam from the river and the road by the time we reached our destination. The White Stallion Lodge turned out to be a shabby frame building perched on a small knoll next to the Green Road. A weathered dock sheltered the opposite side of the road. While I viewed the headquarters of our new order skeptically, Mazoga seemed delighted to have a roof she could call home. “Look! A cooking fire!” She pointed out the stone hearth just behind the building. “And a porch,” she sprang onto the creaky boards and spun to look back at me. Her eyes moved beyond. “With a river view!”

Laughter spilled from my throat. River view, indeed, I thought as I turned to look at the waters of the Niben just past the worn dock. Paint followed me to the rear of the building, where I unsaddled him and provided a bucket of water for him. Mazoga had already gone inside, leaving the door open, when I returned to the porch.

Mazoga had tossed her shields, both the Orcish round and the Leyawiin light iron oval onto the shabby wooden table in the common room. Her voice reached me from an adjacent room. “Look! There’s two beds! Plenty of room for both of us!” Dubiously I peered into the small sleeping room at the pair of disheveled cots. Motheaten blankets failed to hide the lumpiness of the thin mattresses, the transparency of the threadbare sheets, the flat pillows. Mazoga plopped herself prone on one of the beds, which creaked dangerously under her armored weight. A cloud of dust puffed up from beneath her bulky form, nearly obscuring her face. “Ahh, this feels so comfortable!”

She waved me to the other cot. “Check it out!” Warily I did so, and found spiderwebs and mouse droppings. I picked up one corner of the mattress and checked beneath it. The frayed ropes that provided support did not give me confidence. I glanced at Mazoga, her own mattress now nearly reaching the floor. If I didn’t believe she was born under a rock, I certainly do so now. Holding my breath, I gathered up the bedding and carried it outside.

“What’s wrong?” Mazoga followed me out. “Isn’t the bed comfortable for you?”

“It may be comfortable,” I muttered, crossing the road to the dock and dropping my bundle on the wooden boards, “but it’s certainly not healthy.”

An hour later, the blankets and sheets from both beds, after a prolonged bath in the Niben River, were spread out on the sunny roof to dry in the hot afternoon sun. The mattresses had been emptied of rotting rushes, thoroughly shaken out, and restuffed with dry grasses gathered on the slope behind the lodge. The cot frames had been restrung with fresh ropes we found in a chest. I had a hearty fire going in the disused fireplace in hopes of drying the last of the mold from the interior. Mazoga had opened all the windows to catch any stray breeze.

“Hello!” the voice drew my attention to the road. A Legion Rider had stopped in front of the lodge and was staring at the roof. I stepped out onto the rickety porch.

“Hello, yourself,” I stifled a grin at the bemused look beneath his helm. “I’m Julian of Anvil, and this,” I turned as Mazoga joined me on the porch, still impressive in her linen shirt and leather pants, “is Sir Mazoga. We’re Knights-Errant of the White Stallion.”

“Oh, really?” The Legion rider’s brows disappeared beneath the helm as he regarded us. “The Count found replacements?” He tapped his chest. “I’m Quintus Tibullus.”

I let the grin surface as I shook my head. “How long has this place been closed up?”

His brown gaze grew thoughtful. “Since before I started patrolling here - about five years, I think.”

“Five years?” Mazoga exclaimed. “No wonder Black Brugo moved in here!”

“Yes,” Tibullus’s gaze narrowed at us.

“He’s dead,” I assured him. “Mazoga and I took care of him back in Telepe.”

“Did you?” I could see new respect in his eyes. “That’s mighty good news. Especially considering that Oblivion Gate up the road a ways.”

I frowned. “Where?”

“North of Water’s Edge,” Tibullus jerked his thumb northwards over his shoulder, as his bay pawed at the cobblestones, sparks flying from her shoe. “It’s set back from the road, and so far the people in the settlement haven’t been bothered by it. But I’ve already encountered a stray scamp or two, and a clannfear the last time I passed it.”

“Are you and your horse okay?” I asked.

Tibullus nodded. “Aye, that we are. That clannfear was a piece of work, though.”

“Watch out for flame atronaches,” I advised. “They’re worse.”

“Yes, they’re bad enough,” Mazoga agreed. “But if you can get close to one, she’s easy meat.”

Both Tibullus and I gave Mazoga a considering glance. “Meat?” the Legion rider repeated. “More like hot coals, I imagine.”

“Hot stuff, indeed,” I put a wry tone in my voice, lifting one brow suggestively. Mazoga missed my reference, but Tibullus didn’t. He guffawed heartily, then saluted the two of us.

“Good to meet you both,” he said. “Look forward to more encounters with you.”

“Oh, I won’t be staying here,” I ignored Mazoga’s quick glance at me. “Though I intend to stop by from time to time. But I have other tasks to perform.”

“Very well,” Tibullus nodded at me, picking up his rein and smooching at his horse. As she started her easy stroll down the road, he turned back. “But I hope you keep this stretch of road clear of bandits and monsters!”

*************
“Do you really have to go on?” Mazoga asked me the next morning. “I know it’s important that you get some aid for Bruma, but your horse doesn’t look very well at all.”

“I’ll keep walking,” I replied, my heart heavy at the thought of Paint’s persistent lack of energy. “If he doesn’t get better, there’s a friend in Weye who will take excellent care of him.” After all, Paint is seventeen years old. And the past few months have been hard on him, though he had taken it all in stride. Until that will o’wisp. What did that creature do? The convalescence spells no longer work on him. “I walked everywhere when I was in the Legion,” I continued. “I just have to rebuild my marching calluses again, that’s all.”

“Will you be back, Julian?” The wistfulness in her tone drew my gaze to Mazoga. “I liked having you with me at Fisherman’s Rock, and in Telepe.”

“You’re a damn fine fighter, Mazoga,” I secured my plain weapons to Paint’s saddle. “Just be careful.” I cast a glance at the dwarven blade at her hip. “Watch out for will o’wisps. Your weapon will be useless against them.”

“Aye, but I can’t afford an enchanted blade, yet.” Mazoga responded.

I recalled the sigil stones in my pack. Martin had shown me how to identify their effects, and I was lucky to get a shock damage stone. Mazoga watched with some befuddlement as I searched through the pack. Her eyes widened at the sight of the softly glowing stone I unwrapped.

“Draw your sword and give it to me,” I said, holding my right hand out for it.

“What?” Mazoga was understandably wary of surrendering her weapon. After a moment, she apparently decided she trusted me. The dwarven blade whispered as she drew it from its scabbard and handed it to me hilt first.

I tried to remember how I had enchanted the first Daedra Slayer. Martin had enchanted my present one, as well as Akatosh’s Fury, while I was laid up from the surgery on my knee. I simply dropped the stone on the blade. That is, I think that’s what I did. I looked up at Mazoga. “I’m not sure I know how to do this, so let’s give it the old Legion try.” Her eyes widened further as I held the buzzing stone over her precious blade.

I tapped the orb against the dwarven metal. The sword groaned, but the stone did not disappear. I closed my eyes and searched my memory again. This time, when I tried again, I let the full weight of the heavy globe drop onto the blade. Energy sizzled through the bones of my hand and wrist, and the weapon sang that discordant tone I remembered. I looked down to see my empty hand resting on the blade, which now glowed with a soft argent light.

I hefted the blade, getting a feel for its balance, then tested it on a nearby shrub. Lightning flared, and a small thunderclap followed, splitting the woody branches and throwing sparks. Paint threw his head up and snorted, and Mazoga stumbled backwards.

“Gods’ goolies!” she swore. “What in ‘blivion did you do?”

I took the blade in my still-tingling hand and extended its hilt to Mazoga. “You have an enchanted sword now.” I smiled as she stared at the weapon disbelievingly. “It should make quick work of any will o’wisps you find.” As her hand slowly grasped the hilt, I released the heavy sword into her grip. “Mind you, it needs recharging from time to time. If you find filled soul gems, use them. Otherwise, go see Agata at the Mages Guild in Leyawiin. Tell her I sent you, and she’ll take care of it for you. She’s expensive, though.”

The big Orsimer stared wordlessly at me. Finally she took a deep breath. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she exclaimed. “Thanks, Julian. You’re a real pal!”

I reached up and clapped her on one broad shoulder. “I’ll see you next time I come this way. In the meantime, remember to say please if you want something!”

