It's now time to start a new thread for Julian of Anvil. Now that she returns to her hometown, it's rather appropriate to start a new thread to celebrate!

Thanks to all who have read and posted input on Julian's story.

For those coming in late, if you've got the time, here are links to the previous threads:

Chapters One through Seven
Chapters Eight through Thirteen
Chapters Fourteen through Eighteen
Chapters Nineteen through Twenty-two

I hope you continue to enjoy this story as Julian works toward the inevitable conclusion!

@Olen: It’s funny, but Skingrad seemed like a good place to recall where Julian was and how far she’s traveled in the past two months of the story. I really enjoyed Sinderion, I’ve had college professors like him. Fortunately my faculty advisor was a lot more practical than Sinderion!

@SubRosa: The mulled wine was for Fortran, rather than Julian. Akatosh knows Fortran has earned it! I figured he was more the beer type, but this is Skingrad!

@Acadian: I would melt in the Kitchen Stadium against the likes of Cat Cora and Bobby Flay! I’m glad you were able to identify those unnamed inn patrons. And I didn’t have Else attack Julian (as she does in-game) because of something Olen said waaaay back in Chapter 13.

Anvil has been the toughest town to write. Julian has so much history here - after all, she was born and raised in that old farm overlooking Anvil and the Strid River. Here she will meet old friends from her childhood, and renew old acquaintances, not all of them good. And here, we finally begin to see the shape of her past, and the reasons she didn’t stay in Anvil when she was discharged from the Legion four years ago.

Chapter 23.1 Return to Anvil

“Thanks for your help, ma’am,” the Legion soldier slumped onto a nearby boulder. “I’ve never seen so many daedra in my life!”

“There were a lot of them,” I agreed. More than I usually see around a Gate. What’s so special about this one? “At least you can get a break.” I was as tired as he was. From where we stood on the Gold Road, I could see the tiled roofs of Anvil down the steep slopes past the now closed Gate. The bay beyond lay smooth as glass in the predawn twilight.

The foggy weather had cleared while I was in the Gate, and an overcast sky blocked most of the stars from view. The vegetation around us was soggy with recent rain, and mud coated the worn cobblestones of the road.

I turned and looked at the black horse, prostrate on its side in the middle of the road. According to the Legion soldier, it and its Black Horse Courier rider were ambushed by daedra before he arrived to take up his post a couple of days ago. Only the carcass of the horse, bloated in the early stages of decay, remained of the struggle. Of the rider there was no sign, and the soldier feared she had been taken into the Gate. I feared he was right, and that her soul screamed along with countless others in the sigil stone I carried in my belt purse.

One thing I noticed about these sigil stones - the longer the Gates stood open, the stronger these stones seemed to be. The stone from the first Skingrad Gate, one that conferred fortify magicka effects, thrummed with greater energy than the one I had recovered from the second Gate in the cemetery. As a matter of fact, of all the stones I had recovered, the cemetery one felt the weakest of them all. Could it be those stones are fed by the souls of people taken into the portals and tortured, as Menien Goneld had been? The longer they stand open, the more souls they suck into themselves and the stronger they become?

Thoughtfully I fingered the hilt of Daedra Slayer. The sword, enchanted by a sigil stone much like the one I had recovered at Kvatch, rested quietly at my side. Unlike the sigil stones, it did not send a sinister song into the bones of my body. The only time I felt its enchantment was when it came into contact with enemies. Does enchanting with these stones set those trapped souls free? I hope so!

“Well.” The Legion soldier clapped his hands on his plated knees and rose to his feet, sheathing his sword. I noticed his gaze was on the dead horse. “I suppose I’d better get that carcass out of the road, now that there are no more daedra.”

“I’ll give you a hand,” I said, putting my weapons down beside my pack. First we stripped the tack from the animal, then together we grasped the horse’s forelegs and pulled him to the side of the road, where we rolled him over the edge to drop down the slope. “That’ll keep the wolves and the lions happy for a while,” I added.

“Aye, that it will,” the soldier gazed after the disappearing body. “It’s a damn shame, though. That was a fine animal.” He returned to the piled tack and gathered them, slinging the headstall over one shoulder and carrying the saddle at his hip by the high pommel. “I’m headed to Brina Cross Inn. They’ll handle the tack there.”

“I’ll walk with you,” I picked up my gear.

