In Thread Four we continue Julian’s adventures with Chapter 19. Brace yourself!

For those joining the party late, here are links to the previous three threads:

Chapters 1 through 7
Chapters 8 through 13
Chapters 14 through 18

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Chapter 19.1 Leyawiin Mages Guild

Jenseric would have found out by now that his name is cleared with the Watch. My mind returned to my interview with Hieronymus Lex. After I returned to the Imperial City with Seridur’s armor and claymore, I had reported the situation to Lex. He had agreed to send a messenger to Jenseric’s cabin to let the man know the outcome. Then I had sought healing from Jeelius in case I had contracted porphyric hemophilia.

That had been yesterday. I did not linger long, but instead returned to Paint and the Yellow Road south from the east coast of Lake Rumare. We had spent the night at the Imperial Bridge Inn before resuming our travel along the east side of the Niben Bay.

Paint threw his head up, his hooves clattering to a halt on the cobblestones. I looked down the twisting Yellow Road. The rain reduced visibility to less than a couple hundred meters. I dismounted when Paint remained tense, his ears flicking back and forth, his nostrils fluttering. What is it? Wolf? Troll? Spriggan? His reaction suggested it was something he had never seen before. I stepped forward, my katana ready.

A sizzling sound reached my ears, then a swirl of sparks coalesced in mid-air between me and Paint. The gelding tossed his head and stepped back as the will o’wisp solidified into its visible form. Cacat! Reflexively my katana leaped toward its glow, passing through it without any visible effect.

Paint whinnied and reared as a crackling bolt of orange lightning joined the will o’wisp to him. Flame-colored reflections sparked off the hilt of Daedra Slayer, attached to the cantle. I sheathed the katana and called on Domina Incendia to try and distract the insubstantial creature. As the will o’wisp slowly rotated in response to the flame atronach’s fireballs, I ran past it to Paint, who backed away, trembling violently. I laid a soothing hand on his shoulder and reached for my enchanted katana. Sliding it out of its scabbard, I turned around in time to see Domina Incendia dissolve from the will o’wisp’s counterattack.

Fortunately, Daedra Slayer proved as effective against the flame-shaped monster as it did against the vicious Dremora I had faced in the Deadlands. A few swings of its fiery blade dissipated the last energy of this foe, leaving behind softly glowing embers on the cobblestones.

A groan behind me spun me around. I watched horrified as Paint slowly crumpled to the slick surface of the road, his labored breaths loud in the pouring rain. “No!” As I ran to him, his head lowered to the stones, and his respiration slowed. Falling to my knees, I dropped Daedra Slayer at my side and laid my hands on his arched neck, tangling my fingers in his mane. I felt the overpowering weakness in his body as I called on my remaining magicka. The convalescence spell drained the last of my energy, and all I accomplished was a mild improvement in his stertorous breathing.

Frantically I searched in the saddle bags for the vials of magicka restoration I had purchased in the Imperial City. Finding them, I fumbled one out and hastily drank it down. Feeling the surge of energy in my core, I forced myself to calm, laying my hands on Paint’s still trembling form. I leaned my cheek on his smooth coat. “Paint, stay with me,” I whispered, concentrating on another convalescence spell. His breathing smoothed out, but the tremoring and weakness persisted.

It took all my willpower to fight back the terror I felt when I realized I might lose my traveling companion. Don’t die, Paint. You have to get up. You have to walk with me to Leyawiin. We can’t stay here in the wilderness. I drank another potion and cast another spell to help him recover.

Six vials, my entire supply of restore magicka potions, lay empty on the cobblestones, and I was shaking with the repeated spell-casting before Paint attempted to rise. His first attempt was unsuccessful, and left him blowing hard. The second try was better, and he swayed on his feet, muscles tremoring as if from a hard gallop over a long distance. Paint was too weak to lift his chiseled head, and his round brown eyes were half-closed and sunken into his skull. I rose to my feet, my hands on his shoulder as if trying to hold him up. When I was certain he wouldn’t collapse again, I gathered the empty vials, stowing them into the saddlebags. I strapped my plain katana to my back, and removed the scabbard for Daedra Slayer, attaching it to my belt at my left hip. My plain steel bow was traded for Akatosh’s Fury, which I strung and made ready in case of more of these dangerous creatures.

I led Paint off the road down to the river bank. The mud crabs clattered away from us as I gathered wood. Paint drank from the Niben, then stood motionless, his head low, while I made a rough hearth and built a fire. I watched him anxiously as I added wood to the flames. I have some restore health potions in the pack, but how to get him to drink them? How many potions would be effective for a horse his size? I could feel my magicka slowly replenishing. As Paint did not seem to worsen, I decided to wait until my energy was fully returned and try another convalescence spell again.

The night passed with agonizing slowness as I sat with Paint. Every time my magicka replenished to its full strength, I would cast a convalescence spell on him. I dozed fitfully in between, torn between the need to reach Leyawiin as quickly as possible and my promise to the deceased Prior who had so generously given me such a wonderful traveling companion. The rain soaked me to the skin, but I paid it no mind.

By the time the overcast sky lightened with the dawn, Paint was no longer trembling, and was able to walk, albeit slowly. His head remained low, and his eyes did not sparkle with his usual humor. He showed little interest in the grass at his feet, and did not snatch at the edible forage as we slowly walked back to the road.

Though I cast convalescence on him whenever my magicka replenished, I could not restore Paint’s vigor or strength. To spare him, I walked down the Yellow Road, leading him behind me and stopping often to let him rest.

The shadows of Leyawiin appeared through the rain a few hours later as we trudged along the Yellow Road. The city, built on the west bank of the southern Niben, seemed to disappear within its surroundings of black oaks and bald cypresses draped with tillandsia - better known as hangman’s moss, according to the Guide to Cyrodiilic Flora. The stuff was everywhere, giving the trees a sinister appearance in the rain.

As I approached this newest city in Cyrodiil, I caught my breath in dismay to find - not one, but two - Oblivion Gates crackling ominously on the eastern banks of the Niben, across from Leyawiin. I was reluctant to bring my horse down to the eastern city gate, not with daedra swarming the road nearby.

After we backtracked up the river to a bridge, I brought Paint around to the far side of the city, where I found a stable. The Khajiit Atahba assured me that she would do the best she could for my weakened horse. She purred soothingly to the gelding as she led him within the shed. The knot of worry in my chest remained as I reluctantly put him out of my mind and focused on my mission.

When I entered the city, I decided to head to the Mages Guild first, and get a feel for the situation. I had never been to Leyawiin before, and knew next to nothing about its Count, Marius Caro.

Entering the Guild chapter house, I was glad to find it dry and not too warm. A young Nord, somewhat taller than me, turned around from the library table set in the center of the hall. After he laid the broadsheet down, he greeted me, putting his hands together and giving me a half-bow. “Greetings, ma’am. Kalthar, mage journeyman. How may I help you?”

I eyed him warily. Though his greeting seemed friendly enough, I thought I saw discontentment in his black eyes and beetling brows. “I’m Julian from Anvil,” speaking slowly, I watched him. This anger of his is not directed at me. “I’ve just joined the Guild, and am gathering recommendations to gain admission to the University.” Aha, there it is.

Kalthar’s gaze turned even darker as his brows drew together into a furry caterpillar. “Oh, boy, good luck getting that,” he muttered. “You’d need to talk to Dagail about that. Only thing is, do you even want to?”

Schooling my face to remain bland, I frowned inwardly at his attitude. What’s with this Mages Guild? Open hostility and overt disrespect for one’s superiors? This would never last ten seconds in the Legion! “Where can I find her, sir?”

He pointed up to a flying passage above the main floor, connecting the two wings at the second level. “She’s up there, pretending to read.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said to him, seeing the scowl ease on his face. Moving to the staircase at the back of the hall, I climbed slowly up the steps. When I reached the landing, I looked around. An aged Bosmer woman sat quietly, book open in her lap, her gaze on some distant horizon visible only to her.

After I set my pack on the floor some distance away, I walked quietly to the bench and sat down next to the old woman. “Dagail, ma’am?”

“Hmm?” she turned her head to me, her ancient gaze still remote. “You seek wisdom from me, child?”

“I’m Julian, from Anvil,” I began, uncomfortable with the way she seemed to stare through me. “I’m looking for the chapter head, Dagail.”

“No, you seek words,” the old mer spoke, her voice as faraway as her gaze. “Words are . . . difficult. I hear so many voices, so loud I can not hear the words they say.” Now her faded eyes seemed to focus on me. “Will you lift your hands to help another? Will you help me find the word?”

Puzzled, I considered my answer. A seer? “Yes, I’ll help,” I said finally.

She smiled at me. “Then speak to Agata, child. She will see the path, and set you upon it.”

“Hello?” a more grounded voice reached me. I looked up at a plain Nord woman, her worn face showing a concern that I felt was not for me. I introduced myself and explained my purpose. She waved for me to follow her into the north wing. After retrieving my pack, I followed her through a heavy paneled door. As she closed the door behind us, she gestured for me to proceed ahead of her into a small room containing two beds. “Put your things there for now,” she said. “I’m Agata,” she continued. “I help Dagail with the administrative tasks. You may have noticed that she’s -” her eyes shifted uneasily, “- not well.”

“She mentioned voices, and trouble finding the word,” I said. “She did tell me to talk to you about it.”

Agata sighed and sat on the other bed, motioning for me to do the same. “She has visions, you see,” she looked down at her roughened hands. “They’ve been helpful in the past, but now they have become problematic. She had an amulet,” her fingers touched her breast, where such a piece of jewelry would lie, “a family heirloom that helped her focus these visions. Without it, all she sees and hears is chaos.”

“And she has lost it?” I asked quietly, fingering the Jewel of the Rumare on my little finger. It had become such a part of me, I never thought to remove it. It allowed me to swim long distances underwater without surfacing, and had served me well in Cheydinhal. It also reminded me of my good friend, who loved Paint as much as I did. Sadness at the thought of his condition choked my throat, and I forced it away with a swallow. Looking up in time to see Agata’s nod, I considered the situation. “Have you spoken to the other mages about it?”

“I’ve tried to keep it from them, for fear they would be less - accepting of her.”

“Of Dagail, or of her authority?” I asked, thinking of Kalthar.

Agata considered my words. “Both,” she said finally. “Dagail had a good reputation within the guild, and was valuable to the Council of Mages. But as she became older, she became less coherent. The Council sent her here.” She rose and paced to the leaded window, looking out at the rainy day outside. “There are some here who resent her presence, and wish she’d disappear.” She shot me a fierce glance. “I do not. I am proud to help her with her daily tasks.”

“Well,” I said after a moment, “I promised Dagail that I would help her.” I rose to my feet and started pulling out my civilian clothing. Fortunately the bag had kept everything dry. “Let me change, and I can get started.” I glanced at Agata, already unbuckling the cuirass. “There are a couple of things I need to do in town,” I paused to shrug the armor off with a soft susurrus of mail. “But I keep my promises.”

“Talk to the other mages, see if they know anything about the Seer’s Stone,” Agata moved away from the window. “That’s what Dagail calls her amulet.”

I wanted to read some other threads before this one....



... BUT OLD HABITS DIE HARD.

First, congratulations on thread 4. Then: GAAAAAH!!!! Poor Paint !!!!!! And ending the story without letting the reader know he was back...it's a cliffhanger !!!!!!

Congratulations on your new thread!

The horror of wills-o-the-wisp. Julian's valiant efforts here on Paint's behalf were exactly what I would have expected from our hero. You certainly have endeared the wonderful gelding to us. I wonder if he will be ok, or whether age and injury mark his days of traveling with Julian as limited. Very touching.

Julian carries quite the small specialized collection of weaponry - as she should. Each has a purpose and she well knows how to use them. Yes, a hero on her way to champion.

What beautiful phrasing, as well as symbolic use of the jewelry. I loved this!

I love Dagail and Agata both in our game. I am delighted to see that Julian perhaps sees the goodness in Agata and even the wisdom in Dagail that is at this point deeply hidden. Julian - be careful and trust your instincts when it comes to Kalthar!