Your depiction of Mazoga gets better with each chapter! You have her personality down pat, I can picture her saying everything exactly as you have written it, the expressions on her face as she says them!!

This chapter was a winding down in one way, and a building block at the same time. Deep bonds of friendship are being forged that are tangible - Awesome Write !!!!!!

Lovely!

I thoroughly enjoyed the contrast between Julian's view of the Lodge and that of our optimistic orc. The place is perfect for her - with a river view! Julian was wonderful to help shore and clean things up though.

I'm so pleased that Julian recognized the danger posed by wills-o-the-wisp to the mighty Mazoga and took appropriate steps to help her friend survive. Even to include advice on how to recharge the weapon.

I feel the heaviness in Julian's heart as she procedes north on foot with her four legged companion at her side. I fear Paint may be heading for retirement, and wonder if he will spend his days in the comfortable climate near the lake at Weye, or perhaps in the chilly Bruma Wild Eye stables of his birth. Lead on!

GAAAAAAAH !!!!! I hope by in Weye - you don't mean at the stables outside the Imperial City where they ... eat horses !!!!!! ARGH !!!!!!!!!!

Yes, by Weye, I meant, um, Weye. Not the Imperial City.

Perhaps under the care of his old retired fisher friend, Aelwin, in Weye who has taken care of Paint several times. Or perhaps at the Bruma stables of his birth.

Julian would never surrender Paint to that Snack Grabbing orc at Imperial City stables.

“A horse a friend?”
Buffy and Teresa would have no trouble understanding this!

Once again, Mazoga's naivete is very fun as she and Julian do some much-needed Spring cleaning at the Knights of the Green Mare's headquarters. Now the Count just has to shine the Horselight in the sky, and Sir Mazoga will be ready to do battle with evil-doers!

“I just have to rebuild my marching calluses again, that’s all.”
This reminds me of one of my favorite lines in the movie Gettysburg: "After the first few thousand miles, a man gets limber with his feet."

You know something, rider?

I resisted, and resisted, but now....it's too much...


MAZOGA IS NOW AS FIRMLY ENTRENCHED IN MY HEART AS IS VOLS IN ROSA'S STORY!!!

I demand (and I strongly, strongly suspect other readers will demand) that Mazoga be given more and MORE room in later episodes!!!

Dang...come to think of it, Mazoga would make a perfect pair with a certain lady Super Mutant in my friend Ole Andeee's story...


...Now THAT would be SOME crossover!!!

The return of Paint is bittersweet; I am happy to see our friend one more, but sad to see he is still not recovered.

Mazoga exuberance at having a home was wonderfully endearing, even as you described the shabby reality through Julian’s eyes. That was an excellent display of the writer’s craft.



We will have to guard against that sense of humor, I see.

There was just so much to love here that it is not possible to isolate this or that passage. The growth of Sir Mazoga under Julian's (and haute's) patient tutelage has been an especial treat. Though Julian is somewhat sparing of words, her actions in enchanting Mazoga's blade speak volumes. That was a thoughtful, selfless act- a gift of something her friend will need....

And you have again managed to take an interesting (and often annoying) bit player and turn her into someone special, complete with a history and a personality.

Now on to Weye, where we can hope Aelwin has some ideas for another of Julian's friends.

@mALX: Thanks for your thumbs up on my view of Mazoga. She is a wonderful, if difficult, character to write. And you’re right, the last segment is both an ending and a bridge at the same time.

@Acadian: So you enjoyed the contrast in how Mazoga and Julian saw the charming Lodge. I knew you would appreciate Julian’s parting gesture in enchanting Mazoga’s sword and advising her how to keep it recharged. As for Paint, not to worry, he’ll be comfortable in his retirement.

@SubRosa: You had me rolling with your comment about the Horselight!

@Foxy: Mazoga as memorable as Vols? Now I’m thrilled! She really grew on me, I’d have to admit.

@trey: Developing Mazoga’s character was a challenge, as she was already so distinctive in the game, but it ended up being quite fun. Julian won’t forget Mazoga so quickly. As for Paint, help arrives sooner than Weye.

With the start of a new chapter we revisit a familiar place and continue the Grand Circuit of Cyrodiil.

****************
Chapter 20.1 Back to Bravil

Antoine Branck eyed Paint as I led him through the gate into the paddock. “What happened?” he said on a low whistle. “Paint looks quite ill.”

“Yes,” I answered, patting my loyal companion on his arched neck. He still hadn’t regained the old vigor, nor had he recovered the weight he had lost. “Will o’wisp laid into him pretty good before I could kill it.” I pulled my pack and bows from the saddle. “I haven’t been riding him since. I’ve also been casting convalescence spells on him as often as I can, but this is as good as I’ve been able to get him.”

“Well, let me and Isabeau put our heads together on him, and we’ll see what we can do!” Antoine averred firmly, stripping the tack from Paint’s spotted back.

“If you can get his appetite back, I’d be happy,” I said.

“Not eating well?” Antoine frowned.

“Not taking apples anymore,” I responded sadly. He had started refusing them in Leyawiin, and that had scared me more than the weight loss or the dull look in his eye. “If I can get him back to Weye, he has a friend that adores him.”

“Right, we’ll get right on it, ma’am,” Antoine’s brisk tone did little to ease my worry, but I appreciated his can-do attitude. Swinging my pack to my shoulder, bows in hand, I laid my cheek against Paint’s neck. He flicked an ear at me, then dropped his head and nosed desultorily at the lush marsh grass at his feet. When he raised his head without taking a bite, I caught Antoine’s wince, and turned away before tears could break through my self-control.

Wearily I trudged to the Quaking Bridge. Frederick greeted me as his relief stepped off the bridge. “Hello, Julian!” his welcoming smile faded at the look on my face. “It seems that you and Paint have walked a long road,” his tone turned somber. “I’m off duty now, shall we walk in together?”

“Certainly,” I agreed, glad of his company. “Long road indeed, and the road ahead is still longer yet,” I continued as we walked along the Quaking Bridge.

“But I see you no longer limp,” Frederick said. “And you’re filling your armor more.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Worried about your horse?” I nodded silently. “Talk to Marz. She may be able to help Paint.”

“A Chapel healer that works with animals?” I glanced sharply at Frederick. He grinned lopsidedly at me.

“Most of ‘em don’t, but Marz has a soft spot for the dumb ones.” He clapped my shoulder, tipping my balance just a little before I caught myself. “What news do you bring?”

I paused as we reached open gates and glanced back across the canal. “Have you had any new Oblivion Gates open around here?”

“Since you last came this way?” Frederick shook his head, his gaze following mine toward the ruined fort and the remains of the Gate. “No, none at all.”

“I need to head to the Mages Guild first,” I looked at Frederick. “But after that, do you think it’s possible for me to see Viera Lerus?”

“The Captain?” Frederick’s brows rose in surprise. “I don’t see any reason why not,” he said after a moment. “She seems to think better of you since your last visit.”

We walked through the gates into the town. The guards standing at their posts greeted us by name. Startled, I glanced at them as we walked down Gate Way. After the indifferent arrogance of the Leyawiin Guard, the camaraderie from these guardsmen was unexpected.

“Well, Frederick, I’ll see you again,” I said when we reached the intersection of Gate Way and Canal Street. He knuckled his helm at me with a grin and headed for the Castle. I turned right and made my way down Canal Street, with barely a glance at the skooma den above my head. I’ll sound out Lerus about the best way to approach Count Terentius, I thought to myself. I’m not in the mood to waste more time jumping through hoops to make another lazy-butt noble happy. I still felt resentful of the days I had lost convincing the Leyawiin Count to send a contingent to Bruma. Still, I’ve gained a friend in Sir Mazoga. I smiled to myself at the remembrance of her reaction to her newly enchanted sword - “Gods’ goolies!” I hoped that she still found the White Stallion Lodge much to her liking.

The afternoon air was already turning cool as I stepped onto the porch of the Mages Guild chapterhouse. The unmistakable tang of autumn was already palpable, even this far south. Is winter already set in at Bruma? How long before I find out?

Kud-Ei greeted me warmly from her chair when I entered the chapterhouse commons. “Welcome, Julian!” she smiled toothily as I approached her. I dropped my pack to the floor, leaned my bows against the wall, and collapsed into the easy chair next to her. Stretching my long legs, I leaned back with a sigh. “Fancy some tea?” she asked me, her orange eyes regarding me with some amusement.