We walked the few kilometers to the inn. There, I said farewell to the soldier, declining his invitation to come in for a drink. I wanted to reach Anvil before stopping for the night. A certain smith would gladly repair the Kvatch Wolf for me - I hope.

Except for that Gate, it had been a mostly quiet walk from Skingrad. I had spent the night in the refugee camp at Kvatch, where I noticed signs of winter preparations. Many of the tents had been fortified with stone walls. A new well had been dug to provide a source of fresh water. An old mine just south of the camp, called Belletor’s Folly by the locals, had been cleared of creatures and was being used as a secure storehouse for foodstuffs they had been able to gather. Still Boldon confided in me his concerns for getting the fifty or so refugees through the winter. I advised him of Count Hassildor’s offer of aid, and suggested that he prepare a list of necessary supplies and services for when I returned along the Gold Road. Matius was up in the ruined city itself, leading the clean up. I didn’t have a chance to see him before I had to resume my journey. On my way back, I will stop in and look for him.

The sky cleared as I trudged along the road toward the ocean. The sun was well overhead when the Gold Road finally turned south to drop down to the harbor city where I was born and where I grew up.

I stopped and gazed west, at the ocean on my right. I could smell the salt on the westerly breeze that caused the tall grass to ripple like the waves on the water. Aloe vera plants lifted their heavy blossoms on tall spikes above the golden tufts, much like sailing ships on the ocean. White gulls hovered and swooped above the shoreline far below, mere splinters of argent against the western sky.

Slow hoofbeats alerted me to the approach of the Legion rider. He reined his horse beside me when I waved in greeting. “Hello, Hero of Kvatch!” His hearty greeting only served to emphasize my weariness. I didn’t even object to his salutation.

“How are things in Anvil?” I asked, shifting the pack at my shoulder.

“Not good,” the rider’s expression turned grim. “There is an Oblivion Gate open north of the city, west of the road, on top of Mara’s wayshrine. The guard’s been fighting the daedra for about a month or so.”

What, did all these Gates open on the same day? “I take it they haven’t gone in there to close it?”

“When they heard how the one at Kvatch was closed, they considered it. But daedra keep coming out of there, they haven’t had a chance to marshal their forces and send a few men inside.” The rider regarded me thoughtfully. “But if you’re headed that way, maybe you can help . . .” He turned his gaze eastward.

“The one by the road east of Brina Cross is closed,” I volunteered.

“Old Pollus managed to close it?” The rider’s gaze returned to me, and he studied my face closely. “Or did you?”

“We worked together on it,” I replied. He fulfilled the same purpose Mazoga did in Leyawiin. “He’s at the inn now, with the tack from that horse that was killed. We removed the carcass from the road before we left.”

“Good,” the rider slapped the neck of his bay. “Sticklegs here doesn’t like going by that dead horse. Damn shame about it and the rider, though. You didn’t see her, by any chance?”

I shook my head. “Nothing I could recognize as a Courier rider.”

“I’m Servius Veranius, by the way,” the rider offered. “I heard plenty about you from Berennus.” He grinned at me. “I’m certainly glad to see you at this end of the Gold Road!” Sticklegs pawed impatiently at the cobblestones. “Unfortunately I can’t chat long. Take care, Julian of Anvil!”

I watched the bay amble slowly away, then turned my face south. I couldn’t yet see the walls of Anvil yet, but there was a hint of Oblivion-generated thunderheads visible through the trees directly south, just to the right of where the road veered inland to run to Anvil’s Northgate. Ah well, here we go again.

The sunlight was slanting from the west when I reached the point in the road where the Horse Whisperer Stables first became visible, the walls of Anvil rising just beyond. To my right, I could hear the characteristic sound that indicated the Oblivion Gate. Beneath that crackling and hissing were shouts and clanging of metal. With a final glance at the town walls below, I turned and left the road, working my way around the immense boulders that rose out of the amber sea grass.

A smithy’s portable forge squatted at the base of one of the boulders, shielded by its bulk from the Gate. In its shade, I could see a Bosmer working the bellows. He looked up as I approached. At the sight of my white hair and Kvatch Wolf, his eyes widened. “Hail, Hero of Kvatch!” He straightened up, setting the hammer down on the nearby anvil. “Have you come to lend aid?”

“I have need of aid,” I answered softly. “I closed the Oblivion Gate up the mountain from here, near the Gold Road.”

“The one by Garlas Agaea?” he asked. “The Ayleid ruin just east of Brina Cross?”