Somehow the idea of Hieronymous Lex interviewing Julian about Seridur as we are reading about Julian interviewing Athlain in another F just struck me as brilliant synergy. Talk about the hand being on the other foot there!

Poor Paint! Oh noes! You do an amazing job of tugging at our (well at least my) heartstrings with the plight of Julian's trusty steed. Thankfully he made it back to Leyawiin. Now if Julian can only find a way to restore his vitality.

“She’s up there, pretending to read.”
Ouch! I bet that set Julian's teeth on edge! I am half-surprised that she did not knock Unibrow on his british boat right there!

I like your portrayal of Agata. I have always admired her loyalty to Dagail, even though at times you can tell that even she is vexed by the elderly Bosmer's condition. Yet even still she does her best to protect Dagail and keep everything running. I have always thought that Agata would make an excellent chapter head in her own right, and probably will some day. Perhaps she will be moving to Bruma after there is an opening the guild up there?

First, congratulations of Thread 4! It is a testament to the vitality and strength of this story to have reached that milestone so quickly.

Oh, how I hate wisps! And now, with Paint victimized by one of the glowing little [censoreds], I have even more reason to do so.



That was an inspired bit of atmosphere, although it fills my heart with dread.

And then to step from the worry over Paint into the tension of the Leyawiin guild. Julian’s people skills will serve her well. Already she recognizes the corrosive effect of Kalthar’s attitude….

Athynae is getting ready to fly to Leyawiin with restoratives for Paint. (You know- girls and horses. Of course, the girl's creator feels the same way.)

Thread four?! Already? By the Nine, hautee, you’re making the rest of us look bad!

What a way to begin it! Paint survives the various imps, wolves, trolls, and spriggans that infests Cyrodiil’s roads only to fall to the least substantial, and therefore most dangerous, foe of all. I am rooting for the old gelding, but I am not too concerned. Paint is too hardy a soul to be kept down for long.

Wow! Lot’s of Kalthar hate out there! He can’t help his unibrow (okay, maybe he can). Julian’s instincts in judging him ring true to her assessment of just about every other male she has encountered in a Mages Guild chapter house. Isn’t it a little strange that all the females are so downright virtuous? Check it, after one (almost) conversation with Dagail, Julian describes herself as ‘puzzled’, and I agree with ‘Rosa that you can just tell that Dagail vexes Agata at times. It is easy to see how close proximity over time would move Kalthar toward anger. I am not condoning his actions, mind you. I am merely pointing out that we (meaning Julian) don’t yet know what those actions are. I’m sure that when she finds out, his British boat will be royally kicked!

It's called waxing...plucking...or a cleaver used to separate the darn thing !!!! (that would be a great bit of humor if when Julian wastes him she makes that unibrow into two brows !!!!)

** or one could always go to the CS and erase the unsightly thing right in the middle !!!

@Foxy: Thanks for the compliment! Yes, old habits do die hard.

@mALX: It will be a while before we know of Paint’s fate. It’s very heartbreaking to write this, but I have experienced similar episodes twice with my old mare (though not with a will o’wisp!), and I know the feelings Julian experiences all too well.

@Acadian: Julian’s like me - travel as light as you can and still survive. When Dagail gets her focus back, some of the things she tells Julian will send chills up her spine. But Julian still sees the good in both women. As for Kalthar, not to fear!

@SubRosa: I consider Agata to be the kind of person one loves to have running the day to day in a vet clinic - the go-to person for personnel issues, inventory control, and handling the ubiquitous sales reps. I’ve been lucky to work in a couple of clinics that have such people on staff, and they are a godsend! If it wasn’t for Agata, the Leyawiin chapter would be utter chaos!

@trey: I understand girls and horses all too well, having been a girl once myself (a loong time ago!).

@Destri: It sure seems that way, doesn’t it?

It’s only fair to send up a warning to our male fans. Julian is long over-due for a dose of chickness. Here it comes!

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Chapter 19.2 - A Woman of Intrigue

It was late in the evening when I returned to Leyawiin. Weary, drenched, and grumpy, I stopped off at The Dividing Line to leave my armor and weapons for repairing. Back outside, my lightweight feminine clothes were quickly soaked in the rain. Lightning lit the streets before me in flickers as bright as day.

In the Mages Guild, I encountered Alves Uvenim, the local alchemist. She took one look at me puddling on the stone floor and ushered me upstairs to the room Agata had assigned me. “My dear, how can you walk around in the rain like this!” she exclaimed. “You’ll catch your death of bloodlung doing that!”

“I’m a Redguard,” I commented in response, “I don’t get sick easily if at all.”

“Even so,” the slender Dunmer countered, “you don’t want to take chances! You need a rain cloak in this climate.” She moved to one of the dressers in the room, and drew out a towel. “Here, get out of those wet clothes and dry yourself off. I’ll find you a clean and dry dress for dinner.”

Her back to me, she kept nattering on about the ill effect of rain on people’s health, especially those new to the southern climate. Her treatment of me brought a smile to my lips as I stripped out of the sodden clothes, my grumpy mood dissipating with her solicitation. I couldn’t help liking this golden-haired Dunmer.

She drew out a fine blue velvet dress and turned around, shaking the heavy folds out and holding it up to me. My eyes widened at the lush silver-trimmed fabric. “This should fit you just fine,” Uvenim mused, tilting her head at me. She shook the dress at me. “Go on, try it on.”

The blue velvet settled around my frame as if custom-tailored to me. The neckline was more daring than any I had ever thought to wear, revealing my shoulders and dipping a little lower in the back than in the front. The long sleeves hugged my arms to the wrists. The bodice clasped my ribs in a gentle embrace once the golden laces on the sides were snugged up. Below my hips, the fabric flared softly like the petals of tulips to just barely brush my toes.

Uvenim stepped back, twitching the skirts so they fell smoothly to the floor. “Oh, and there’s something that would go perfectly with this!” she exclaimed at a thought. Kneeling before a chest between the two beds, she drew out a pair of flat-heeled blue suede shoes. “Here, put these on,” she urged me. As I slipped my feet into them, I found them just a little too tight.

Which is worse? I wondered. Boots too big for my feet, or shoes too small?

“Oh, don’t worry about the fit,” Uvenim assured me, looking up at me. “The material will stretch given time.”

“Well, I do have big feet,” I muttered, self-conscious in the fancy clothing.

“You’re tall,” Uvenim countered. “Your feet match your height.” She rose gracefully to her feet. “Now, about your hair -”

“What?” Now I felt a sense of alarm. “No, my hair’s fine,” I put my hand up to my head, touching my ponytail.

“Nonsense!” Uvenim exclaimed. She drew me before the pier glass at the far end of the room. Turning me to face the mirror, she stood on tiptoe behind me to look over my shoulder. “Look at yourself,” she commanded. Her fingers worked the thong away from my hair as I regarded my smoky reflection.

That’s not me. That’s some noblewoman. My image was unrecognizable as the woman I knew myself to be. This stranger looking back at me, with my white hair, my dark skin, and my grey-green eyes had the regal bearing of some privileged lady, not a scruffy old soldier.

“I thought this dress would complement your figure beautifully,” Uvenim turned from me to bring up a chair. With light fingertips on my shoulder, she indicated for me to seat myself before the looking glass. “Why, you would fit in at one of the Countess’s dinners!”

“Um, I don’t think so,” I muttered. “After all, I wouldn’t know how to handle all the extra forks and knives.”

“Oh, that’s easy!” Uvenim chuckled as she started brushing the snarls from my hair. “Just do what the Countess does!” She picked up my locks in her free hand. “My goodness, your hair is so silky! Not like typical Redguard hair. Who’s your father?”

“What?” I met Uvenim’s gaze in the mirror, startled by the question. “I never knew my father,” I admitted, suddenly ashamed. “My mother never spoke of him.”

“Well, there’s quite a bit about you that isn’t typical Redguard,” Uvenim continued matter-of-factly. “Your height - you’re as tall as most Ra’Gada men. Your eye color - a most unusual shade of green. Though now,” she leaned down to place her face next to mine, meeting my gaze in the mirror, “they’re more blue, because they’re reflecting the color of the dress.” Straightening back up, she resumed brushing my hair. “And this is very thick and heavy, but so smooth like silk. Hmm,” she set the brush down, and began twisting the white locks into a long, thick cord. As I watched, bemused, she continued twisting my hair until it coiled around itself, forming a thick serpent’s knot at the back of my head.

“There!” she looked at me again in the mirror. “See how that shows off your neck and shoulders? Wait!” she dropped the knot. As my hair cascaded down my back, Uvenim returned to the dresser, where she opened a jewelry box sitting on the top. My eyes grew even wider as she drew out two long, thin objects, both black with silver banding, both with small silver beads dangling from the slightly thicker ends.

“No woman of intrigue should be without some means of protection,” she smiled at me as she handed me the sticks. “These are used to secure hair coils,” she continued, returning to my coiffure and restoring the serpent’s coil. “Go on, pull them apart,” she encouraged me, holding my hair up with one hand.

Obeying her, I tugged on the opposite ends of one of the sticks. As it came apart to reveal a needle thin stiletto, I nearly dropped the pieces. Woman of intrigue, all right. Who brought these things to the Mages Guild? Hurriedly, I sheathed the stiletto. Uvenim reached over my shoulder and plucked one of the hairpins from my fingers and worked it into my hair from top to bottom, one side to the other.

Silently, I handed her the other stick and watched as she placed it in the opposite direction. My reflection stared back at me, breathlessly beautiful as I had never considered myself to be. Uvenim beamed over my head at me, her red eyes glowing in the smoky glass.

“Now, if you were to go to the Countess’s dinner,” Uvenim’s voice sparkled, “even the Count himself couldn’t refuse anything you ask of him!”

How does she know of my mission to the Count? I had not yet sought an audience with Count Caro. Those Oblivion Gates outside the city rested heavily on my mind. Sooner or later, I would have to deal with them, if only for the sake of travelers on the road and river.

“How did you know of those sticks?” I found myself asking instead. Uvenim flushed deeply.

“Family heirloom,” she responded curtly. “Mother made me take them when I left for the Mages Guild. As if I would come to any harm from overly amorous mer here in Leyawiin.” Her tone took on a slight tinge of bitterness. Turning in the chair to face her, I raised an eyebrow at the slender Dunmer.

“If these are family heirlooms,” I reached up a hand to touch the ebon hairpins, “then I have no claim to wearing them. You should be the one wearing them, not I.”

“You would know how to use the stilettos better than I,” Uvenim responded. “I’m no fighter, nor do I feel the need to learn. My mother’s grandmother was rumored to have been an assassin, many years ago.” Firmly she drew my hand away from my coif. “My mother always said Great Grandmother was a courtesan and a woman well-skilled in conspiracy. It’s true that during that time, the royal court was experiencing a time of intrigue.”

“I don’t intrigue,” I responded firmly. “I’m a soldier, I fight honestly.”

“Then these shall be nothing more than mere hairsticks,” Uvenim countered, equally firm. “Besides,” she tossed her golden bob back from her face, “my hair is too short and fine to use these. They would look ridiculous on me!” She clapped her hands in a signal that the subject was done. “Come, let us go to dinner.”

Alves! She has been my favorite person in Leyawiin ever since Saya woke up in bed with her. Julian's long-overdue makeover was a pure joy, and filled with all sorts of implications about Alves. Is she another Blade perhaps? Or just the guild alchemist she claims to be? We also see yet another hint about Julian's father, he with the heavy, silky hair (an elf perhaps?, or maybe a Breton?)

I thought Julian was beautiful even before I learned she TIES HER HAIR INTO A PONY TAIL USING HER THONG!!!!!


So...Alves Uvenim...I sense intrigue...is Julian finally going to have ROMANCE? (or do I just need another cold shower?) ROFL !!!!! I wait the next chapter with impatience, MORE!!! MORE!!!

Er....what type of thong are we talking about???