“Certainly,” I admitted, thinking of walking back across town to the Castle on my sore feet. Haven’t walked this much since I was in the Legion! Got to build up my marching calluses.

Kud-Ei rose gracefully to her feet and moved into the dining room. She returned a short moment later with a cup. Filling it with tea from the pot on the side table, she handed me the mug before resuming her seat. She waited until I took a sip before speaking again.

“I hear you have been quite busy,” she murmured. “It’s a shame that Falcar hass been so careless with the apprenticess.” I glanced at her, hoping she did not see the tensing in my jaw at the mention of that accursed Altmer. Her orange eyes met mine squarely. “I ssee that you are sstill angry. Why?”

“Such total disregard of the value of life is not befitting a leader,” I said slowly.

“Where did you learn that?” Kud-Ei’s spined brows had climbed her forehead at my words. “Certainly not in the Legion?”

“Oh, yes, in the Legion,” I answered firmly, nodding for emphasis. “In times of war, in combat, every capable soldier counts. When a soldier falls in battle, we consider that a sacrifice. But when a soldier falls because of the carelessness of comrades or officers, we consider it a waste.” I turned my gaze to the amber tea in my cup. “Battles, wars, even kingdoms have been won or lost by one life.”

“I never realized ssoldierss felt that way,” Kud-Ei murmured into her tea. By now I was unsurprised. It was not the first time I had encountered the common perception of soldiers as emotionless killing machines.

“Not all of them do,” I responded. “There’s all kinds in the Legion. I was lucky that my first two pili were men of integrity.” I drank down the rest of the tea, washing the dust of the road from my throat. Kud-Ei nodded when I pointed askance at the tea pot.

She waited until I had refilled my cup before speaking again. “And I hear Dagail in Leyawiin iss hersself once more.” Again, she did not miss my reaction. “And I ssee you are angry about that, too. Why?”

I slid a sidelong glance at the Argonian. “Because no matter what a leader’s faults are, showing overt disrespect toward her is detrimental to the group as a whole.”

“You must think uss magess are an undissciplined lot, after so many yearss in the Legion,” Kud-Ei commented. A short chuckle escaped my lips. Not your mages, Kud-Ei.

“There’s all kinds in the Guild, too,” I remarked. Her eyes gleamed with amusement, then turned serious again.

“What newss do you bring, Julian? How do you return without a limp, but with the weight of the world on your shoulderss?”

Startled by her perception, I glanced at Kud-Ei. Sighing, I returned my gaze to the tea in my hands. How much to tell her? “I’m certain you’ve heard of the Mythic Dawn,” I began.

“Yess,” Kud-Ei turned her gaze to her cup. “Ranaline tried to kill you the lasst time you were here.”

“They are planning to make Bruma the next Kvatch,” I continued. “I’ve been tasked to ask for troops from the other counts and countesses around Cyrodiil.” Sighing, I sipped at the tea. “So far, Count Indarys of Cheydinhal has sent troops. I’m here to ask Count Terentius for support, as well.”

“Then you will go to the other citiess, too?” Kud-Ei asked. “Sskingrad, Anvil, Chorrol?” I nodded. “What good will more numberss be againsst the hordess of Oblivion? I undersstand they broke down the very wallss of Kvatch!”

“So they did,” I answered. “The Bruma Guard has learned how to close the Gates as they open, but casualties are inevitable, and they will come to the point where they will be unable to prevent the opening of a Great Gate. Once that happens, Bruma will fall.” I met Kud-Ei’s gaze. “It is the Countess Bruma’s hope that having reinforcements from the other counties will buy us enough time to figure out how to -” my voice faltered as Uriel’s voice brushed through my memory, “- to close shut the jaws of Oblivion.”

Kud-Ei regarded me for several moments. “Jusst how sseriouss iss thiss, Julian?”

“If Bruma falls,” I closed my eyes against the terrifying thought, “so goes all of Cyrodiil.”

“That bad?” Kud-Ei whispered, dismay in her voice. Silently, I nodded.

The contrast between Bravil and Leyawiin was deftly drawn. That is particularly true given Julian’s past experiences in Bravil- the unfortunate ones, I mean.

Hooray for Marz! If anyone can provide Paint with the Restoration he needs, I would put my money on her.

I will try not to go into “cold shower” territory in regards to Frederick of Bravilwood’s interest in Julian. I will say that he is rather observant and aware of the changes in our favorite former soldier. But perhaps that is simply camaraderie…

Good plan to talk to Lerus before going to the Count- of course, Julian is generally a careful planner.


A lovely way to show the passage of time- and Julian’s awareness of it.

The conversation with Kud-Ei is a joy to read (as your conversations usually are). You have such a wonderful, natural way of seeding information into those talks- in this case, the goal of Legion training and the value the Legion places on the lives of the soldiers. Or as Carbo more bluntly put it- “You’re a good troop- try not to get yourself killed.”

And an ominous, but honest assessment at the end.

Do we assume she stopped and talked to Marz on her way? Or will you be writing that out? ARGH! PAINT!!!

I think one of the most revealing passages in this chapter of beautifully worded and poignient phrasing is this:



It gives a visual image of Julian's inner strength. She knows fully the danger, the prognosis if this mission fails - but still manages to function and not give herself over to the terror she feels inside (which would infect others and cripple her efforts to save Cyrodiil) - Awesome Write !!!!!

So does Isabeau look like Michelle Pfeiffer, and turn into a hawk when the sun is up?

Poor Paint! My heart goes out to him. You do a good job of conveying Julian's love for her trusty steed.

Oh noes! Viggo Mortensen has stolen Paint!

“And you’re filling your armor more.”
Hubba-hubba!

How do you return without a limp, but with the weight of the world on your shoulderss?
Well said Master Po! I almost expect Kud-Ei to start calling Julian grasshopper next!

As Three Dog noted, the contrasts you draw between Leyawiin and Bravil are startling. I almost want to say that Bravil seems too nice now. But of course we are seeing it through Julian's eyes, as a place filled with friends and comrades: Frederick, Marz, Kud-Ei, Antoine, etc... Quite the turnaround from how she perceived the city when she first arrived. I cannot help but to think that Julian has come home. It is rather fitting too, that the place where she completely sank into darkness be the same one where she returns to the light.

Yay, Bravil!

Antoine is a peach. I hope Marz can help with Paint.

It is good that Julian has a friend in Frederick. I'm pleased she can speak with him as a fellow soldier. Hopefully he can help provide a little info on how to best procede with, um, Count Pompousness.

You do wonderful justice to dear Kud-Ei. What a joy she is!

Great insights on the mind of a soldier.

Chapter 19.11 The Lodge

The update on Paint’s condition is just heartbreaking. I was so sure that Julian would find him at the stables prancing around like his old self. As fitting as it may be to allow him to be looked after by fellow retiree Merowald, I would much rather see him put out to pasture at his old stomping grounds in Bruma . . . or in the quiet and (relative) serenity of Weynon Priory.

I agree with everyone else in praising your version of Mazoga. I hope we get to see more of her. It was a small thing, but I loved the way that Julian made sure to establish Mazoga in the mind of Tibullus. All this panhandling diplomacy she has been doing of late seems to have made her even more acutely aware of the importance of appearances. I doubt that Tibullus would have been so cordial encountering a solitary Orc squatting in the White Stallion Lodge, knight or not.

Given Mazoga’s complete lack of concern for hygiene or cleanliness, I shudder to think what the White Stallion Lodge will look like the next time Julian comes through.

Chapter 20.1 Back to Bravil

I can’t say it any better than SageRosa already did. My favorite part was where Julian made her way down Canal Street with ‘barely a glance’ at the skooma den, yet still remained cognizant of where it was. That stands in stark contrast to the last time she stood on that street just after leaving Fort Grief. Julian is ‘filling her armor’ in more ways than merely the obvious.

@treydog: I wanted to establish Bravil as a friendlier place now that Julian has confronted her past there and overcome it. But we will see more of the less savory side of it again. As for Frederick’s interest in Julian, she prefers to see it as camaraderie.

@mALX: Don’t worry, you haven’t missed anything. Read on for Marz’s assessment of Paint’s condition!

@SubRosa: I wouldn’t know about Isabeau’s nighttime activities. As for home, well, it’s not Bravil, but it’s a place where she now has friends. Home is a place still ahead on the road Julian has picked for herself.