“Yes, that one,” I answered. “I can repair my plain weapons, but my cuirass,” I tapped the Wolf, “is enchanted, and I’m not yet skilled enough.”

“And you’ll be needing resupply,” the handsome young Bosmer nodded. “I see you’re low on arrows, and likely you’ll need water, too.”

“Aye, you’re right,” I answered.

“Hand over that cuirass!” He gestured at me. I set my gear down and unbuckled the mailed armor. While I shrugged out of it, he gathered a handful of steel arrows and tucked them into my quiver. The padded tunic kept the breeze off my skin as I handed the cuirass over. “Name’s Enilroth, by the way,” the Bosmer laid the enchanted mail out, examining the links closely. “I’m apprentice to Varel Morvayn.”

My heart twinged at his words. If not for those goblins thirty years ago, the man standing before me repairing my cuirass would have been my brother. But if not for those goblins, I would never have joined the Legion. So my brother would not be repairing a cuirass for me. If not for the goblins, who would be following the path I have followed these past few months?

“Have a seat,” Enilroth waved me to a nearby stool. “Rest a spell. You must be exhausted. Once these guardsmen know you’re here, you’ll never get a moment’s peace!”

I took his advice and the seat gratefully, stretching out my legs. “How is Morvayn?” I asked. The Bosmer shot a glance at me.

“You know Morvayn?” At my nod, he continued, “He’s doing well. Still working hard these days. Matter of fact, you just missed him. We’ve been taking shifts out here, keeping the guardsmen in good repair.”

“And his wife Athesi Andala?” I wondered about the Dunmer woman who had been so kind to me following the deaths of my family.

Enilroth’s face fell. “She passed away ten years ago,” he said. “Varel still misses her, still mourns her.”

My heart sank. Is it true what they say? You can’t go home again? “She was a sweet woman,” I said softly. “Terribly kind.”

“Aye, that she was,” Enilroth nodded without pausing in his evaluation. Satisfied that his assessment was complete, he picked up the hammer and began working on the mail. “Listen, if you don’t mind the noise, take a nap under my shelter,” Enilroth jerked a thumb at a rough lean-to a few meters away. “This’ll take me a few hours, and I’ve got more weapons to repair as well, so I won’t be needing that bedroll for a while.”

Julian has so much history here - after all, she was born and raised in that old farm overlooking Anvil and the Strid River.
Gwenden Farm? I love the atmosphere you give Anvil. The Gold Coast is my favorite landscape in the game, and I have been looking forward to Julian’s return home. More than she, I suspect. Her past is already coming alive, and she isn’t even through the gate yet!

I think someone else mentioned it recently, but it bears repeating that you do very well at starting in the middle, and then recounting preceding events as the episode goes on. That can often be the best way, as it keeps you from becoming bogged down in little things. I always find it difficult to do myself though.

And a tantalizing piece of information about Julian's brother Cieran! As well as her own motivations in joining the legion. It seems goblins are Julian's arch-nemesis. Now I suspect that it was goblins that did in her mother as well.

Could it be those stones are fed by the souls of people taken into the portals and tortured, as Menien Goneld had been?
Now that is a chilling thought, and an excellent bit of world-building.

Aloe vera plants lifted their heavy blossoms on tall spikes above the golden tufts, much like sailing ships on the ocean.
I really liked your comparison of the plants to ships, given the proximity of the ocean.

I didn’t even object to his salutation.
Oh noes! Our poor Julian must really be out of it to not squirm at praise!

Congratulations on the new thread! Julian is like the Everready Bunny! Well, not exactly. I mean, we still need to find her a fella and all, but as far as crankin' out pages of goodness, woohoo!

I think it was probably me that has noted how effectively you can start a story in the middle then catch up, even as Julian moves ahead. As SubRosa said, another fine example of that here.

I was greatly saddened at the loss of a Sister of the Black Horse and her steed. There was no doubt that gate so close to the road had to be closed.

I'm with SubRosa again in enjoying Julian's thoughts about sigil stones. She certainly has handled enough of them to speak with authority!

“We worked together on it,” I replied. He fulfilled the same purpose Mazoga did in Leyawiin.'
Julian's inherent goodness and understated tack shines brilliantly. We know perfectly well why she left Mazoga and, just recently, the Legion soldier outside the gates.