Grrrr Now I can't get the "THONG SONG" out of my head!!! Or my eyes!!! (Nelson - Thong Song).

Look, it is Julian's father !!! (Sisqo!) :


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6PuWDUsQvBg

Dang. I meant Sisqo, of course....and with that white hair and redguard skin....he IS (shock! horror!) Julian's sexy, absentee father....


AAAAAARGH!!!!!!

Now that we've solved the mystery of Julian's heritage she can get down to business with Alves Uvenim, who removed her thong...er, oops!

Given the silky white hair, I think the only logical conclusion is that Sephiroth was Julian's father (I guess that means Jenova was her mother...).

WOO HOO!!!!

I loved this! You go Alves! Girl up, Julian! WooHoo!

Ok, ok. What a nice interlude of fashion as well as neat insight into Alves. We've always found her to be a kind and helpful NPC.

Dinner with the Countess and Count? Oh, I hope so! Regardless, I can't wait to see how Julian goes about trying to get some help from Count Leyawiin. Leyawiin is such a fun town, with plenty of its own intrigue, seediness and dark secrets. I am really looking forward to Julian's time here!

@Foxy - I need to remind you that, on a good day, Sisqo’s head might graze Julian’s stomach! Her mother would have to have been Shaq-sized to explain Julian’s height.

@hautee – What did I tell you? Chewing the furniture!!

@ everyone else - Please (and I am sure that hautee will back me up on this) do not, I repeat DO NOT underestimate the importance of hair to a black (read Redguard) woman!!! Do you have any idea what the women in Sentinel would do for hair like Julian’s?! I imagine that if for some reason she were to fall asleep in Rihad she would wake up bald! Chris Rock made a documentary about the subject called Good Hair. If you haven’t seen it yet, put it on your queue! It’s hilarious!!!

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.

And again!

Yes, there is definitely much more to Alves hidden beneath that blonde hair. It is wonderful to watch Julian finally begin to see that she is beautiful. Of course, her faithful readers have never seen her as “a scruffy old soldier,” anyway. But… it is self-perception that matters the most.

This episode is another lesson to aspiring writers- take time with your characters. Give them room to grow in between the fighting. This is the mark of a character-driven story- and of a brilliant writer.

And to pile on to the paternity speculation- unusually tall, green-grey-blue eyes, silky hair, spent time in Skyrim…. I think there might be a Nord somewhere in there.



Ah, Julian. That is a noble sentiment, and an admirable one. However, especially at court, your enemies do not always “fight honestly.”

@SubRosa: Alves will have to remain a mystery for now.

@mALX and D. Foxy: ROFL!! And mALX, it seems another cold shower is in order . . .

@Acadian: I don’t think Julian will ever be sitting down to dinner with the Count and Countess of Leyawiin anytime soon, as you will find out in upcoming segments. But Alves has given her a valuable lesson that will come in handy in the future.

@Destri: Hair is very important to many women, not just black women. It’s just that some of us don’t know how to deal with what Mara gave us, and others of us make poor choices in hair. Julian herself kept her own hair close-cropped while in the Legion, and it was allowed to grow so long only through neglect.

@trey: Julian knows too well that not everyone “fights honestly.” She won’t be setting foot inside a court except as a soldier any time soon.

Dagail’s faculties are restored, and Julian gets more than she bargained for from the chapter head.

****************
Chapter 19.3 - The Seer’s Stone

Around the small dinner table, Kalthar’s absence was noted with desultory comments. Glancing at Agata, I kept silent. His blood was being cleaned off my katana and armor at The Dividing Line. The careworn Nord caught my look, and returned it blandly.

The Leyawiin Mages Guild was much smaller than those at Bravil and Cheydinhal, indicative of the city’s relative newness. Leyawiin’s location at the end of the Niben, near Topal Bay, made it ideal to control trade up and down the river. While some of the smaller seagoing vessels, such as galleons and caravels, could pass up the river with little difficulty, the larger carracks and galleasses had deeper drafts that prevented them from passing the Niben Shallows near Fort Redman.

This simple fact made Leyawiin the natural port for such ocean-going vessels to stop and offload their cargo into smaller ships for transport up the Niben to the Imperial City. As Leyawiin was expected to grow, I expected the Leyawiin Chapter to grow as well, unlike Bruma’s, where the cold climate kept many people away.

These thoughts did not make Kalthar’s absence any less glaring tonight at dinner. Dagail remained silent throughout the meal, often pausing in her eating to gaze off into the maelstrom of voices only she heard. Agata said nothing of Kalthar’s absence other than the comment, “He’s free to go out on research.” Uvenim and S’drassa speculated on his absence perfunctorily with each other, but soon ran out of words.

The simple meal of grilled fish, wilted watercress and wild rice quickly became a memory, and the two junior mages left the table, heading for the alchemy laboratory. Only Dagail, Agata, and I remained.

Reaching into the pocket of my blue velvet dress, I drew out the Seer’s Stone. Agata inhaled sharply as I gently picked up Dagail’s right hand and set the large amethyst firmly in her palm. Her faded eyes drifted from nowhere to focus on me, her fingers closing over the amulet.

“Found it, have you,” she murmured, her gaze steady on mine, intelligence and awareness dawning in her expression. “Silenced the hands that betrayed, and took what was mine.” Her arthritic fingers fumbled at the chain as she raised the amulet to her neck. Agata moved to take the clasp and fasten the necklace around the old Bosmer’s neck. “Ah,” Dagail sighed as the amethyst came to rest on her breast, just above the bateau neckline of her black gown. “Thank you, that is much better.” Her hands moved from the amulet to take my left hand. “I see the words you seek. You have my -” her eyes unfocused momentarily, “- recommendation. But I have also seen your future. Things that may be, and things that will be. Life and death are such strange things, yet the fate of many will be in your hands.” She smiled sadly at me. “Your choices will influence so many lives, Julian.”

A horde of ants crawled up my spine at her words. Did she just tell me my fortune? “Thank you for the recommendation, ma’am,” I said finally.

Dagail released my hand, sitting back in her chair, her eyes still on mine. “Tell me what happened, Julian.” Her voice held quiet authority, something it had lacked before.

“I went to Fort Blueblood, after I learned that your father had died in service there ma’am,” I paused, averting my face to briefly consider the death of another soldier, however long ago it occurred. “It is a marauder’s nest now,” I continued after a moment. “The upper levels were full of them. I had to fight my way through to the lower level.”

“How did you manage by yourself, with just a katana?” Agata asked.

“I learned the Sunbird Dance when I was a recruit in the Legion,” I answered. “It was developed for light swords such as the katana, and makes the most of the weapon’s strengths. Footwork is essential, footwork and balance.” Now I smiled at them. “And it proves useful for spellcasters, ironically enough.”

“Ironic?” Agata repeated.

“Yes, it was developed by the Ra’Gada, who have little use for magicka such as the mer and Bretons use. It precludes the need for a shield. And yet -” I shook my head. “I found myself using life detection spells to locate enemies around corners, shield spells to protect myself from the heavier weapons of the marauders, and my Domina Incendia for distraction.” Looking down at my hands, I wondered how I had reached this point in my magicka use. Necessity. “Not having to carry a shield meant my left hand was free to cast spells. I also used my sneak skills to the utmost.” Though there had been times when the slithering of Matius’s mail cuirass gave me away.

“When I reached the crypt, I was surprised to find dead marauders. There was a troll, and a will-o-wisp roaming around.” I took a breath, relieving the moment of panic when I realized I had left Daedra Slayer behind, the only effective weapon I had against that ethereal being. Before the two creatures had detected me, I had recovered enough to summon Domina Incendia one more time. “My flame atronach took care of them before she dissipated.”

“Those summons are very useful against trolls and will-o-wisps,” Dagail agreed.

“I looked through the crypt,” I continued after a moment. “I recalled Agata saying that your father was buried there.” Again I looked down at my hands. “I hated to do it, but I had to open Manduin’s tomb. I found his amulet on his body.”

Dagail reached over and laid her hand on my wrist. “My dear, you did what you had to do, and you did it to help me. My father would not have wanted it any other way.”

“That’s what I was hoping, ma’am,” I looked up into her kind gaze. “That’s when Kalthar showed up.”

“Kalthar?” Agata exclaimed sharply. “What was he doing there?”

“He apparently had figured out I had been sent to recover Manduin’s amulet,” I responded. “He must have followed me there and waited until I had the stone. Then he confronted me.”

The black-haired Nord scowled at me. “Look, I - I - I just can’t let you take the amulet. You can’t leave with it. Give it to me right now.”

“The amulet rightfully belongs to Dagail,” I answered firmly. “It is her inheritance from her father. Since you took the other one -”

“Yes, I took it!” Kalthar interrupted me, stress evident in his voice. “I just wanted to get out of that place. All I wanted was for Dagail to get me transferred out of Leyawiin, or to step down. I would have given it back to her then!”

“But in taking the amulet,” I responded smoothly, “you incapacitated her. She could not have you transferred. She may have been replaced, but you would still be stuck there.”

“But it would be with someone who really knows how to run a Guild chapterhouse!” Kalthar shot back. “Anyone would have been better than that senile old bat!” He stamped his foot, and in that moment gave me the impression of a spoiled brat deprived of his way. “But you had to go and spoil everything! Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” I answered levelly. Kalthar shouted a string of curses at me, taking a step back and raising his left hand. Magicka shimmered around his fist as he started incanting under his breath.

My magicka not as well developed as his, I knew I couldn’t let him cast any spells. Thanking Cirroc for the hundredth time that day, I leaped after Kalthar and swung my blade at his left arm. The katana bit into the muscles of his upper arm, and I twisted it to incur as much damage in that one stroke as I could. He shouted in pain and anger, his left arm falling uselessly to his side, yellow light fizzling away.

He tried to back up another step to cast right handed, but my blade sought the other arm, striking deep into the tendons of his right elbow. “Stop it,” I said to him, keeping my voice quiet out of respect for the dead soldiers buried here. “No more fighting. It’s over. Come back with me, Kalthar.”

He stared aghast at his useless limbs, then lifted his face to me, mouth opening wide and throat swelling. Inhaling deeply, he seemed to suck the air of the crypt into himself.

The thu’um! Vaguely remembering something about the Nordic magic, I knew he could kill me with the power of the Voice. Again I leaped toward him, the tip of my weapon slicing through his throat, its point skimming along the bones of his spine and nearly decapitating him.

My eyes closed, I saw again how his body crumpled to the stones of the crypt, blood fountaining over my weapon, my face and hair, my cuirass. “I had to kill him,” I said quietly. “I tried to disable him, keep him from casting any magic. But he apparently knew the thu’um, and I couldn’t take the chance to find out the hard way.”

Dagail’s hand, still on my wrist, squeezed harder until I opened my eyes to look at her. “My dear Julian, Kalthar was driven insane, as I have been. However, no amulet or enchanted jewelry was going to restore his sanity. I see what it cost you to kill a fellow mage. He placed himself outside the Mages Guild protection when he threatened you.” Taking a deep breath, she picked up my left hand and cupped it in her own wizened fingers, tracing the calluses and lines in my palm.

“I see the City in the Hand, and the Hand in the Stars. The Tower guards the Gate, but the Gate holds the Key. The King is the Key, and the Hand guards the King.” She looked up at me as the words hung heavy and cold in the air between us. “You have much work yet to do, and we can not keep you any more from it. The King needs you.”

Feeling the blood rush from my face, I was reminded again of Uriel Septim’s words to me - Sun’s Companion. Son’s Companion. “Yes, he does,” I admitted softly. “Thank you again, Dagail.”

“No, no,” the old woman shook her head. “It is I who must thank you.”

I was surprised that after you return the amulet to Dagail, if you keep coming back to her and talking she will continue giving you insight into your future (probably based on what is in your journal of active quests) - it is one of those really cool details Bethesda threw in the game.

Awesome Write!!! Going back over the story in dialogue kept it from the repetative descriptions of actually going through the Fort, great call on that !!!