@Acadian: I knew you would enjoy seeing old friends again!

@Destri: Thanks for the kudos!

Julian finally learns why her convalescence spells haven’t been working on Paint.
****************
Chapter 20.2 Marz and Paint

After enjoying a pot of tea and the latest news around Bravil with Kud-Ei, I took Thornblade to Ita Rienus for evaluation. Her brown eyes lit up as I carefully drew the serrated blade from its specially designed scabbard. “Oh, my!” she held her hands out as I laid the hilt in her grip. “This is the Indarys ancestral sword! How did you come by it?”

“It was a gift from Count Indarys,” I replied. Ita narrowed her gaze at me when I didn’t say any more.

“I heard his son closed the Oblivion Gate outside Cheydinhal,” she remarked with mock casualness. “And I heard a certain white-haired Redguard was with him.” She chuckled when I looked away from her. “Very well, why are you showing me this?”

“What do you know of it, ma’am?” I asked. “T’would seem to me that those serrations on the blade would be difficult to maintain and repair, let alone keep it sharp.”

“You would think so!” Ita exclaimed, turning from me and swinging the sword, testing its balance. “But it’s enchanted with an armor damaging effect. Because it does more damage to most plain armor than any steel plate could do to it, it keeps its edge -” she touched one of the spiny protrusions along the blade, “and its thorns.” She handed it back to me. “You’ll need to keep it recharged, of course, but it has a very reasonable magicka cost. You’ll get sixty uses out of it before you need to find a couple of filled greater or grand soul gems.”

Carefully I slid the blade back into its sheath. “Thanks very much, ma’am,” I said.

***********************
It was nearly dusk when I reached the Chapel. Marz sat near the front, praying silently. I sat quietly next to her, my gaze on the last of the sunbeams filtering through the stained glass windows at the west end of the nave.

I sensed her head turn toward me. “Ah, Julian,” she greeted me in that wonderful melodic voice of hers that eased all my cares and burdens. “Welcome back to Bravil. It ssemss to me that you have recovered from your old woundss.”

“That’s right, Marz,” I answered softly. “Thanks to the healer of Talos, and to Akatosh’s will, my knee is restored.”

“Praisse the Nine!” Marz exclaimed softly, joy in her voice. “Cirroc is a sskilled chiurgeon as well as a compassionate healer. I am glad he wass able to assist you.” She regarded me a moment longer. “But your heart iss heavy. What troubless you?”

“It is Paint, ma’am,” I answered softly. “My horse was attacked by a will o’wisp eleven days ago. I cast convalescence on him multiple times, but he still lacks his usual energy. He has little appetite, and is still weak and slow.”

“Oh, dear,” Marz hissed softly. “Where iss he?”

“With Branck and Bienne at the Bay Roan Stable,” I answered. “They said they would see what they can do for him.” I looked down at my clasped hands, realizing how tightly my fingers clenched themselves.

“Then let’ss go vissit him, shall we?” Marz rose to her feet. Without another word, we walked out of the Chapel into the cool evening. The sun had slipped behind the hills to the west, and its light was fast fading from the sky. Ahead of us, in the eastern sky, stars twinkled in the dusk. Masser and Secunda would rise in another hour or so, but for now we had only the starlight and torches to guide our feet down Wall Street toward the gates.

The guards opened the tall wooden portals for us, letting us out onto the Quaking Bridge. As we approached the stables, Branck appeared from the paddock, walking toward the front door. He paused on the porch as we walked into the circle of light cast by the torch.

“Hello, Julian,” he said. “And Marz. Come to look at Paint?”

“Yess,” Marz spoke for me. “How iss he right now?”

Branck shook his head. “Not interested in grain or forage. Isabeau’s cooking up some molasses and bran mash for him to try and entice him to take something. If we can get him to eat, hopefully we’ll be able to get some restore health potions into him.”

“Let me ssee him firsst,” Marz said. “Then we will sspeak further of how besst to treat him. For now, the bran massh ssoundss good.” With a nod at the hostler, she led me to the paddock gate. I heard his footsteps fade within the building as I followed the Argonian healer into the enclosure. Paint was easy to see in the dusk with his white-splashed coat. He pricked his ears at Marz’s soft hissing, then nudged my cheek with his soft muzzle while she stroked her hands over his neck and body. She laid her ear against his chest, just behind his elbow, and listened for several minutes. She did the same thing along both his flanks, all the time running her long-fingered palms over his smooth coat. He did not budge during her examination, though he flinched once or twice. She finished up standing in front of him, her hands beneath his jaw, her blunt scaled nose against his velvety nostrils. Then she stepped back with a gentle rub of his long face.

“Come with me,” she whispered to me. “I will sspeak with Issabeau and Antoine, and we will disscuss how besst to treat your friend.”

Bienne straightened up from the mash cooker as we entered the stable. Antoine sat at the table, slicing an apple into thin pieces. “Hello, Marz,” Bienne greeted her. “Julian.”

“Pleasse ssit,” Marz waved me to the table opposite Branck. She took the chair next to me as Bienne moved to join us. “Julian, a will o’wissp’s attack iss two pronged. It not only hass a drain health effect, which iss the mosst obviouss, but it alsso hass a drain magicka effect.”

I frowned at her words. “Yes, I’m aware of the magicka effect, ma’am,” I responded softly. “But Paint is a horse, how can that affect him?”

“All living creaturess possess magicka,” Marz responded. “Many people don’t believe sso, but it’ss true. Though animalss can not casst sspells like men, mer and tailed folk can, magicka iss sstill essential for their ssurvival. Magicka iss what createss the sspecial bond you sso obvioussly share with Paint. It iss what enabless animalss to experience joy, contentment, pain, and yess, ssuffering.”

Makes a weird sort of sense to me. “It’s clear to me that Paint is suffering,” I spoke slowly. “But I don’t know how to restore his magicka.”

“It iss more difficult to resstore the magicka of animalss than of people,” Marz agreed. “Animalss view the world differently from uss. Thosse of uss who are clossesst to animalss - Argonianss and Khajiiti, find it ssomewhat eassier to esstablissh empathy with the dumb creaturess, but even you, Julian, can accomplissh ssomething.” She sat back in the plain chair, her orange eyes sad. “Yet, it issn’t as sstraightforward as a convalessence sspell. Time is crucial for full recovery. Animalss are sslower to recover from loss of magicka than people.”

“Would the bran mash be of help, then?” Bienne asked. She had been listening intently to Marz’s dissertation.

“Yess,” Marz nodded. “It iss warm, ssavory of odor, and eassily doctored. Molassess is a wisse choice, as are appless,” she gestured at the apple Branck had sliced. “If you have apple cider, that would be a good addition as well.” She turned to me. “Julian, if you wissh, I will teach you a resstore magicka sspell. You will get better with practice, as you have done with your convalessence sspell.” Now she shook her head. “But I doubt that Paint will recover hiss full sstrength anytime ssoon. Iss there ssomeplace you can leave him to recuperate?”

“I have a house in the Imperial City,” I mused softly, my eyes on the table. “And a good friend in Weye. If I ask, I’m sure Aelwin Merowald will be happy of Paint’s company. He adores Paint, and I think Paint likes him very much too.”

“Good,” Marz nodded. “Though the road to the Imperial City is full of danger, we can get Paint a little sstronger for the trip.” She regarded me a moment longer. “As a Magess Guild member, do you have resstore magicka potionss with you?”

“Yes,” I answered. “And I can get more while I’m here. Will that help?”

“Once we get Paint eating again,” Branck nodded with a glance at Marz, “it should work, right Marz?”

“It will help potentiate the effect of the sspell,” Marz agreed. She looked at me again. “Julian, get ssome resst tonight. I will casst the sspell tonight, and teach you tomorrow. You must be ressted to learn it. It requiress much concentration on the part of the casster.”

The tightness that had persisted in my chest for the past eleven days eased a little at the confidence in Marz’s tone. Do I have what it takes to heal Paint? But how long will it take for him to recover? Still, it’s more hope than I’ve had ever since he collapsed on the Yellow Road and I thought I was going to lose him. “Thank you, ma’am,” I said. “And you, too, Bienne and Branck. I really appreciate your help.”

ARGH!!!!! PAINT !!!! Why can Marz teach the spell but not cast it on Paint herself? ARGH !!!!!! I wouldn't make Paint walk all the way to Weye ill, and Aelwin Merowald can't heal him!!! ARGH !!! I would leave Paint there, where Bienne and Marz can work on him !!!! ARGH !!!