'My heart twinged at his words. If not for those goblins thirty years ago, the man standing before me repairing my cuirass would have been my brother. But if not for those goblins, I would never have joined the Legion. So my brother would not be repairing a cuirass for me. If not for the goblins, who would be following the path I have followed these past few months?'
As I think it was Jauffre told Julian, something about the futility of coulda, woulda, shoulda. . . . How delicately you tease us with Julian's past in the latter portions of this episode.

Congrats on the New new new (counts on fingers)... er...new thread!

I see your writing is still as fine as ever!

Congrats on thread five !!! WOO HOO !!

Ah, I finally get caught up through the end of Part Four, only for you to start Part Five on me before I can adequately respond. I must say, I was missing an impressive amount, but at least I did get to read four full portions at my pace. Now that I'm caught up, it looks like that will end. Bittersweet enjoyment for me.

Your introduction to our favorite Anvil apprentice smith is incredibly well done, and in doing so you seamlessly explain what happened to Julian's beloved older brother. 3 Kudoi to you!

Julian's homecoming reminds me of one of my own, when I made a brief return to my old hometown for my grandfather's funeral. In the intervening years, some things changed immensely, and some didn't change at all. But my grandfather also told me that every time you leave home, you come back to a different place. After all, a determined person can always move all the furniture around in eight hours with enough effort. And if that happens, you have to memorize the new layout of the kitchen when trying to get a late-night snack.

Got a little behind there for a spell. Not for long, though. I'm back and up-to-date.



Just one pebble of what I'm sure will be mountains of backstory for our dear old Redguard here. I believe I will be enjoying this next section immensely.



Poor horsie. But you do what you have to do, and let Y'ffre do the rest.



Home is not a noun, Julian, at least not in the traditional sense. You may have history here in Anvil, but it has not been your home for such a long time. Dear old Count Umbranox has been absconded from history altogether and his wife given up on ever seeing him again, and now as we learn, a dear friend's wife has passed on. Your home is now at Martin's side in Cloud Ruler. So much has changed in Anvil that it may have become a different town from the one you remember... that is to say, the Anvil you once called home.

Home is not the walls in which you live. Home is familiarity, a feeling of belonging. If Julian has lost the feeling here in Anvil, how could she then still call it home? I will totally understand if this makes you feel empty inside, you have every right to feel that way. No one likes to be away from the one place they found shelter and solace for so many years, and then they come back and discover that sheltering feeling has disappeared. It's... well... it's sobering, to say the least.

Nevertheless, it is where you were born, so it will always hold a place in your heart. I'm sure whatever time you spend within the walls will be spent well.

Thread five... this is long, very long, but it doesn't drag at all. You keep everything flowing well and the development is ongoing which makes the length less noticable, indeed it just means you have more stronger characters.

I enjoyed the bit of backstory, goblins seem to have it in for our Julian. It gives slightly more prespective on what she is now and what lead there. Her comment about home is an interesting one, it goes a long way into her psyche, not so much revealing anyhting but just confirming what was already developed.


So long ago I have no idea what it was... (nor can I find it).

@Grits: You will see Gweden farm in an upcoming post. And yes, Anvil is my favorite area too, but I have a particular soft spot for Kvatch.

@SubRosa: You may recall in Chapter 15.6 Martin asking Julian what happened to her family, and Julian’s response:


@Acadian: Everready Bunny? More like Duracell! (And I speak from over forty years of experience - Duracell kicks butt every single time!) And yes, Julian will continue to leave potential followers behind, unless she is specifically asked to take one along with her to teach the ropes (as she did for Fortran). And Julian’s time in Anvil is the perfect opportunity for us to learn more of her past.

@Foxy and mALX: Thanks!

@Captain Hammer: Sorry to make you work so hard! I really appreciate you taking the time to read this magnum opus of mine in its bloated entirety. Who woulda thunk it would take so long? I really hope you will continue to enjoy it.

@TK: Julian knows well home is where the heart is. It’s just that she has so many memories, some good, others not so pleasant, tied up with Anvil, and she has been away so long, that all she can see when she thinks of the place are those memories. Reality is quite different and she is seeing how. It’s a bit of an pause for her. Heck, Corvus wasn’t even the Count when she left Anvil on her eighteenth birthday!

@Olen: I’m mistaken, you said it back in Chapter 10. Post #70 in Thread Two, about the Mythic Dawn agents’ propensity for reckless assaults on sight. As for the goblins, I think it’s more a matter of she has it in for them. And we will soon find out just why.