Your depiction of Dagail as you hand her the amulet and she becomes more lucid - HUGE - subtle descriptions that paint the visual so believably !!!


Sunbird Dance - I don't know if that is something really in the game - (hadn't heard of it) - but I absolutely loved that paragraph where Julian describes how it works - AWESOME !!!!

Well done, Rider! I think you made excellent choices in what to present here and how to do it. You summarized the events in Fort Blueblood nicely. Very creative in disabling Kalthar's spellcasting in typical Julain fashion (blade!). What a delight to see tribute/mention to the Nordic Thu'um, and how revealing it is that Julian's wealth of travel and experience rendered her familiar with it.

Once again, you display how much Julian has grown and how well she integrates blade with magic (and being nimble of foot).

His blood was being cleaned off my katana and armor at The Dividing Line.
I love this line!

I like how you started the episode back in Leyawiin, with the quest finished, and then recounted events for us. With so many dungeon-crawls in this story, a blow-by-blow account as it happens for every one would be very tedious. Very thoughtful way of Julian 'disarming' Kalthar. Likewise with him having the thu'um. I forget he is a Nord because of the black hair.

Likewise, a nice demonstration of Julian's own skillz once more. Even more appreciated is the background you provided in her explanation of the Sunbird, and the Redguard way of fighting, not to mention her adoption of magic use.

SubRosa said everything I would have! I love the little details like Julian revealing the origin of the Sunbird Dance as a Redguard tradition, and the fact that they have little use for magic. And her time in Skyrim would naturally make her familiar with the thu’um (though how Kalthar learned it is beyond me). The bits of descriptive atmosphere (Dagail listening to a maelstrom of voices, and the horde of ants crawling up Julian’s spine) worked beautifully.

Next time, though, tell her to keep Daedra Slayer with her! Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.

Others have already mentioned much of what struck me about this one, but I will go on about some things anyway.





I applaud Julian’s efforts to bring Kalthar along quietly (if not peacefully). And adding a racial power to the rogue mage was inspired.

The prophecies from Dagail, along with Agata’s quiet care for the elderly Bosmer, add tremendous flavor to the story.

@mALX: I think I have briefly mentioned the Sunbird Dance. It’s something original to OHDH - it is not found in the game nor is it found in the Lore. I felt that the world of Julian’s Nirn needed something along the lines of the martial arts disciplines found throughout Asian history, especially China, Korea and Japan.

@Acadian: I felt that Julian’s sojourn in Leyawiin was a perfect time to pause and take stock of how much she has learned to use magic in her combat. After years of fighting as part of a cohort, she has had to learn how to fight on her own, and it’s a whole different ball game.

@SubRosa: Thanks, Sage! I tried to bring up a little more of Julian’s training, both conventional and unconventional, here in this segment. It’s a challenge picking and choosing what to show and what to tell, especially with so many Oblivion Gates and dungeons. It all gets boring after the first couple or so . . .

@Destri: I wasn’t about to let Kalthar go down without a good fight, so I gave him the knowledge of the thu’um. As for Daedra Slayer, well, that’s further proof of what I call the umbrella theory!

@trey: Thanks! I’m glad you enjoyed the little extra power I gave Kalthar. It scared the crap out of Julian when she realized what he was trying to do. Imagine the power of that Voice in such cramped quarters!

Julian meets the wiliest Count evah. A shout out to our Paladin for crystallizing a certain female character for me. Forgive me, I borrowed heavily from your version because it fit my impression so well. And we also meet my favorite Orc.

**********************
Chapter 19.4 The Master Negotiator

The next morning, I walked into the County Hall, dressed in my newly repaired armor. Tun-Zeeus had restored the luster to Matius’s mailed cuirass and the keen edge to my katana. No longer grumpy, I strode between the young guards in the antechamber, down to the main floor. The sight of more stairs rising to lead back into the County Hall proper did not strike dismay into my heart, as once they would have.

A tall female Orc turned from her study of the white horse emblem on the tapestries at the side of the hall to regard me. Clad in Orcish armor, she struck an imposing figure with her dark bronze round shield and her intimidating gaze. She watched me, her expression unreadable, as I followed the long green strip leading from the exterior to the steps at the rear of the entry hall.

The guards were easy to read, however, as they eyed my progress toward the throne room at the rear of the main Castle. Mostly young Imperial men, they regarded me with a mixture of scorn and contempt. Here my white hair and the Kvatch Wolf on my breast means nothing to them. I didn’t know whether to be relieved at their apparent ignorance of my status as the Hero of Kvatch, or be insulted by their overt disrespect. Oh well, we’ll see.

In the County Hall proper, I paused just within the entrance. Before me, clusters of dignitaries and officiates moved around the large chamber. Conversations murmured in hushed whispers. Something’s not right here - I studied the occupants intently. Mostly Imperials and Altmer. My gaze drifted upward to the balcony, where I spotted a female Argonian clad in plain linens watching the activity below. She caught my gaze and started for the stairs leading down to the main floor.

As I watched her glide down the steps, it struck me what had felt so wrong about the County Hall. No Khajiits or Argonians here. But Leyawiin is mostly Khajiits and Argonians! And no Dunmer, Bosmer, or Redguard here, either. And that Orsimer out in the entry hall -

“Welcome to County Leyawiin,” the Argonian greeted me when she reached my place near the door. “I am On-Sstaya Ssundew, Ssteward of Casstle Leyawiin.” She bowed low to me. “And Chief Advissor to Count Caro - in theory.” Her tone took on a slight edge of bitterness.

“In theory?” I repeated, meeting her orange gaze and lowering my tone to keep below the soft susurrus of conversation among the occupants.

On-Staya shrugged her slender shoulders. “Leyawiin hass alwayss been a melting pot of racess and culturess,” she answered softly. She moved to the side, leading me to a quiet corner away from everyone else, including the guards. “Of course, racial and cultural differencess produce inefficienciess and confussion.”

“Of course,” I responded. It’s the same in the Legion, until we learn to put the Legion first. “I need to speak with Count Caro,” I continued. “It’s a matter of urgency.”

“I fear Countess Leyawiin and Hlidara Mothril plan to push the minoritiess asside and establish a bland, Imperial-dominated culture here in Leyawiin,” On-Staya spoke solemnly. “For that reason, I warn you, be cautiouss when sspeaking to the Count.” Her eyes drifted toward the two thrones, where two Imperials sat, a tall brunette Altmer standing before them. “Milady has banned the beast folk from the County Hall. I am an exception only becausse I have sserved the Count’ss father before him.” She met my gaze again. “And she needss little excuse to ban otherss that don’t meet her white-bread sstandardss as well.”

I felt my jaw clench at the Argonian’s words. “Who is Hlidara Mothril?” I asked. The Argonian indicated the Altmer woman I had noticed standing near the Countess.

“Sshe is Milady’s advisor,” On-Staya answered, her tone becoming hard again.

Turning to face the Argonian, I held her orange gaze. “Will you announce me, please?”

“Of coursse,” On-Staya inclined her head gracefully. “How shall I announce you, ma’am?”

“I am Julian of Anvil,” I responded. “On a mission of some urgency.”

She regarded me a moment longer, then bowed. “Very well,” she said finally. “Follow me, and I shall do the besst I can.” Turning from me, she weaved her way through the Imperials and Altmer crowding the hall, leading me to the dais. They looked at her with gazes ranging from neutral curiosity to hostility. My spine straightened further under their assessing looks as I followed the graceful Argonian.

“My lord Count,” she paused at the foot of the dais. “Here iss Julian of Anvil, with an urgent message.” The murmuring voices fell into silence at her clear words. The Countess, a young Imperial with a haughty demeanor, looked at her with thinly veiled irritation, her nostrils flaring.

At her side, the balding Count laid a beringed hand on her arm, not taking his eyes from Sundew. His brown gaze moved from the Argonian to me. Marius Caro regarded me silently for several moments, taking in my appearance with calculation in his expression.

Will he listen to me? The atmosphere in the County Hall was chilly, with a cold that did not come from the damp stones. “My lord Count,” I began, searching for the words that would convince him of the urgency of my mission. “Oblivion Gates have been opening up across Cyrodiil. A Great Gate has led to the destruction of Kvatch, and there is evidence that the next Great Gate will be opened at Bruma.” A murmuring of voices drifted around the Hall, and the Count’s eyes dropped to the Wolf on my breast. Again silence fell when Caro raised his hand.

“A Great Gate?” he murmured, his voice falling like silken spider threads into the hush. “And the Gates that stand open outside our walls are not such?”

“You may want to thank Zenithar that they are not, sir,” I answered. “They are frightening, and dangerous enough on their own, but they are too small to let their siege engines through. They would need to open three such Gates in order to bring up a Great Gate.”

“There are two!” someone exclaimed behind me. “One more and we will be next, not Bruma!”

“No,” I shook my head, not looking for the speaker. Keeping my eyes on Caro, I continued, “No, sir, Leyawiin will not be next. However, Leyawiin will fall eventually, if we do not stop the Oblivion assault at Bruma.”

“Then we will pray to the Nine that Bruma will stand against the daedra,” Caro’s gaze shifted beyond me, and I knew he was meeting eye contact with the other. “And we will hold fast here.”

“The Bruma Watch has learned how to close the Gates, and will do so as each gate opens.” I resumed speaking when the hall fell quiet again. “Yet there will be casualties, and eventually Bruma will fall. And when Bruma falls, so will the other cities, sir.” I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “Bruma asks the other cities for help reinforcing their garrison, sir. The longer they can hold out, the better the chances for beating the daedra in the end.”

The plain-faced Countess leaned sharply to Caro’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. Though I could not catch what she said, I could hear the venom in her tone. Mothril turned to me, looking down at me from her greater height.

“Pardon me, Julian of Anvil,” she said quietly, her voice and expression neutral. “Tell me, what experience do you have of closing Oblivion Gates?” My mind blanked. How many have I closed now? Eight? Nine?

“I taught the Bruma Watch how to close them,” I answered finally. The Altmer’s gaze dropped to the Wolf emblazoned on my surcoat.

“And you closed the Great Gate at Kvatch,” she added simply. With a nod to herself, she turned back to the thrones, where the Countess still whispered in Caro’s ear. His eyes were downcast, but his expression bore weary patience. “My lord Count,” Mothril’s soft voice ended the Countess’s whispered tirade. “I believe that Julian of Anvil knows too well what she speaks of.”

“And that is precisely what I am afraid of,” Caro responded, his eyes sharpening on me. “We have two Gates standing outside our east walls. If a third one opens, Leyawiin is lost.” He shook his head. “I simply can not spare the men at the moment.” Now those deceptively mild brown eyes hardened on me. “If we did not have those Gates, I would not hesitate to send aid to Bruma.”

My heart sank. In that moment, I knew what I had to do. Close two more Gates. The sigh stifled in my throat, I raised my right fist to my breast in the traditional Legion salute. “I understand, my lord Count,” I spoke quietly into the hush. “Farewell, sir, milady,” I nodded at the young Imperial. Turning sharply on my heel, I walked out of the Hall, the crowd parting before me.

As I entered the short passage connecting the County Hall with the entry hall, I heard the Count’s voice behind me. “I hope to see you again, Julian of Anvil!” My step faltered as I glanced back. He met my gaze across the Hall, still seated on his throne, the Countess staring at him. His bald pate shimmered as he inclined his head at me.

When I turned back to the entry hall, I saw the armored bulk of the Orsimer standing in the doorway, barred from further progress by the crossed halberds of the guards posted there. Her black eyes were on me, and I realized she had heard everything from the County Hall. She stepped back as I drew near, and the guards uncrossed their weapons to let me by.

“You’re the Hero of Kvatch, aren’t you?” the Orsimer said as I passed her. A sharp glance revealed that I didn’t need to answer. She fell into step beside me, her Orcish armor clattering as she matched my long stride. “You’re going to close those two Gates?”

“Looks that way,” I murmured. Her next words caught me off guard.

“If I help you close those Gates, will you help me?”