A Great Write, and great chapter...but heart-wrenching, poor Paint !!!!

I would never have thought of THAT as the reason!!!

Brilliant, rider! How did you come up with that little piece of genius?

I very much enjoyed your portrayal of Ita and the interactions/observations among her, Julian and the Thorn blade. Another wonderful character that closely matches my own vision of her.

Ahhh is right. Buffy and I also find the voices of Argonian women mesmerizingly soothing. I am so NOT surprised that Marz does not hesitate to extend her healing skill to our four legged friend. That speaks volumes of her beautiful character.

Oh, how very clever! So much nicer than round ears, tail draggers and damn pointy-eared ones!

Your explanation for Paint's plight was, quite simply, storytelling at its best - a joy to read!

So, it seems Marz will cast the restore magicka spell on Paint tonight while Julian rests her mind. Tomorrow, Marz will teach the spell to Julian. After a few days of spells and TLC, we hope to restore Paint's appetite. At that point, his treatment becomes much more flexible, as it can rely on readily available restore magicka potions. At that point, and hopefully feeling stronger, it seems Julian may be able to safely get Paint up to Aelwin in Weye. I'm sure Aelwin will be able to see to Paint's care and diet, augmenting with restore magicka potions as required. Perhaps, if Paint were younger, he could fully recover and once again join Julian as she travels; but alas, I fear he will never quite be the same and perhaps a pleasant retirement is in order. My heart aches for Julian, and Paint.

Very clever twist on the wisp's attack, and its effects on Paint. One can clearly see the writer's veterinary knowledge in Marz's examination of Paint as well.

Like Acadian, I also liked the use of the term 'tailed folk'.

I, like all others, have Paint in my heart as much as any of the wonderful characters you have created and I was sad to read that even though he was healed, he didn't seem the old frolliccing horse he used to be. I truly adore the depth you have given the infliction on the poor horse.

Oh, I also loved what you did with Mazoga

This is another one where I just want to quote the entire post to highlight the “good parts.” The discussion of the Thornblade is a fascinating bit of enchanted weapon mechanics. But Marz is the star once more. The idea that all creatures possess magicka in a magical world is one of those- “Well of course they do- why did I never think of that?” moments. Inspired and creative storytelling there. And your personal and professional experience with equine companions is again a wonderful source of inspiration. Like Julian, I am sorry that Paint's recovery will be slow- but glad that recovery is possible.

I like how Ita Rienus gives Julian an assessment of Thornblade's abilities while also telling her the number of charges that the blade possesses and the cost (in soul gems) of keeping it recharged. That is another of the wonderful details that set Old Habits apart.

And, once again, the voice of sage counsel and reason comes with the Argonian sssibilant ‘sss’. As the others said, Marz’s examination of Paint was both thorough and well-described. Her diagnosis was spot-on, and her prescription for treatment leaves no doubt that Paint will eventually regain much of his previous health. Given the squalor around them, the indifference of the guard, and the predilections of their no account . . . er . . . Count, I wonder if the people of Bravil realize the treasure they have over in the Chapel of Mara.

[quote name='Destri Melarg' date='Oct 12 2010, 02:18 AM' post='119547']
[quote name='D.Foxy' post='119534' date='Oct 11 2010, 10:52 AM']
And, since we have decided to share our ideas of Julian’s family members, I present Julian’s twin sister, Ororo, the one who is further along in her studies of magic.
[/quote]

@Destri are you trying to give us young blokes a hernia? Oh and certain women?

Love your writing h.e.r

I started reading your series today, and while I haven't finished it yet, I haven't been able to put it down. You have the amazing ability to draw your readers into the story.

@mALX: Julian wants to leave Paint where she can visit him more often. That would mean Weye (close to her charming shack on the Waterfront) or Cloud Ruler Temple. She is opting for Merowald because the climate is kinder to aged horses, not to mention the lovely little paddock with the grand old oak tree next to his house.

@Foxy: I assume you are speaking of the magicka-depleting effect of the will o’wisp? I looked it up on wiki, and thought, a-ha! In shamanistic traditions, shamans heal the soul, while healers heal the body. I figured this was the same thing, or similiar.

@Acadian: You have the right of it: Paint’s days as Julian’s traveling companion on the roads of Cyrodiil are over. She will not risk his life more than she has to.

@SubRosa: Thanks!

@Remko: Long time no see! I’m glad to know that you’re still reading my fan fic. I hear you about Paint and Mazoga.

@treydog: I’ve always written what I can imagine, rather than what I know, but what I know has a tendency to creep into my writing from time to time.

@Destri: I think the people of Bravil do recognize the gem that graces the Chapel of Mara, it’s just that their appreciation runs quieter and deeper than mere singing of praises.

@Doommeister: Welcome to Chorrol! I’m glad to see that you have stopped reading long enough to tell me how much you like Julian’s story. I hope that you will continue to enjoy this as I continue with the Main Quest.

*****************
Chapter 20.3 Count Terentius

Viera Lerus greeted me within the great hall. “Good morning Julian.” She looked closer at my face. “Didn’t you get much rest last night?”

I shook my head. “I did sleep well, but I was at the stables with Marz just now, learning how to cast a restore magicka spell on touch.”

“Ah, yes, your horse,” Lerus nodded her understanding. “Frederick told me the two of you had some bad luck on the road.” She turned and led me toward the dais at the rear of the hall. “I hope he gets better, Julian.”

I hope so too. This morning he had shown some interest in the apple I offered him, though he only lipped at the pieces. However Branck reported to Marz and me that Paint had eaten the bran mash last night after Marz had cast her spell on him. When I looked at him this morning, I thought his eye looked a little brighter, not quite so sunken. Still, the change was so subtle, I wasn’t certain if I was imagining things.

We waited behind a man, a Breton by his fair coloring and High Rock accent, while he complained of the lack of fishing in the bay. “The schools are getting smaller and scarcer,” he demonstrated shrinkage with his hands. “I ‘ave to go further and further away from the walls to find ‘ealthy fish. And just the other day, I was almost beset by pirates!”

Count Regulus Terentius, a bored expression on his face, shrugged. “Your fishing problems are not my concern. Your inability to pay your taxes are.”

“But Count!” the Breton spread his hands helplessly. “If I can’t fish, I can’t make enough to pay my taxes, let alone feed my family!”

The count waved him away impatiently. As the Breton stumped dejectedly away, Terentius’s jaded gaze fell on us, and a flicker of resentment mingled with recognition passed through his slack-featured face as we stepped forward. “What is it, Lerus?” His tone held overt contempt for the lean woman at my left side.

“This is Julian of Anvil,” Lerus kept her voice commendably calm. “She is the person responsible for closing the Oblivion Gate in the old Bravil Fort ruins.”

He regarded me with disinterested eyes. “I’m rather busy,” his breath huffed as he sipped at the goblet in his hand. I glanced around the great hall. It was empty of citizens. Fathis Aren, standing off to one side, arched a disdainful brow at me as he nodded in silent acknowledgment. “I doubt you have anything,” the count’s additional words drew my attention back to him, “to tell me that I’d want to hear.”

Lerus’s advice from last night fresh in my mind, I bowed to the Count. “Good morning, sir. I come with a message from Countess Narina Carvain of Bruma.”

Terentius’s brows rose. “Really?” His tone held less contempt and more interest. He set the wine on the small table next to his seat. “And how is the old girl these days?”

“Holding up, sir,” I kept my voice neutral. “These Oblivion Gates that are opening outside her walls are occupying much of her attention. There is evidence that the Mythic Dawn has selected Bruma as their next target for the Oblivion siege engine.”

“Indeed,” Count Terentius shook his head, his brown hair glimmering in the firelight from the braziers on either side of his high-backed throne. “Do send her my sympathy and my regards.”

“Countess Carvain would ask for more from you, sir,” I held his gaze steadily. Remember what Lerus said. He asked Carvain to marry him years ago, and she refused. But he still holds a torch for her. “She asks for reinforcements for her garrison. It is her hope to keep closing the Oblivion Gates as fast as they open. That would prevent a Great Gate, such as that which overpowered Kvatch, from opening on the plain in front of Bruma.”