Now Julian gets a homecoming like nuttin' else. And she finally gets recognition for closing an OG.

*****************
Chapter 23.2 A Welcome Like No Other

I turned my back to the setting sun in time to be swarmed by giddy young guardsmen. Soot rose in black clouds from the charred ruins of the Gate at our feet as they gathered around, clapping my shoulders and back, hailing me by name. Before I could protest, they swept me off my feet and hoisted me above their shoulders, carrying me away from the destroyed wayshrine.

As we passed the portable forge, the ringing of a hammer on the anvil turned my head. I caught a glimpse of Enilroth banging away, his face lit by a wide grin. The aged Dunmer standing just behind him locked gazes with me, then he smiled and nodded at me before the guardsmen swept me onto the road.

People spilled out of Anvil’s main gate and filled the road from side to side before we reached the stables. I found myself transferred from guardsmen to civilians and carried within the city. They did not put me down until we reached the immense ancient ilex oak in the center of Guild Plaza. I found myself standing on a bench beneath its spreading branches, my head brushing the glossy green leaves, faces turned expectantly towards me.

One of the guardsmen fought his way to my side, leaping to stand beside me. “People of Anvil!” he roared, lifting his sword high. “The Hero of Kvatch!” The Imperial grinned at me as cheering washed over us, then he waved his sword for silence. As the voices faded away, he drew himself up in a vain attempt to match my height. “Our own hometown hero, three cheers for Julian of Anvil!” I felt the flush on my cheeks as he led the crowd in their hip-hip-hoorays.

Eagerly I scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Near the main gate, I could just make out Enilroth and Morvayn. Nearer to the tree, an elegant Altmer woman stood head and shoulders above the others, her assessing gaze cool on me. Carahil. She is still with the Mages Guild. I gave her a nod of recognition, but failed to identify anyone else in the sea of faces before me.

“Speech!” “Speech!” The rumbling grew louder as the guardsman turned to me with a question in his brown eyes. I swallowed the sudden walnut in my throat and nodded. My mind clicked frantically for the words the Anvilians needed most at this time.

“Thank you,” I began. Suddenly, the words I had spoken so long ago in the camp below the ruined city of Kvatch came back to me. “I know it’s been a scary time for you, with that Oblivion Gate open so close to the walls. I don’t doubt all of you know what happened at Kvatch.” The sudden murmuring gave me a chance to pause and marshal my thoughts. When the citizens fell silent at the guardsman’s brandished sword, I continued. “There may be more Gates opening near Anvil. When that happens -“ again mutterings rose again, but fell quickly before the soldier’s withering gaze. “When that happens, I want you to remember this. The daedra will try to destroy you, but as long as you live, Anvil will always live. Though you may live in fear, do not give up hope, for the day is coming when the minions of Mehrunes Dagon are banished forever.”

As the crowd cheered, again I met Morvayn’s gaze across the Plaza. At his side, Enilroth lifted an object I recognized as my pack. I nodded at them, and they began making their way toward Morvayn’s smithy, facing the square.

“Now it’s late,” I resumed when the cheering subsided. “It’s time for dinner, and time for celebration!”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” a brown-dressed Bosmer man shouted gleefully. “First round of drinks at the Flowing Bowl is free!”

“Same at the Count’s Arms!” A bald Redguard called from the edge of the gathering. Laughter and scattered cheers rippled through the plaza as people began scattering.

The guardsman turned to me. “That was a nice speech, ma’am,” he removed his helm to reveal close-cropped dark hair above olive skinned Nibenean features. “That was good work out there at the Gate, too. We really appreciate you coming along to help us out.” Tucking the helmet beneath his left arm, he stuck his right hand to me. “Name’s Galus Varus. I’m lieutenant to Captain Langley.”

“Thanks for the introduction,” I shook hands with him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so welcomed!”

“Well, no other city can claim you as their own homegrown hero, can they?” Varus grinned and clapped me on the shoulder. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Actually, I wanted to look up an old friend,” I jerked my thumb toward the red-tiled building to the side of the main gate. “Besides, I should be the one paying for drinks. After all, you and your comrades defended Anvil for over a month!”

“Ach, but you’ve been closing Gates all over Cyrodiil!” Varus countered. “Well, make sure that old friend treats you to a good meal and drink tonight!”

I stepped down from the bench and began weaving my way through the crowd. Carahil stopped me before I moved a few paces. “Julian, will you be coming to the chapterhouse?”