At the bottom of the steps leading out of the entry hall, I faced the green mer, tipping my head back to meet her gaze. “What is your name, ma’am?” I asked.

“Sir Mazoga,” she responded, becoming defensive. My brows rose at her as I considered the lack of a patronymic. “Yes, I’m Mazoga. I was born under a rock and have no parents, so I don’t need a last name,” she added, scowling. “I’m a knight, so that means you have to address me as such.”

“A knight, Sir Mazoga?” I repeated. “A knight of Leyawiin?”

“No!” Mazoga’s scowl blackened further. “I’m a free knight. I don’t have a lord. You got a problem with that?”

“What do you need my help with, Sir Mazoga?” I decided to humor her, at least for the time being. I needed all my strength for two Oblivion Gates.

“You got in to see the Count,” she said, her scowl lightening a little. “I’ve been standing here waiting for three days, and they won’t let me in!”

With manners like that, I’m not surprised. What may work in the Wrothgarians likely won’t get her far here. “And you need to speak to the Count?” I asked.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “So if I help you close those Gates, will you help me see the Count?”

This time, I did not stifle the sigh in my throat. “Can you sneak quietly?” I asked her.

“I can fight!” she drew herself up to her fullest, most formidable height. I had to admit that she looked very menacing just then. “I don’t need to sneak around!” She slapped the tall hilt of the Dwarven longsword at her hip.

“I don’t doubt you can fight well,” I countered, turning and heading up the steps. As I expected, she fell into step beside me. “But running into the Deadlands swinging and slashing that big blade of yours will only end badly.” As I pushed the right hand door open, I waved for Mazoga to exit ahead of me.

“I can fight with the best of them!” Mazoga was nothing if not stubborn.

“I’m sure you can,” I replied, glancing up at the drizzle falling around us. “But the best have tried that, and have paid the ultimate price for that.” I lowered my eyes to meet Mazoga’s gaze levelly. “I closed that Great Gate at Kvatch by sneaking around,” I continued quietly, stepping down the stairs. “I’ve only gotten better in my stealth skills since then. It’s the only way to get through the daedra.”

“But I want to help!” the big Orsimer would not give up. “I need your help!”

“Well, it’ll take me about a day for each Gate,” I mused, heading for the East Gate. “I can’t be certain daedra aren’t coming out of the Gates while I’m in the Deadlands. You can help me clear the area around each Gate, then watch for any daedra coming through while I’m in there.”

“I can do that!” Mazoga slammed her right fist into her left palm for emphasis, her gauntlets clashing loudly. Eyeing her gear, I met her gaze.

“Your equipment in good repair, Sir Mazoga?” I already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it.

“Yes!”

“Then let’s go.”

I really loved this! Yes, I am humbled and delighted that you and I tend to see Count and Countess Leyawiin in similar fashion. I see him as in love with his Countess or henpecked, or perhaps both, but not inherantly a bad fellow. She is the problem, and I honestly don't know if she can be 'fixed' - evidence doesn't seem to suggest so, does it? *Sigh*

You portrayed On-Staya wonderfully - poor thing. I'm so pleased Hildara seemed to have a grasp of the bigger threat and that her influence carried some weight.

The brooding mysterious intrigue you wove into the castle was magnificent, and very immersive as tension almost dripped from the high ceilings.

Sir Mazoga! Gosh, my respect for Julian grows with every chapter. What a combination of consideration for Mazoga's feelings and a reality check that Julian so gracefully sidelined Mazoga, yet made the big green knight feel good while so doing! 'Zoga is a loose cannon, and Julian's choice here to have her 'guard' the outside of the gate was brilliant. Hmmm. . . yet it is that very same 'loose cannon-ness' that makes me anxious to see if Mazoga can/will follow the simple instructions she has agreed to.

Wonderful, Rider!

I was sooo hoping that Julian would agree to take Mazoga with her! But I can certainly understand why she didn’t. Nothing says ‘intruder’ louder than the sight of a six-and-a-half-foot female orc stomping through the Deadlands with a sword in her hand!

Your depiction of the audience chamber made me want to strangle Countess Alessia and all of her lickspittles! Talk about immersive! Marius Caro may well be a wise and wily ruler, but he is incredibly weak where his wife is concerned. I imagine that the day she packed up her dowry and her bodyguard and ventured down to Leyawiin is still remembered as a day of thanks-giving in Chorrol! I especially liked the idea that the only voices of reason in the entire castle came from an Altmer, an Argonian, and strangely enough, an Orc.

Once (twice) more into the breach, Julian!

It always surprises me to read Julian has been in the Legion so long, but doesn't repair her own weapons and armor. Is there a story behind that?

Mazoga is at her best in this chapter, Awesome job you did on her!!!!






Er...I won't tell you what I thought you said here, suffice it to say it appeared to be...dherty innuendo on first glance. On cleaning my glasses I realized my error. OOPS !!!

The sight of more stairs rising to lead back into the County Hall proper did not strike dismay into my heart,
This was a good touch. It was the first thing I thought too, when I saw the part about more stairs.

I like the way you described the County Hall. All of them seem so empty and lifeless in the game. The way you threw in a pack of courtiers and conversations made it feel like a real, lively place.

Yay for Sir Mazoga! I see she gets to fill in for Pappy and guard the gate behind Julian. I wonder if she will stay on the Nirn side of the gates however...

An interesting touch- Julian has become used to commanding respect again, just as she once would have expected young troopers to straighten up in the presence of their pilus prior.



I pulled those two as excellent examples of the environment you so skillfully create. Castle Leyawiin is NOT a happy place.



Reminds me of the sergeant who was yelling at a young recruit:

"Boy, where did you learn to run?"

The recruit replied:

"Where I came from, we stood and fought."

A wonderful portrayal of Castle Leyawiin and of Julian's developing diplomatic skills.

@Acadian: I don’t quite see the Count as weak, but more as a manipulative fellow. He goes along with the Countess for now because it’s less work at the moment . . . Not to mention that her mother the Countess Valga is not one you want to anger. I’m glad you got the subtleties I was trying to convey in the Leyawiin court - all is not happy and sunshine there.

@Destri: Your perception about the voice of reason in the Leyawiin Court is spot on! I was trying to bring on the irony of the situation that Julian found herself in.

@mALX: Well, we found out fairly early in the story that Julian’s brother apprenticed to Morvayn the Anvil smith. Then we find out he was killed in a very gruesome manner. I’ll let you put the pieces together. As for Mazoga, I think you’ll like her better in later chapters. I truly love her character in the vanilla Oblivion, and merely buffed her personality for this retelling.

@SubRosa: I thought you would notice the lack of dismay over all the stairs in Leyawiin County Hall!

@Trey: You happened to have picked out those lines I’m most proud of! Loved the little anecdote!

Mazoga kept her end of the deal, now it’s time for Julian to hold up hers.

*******************
Chapter 19.5 Sir Mazoga

After the brief moment of vertigo that always followed the translocation, I spotted Mazoga battling a clannfear. Her Dwarven longsword smashed heavily through the creature’s neck, effectively paralyzing it. Behind her, a flame atronach set her feet to start casting fireballs at the big Orsimer.

“Sir Mazoga!” I shouted, already using the last of my depleted magicka to cast Domina Incendia. “Behind you!”

She spun to her left, raising her huge shield to cover her left side in time to deflect the flare from the daedra. The movement indicated years of training, hard training from real experts. Shaking the blood off her blade, she ran for the daedra as Domina Incendia cast flares at her counterpart.

Domina Incendia danced to one side to keep a clear line of fire as I approached the atronach from the opposite side as Mazoga. My summons kept firing her spells when we drew near. The voluptuous atronach hissed at us as our blades flashed in the afternoon sun. Domina Incendia fizzled into thin air when we demolished our common enemy. Mazoga stared at me, panting hard, then spun toward the smoking Gate.

“Where’s that other fire-lady?” she shouted angrily.

“That one’s mine,” I scanned the area for more enemies and finding none. “I summoned her.” Mazoga’s head whipped around at me, her black eyes stunned.

“You’re a conjurer?” she exclaimed.

“Hardly,” I wiped the blood off my blade with my fingers before sheathing it. “I can cast a flame atronach, or a skeleton, but that’s about it.” My breaths came shakily as I gulped humid air into my lungs. The breeze from the Niben River dried the sweat from my face. Damn, that feels good! I knelt on the bank to wash the blood off my fingers.

“Well, that’s two Gates closed,” Mazoga finally sheathed her own Dwarven longsword after cleaning it on the dead clannfear. “I held up my end of the deal, Julian.”

“So you did, Sir Mazoga,” I responded. My eyes were drawn again to the water. My skin, scorched and dried by the heat of the Deadlands, itched beneath my cuirass. Gods, a bath would be nice. A swim even better. But I knew that I had to see the Count as I stood, in bloodied surcoat and sooty face. The impact would be greater. Turning back to Mazoga, I noted the blood trickling down the left side of her face from a wound on her scalp, the way she wavered on her feet.

As my magicka replenished and my trembling subsided, I stepped forward and touched Mazoga on her cheek. Her eyes widened and she nearly flinched away as white energy surged from my fingertips to heal the scalp wound. Her soreness and fatigue added to mine. “You’ve fought hard, Mazoga,” I said quietly as the bleeding stopped, the red fluid drying on her green skin. “Let’s go.”

She fell into step beside me. “I thought Redguards didn’t practice magic,” she remarked casually. Without breaking my stride, I shot her a glance.

“I didn’t, not until recently.” I answered. “Being old, sick and worn out, I’ve had to learn how to use magic to survive.” With a shrug, I rubbed at the back of my neck, where the sweat still trickled down from my scalp. “I’ve become somewhat better with practice.”

“Sick and worn out?” Mazoga scoffed. “You look fit!”

This time my strides did falter. Yes, she’s right. I’m almost back to my old fighting trim. This mail cuirass no longer feels as heavy as it did. Wonder if I can wear that Blades armor without staggering now? “Well, I’ve been healing myself every night, and old injuries have finally healed,” I resumed our slow trek back to Leyawiin.

“Well, magic is fine and dandy,” Mazoga remarked, her eyes on the river to our right. “But I prefer solid weapons and armor.” She slapped the tall hilt of her Dwarven sword for emphasis.

I chuckled silently, too tired to give voice to my amusement. “Used to be a time I felt the same way,” I murmured quietly. “You fight well, Mazoga,” I raised my voice a little as we passed the Coast Guard station. “You’ve been trained by someone good.”

“Thanks,” she responded. “Yeah, I learned from one of the best.”

“Anybody I know?” I asked her as we stepped onto the dusty road that led to the East Gate.

“Naspia Cosma,” Mazoga glanced at me. “Steward at Castle Cheydinhal. She’d be better off competing in the Arena.”

With a nod, I recalled the Imperial woman’s square face and quiet demeanor. “I’ve met her.” I glanced at the tall Orsimer next to me. “I can’t speak to her blade skills, but if she trained you, then she’s good.” Mazoga grinned and puffed her chest at my words. “Thanks for holding the line at the Gates while I was in the Deadlands.”

We entered the city, the young guards eyeing us with a mixture of suspicion and respect. As we trudged down Castle Road toward the County Hall, I made eye contact with a bare-headed Imperial woman. Brown hair pulled back into a bun, brown eyes with a level gaze, she paused and turned to face us as we drew near. Recognizing the Leyawiin green on her surcoat, I nodded to her in greeting.

“Hello, Julian of Anvil!” she returned, her smile not touching her hard eyes. “The Count always said Leyawiin stands alone, but you proved him wrong. Well done!”

I paused and turned toward her. “I didn’t do it alone, ma’am,” I glanced pointedly at Mazoga. “Sir Mazoga here helped keep daedra from attacking travelers on the road and the river until the Gates were closed.”

“Yes,” the woman’s gaze flickered over the big Orsimer. “I saw.” She turned her gaze back to me. “Are you going to report to the Count?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” I nodded in affirmation.