The man’s brown gaze flickered from me to Viera Lerus. A small smile of triumph appeared on his face. “Do not think me ungrateful, Julian of Anvil,” he remarked casually. “Your selfless act of closing the Gate in the fort ruins outside our walls has not gone unremarked. Let me show my gratitude by sending my Captain of the Guard to Bruma.”

Beside me, Lerus stiffened. “Sir, I can’t leave -”

“Yes, you can,” Count Terentius nodded. “After all, you have a competent second in Thalberg, do you not? He is perfectly capable of managing the Guard in your absence.”

I narrowed my eyes at the count as Lerus inhaled slowly. “Are you sending Captain Lerus by herself, sir?” I asked.

His smile grew wider. “Ah, yes, indeed. Captain Lerus is a fine warrior and worth three of my Guard.” Now he grew serious. “And I can not take any chances at leaving the town undefended should another Gate open outside our walls.” His tone brooked no further argument.

“Many thanks,” I said, bowing to him again. Big help you are. If you want to impress Countess Carvain, this isn’t the way to do it.

“Have a safe trip!” Terentius waved us away, reaching for the wine goblet at his elbow. I caught Lerus’s angry glare and jerked my head toward the tall doors leading outside. Her jaw clenched, she took her frustrations out on the russet and gold carpet that led us to the portal. As the sentries hurried to open the doors for us, I turned to Lerus.

“There’s no reason for me to stay in Bravil any longer,” I said quietly. “How soon can you leave? Perhaps we can travel together as far as Weye.”

“I don’t have a horse, I’ll only slow you down,” Lerus shrugged. I shook my head.

“Paint isn’t well enough for me to ride him,” I met her gaze. “You won’t be the one slowing me down. I can appreciate some help keeping the predators away from him.” And I’d like time to speak freely with you, Lerus.

“All right, give me an hour, then,” Lerus agreed, her irritation at Count Terentius easing a little. “It’ll be good to get out of Bravil.”

***************
I was already at the stable with Branck and Bienne getting Paint ready for the long walk back to Weye when Lerus joined us. “You’d best break it up over a couple of days,” Bienne advised me. “Stop at the Faregyl Inn for the evening. It’s an easy walk from here,” she squinted up at the late morning sun, “and you should get there before dark barring any delays on the road. It’s off the road a bit, but the fare’s hearty, and Alix Lencolia, the blademaster there, knows his equines.” She pressed a couple of pieces of folded parchment into my hand. “One of these is for him, the other is for the person you’ll be leaving Paint with at Weye. They contain the recipes for the bran mash we’ve been giving him.” She smiled at me. “He had another meal of it after you left, and we were able to get a vial of restore magicka down him that way.”

“Thank you so much for all your help,” I could feel a further easing of that knot in the pit of my stomach. Paint did indeed look improved after the second spellcasting. He held his head up higher, and seemed curious about Viera Lerus. She opened the gate as I led Paint out, his saddle bristling with Thornblade, Daedra Slayer and both bows. “You’ve got quite the collection of weaponry there,” she remarked. I glanced at her after I waved good bye to Branck and Bienne.

“I’m leaving one of the blades at my house on the Waterfront,” I said after we reached the cobblestones that marked the Green Road. “It was a gift, and I’m told it’s a very valuable weapon. But it’s a bit heavy after these katanas, so I’ll put it aside for now.”

We were silent as we walked north toward the ridge that marked the upper end of the Niben Bay floodplain. The sun was warm on our backs, the breeze in our faces a cool harbinger of winter. The trees around us hid deer, the occasional wolf, and boar within their shadowy embrace. Paint’s hooves clopped slowly on the stones as he walked with his head between us. I was reminded of the time Martin and I walked to Weynon Priory from Kvatch. The slow easy pace of our walk had been a peaceful interlude between the chaos of Kvatch and the tragedy that struck Weynon Priory on our arrival.

The climb up the steep ridge was hard for Paint, but he followed us gamely. When we reached the top, he was blowing hard. As Marz had taught me, I laid my fingers against his jaw behind the bit, where I could feel his pulse. Though elevated from the exertion, his heart rate dropped quickly to a more normal pace. I made him stand still for a few minutes while I recalled the restore magicka spell the healer of Mara had taught me.

“Put your handss on Paint’ss ribss, jusst behind the shoulder. Feel hiss heart beat, and the air moving through hiss lungss.” Marz placed my hands in the appropriate place on Paint’s side. He swung his head around and bumped my shoulder gently with his nose. “Thiss iss hiss core, the ssource of hiss magicka. Let your heart beat match hiss, your breath match hiss.” I closed my eyes and concentrated on my hands. “Once both of you are in tune with each other, find hiss core. It can be a flame of white light, or a concentration of heat, or ssome other thing. But you will know it by the way it beatss in time with hiss heart and yourss.” Behind my eyelids, I saw a tiny white spark that flickered feebly. Though my hands still rested on Paint’s warm coat, I reached through him toward that faint flame. I could feel the merest hint of warmth beyond that of flesh and blood. “Touch hiss core with one hand, and find your own with the other. When you touch your own core, energy will flow from you to him. It will alwayss flow from sstrongesst to weakesst, as water will flow from high to low, and warmth will flow from the fire to the cold sstone.”

As Marz spoke in her singsong hiss, I became aware of my own white flame, a modest fire like the hearty crackle of a campfire. With my soul’s left hand cupping Paint’s spark, my other hand moved over my own core. As my palm touched my magicka, it surged high, arcing through my arm, through my body, and down to that feeble flare. Like a lava flow in the Deadlands, the argent energy flowed from me to Paint. Before long my own fire was diminished, and his had grown, until they were equal to each other, as our heart beats and our breaths matched. Paint shifted under my physical hands, and I opened my eyes, losing the contact. I found myself leaning on him, my forehead resting against his back.

“Do you feel ssuddenly weak?” Marz steadied me with her gentle hands.

“Like I’ve cast several healing spells in a row,” I murmured. “Is that what it is? I give Paint some of my own magicka?”

“Yess, that iss exactly what it iss,” Marz’s voice held encouragement. “As your magicka replenishess, you’ll be able to give him more. He will alsso begin to regenerate his own.”

As the memory of the lesson passed through my mind, I regarded Paint. His own hard breathing subsided to a quiet respiration. Lerus watched me as I glanced around at the forest. “Is he all right?” She caught my gaze.

“I’d like to repeat that magicka spell I learned,” I watched her expression. “But it takes all my concentration -”

“Say no more,” Lerus drew her steel sword, its blade catching the sunlight. “I’ll keep watch.” She backed away from us, stopping a few paces in front of Paint.

“Thanks,” I said. Slipping my hands beneath the saddle near the girth, I closed my eyes and concentrated on Marz’s lesson. Again I found Paint’s magicka, again I poured my own into his core until his flame grew a bit stronger, and mine was a bit weaker. This time, I was prepared for the weakness when I opened my eyes. Paint stood quietly, his head turned toward me, his dark eye watching me. When I felt strong enough to stand on my own two feet, I rubbed his neck. As I took his rein, he swung his muzzle against my cheek and blew softly onto my neck, making me shudder.

Lerus sheathed her sword as we approached, her eyes on me assessing. “I think it’s helping, for what it’s worth, Julian.”

“I hope so,” I answered as she fell into step at Paint’s right side.

Great descriptions in this chapter! The dealings with Terentius - hilarious !!!!

“What is it, Lerus?” His tone held overt contempt for the lean woman at my left side.
Now this tells us something of Bravil's problems right here.

If you want to impress Countess Carvain, this isn’t the way to do it.
No kidding. The way to do it would be by showing up personally and showing the daedra why he was a tournament champion! As Legionary Pullo said, there's nothing women like more than to bring them the still beating heart of an enemy.

However, one can clearly see that the Count's decision is not based on impressing the lady, so much as getting rid of his guard captain.

Finally, a simply lovely description of Julian's restore magicka spell.

nits:
It is her hope to keep closing the Oblivion Gates as fast as they open, to prevent a Great Gate, such as that which overpowered Kvatch, from opening on the plain in front of Bruma
This really goes on for a long bit. Perhaps It could be broken up into several sentences?
It is her hope to keep closing the Oblivion Gates as fast as they open. That would prevent a Great Gate - such as that which overpowered Kvatch - from opening on the plain in front of Bruma

Wow! Some true colors revealed. So Lerus is an impediment to the Count. . . and now he is rid of her. How cleverly creative - I love the way you did it! Wonderful depiction of both Lerus and the Count.