“Later, ma’am,” I answered. “First I need to leave my armor and weapons with Morvayn for repair.”

“Of course,” Carahil nodded, her violet gaze flickering toward the squat smithy. “I know you’re traveling for recommendations for the University. We have just the task for one possessing your skills. Stop in when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You can count on me, ma’am.”

My progress toward Morvayn’s was delayed by men shaking my hands and women hugging me before dispersing to their homes and inns. Night had fallen, but the city glowed with streetlamps and torches held by several citizens. By the time I reached the stoop of Morvayn’s Peacemakers, few people remained in the Guild Plaza.

“Julian!” The shout reached me as I placed my hand on the handle of the smithy’s front door. I paused and turned around to see a young Dunmer boy, dressed in fine linens of turquoise and white, run up to me. He stopped at the foot of the steps, panting for breath, his black hair flopping into his eyes. Impatiently he brushed it back and met my gaze. “The Countess of Anvil salutes you on your achievement, Hero of Kvatch.” He bowed perfunctorily and finally managed to take a deep breath. “She requests your presence at the County Hall in the morning.”

“What time?” I asked. Thank Akatosh! Looks like I won’t have any trouble seeking audience with Countess Umbranox. But will she send aid to Bruma?

“Seven bells,” he replied. Again he brushed that stubborn forelock out of his face. “Will you be there?”

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

He straightened up and puffed his chest out. “Midave Sendal, ma’am.”

“Midave Sendal, you can tell the Countess I will stand before her at seven bells in the morning.”

“Very well!” Sendal’s white teeth flashed in his dusky face, then he spun on his heel and ran off.

Enilroth met me within the smithy, holding his hands out for my weapons. “We’ll get your gear fixed right up, ma’am!” As I handed him the bows, he jerked his head toward the stairs at the rear of the shop. “Varel’s upstairs. Your pack’s there,” he indicated the changing alcove. “If you want to change out of your armor and leave it here too before you go upstairs.”

I did as he suggested and changed into my civilian clothing. Leaving my damaged armor beside the forge, where Enilroth was already evaluating my swords, I headed upstairs.

Morvayn looked up from setting a serving bowl on the table when I entered the large multipurpose room upstairs. The distinctive aroma of pasta alla norma caused me to inhale sharply, bittersweet memories rising to the surface of my weary mind. We looked at each other, unspeaking, for several long moments. Briefly I wondered if he felt the same swirl of emotions I was experiencing in that moment. He was just as I remembered him, lean and wiry, his eyes that wonderful ruby color, his hair only a little greyer than when I last saw him twenty-nine years ago.

Now that I stood before him, I couldn’t think of anything to say. Likely he has the same problem. I became aware of the absence of another. “Enilroth told me about Athesi Andala, ser.” I said finally. “I’m very sorry. I had hoped to see her again as well.”

Morvayn’s scarlet gaze flickered momentarily. “She was so proud of you when you became pilus prior.” He smiled wistfully. “Athesi bragged about you to everyone who would listen.”

I smiled back and moved to the table. Alongside the pasta dish, embellished with sauteed eggplant, chunky tomato sauce and fresh basil and topped by soft ricotta salata, fresh salad greens tossed with pear slices, grated pecorino, dried dates and sunflower seeds filled three small bowls.

“Join Enilroth and me for dinner, Julian,” Morvayn said quietly. I met his gaze again, and suddenly felt like crying. Without a second thought, I stepped to the other side of the table and threw my arms around his shoulders. He returned my hug firmly, his hands patting my back. “It’s good to have you back Julian.” His voice was suspiciously rough.

“It’s good to see you again, Morvayn.”

GAAAH! Are we finally going to see Julian in a romance? WOO HOO !!!

I thought it was very fitting, the warm homecoming Hero welcome Anvil gave their Julian. Anvil is my favorite city too, it is great that it has been following the progress of their favorite daughter Julian !!!

Wasn't duracell the one that Robert Conrad did the commercials for? "I dare you knock this off my shoulder!"

I caught a glimpse of Enilroth banging away
Was that on the forge, or on Heinrich Oaken-Hull's wife?

My Julian indeed get the hero's welcome! For a moment I thought she had won the Superbowl! It is about time she get the recognition she so well deserves for all her labor.

Followed up by another of haute ecole chef's superb dinners. Now I wish I had not eaten before reading this, because now I am hungry again! The tasty meal aside, it was a very strained, awkward, and emotional scene that you painted for us between Julian and Morvayn. He strikes me as being quite the father figure for our wayward Redguard.