“Good, he will be glad to hear your news.” She turned and walked away from us. Mazoga glowered after the woman, then met my gaze.

“That’s Caelia Draconis,” she grumbled. “Captain of the Guard here. Wouldn’t let me into the County Hall to speak to the Count.”

I regarded the Orsimer for several moments. “Well,” I said finally, “I have no authority here, but I can ask Count Caro if he’ll grant you an audience.”

“To tell you the truth, Julian,” Mazoga met my gaze. “I doubt you’ll be successful. But I’d appreciate it if you would try.”

The sky above us darkened imperceptibly with the setting sun as I gazed at the taller mer. She offered to help me, though she does not expect my efforts on her behalf to succeed? She is more a knight than she realizes. She is more a true paladin.

“Tell me, what is it you wish to speak to the Count about?” I said finally. “It would help me argue your case if I knew what is it you seek from him.”

She scowled, and I wondered momentarily if I had crossed some unseen line. Still, I kept my eyes steady on hers, and forced myself to keep breathing slowly and deeply. “That is a personal matter,” she growled at me.

It’s not worth it to push the matter further. “Very well, then,” I answered, starting for the County Hall. “I’ll do the best I can, Mazoga.”

You have so captured Mazoga in this, Awesome Write !!!

Diplomacy requires many weapons; Julian obviously recognizes that fact.



A nice bit of environmental atmosphere as Julian contemplates the psychic darkness that hangs over Leyawiin.

The scenes with Julian and Sir Mazoga fighting side-by-side- and the conversation after- were beautifully drawn. We get an excellent sense of both characters from their words, without any excess narration. Wonderful.

I agree. This was wonderfully done. I see that you also find Mazoga best comes to life through her actions. I am so very fond of the big green mer and delighted at how you are presenting her. I quite like the alterations you seem to be making to questing with Mazoga. I wonder if Julian will become a Knight of the White Stallion, but understand if her duties to the Empire must take priority.

Like trey, I loved Julian's calculation to appear before the Count obviously fresh from the fight. Appearances matter. If we could just get Julian some more pretty dresses - with matching shoes, of course. . . alas, no doubt wishfull thinking on my part. Our hero has more important things to worry about.

It was so good to see Mazoga in action again. As Acadian already said, she really shows who she is through her actions, rather than in her brusque speech. Just like Vols in fact. I think you portrayed her wonderfully. I especially like how you filled in some of Sir Mazoga's background with Naspia Cosma being her teacher. That is one of those things they ignore in the game.

But I knew that I had to see the Count as I stood, in bloodied surcoat and sooty face. The impact would be greater.
And Julian says she does not know how to deal with Counts and other nobles!

“Yes,” the woman’s gaze flickered over the big Orsimer. “I saw.”
Nice of you to just sit and watch while other people do all the work!

@mALX: Thanks!

@trey: I’m glad you liked the interaction between Julian and Sir Mazoga. She was a difficult character for me to write - I wanted to keep her rough edges and her likability without making her into a cartoon character.

@Acadian: Julian will be associating with Mazoga long enough to find herself a Knight of the White Stallion. But you’re right, her commitment to Martin Septim takes precedence over some Count’s flight of fancy. As for the pretty dresses, well, that’ll happen again but we’ll have to wait a long time for it!

@SubRosa: We will see more of Mazoga’s history in upcoming segments. I’m not surprised to see you pounce on Caelia Draconis’s inaction. You’re not alone in that!

*******************
Chapter 19.6 - Mazoga’s Mission

The Orsimer’s face fell when I shook my head at her. “I’m sorry, Sir Mazoga,” I left the audience hall behind and waved her to follow me to the tall entrance at the other side of the entry chamber. “Count Caro wouldn’t grant you an audience.” He didn’t grant my request for assistance for Bruma, not yet anyway. “He did ask that I find out what you need, then report back to him.” As she fell into step beside me, I noted the fatigue in her face. “Where are you staying?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been here since I arrived.” She avoided the look I shot her as we headed back out into Leyawiin’s damp climate. It’s raining again, I noted with a small part of my mind.

“All right,” I made my decision. “I’m tired, hungry, and my armor needs repairing. It would be a good time now to tend to these things, and you can tell me what it is you seek the Count’s assistance with.” We turned up Castle Road toward North Way, the street that led to Westgate. Mazoga scowled, but matched my shorter stride.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I thought Five Claws Lodge would be a good place to get some grub,” I answered. “The Dividing Line is on the way, and I intend to drop off my armor and weapons there.” Again I regarded the tall Orsimer next to me. “First I’m going to the Mages Guild, to change into my street clothes, then I’ll drop my gear with Tun-Zeeus. I’ll meet you at the Five Claws in say, about thirty minutes?”

“All right,” Mazoga sighed reluctantly, still scowling. “Thirty minutes, then.”

“Listen,” I put my hand on her left shoulder, “I still owe you for your help. Dinner’s on me.” Her scowl faded, and she flashed a gap-toothed grin at me.

We parted ways near the Chapel, where Chapelstreet ran south from North Way. While the Orsimer trudged toward the Five Claws, I passed the immense stone structure and made my way to the Mages Guild. The rain poured itself into torrents by the time I reached the covered stoop to the chapterhouse.

Again Uvenim discovered me dripping on the stone floor and scolded me for not taking a rain cloak. I shook my head and smiled as I headed upstairs to my room. She turned back into her alchemy lab, still muttering about me catching bloodlung and worse.

Once I was dried off and in my street clothes, a knock on my door followed by Uvenim’s soft voice distracted me momentarily from my hunger. “Come in,” I called, already rolling up the mail cuirass.

“Here, Julian,” Uvenim entered, her hands full of potion vials. “I’ve got some healing potions for you. Looks like you can use them.” Her eyes widened at my burned skin, the traces of bruises evident beneath the collar and below the sleeves of my green shirt. “Where on Nirn have you been?” I smiled at her exclamation. Though I had used Carandial’s refresh spell to clean the blood and gore off of myself, it had depleted my magicka yet again.

“Not on Nirn, ma’am” I replied, taking one of the vials and drinking it down. My face pulled into a grimace, but the healing effect was strong, and my skin felt immediately better. “In the Deadlands,” I finished. “Thanks for the potion.” I returned the empty vial back to Uvenim. She set the remaining doses on top of the dresser where my pack rested.

“You closed those two Oblivion Gates?” she exclaimed. “I saw that Orc near them, but I had no idea - !”

“That Orc is Sir Mazoga, ma’am” I responded, wrapping up my weapons and bundling them together with the cuirass. “I asked her to keep an eye out for daedra entering Nirn through those gates while I was in the Deadlands.”

“She is fierce!” Uvenim’s eyes grew wide. “I watched her hold her ground against three flame atronaches!” She shook her head in wonder. “I’d be afraid to talk to her!”

“Ach, she’s not so bad,” I responded. Unable to resist the sudden urge to tease the Dunmer, I added, “as long as you’re not a flame atronach yourself, ma’am.”

“Stop it!” Uvenim put her fists on her hips in mock indignation. She laughed at my stifled chuckle. “Are you joining us for dinner, Julian?”

“No, ma’am, I’m meeting Mazoga at the Five Claws,” I answered. The Dunmer’s brows rose high over her ruby gaze.

“Well, be careful over there,” she advised me, her expression turning serious. “Witseidutsei keeps a very clean lodge, and gets quite upset when customers mess up the place.”

Straightening up, with my bundled armor and weapons in my arms, I nodded. “I’ll be careful, ma’am.”

“I’ve seen how you eat, Julian,” Uvenim shook her head. “You’ll be fine. It’s that Orc you’re meeting that’s the problem. Dirty, stinky creatures . . .”

“You’ll be dirty and stinky, too, ma’am,” I countered, my own brows rising, “if you had to defend against daedra for two days.” I smiled to take the sting out of my words. “What better place to clean up than the cleanest place in town?”

“Well, I suppose -” the slight Dunmer’s voice trailed off. She turned from me and went to the wardrobe. “If you’re going back out in that weather, for Zenithar’s sake take this,” she drew out a dark grey cloak. “It’s been enchanted to dispel water and keep you dry.” She stood on tiptoe to toss the heavy woven linen around my shoulders, securing the silver clasp at my left shoulder. I studied the wide border of silvery grey vines woven along the edges of the cloak.

“Thanks, I appreciate the loan,” I began, but Uvenim shook her head.

“It’s yours - long enough for your height.” Her mouth quirked at my surprise. “I inherited much from my grandmother. Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit her height.”

*********************
After dropping off my gear at The Dividing Line, I stepped gratefully within the warm and dry environs of the Five Claws. A careworn Argonian woman looked up from her pewter steins as I started past the bar toward the common room at the rear.

“Hello, Redguard,” she said quietly, her hissing accent barely audible. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m supposed to meet an Orc named Mazoga here, ma’am,” I responded, scanning the common room. I almost missed the woman’s frown.

“She’s freshening up in one of my roomss,” her tone held distaste. My glance at her may have been sharper than I intended, for she drew herself up almost defensively. “I have enough cleaning to do as it iss!” she exclaimed.

I shook my head. “Did she take a room for the night, ma’am?”

“She could barely afford a bath!” Witseidutsei countered. I managed to hide my wince at the Orsimer’s obvious poverty. Spent all her coin on that armor, most likely. I had seen the cuirass on Tun-Zeeus’s forge.

“How much for the night, ma’am?” I asked the Argonian, unfastening my belt pouch.

“Ten drakes for the night,” the publican responded. I laid two ten-drake pieces on the counter.

“Ten for one night,” I advised her, “plus extra for the bath and food. Whatever she needs, she gets.” She reached for the coins, but I covered them with my hand. Witseidutsei met my gaze, her eyes widening at me. “Mazoga spent the last two days keeping daedra from the walls of Leyawiin. She deserves some respect for that, at least.”

“Oh, very well!” Witseidutsei huffed. I heard the door to one of the rooms open behind me, and turned to see Mazoga, dressed in a plain linen shirt and scuffed leather pants, step out.

“Let’s eat, Sir Mazoga,” I said, gesturing her to move ahead into the common room. As she passed me, I turned back to Witseidutsei. “Water for both of us, and whatever you have that’s hot to eat, please.” I smiled at the Argonian. “We’re both quite hungry, ma’am.”

Mazoga picked a nearby empty table, ignoring the glances from the other patrons as I joined her. Witseidutsei placed a pitcher and pewter tumblers in front of us, then returned to the ovens near the bar. The smell of hot meat pies drifted out into the common room as she opened one of the ovens and drew out two of the delectable dishes. The Argonian brought the pies and a loaf of warm bread and laid them out on the table. “Careful, the pies are hot.”

“I believe it, ma’am,” I responded. I could hear the juices bubbling away inside the pastries. Mazoga watched as I poked at the top crust with a fork, letting steam and savory smells out through the small holes and cracks. She mimicked my actions with her pie as I filled the tumblers with cool water from the pitcher. “All right, Sir Mazoga,” I said to her. “Dive in. Fill our stomachs first, then we’ll talk.”

Working our way through the hot pies took some time, as we had to blow on each forkful to avoid scalding our mouths. Mazoga finished hers first, and sopped up the last of the juices with a chunk of bread. I wasn’t too far behind her though. Two days of fighting was more than enough to work up an appetite.

“What was it you wanted to see the Count about?” I decided to be direct with the Orsimer. Her blunt approach, while not suitable for the Leyawiin court, was fine with me.

“I need to find someone to take me to Fisherman’s Rock,” Mazoga looked down at her place. “A woodsman named Weebam-Na. I hear he knows the forest around here.”

I regarded her silently for a few moments. “Why did you want to see the Count about that, sir?”

“He’s the Count, isn’t he?” Mazoga countered. “He knows everyone that lives here!”

“I think we can find him without the Count’s assistance,” I leaned back in my chair, twirling the tumbler on the table. “Let me ask around, sir.” I might get further with the locals than Mazoga. As Witseidutsei returned to the table to clear away the empty dishes, I caught her gaze. “That was mighty delicious, Witseidutsei. Far better than Legion food, ma’am.”