Lovely description. Ahhhh *happy sigh*.

I'm with SubRosa - the whole restore magicka section of this story was positively mesmerizing. Masterfully done!

Upon seeing the No-Count, we are immediately given tow excellent pieces of “show, don’t tell” writing: the fisherman’s concerns and Terentius’ dismissal of them provide a wealth of information. And his attitude toward his guard captain reinforces the impression.

The inspired (by Captain Lerus) use of Countess Carvain was a lovely bit of background. And you manage some wonderful characterization with Terentius backhanded compliment to his captain. One gets the feeling that he mostly wants Lerus out of the way… for some reason or other.

More Julian diplomacy, finding an acceptable reason for Lerus to travel with her.


This whole passage was lovely- but these sentences especially stood out.

I think it is telling that the two poorest cities in Cyrodiil have Counts who are either inscrutable, or ineffectual. I think that Lerus is well rid of her burden under this Count. Really, how much worse can Bravil get in her absence? I have a feeling that Lerus will find employment with far greater meaning on the fields outside Bruma.

Once again magic is transformed in your hands. The restore magicka spell is so well described that one feels that there is no other way such a spell could work. If I ever get around to describing the nuts and bolts of magic, I hope I can do it with half as much scintillating detail!

@mALX: Thanks! I think you will really enjoy this next bit!

@SubRosa: I’m glad you see the source of Bravil’s problems as I do. In Countess Carvain’s case, I think bringing her the Akaviri Madstone from Pale Pass will win her heart! Thanks for the nit!

@Acadian: I knew you and Buffy would love the description of the forest along the Green Road.

@treydog: while I consider Count Leyawiin canny but not necessarily bad (though I will argue otherwise where his dimwit wife is concerned), I really, really wanted to convey the real smarminess that is The (Dis)Honorable Count Bravil. I’m glad it came across.

@Destri: Cities under inspired government tend to thrive, while those under poor management do poorly. It’s something we see all the time in RL, and there is no reason why it can’t be the same in TES. As for Lerus, I think the Count is making a grievous mistake. In certain circles, it is a given that you want to keep your enemies closer than your friends. We’ll see what happens with those two!

I think it will be obvious to many that a certain Khajiit writer has been influential in how I view the residents of Faregyl Inn. Many thanks, mALX. I had tremendous fun writing this!

********************
Chapter 20.4 The Stolen Darlings

The rest of the walk from the ridge to the Faregyl Inn was easy, as it followed the top of the ridge that ran between the Niben Basin and Hidden Valley to the west. We made good time along this stretch of the Green Road. Paint’s stride was decidedly less stiff, more fluid, which gave me more encouragement than I expected.

I found Talos’s wayshrine and stopped there to give thanks for a safe trip so far. We had encountered no enemies. Animals wisely left us alone, and apparently any bandits hiding in the trees made the same choice.

Golden beams were slanting through the branches of the forest by the time I spotted the archery target and the ramshackle lines of the Inn of Ill Omen. Marsias was nowhere to be seen, and I didn’t want to stop inside the place. It would be hard for me to resist the obligation to buy some food from Maulhand, but I was determined never to eat there again. Even my own Legion slop tastes better than that vile soup.

We found the small path that led down toward Hidden Valley and Faregyl Inn. My nose twitched at a warm, yeasty aroma that floated up to us on the cool breeze. A glance at Lerus indicated she too had noticed the scent. The thought of fresh-baked bread made my stomach growl.

As we approached the charming structure, I studied its thatched roof, round river stone walls, and half-timbered upper story. It reminded me of Wawnet Inn in Weye. A low stone wall surrounded the inn’s yard, enclosing a riot of blooms. Two figures stood within the profusion of pink and purple cosmos, their backs to us, faces turned west. The smaller female Khajiit turned to the tall man next to her with an air of distress, her ears back and her tail twitching.

“Oh, my poorr darrlings! I only wanted them to have a little bit of sun! Now they’rre gone!”

The man turned around at the sound of Paint’s hooves on the cobblestones outside the yard. “Hello, and welcome to Faregyl, travelers,” he greeted us, opening the gate. His lilting accent gave away his Breton heritage, in spite of his tanned skin and brown eyes.

“Hello,” I answered. “I’m looking for Alix Lencolia, sir.”

He beamed as we led Paint into the yard, but his smile faded as he took in the horse’s thin appearance. “That’s me, ma’am. Is there something wrong with your horse?”

“He was attacked by a will o’wisp twelve days ago,” I was getting tired of explaining Paint’s condition to everyone we met. Hopefully I won’t have to talk about it anymore soon. “Isabeau Bienne said to give this to you,” I handed him the missive from the Bay Roan hostler. The parchment rustled in the afternoon breeze as he opened it. Muscles clenched beneath his five-bells shadow as his eyes scanned the message.

“This is serious,” he looked back at me. “It’s difficult and time-consuming to restore magicka in an animal.”

“Serrious!” The slight Khajiit had turned around and darted to Lencolia’s side, tugging at his sleeve. “But what about my darrlings! Oh, my poorr babies!”

“Is there something wrong?” Lerus kept her steady gaze on the distraught female.

“This is S’jirra,” Lencolia performed the introduction. “She’s upset because someone or something stole her jumbo potatoes.”

“Potatoes?” Lerus repeated, her finely arched brows rising.

“Yes, my lovely, darrling jumbo potatoes!” S’jirra tugged again on Lencolia’s sleeve. “Please, Alix, you must go find them!”

Somehow Lencolia did not share S’jirra’s concern for her lost tubers. “I must start the bran mash cooking for Paint,” he gently put her off. “It’s going to take a few hours before it’s ready.”

“No!” S’jirra yowled as if her tail had been caught in a closing door. “By then it’ll be too late for my babies!”

“Tell me about your jumbo potatoes, ma’am,” I stepped forward. “Maybe Captain Lerus and I can be of help while Alix Lencolia tends to Paint.” I sensed Lerus’s dubious glance at me, but she said nothing.

“I know it was stupid of me, but I put my jumbo potatoes out to get some sun,” S’jirra wrung her hands. “I shouldn’t have left them all alone like that! Next thing I knew, they werre gone! I saw someone rrunning into the west,” she gestured toward the eaves of the forest just beyond the inn.

“How long ago did this happen?” Lerus stepped to my side, assuming the attitude of an investigator. Lencolia took Paint’s rein from me and led the gelding around the side of the inn, toward a patch of green grass.

“About an hourr or so ago?” S’jirra licked nervously at her right hand, then rubbed her ear, setting the ornaments woven into her mane jingling. Lerus and I exchanged glances. An hour ago - those potatoes are probably in someone’s stomach by now.

“Did you get a good look at the person you saw?” I asked. “Was it a man or a woman?”

“I only saw him from behind, but I think it was a man.” S’jirra rubbed at her ear some more. “Big,” she added. “Oh, please, if I don’t get them back forr the next batch of my famous potato brread, I don’t know what I’ll do!”

“Can’t you describe him a little more for us?” Lerus kept her voice cool. “What was he wearing? What color was his hair?”

“Oh, I don’t know!” the Khajiit wailed, her tone reaching an uncomfortable screech. Paint threw his head up, his ears pinning back against his neck. Lencolia murmured something to him, stroking his shoulder.

“All right, ma’am,” I reached a hand out to the overwrought woman. Lerus returned my glance with a shrug. “We’ll go take a look while Lencolia tends to Paint.” The Bravil Captain’s gaze sharpened on me in startled apprehension. Ignoring her, I moved to the west wall and swung my leg over it. I was a few strides into the forest before she caught up to me.

“You’re serious about finding those potatoes, aren’t you?” she demanded softly, her drawn steel sword glimmering softly in the shadows. Her eyes flickered around us.

“I want Lencolia to tend to Paint,” I answered. “If I didn’t offer to go look for those potatoes, S’jirra wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace, let alone time to make the mash.”

We walked further into the woods before I stopped to cast a detect life spell. Lerus watched me while I gazed into the trees for pink life signs. I kept my gaze averted from her face, for I hated the way the haze thrown by the spell obstructed people’s expressions.

“Do you see anything?” her quiet voice was barely audible above the buzzing of the cicadas. I drew my katana under handed, keeping its blade along my forearm.