I see you are serving Italian tonight! How about some Tiramisu with espresso Gelato for dessert? Perhaps you'll also be wanting Secondi, so perhaps Sea Bass with Fennel and Tarragon En Papillote with soft Polenta and roasted Butternut squash?

And I don't mean polenta like the watery gruel they served in the Legion, but real polenta, with milk and butter and a hint of Asiago

Thank you for helping me into my white jacket, I always love a good meal!

A hero's welcome back indeed. It was great to see Julian's reactions to re-uniting with her old friend Morvayn...



Again? Maybe... *starts counting fingers* tenth time's the charm? You never know! Better get the juices flowing before we hit thirteen, though, Naughty Haute, I'm not sure that would bode well for our dear veteran.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” a brown-dressed Bosmer man shouted gleefully. “First round of drinks at the Flowing Bowl is free!”
“Same at the Count’s Arms!” A bald Redguard called from the edge of the gathering. Laughter and scattered cheers rippled through the plaza as people began scattering.'
Similar to what you did at the inn in Skingrad, you describe well-known NPCs and treat those who know the game well to indentify them - in this case Maenlorn and Wilbur. As in your Skingrad story that used this technique, I like it very much.

A well-deserved hometown hero's welcome. And gruff Julian gives a solid impromptu little speech. I like Carahil very much and hope she is kind and fair with dear Julian if time permits her to get that guild recommendation.

You knew I would be 'round based just on the lovely smell of Morvayn's cooking! Yum! Despite the emotional scene, I was surprised and delighted to see Julian actually hug someone. Morvayn must be special indeed.

She certainly eats well, I might have to take up battling evil demons if poeple feed you that well . Pasta alla norma might be an option for tonight... pity i don't have any ricotta though...

I like how you showed people supporting the local hero that bit more than she got elsewhere, I also agree with Acadian that using well known NPCs really adds depth and connection to the world.


That is something I've always found odd, she's just saved the town against a daedric attack and that isn't gauged as enough, also who isn't going to recognise her - she's almost a legend now. Still it's a good quest and I can senseit might draw a strong reaction from her, when she gets round to it.

For just now I'm enjoying her meeting old friends, even if there aren't so many left.

Ah, the hometown hero's triumphant return. Well done with the crowd-surfing scene, as well as her response and speech to the people of her town.

It was particularly touching in the reunion of Morvayn and Julian. Moreso, I think, than Julian's exchange with Carahil. Still, I get the feeling that they have at least some history together, if not as much as Julian and the town's smith.

@mALX: Time for that cold shower again! And yes, those Anvilians who knew Julian back then have following her progress.

@SubRosa: Nope, Everready’s that one. I agree, it’s high time Julian got the recognition she so richly deserves. And yes, you hit the nail on the head regarding Julian’s and Morvayn’s relationship. It will be clarified in Chapter 23.13. Yes, this is another long chapter like the Bravil ones. Sixteen segments plus a little extra treat.

@TK: Morvayn’s not that accomplished a cook, If his wife had been alive, we would have seen the full seven-course meal. And it’s actually Sicilian cuisine. To most people it would be the same thing, but not to us Italians/Sicilians! As for the romance, it won’t happen in Anvil, unless you count the one that happened thirty years ago . . .

@Acadian: I’m glad you enjoyed spotting our Anvilian innkeepers in the crowd. And oh yes, Morvayn is very, very special indeed, as are a couple of mages.

@Olen: You will see how that recommendation quest is handled in Chapter 23.8. I’m glad you enjoyed the meal! But I think the company’s better.

@Captain Hammer: You’ll see as this chapter unfolds the depth of Julian’s relationships with Morvayn, Carahil, and a couple others not yet mentioned.

Now we enjoy dinner and company, and catch up on the years that have passed since Julian left Anvil to join the Legion.

*********************
Chapter 23.3 Catching Up

“Do you want wine?” Morvayn held up the flagon. Taking the seat he had indicated, I shook my head.

“I’m an addict, Morvayn,” I answered. “I don’t touch the stuff anymore.”

“Lemonade, then?” The Dunmer was unfazed. I nodded, and he headed to the kitchen alcove. “I haven’t been able to make it quite the way Athesi used to make it,” he spoke over his shoulder while he poured into a tall glazed clay tumbler. I watched him slice a blood orange and perch it on the rim. “Here you go, Julian.”