“Oh, thank you!” Witseidutsei smiled toothily as Mazoga grunted her agreement. “Do you need anything else?”

“Do you have any fresh fruit?” I asked. I wanted something light to fill the last few empty nooks and crannies in my stomach. Witseidutsei nodded with a glance at Mazoga.

“I’ll have some, too,” the Orsimer answered the unspoken question.

When the Argonian innkeeper returned with a platter of apples, pears and strawberries, I stopped her with a gesture. “Do you happen to know of a man named Weebam-Na, ma’am?”

“Of course! Everybody knows Weebam-Na!” Witseidutsei’s response was quite emphatic. “He lives here in town, on Water Street. His house is the little one on the lake, right next to Ahdarji’s house, the big red one on the corner of Water Street and Southcastle Avenue.”

I met Mazoga’s gaze. “We’ll go see him tomorrow morning,” I said quietly. She drew breath to protest, but I shook my head emphatically. “It’s late, and we’re both tired. I’ll meet you here after breakfast.”

This was a nice episode with a steady pace, showing Julian just being Julian. I vastly prefer these over the bashing monster ones, as they show Julian our Redguard for who she really is.


Dirty, stinky creatures . . .
Well, la, de, da! Miss high and mighty! I wonder if it is actual racism on Alves' part, or perhaps jealousy? She certainly is paying a lot of attention to Julian!


“Why did you want to see the Count about that, sir?”
So the player character would notice her and thusly begin a side-quest? There really is no good reason for Mazoga to be talking to the Count when she wants to talk to Weebles-Wobble. However, I love the naivete you injected within her with, that she actually thinks the Count knows every resident in his city. Or perhaps it is simple unfamiliarity with Cyrodiil? If she is from the Wrothgarians, the local leaders there may well indeed be personally acquainted with all the constituents.

I really enjoyed this. You are doing a great job bringing Leyawiin to life!
Julian's wisdom continues to impress. She knows the way to an orc's heart!
Oooh! I'll have to remember this - great phrasing for a Dunmer!

I'm pleased to see Julian garner a rain cloak. How clever to give it a touch of magical water repelling.

Thanks for the fine chow, or as Julian would say, 'grub'.

I am so tickled to see Julian developing a protective aspect regarding the rough and wonderful orc. As odd as that sounds, I fully understand it, and love Julian all the more for it. Julian shows her heart - with her words, deeds and coin. People do pick on Mazoga inside the town, albeit not to her face.

Chapter 19.5 Sir Mazoga
Mazoga hints at a past spent learning from the steward of Castle Cheydinhal. That would seem to imply more than a passing knowledge of court politics. Her assessment of Julian’s chances for success on her behalf probably comes from bitter experience. Now you have me wondering at the chain of events that led to her splitting chests of gold with Black Brugo. I doubt that Naspia Cosma approved.

And what is it with the maddening inactivity of female guard captains in this story?! It’s a wonder that the Imperials have an Empire at all! Given the capability and competence that they display in your writing, I hope you can forgive me for wondering why Black Marsh isn’t the seat of the Empire.

Chapter 19.6 Mazoga’s Mission
When Julian tells Mazoga that she will pay for the dinner I thought to myself, ‘Uh Oh!’ It turns out that, despite the gruff tone and manner, Mazoga is capable of a form of diplomacy. I am sure that she can eat far more than she just demonstrated.

In a place as notorious for bigotry and racism as Leyawiin, it is surprising to see that Orcs occupy a lower rung on the social ladder than Khajiit or Argonians. Maybe it’s just me, but belligerence toward an individual capable of facing down three flame atronachs doesn’t seem wise. Witseidutsei (now that is just a fun name to type) had better be careful not to let her mouth write checks!

I have to agree with Sage Rosa, Alves' interest seems pretty poignient. And it could be jealousy thinking Mazoga has bagged the goodies (goodies being Julian)

If she lets her guard down, Alves will probably jump at the chance to comfort her...!

Julian needs to sleep with one eye open...or not!

The interactions of your characters are a joy to watch- again. And the practical uses you find for a world where magic works add tremendous depth and realism. As does the food- fresh bread and meat pies- perfect for a rainy afternoon in Leyawiin! And let me add my appreciation to those who have already noted the clever way you explain why Mazoga wants to see the Count. There is such a wealth of characterization in that deceptively complex bit of writing. Complex- but you make it appear simple.

@SubRosa: That was the one thing that niggled me the most about Mazoga - why the heck does she want to see the Count for?? After some mulling, I decided it’s because she didn’t know how to go about finding someone she’s never met.

@Acadian: Yes, Julian has taken Mazoga under her wing, for the time being. It’s not the first time she’s done that, though when I think about it, this may be the first time her readers are seeing that aspect of her nature.

@Destri: I think Uvenim is merely echoing the common stereotype in her comment about the Orc. In my experience, such racism (and many other forms of prejudice) come from ignorance, not from real experience. I suppose that’s why Julian doesn’t see Mazoga that way, because she knows from experience that they clean up just fine! As for Caelia, Julian will encounter her again before this chapter ends.

@mALX: Are you perhaps projecting? I thought Alves was just happy to have someone else to talk “chick” with, considering how batty old Dagail is, and how busy Agata is.

@treydog: Thanks for the compliment. Complex is right - it’s getting to be a challenge keeping all the details straight! But I love it, and I ain’t settling for simple!

I love Weebam-Na for his unique dialogue. As an amateur foodie, I get a kick out of asking him about Leyawiin. Every. Single. Time.

**************
Chapter 19.7 Weebam-Na

Though I started my day early, rising before the sun at the Mages’ Guild chapterhouse, Mazoga was ready when I arrived. Apparently she had visited The Dividing Line, for she wore her freshly-repaired armor. The Orcish design shone softly in the morning light, an indication of the polishing Tun-Zeeus had lavished on it.

As soon as I reached North Way from Chapel Street, she waved at me from the porch of the Five Claws Lodge. “Hail, Julian!” she called, stepping down to the cobblestones without using the stairs. I eyed the gleaming armor.

“Are you expecting trouble, Sir Mazoga?” I asked wryly.

“I hope to be heading to Fisherman’s Rock this morning,” Mazoga responded heartily. “Better safe than sorry!”

“In that case, I’d better stop and pick up my own gear,” I commented, turning for the smith’s shop. Mazoga fell into step beside me. I wonder if she learned more than just blade-work. She certainly thinks like an adventurer, always ready for anything that may come her way. Or is she planning trouble for someone? Ah well, I did promise to help her.

*************
Consistent with the Black Marsh origin of his name, Weebam-na turned out to be an Argonian. Tall and muscular in a thin flaxen shirt and linen trousers, he exuded the quiet confidence of an experienced hunter. He eyed us warily as we approached the stoop in front of his home, his gaze lingering on our armor and weapons.

“Are you Weebam-na?” Mazoga spoke brusquely by way of greeting. The Argonian’s eyes narrowed at her, his temporal spines rising to vertical, much like the hackles on a wolf.

“Who wantss to know?” he hissed. I stepped forward before Mazoga responded.

“Good morning, sir,” I kept my tone quiet. “I am Julian of Anvil, and this is Sir Mazoga. She has been looking for you.”

Weebam-na turned his orange gaze on me. “Ssir Mazoga?” he repeated. As the Orsimer drew breath to object, he glanced at her. “Why are you looking for me?”

“I need you to take me to Fisherman’s Rock.” I could sense Mazoga’s barely suppressed indignation. Unfortunately, so could the Argonian hunter.

“Why?” his tone took on a challenge.

“None of your business!” Mazoga exclaimed curtly. “Just take me there!”

Weebam-na turned his shoulder toward the Orc in a gesture of dismissal. “If you won’t tell me why, I won’t take you - anywhere.” He entered his house, the closing door an unmistakable end to the incipient confrontation. Mazoga turned to me, her black eyes snapping with anger and frustration.

“Wait by Best Goods and Guarantees,” I told her quietly in my firmest pilus voice. “Let me handle him.”

She snorted and stomped away. I watched her go with a shake of my head. She needs to learn tact and manners. Not everyone likes the direct approach. I stepped onto the creaking porch and knocked softly on the doorframe.

“Go away!” A hissing voice sounded from inside. I tapped again.

“It’s me, Julian,” I called before Weebam-na could respond again. “I’d like to speak to you a moment, please, sir.”

“Iss sshe gone?” Weebam-na’s voice slipped through the cracked panel.

“I sent her away,” I kept my tone quiet. “Please, sir, it’s important.”

After another moment, the door squealed open, and Weebam-na looked out at me. He scanned the street beyond, then stepped out to stand beside me.

“How can you put up with that?” The anger was still evident in his tone, but Weebam-na’s temporal spines had eased down again.

I shrugged. “She’s no worse than the instructors I had in the Legion,” I replied. “At least she doesn’t hurl insults as liberally as they did, sir.”

Weebam-na shook his head. “We’re not the Legion here,” he muttered, turning his gaze away from me.

“No, you’re not, sir,” I agreed. “Nevertheless, we need to know where Fisherman’s Rock is.” I caught his glance at me. “And no, I don’t know why it’s so important to Sir Mazoga. She has her reasons, I suppose.”

“And why are you with her, then?” The Argonian faced me, his gaze raking up and down my frame, taking in the Kvatch Wolf on my chest and the weapons I carried. “Why iss the Hero of Kvatch wassting her time with an uncouth Orc?”

“She may be uncouth, sir,” I responded. “But she is brave, and she honored her side of the deal she made with me. Thanks to her, no daedra reached Leyawiin’s walls while I was in the Deadlands.” Weebam-na’s brows rose over startled eyes at my words. “I’m just fulfilling my side of the arrangement, sir.”

Weebam-na shook his head. “I had heard you clossed thosse two Gatess east of town, but -” his voice trailed off. He drew a deep breath. “Very well, ma’am. Fisherman’ss Rock iss on the east bank of the Niben River, about ssix hourss’ walk north of here.” His gaze sharpened on me. “Do you know where Fort Redman iss?”

Reluctantly I recalled my quest for Sheogorath’s artifact. “Opposite the Stendarr wayshrine south of Bravil,” I answered, swallowing down the shame I still felt over my actions there.

“Yess, that’ss right,” Weebam-na nodded. “Fisherman’ss Rock is just ssouth of there. You’ll recognize it by the big bonfire. It’ss a bandit camp, sso be careful.”

“Bandits, huh?” I felt my brows lift at the information. Wonder what Mazoga wants with bandits? “Thanks for your help, sir.”

“Not a problem, ma’am.” Weebam-na turned back to his door. He paused and looked at me. “By the way, have you sseen any ratss around here?”

“Rats?” I shook my head. “Not that I know of. Why?”

“They’re making me crazy,” his tone turned complaining. “Every time I kill one, there’ss ten more running away!” He let a frustrated hiss escape between his teeth. “Ssome guy decided to open a fancy restaurant and make a fortune. He wass going to sserve all kinds of fancy rat dishess.” His eyes rolled to the morning sky above us. “Rat in cream ssauce. Rat flambé. Rat bouillabaisse. Rat in marssala wine ssauce. Rat aglio et olio. Get the picture?”

My stomach growled as my lips twitched. Be quiet, you just had breakfast. “Yes, sir, I do. What happened?”

“When the Guard found out, they ran hiss ssorry butt right out of town. But they left all the ratss!” Weebam-na shook his head.

“Seems like you have your work cut out for you, sir.” I nodded at him. “Good luck catching all those rats.”

“Good luck with that Mazoga yoursself!” Weebam-na called after me as I stepped off his porch.

I found Mazoga waiting impatiently in front of Best Goods and Guarantees. “Well?” she demanded as soon as I reached her.

“I know where it is. It’s -”

“Good!” Mazoga interrupted me. “Take me there!”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “It’s on the opposite bank of the river,” I continued evenly. “About six hours north of here.”

“Take me there,” Mazoga repeated. She began shifting her feet under my steady stare. “Now!”