“Just a couple of deer,” I shrugged. “I doubt they are S’jirra’s thieves. Let’s head west a little further.”

“Lead on, Julian,” Lerus fell in behind me as the pink haze dissipated. We wove our way through the thick trunks of the beeches deeper into the forest. The ground began to climb, indicating to me that we had crossed Hidden Valley. I paused again and renewed my detect life spell. This time, a large form glimmered into shape further up the rock-strewn slope.

Holding my finger to my lips to signal silence, I pointed its location out to Lerus. She slid several steps away to my right, her gaze scanning the foliage up the ridge. I watched the shape a few moments longer. Troll, or bear maybe. Big, like S’jirra said. As the pink glow faded, I kept my eyes on that spot and began moving forward slowly. The buzzing insects covered any sound our mail made as we crept up the slope, maintaining our separation.

Halfway up the ridge, I stopped and threw up another detect life spell. This time I could visualize the shape better. No, not a troll. Cacat, it’s an ogre! I cast my gaze around the forest, searching for more hulking forms. He’s alone. That’s odd. But it’s good for us. A glance at Lerus indicated her readiness. I made the signal to hold her position, then whistled a sharp blast. The pink haze ahead stiffened, spun around, then started moving toward me. I twirled the hilt of the katana in my right hand, bringing the blade to the ready position. Sounds of breaking branches and heavy footfalls soon reached me, just as the detect life spell faded away.

My feet braced, I brought the sword in front of me. I had stopped in a small clearing, just a few meters across. It gave me enough room to maneuver and swing my blade. I didn’t have to wait long before the small head and broad shoulders appeared through the leaves. The ogre’s beady eyes lit on me, and he growled, showing crooked peg teeth. His huge fists appeared next, rising to deliver a death’s hammer blow. I held my ground as he ran at me.

His approach was slow, but then several things happened at once. He towered over me, those fists beginning their descent. I dove to one side, stabbing the katana into his flank as I did so. At the same time, Lerus’s Bravil livery glimmered into view behind the ogre. Her steel sword flashed as she drove it into the big creature’s back just below his ribs. His massive hands smacked into the ground where I had been standing just an instant ago, and he reared back. He spun around with an agonized roar, his hands swiping at me, then at Lerus. But both of us had danced out of his reach.

As he turned ponderously toward Lerus, I darted behind him and slashed my katana at his legs. The sharp blade bit deeply into the muscles of his right calf, bringing him crashing to one knee. With another shout, he swiped at me with one long arm. I barely ducked back in time to avoid a punishing blow to my side. Lerus took advantage of the opening to run the tip of her steel sword along the ogre’s left arm from shoulder to elbow, leaving a deep gash.

With both of us taking turns keeping the monstrous creature off balance, we wore him down until his breaths began to falter. Blood oozed from multiple wounds in his massive body and limbs, and dribbled from his mouth. He flailed weakly at us, then he pitched forward onto his face, the last breath escaping in that unmistakable death rattle.

Wary, we waited several seconds before approaching him. Hard lessons from my Legion past prompted me to drive my katana between the ogre’s ribs toward the center of his chest. He did not stir as I twisted the tip of my blade inside his massive body. Definitely dead.

Lerus and I looked at each other over the immobile ogre. Like me, her face was covered with perspiration, and her breaths came short and hard, but otherwise she seemed unharmed. She knelt beside the ogre and wiped her blade on the monster’s loincloth. I used Carandial’s refresh spell to remove the blood and gore from my slender katana before sheathing it.

“Are we alone?” Lerus asked me as I cast another detect life spell. I nodded after a quick scan of the forest. “Do you think this thing’s responsible for those potatoes?” she sheathed the sword, her gaze on the body between us.

“Could be,” I pointed up the hill. “He was sitting there, not far away. Let’s see if we can track his trail back to that place, ma’am.” The broken branches were easy to follow, and Lerus fell in behind me.

“Tell me something, Julian,” she panted as our climb grew steeper. “Did you call that fetcher to you?”

“Yes, I did, ma’am,” I did not pause in my climbing. “I knew what he was, but I couldn’t tell you without revealing our positions. If you heard him coming and expected something like a bear or a troll, you’d be in for a nasty surprise.”

“It was a nasty surprise anyway,” Lerus commented as we reached a tiny clearing, even smaller than the one where the ogre now lay dead. It was just a break in the forest canopy created when a matriarch tree fell down, perhaps in a storm. Beside the rotting trunk lay a jumbled brown cloth. I used my sheathed katana to nudge the rough weaving aside. Six ogre-sized potatoes nestled within its coarse folds.

“Well, looks like we’ll be able to make S’jirra happy after all,” I said, kneeling and gathering up the corners of the cloth, knotting them around the tubers.

“It’s getting dark.” I looked up at Lerus’s voice. She was right - I could barely see her face in the gathering gloom beneath the thick branches of the forest. “Can you find our way back?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I silently thanked my years in Valenwood. At least the trees here don’t move. Hefting the makeshift sack of potatoes over one shoulder, I returned to the trail broken by the ogre. Lerus fell in behind me, quietly following my footsteps.

By the time we reached the ogre’s body, it was full dark. I stopped beside him. “Lerus, you can’t see where you’re going, and neither can I. I’m going to cast starlight on us.” I suited action to words. As the faint green glimmer grew around us, her pale face emerged from the gloom. “Keep an eye out for predators, ma’am.”

S’jirra was waiting with a flaming torch in the yard when we emerged from the blackness of the forest. She lifted the brand higher as we swung our legs over the wall. “Ohh, you found my babies! I just know you did!” As I swung the package from my shoulder, she shoved the torch at Lerus, who took it with a silent roll of her eyes. The Khajiit held her hands out, and I gently laid my burden into her arms, opening the cloth so she could see the tubers within. She cradled them to her chest, purring madly over them. Her eyes shone as she lifted her gaze to us. “Oh, my goodness, you found them!” She sprang gleefully away from us toward the bench near the inn door, where she laid the six potatoes carefully down. Then she bounded back to us. “Oh, I could kiss you both!”

Before Lerus or I could react, she had taken Lerus’s face in her hands and kissed her soundly on the lips. Then she was pulling my face down to hers while Lerus spluttered into her mailed sleeve. I barely managed to refrain from spitting the fine hairs from my own lips while S’jirra returned to her jumbo potatoes. “You must come inside! We have dinner rready!” Somehow she managed to open the door for us in spite of a double armful of tubers.

Ah, well, not all Khajit are nice to kiss. Some Khajit, though...especially white ones...

SPEW !!!! This was great !!!!!!





ROFL !!! A great rendition, not only of the quest, but the Faregyl residents - I loved this !!!!

Heh. I can see that you did!

This was a beautiful piece of kitty-specific phrasing!

Thank you the wonderful observation from the land of the wood elf.

This whole story was great fun! Buffy is scratching her head though. She thought all ogres were friendly like Lord Drad's. Hmm, that one must have been high from sniffing those jumbo 'tatos.

Lerus was interesting. She seemed hesitant to take on this quest. I can't decide if it was unsoldierly timidity or simply a wisely professional risk assessment regarding the chasing of potatos. Regardless, she did not falter when it counted. You are portraying her as a fascinating character.

Although they are not biologically related, I see much of Maxical in her adoptive mother, S'Jirra. What a wonderful tribute to Alix and S'Jirra you wrote here!

Before you decide if the Count is bad or not, keep in mind that he and Caelia Draconis are the ones with the key to the secret torture room, not the Countess.

Even my own Legion slop tastes better than that vile soup.
Poor Maulhand, nobody loves him but Minerva!

I hope Julian and Captain Lerus remember to get some salad dressing while they are in Hidden Valley!

five-bells shadow
An excellent way of getting around "o'clock"! Remind me to steal that phrase!

I kept my gaze averted from her face, for I hated the way the haze thrown by the spell obstructed people’s expressions.
That is the thing I do not like about detect life as well, how it obscures peoples faces when you try to talk to them.

S’jirra's antics were fun. I loved how you made the extra effort to felinize her behavior, yowling, her ears back in distress, tail twitching, etc...

The battle with the ogre reminded me of hunting dogs harrying a bear, or a pride of lions taking on a cape buffalo. Nicely done.

nits:
He towered over me, those fists beginning their descent.
You changed tenses after the comma, going from past to present. Perhaps instead try:
He towered over me, and those fists began their descent.