“If you had a mother, she would have taught you the magic word,” I said quietly, resisting the temptation to put my hands on my hips much as my own mother used to do. Her black gaze snapped at me. “That one word can make life so much easier for you.”

Mazoga tipped her head to one side, considering my words. “What word is that?”

“Please.” I held her gaze with mine. She scowled fiercely, and my right hand twitched toward the hilt of my katana. Akatosh! She’s really going to fight me over one word?

Her Orcish cuirass rose and fell impressively with her deep breath. “Please, Julian, will you take me to Fisherman’s Rock?” While not quite contrite, Mazoga’s tone was considerably less brusque than usual.

“All right,” I nodded acquiescence. “I’ll take you there.”

his temporal spines rising to vertical, much like the hackles on a wolf.
A good piece of description that lends realness to the Argonian.

I don't blame Weebles-Wobble for slamming the door in Mazoga's face, so to speak. She can really be a bear when you first meet her. Hopefully some of Julian's tact will rub off on our self-proclaimed knight, starting with that magic word. Mazoga really does make quite the contrast with Julian. One really sees the depths of our Redguard's people skills when compared to Mazoga's total lack in that department.

Great fun! Leyawiin is quite an interesting place. I don't think I would want to actually live there, but it is a great place to visit and adventure.

I see Julian still smarts from that rascal Sheo too. When Weebam na talked about the rat problems, I thought perhaps Julian was going to offer him some Borderwatch rat poison to use. Lol.

Arghh! How does she do that? Buffy never can resist that temptation; those hands just automatically plop to her hips. Once again, Julian's experience and wisdom shine through as she even coaxes the magic word from between Mazoga's fangs.

So, it's off to Fisherman's Rock. I'm glad both ladies have their gear in good repair.

My favorite part:




GAAAAAAH!!!!!! EW!!! We'll have to make sure Ocato invites Julian for some of his special Rat Surprise Stew !!!!

Great job with Weebam-na, you have captured him perfectly! (And of course Mazoga)!

Seems Sir Mazoga is not the only one who is as determined as a boulder rolling downhill.



Another inspired bit of species-specific characterization!



Just love the flavor this description adds.



Um- is Julian implying that Sir Mazoga really was "spawned under a rock?" Regardless, this is the moment to which my first sentence refers. Loved it.

As to the rat haut cuisine, there is a scene in one of Terry Pratchett's Men at Arms where Corporal Carrot is explaining the menu in a dwarf restaurant:

"Rat and ketchup 7p"
"Rat 4p"

His companion asks why the ketchup costs almost as much as the rat.

"Have you ever tried rat without ketchup?"

@SubRosa: Will Julian pass on her tact to Mazoga? She’ll try, but we’ll see whether or not it takes . . .

@Acadian: Julian has learned the hard way to monitor her own body language. The Sunbird Dance has been especially helpful in that sense. We were both thinking of Buffy when I wrote that sentence!

@mALX: Rat has got to taste better than Maulhand’s stew! And besides, it’s the other red meat!

@treydog: Loved the vignette from Terry Prachett! I read one of his books a long time ago (think twenty-plus years) - I can’t remember the name of it or what it was about, but I do remember thinking how hysterically funny it was! One of these days I’ll have to go through the whole series. And yes, Julian is as indomitable in her own quiet way as Mazoga.

Here Julian finally learns why Mazoga came to Leyawiin. The Orsimer may be lacking in social graces, but she is a hell of a fighter.

**************
Chapter 19.8 Fisherman’s Rock

Mazoga didn’t speak as we walked along the east bank of the Niben, avoiding the occasional mud crab. I could hear her armor clanking along behind me, but didn’t say anything to her. I wasn’t certain what to make of the big Orsimer. Part of me liked her self-confidence and her courage. Yet her brusqueness, pronounced even for Orcs, rubbed my nerves raw. At least she’s that way with everyone, not just me. If what she says is true, and she has no parents, then she grew up without ever learning any social graces. Graces! As if an Orsimer was ever graceful in polite society. Still - Naspia Cosima thought well enough of Mazoga to train her.

The sunny morning gave way to an overcast afternoon. The air became heavy and still, the temperature oppressive. Ahead, the heat shimmer from a bonfire became visible just past a rise in the land. My steps slowed as I scanned the surrounding area. Bandit camp. Have to approach with caution. Mazoga stepped to my side with a soft clatter. “Is that Fisherman’s Rock?”

“I think so,” I answered. “Weebam-na said it’s a bandit camp.” Now I met her gaze. "I’ve led you here. Perhaps you can tell me why you want to go to a bandit camp.”

“Julian, wait,” she spoke quietly, likewise evaluating our surroundings. “Listen, there’s a guy I need to talk to that camps there,” she returned her gaze to mine. “Name’s Mogens Wind-shifter. I want to talk to him, then we’ll see what happens.”

“You want me to go with you?” I lifted my brows at her. Somberly Mazoga nodded.

“He’s not likely to be alone, and I’d be more comfortable with someone watching my back.” She waited as I glanced around again, searching the understory of the surrounding forest for enemies. “Please?”

“All right, then,” I nodded, loosening my katana in its sheath. “Let’s go.”

“Wait a moment,” Mazoga blocked me with a massive green paw. “I just want to make one thing clear, Julian. I need to talk to Mogens. That means no smashing his teeth in or chopping his head off until I’m done talking to him.”

At least that will give me a chance to size up the situation. “I understand,” I replied.

“Thanks,” Mazoga turned and started up the slope toward the heat shimmer. I fell in just beyond her left shoulder. We crested the rise to see a small clearing. The bonfire crackled merrily, a bright spot in the gathering overcast. Three figures lounging around it leaped to their feet as we approached, hands reaching for weapons. They watched us warily as we drew near the fire. One of them called to the tents behind them. A Nord, muscular chest bare above brown pants and leather boots, flung back a flap and stepped out of one of the tents. Mazoga strode toward him while I stopped near the fire, my gaze on the three bandits.

That male Khajiit has just a mace, but he’s wearing Elven armor. The female Khajiit is not as well armored, just a leather cuirass, but she has the big axe. The Dunmer is likely to be trouble - she has a bow and arrows as well as a shortsword. In a matter of seconds, I had sized up the three and made a plan of attack. If they jump us, I’ll take out that Dunmer woman first. Domina Incendia will be useful here, as well as my fireball spell. As I watched, the Dunmer sidled away from the fire, bringing her strung bow around and readying an arrow. I drew my katana, but held it low, away from the others.

“Mogens Wind-shifter?” Mazoga asked the tall Nord as she stopped in front of him. “Remember me?”

“No,” the Nord shook his head. “Should I know you?”

“Yes, I’m Sir Mazoga,” the Orsimer growled. “You killed my best friend Ra’vindra. Now I’m here to kill you!” Mazoga raised her shield with a sharp crack! to his jaw that sent him reeling. Her Dwemer longsword sang as it cleared the ornate scabbard at her left hip.

With a growl, Wind-shifter staggered back, drawing his own short sword. He braced for Mazoga’s assault, while I shot my left hand up and called Domina Incendia. As my flame atronach whirled into being, I leaped sideways to run around the fire, flinging my flare into the archer’s face before she could draw her bow to full tension.

While Domina Incendia sent fireballs toward the two Khajiiti, I leaped toward the Dunmer. Though she was resistant to the effects of fire, my flare served its purpose and spoiled her aim. As her arrow flew wide, I swung at her with the katana before she could back away. She blocked reflexively with the bow stave. My blade, its edge keen from Tun-zeeus’s diligent sharpening, neatly snapped it into two, the string twanging uselessly. The Dunmer’s left hand shot up, a green light swirling around her wrist, then she reached for the shortsword at her waist.

A shock spell slammed into me, spinning me to the ground. I caught a glimpse of a wraith hovering nearby. Damn! Dunmer Ancestor Spirit! Ignoring the tingling along every nerve in my body, I rolled back into a crouched position and raised my sword in time to deflect the shortsword. The hairs on the back of my neck rose again, and I grabbed the Dunmer by the arm and yanked her down beside me, placing her body between myself and the Ancestor. She yelped as the wraith’s shock spell struck her full-on. I reversed my grip on the katana and stabbed it into her shoulder, just beneath the Elven pauldron. Red blood spurted over my hand as the wraith beyond shimmered into thin air. I looked up in time to see the female Khajiit run at me, axe held high for the killing blow.

The deadly blade fell toward me, but I had already rolled away from the archer, the movement freeing my katana. The axe slammed into the ground beside me, and I raised my sword to swing it into the Khajiit’s throat above me. My bloodied hand slipped along the hilt on impact. The sharp blade slid through the bandit’s throat, bringing more blood cascading on me. I kept rolling in the direction of the katana’s arc, surging to my feet and spinning to face the Khajiit, but she had slumped over the handle of her axe. There was no sign of Domina Incendia.

Beyond, Mogens Wind-shifter lay dead, bowels exposed through a tremendous gash in his abdomen. The other Khajiit had charged Mazoga, his mace slamming into the Orc’s round shield. As strong as his blow was, it barely staggered Mazoga. She shrugged him off, and with deceptive speed her sword slammed against his Elven cuirass. The impact sent him reeling back, and she followed after him, her blade rising and falling in a chopping motion. He roared in pain as the dwarven longsword bit into his right elbow, neatly disarticulating the joint and leaving his hand dangling uselessly at his side by a strip of flesh. The mace fell to the ground at his feet.

The three of us glanced at the mace, then the Khajiit stooped, reaching for it with his left hand. Mazoga’s weapon flashed again in the dull overcast, reflecting the firelight as she drove the edge through the Khajiit’s exposed neck. I heard the Dwemer metal crunch into bone as he fell face-down. With a savage twist of her wrist Mazoga freed the blade and looked up from the still form at her feet.

We locked gazes, then she glanced around. Satisfied that no more enemies remained alive, she wiped her blade on the Khajiit’s fur and sheathed it. I cast Carandial’s refresh spell to remove the blood from my hand, and noted that it also removed the blood from the katana’s hilt as well. So it has some small area of effect on touch. Hmm. I knelt beside the Dunmer archer, removing the sash wrapped around her waist and using it to wipe my blade clean before I slid it home in its scabbard.

Mazoga joined me beside the fire. “Thanks, Julian,” she said.

“What was that about?” I asked. “Revenge?”

Her eyes dark, Mazoga nodded. “Ra’vindra was my best friend,” she turned her gaze to the fire. “We grew up together on the streets of Corinthe,” she named a city in Elsweyr. “She saw Mogens Wind-shifter attacking a merchant caravan. She told the Corinthe city guard, and they broke up his band, but he escaped. He killed Ra’vindra before he disappeared.” Her voice cracked, and she stopped.

“I’m sorry, Mazoga,” I turned my eyes away from the tears glimmering in hers. “I know how it is to lose good friends.” As we watched the flames snapping before us, the sky opened up, sluicing us with a sudden downpour.

“That’s when I became a free knight.” Her voice was barely audible above the rain. “I swore to hunt Mogens down. It took me a long time, but I finally tracked him here.”

“Now that you’ve avenged Ra’vindra’s death,” I glanced at Mazoga, “what will you do now?”

The Orsimer’s broad shoulders shrugged beneath the dark bronze cuirass. “I don’t know. Go back to Leyawiin for a couple of days, then take ship back to Torval.” Her head turned, her gaze meeting mine. “Would you guide me back to Leyawiin, please?”

The bonfire died down to a stutter as I stared at her. The walk up had been fairly easy - just follow the riverbank. Mazoga shifted her gaze away from me. I could swear she practically blushed with embarrassment.

“I’m not good at finding my way,” she muttered. “I can’t tell north from south.”

“Let’s go, then,” I didn’t say anything else, only started down to the riverbank from the guttering fire. We stopped long enough to drink from the Niben, then trudged south through the pouring rain.

Excellent tactical thinking and preparation, Julian...and very, very good descriptive combat writing, rider.

I hereby award you the steel pen of the warrior bard.