“How long has Enilroth been your apprentice?” I asked.

“He was an orphan that Athesi took in about fifteen years ago,” Morvayn sat down and poured himself some wine. “It was rough in the beginning, as he came straight up from Valenwood and had much to learn about living in the city.”

I remembered something from my first Legion posting. “What about the Green Pact?”

“He converted to the Nine when he turned eight years old,” Morvayn sipped at the wine, “and left the Green Pact behind.” He waved at the table. “He eats the same food as everyone else in Anvil.” The aged Dunmer met my gaze. “Don’t think less of him for that.”

I shook my head. “It would have been difficult for him to honor the Green Pact here in Anvil,” I answered.

“Help yourself,” Morvayn indicated the food. “Enilroth will be up shortly.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs just then, and the young Bosmer appeared, wiping the sweat from his face. “I’ve got the fire damped down for now,” he reported to Morvayn before turning to me. “I’ll get started on your armor after dinner, ma’am.” With economical movements Enilroth poured himself some lemonade before he seated himself in the third chair.

I served Morvayn first, then Enilroth, more out of habit and respect than anything else. As I filled my plate, Morvayn’s scarlet gaze flickered over my white hair. He said nothing, but waited until I sampled the pasta. “Hmm, this is good,” I smiled at him. “I take it the eggplants are still fresh this late in the year?”

“They’re from Whitmond Farm just north of the main gate,” Morvayn remarked, sampling his cooking before nodding in satisfaction. “The tomatoes too. Enilroth found the basil growing wild behind Horse Whisperer.” After another bite, he met my gaze. “But nothing is as good as the produce your mother grew in her garden.”

“Nothing is,” I agreed, “anywhere I’ve been.” The three of us focused on eating the savory meal for several moments.

“What happened?” Morvayn asked me. “Last I heard, you were posted in Skyrim with the Legio Six. Then nothing.” I noticed that Enilroth kept his eyes downcast.

“I took three centuries into a goblin stronghold,” I spoke slowly. “It was supposed to be a training run, for a couple of the other cohorts had had a run at them. But they never found the shaman, and apparently she rallied the remnants. They decimated my tironii, and took me captive.” I paused and allowed the memories to return for the first time in years. They lacked the power they once possessed to stir up the craving for drink.

Morvayn sat quietly, his gaze steady on me. Enilroth sipped at the lemonade. We ate a few more bites of the pasta dish before I resumed my narrative.

“I don’t know how long I was held prisoner and tortured,” I shook my head, taking another mouthful of the lemonade. “I had sustained injuries during the capture, injuries that left me unable to fight back. My optio, Titus Florio, led the other three centuries in, fought off the goblins, killed the shaman and found me. I was nearly dead, Florio said, but they carried me out anyway.”

“Good man,” Morvayn commented, taking a long gulp of the wine. His pained eyes avoided mine. Does he regret asking me about it already?

“One of the best,” I agreed. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the Legion healer that botched my injuries.” I pushed the empty plate away and fished the last bite of salad out of the bowl. “To be fair, he was a raw recruit, and not used to seeing those kinds of injuries. I’m told he vomited when he first saw my knee.”

Silently Enilroth rose and cleared away the dishes, stacking them in the bin with a soft clatter. He returned to the table with the pitcher of lemonade and refilled both our tumblers. Finally he looked at me. “Is that how your hair turned white?”

“That was from the goblins,” I answered. “Florio told me my hair was already turning white when they found me. Likely it was the multiple shock spells from the shaman.”

“How long ago was it?” Morvayn asked. I glanced up from swirling my lemonade.

“Over four years ago,” I replied. “It left me in constant pain and unable to stand for long, let alone walk.” I sipped at the sweet-tart liquid, then took the slice of blood orange and opened it to expose the flesh. “I was discharged out of the Legion and sent home.”

“You came back to Anvil?” Enilroth asked. “But I don’t remember you!”

“I didn’t stay long,” I paused to suck the pulp off the rind. “By the time the ship docked here, I was already a drunk. I tried stopping by the Chapel to pray for healing, but it didn’t work, so I left town. Drifted when I was relatively sober, which wasn’t often or very long.” I shook my head. “I don’t remember much of these last few years, and I’d rather not.”

“Understood,” Morvayn sent a glance in the Bosmer’s direction. Enilroth nodded tacit agreement. “And now you come back, fighting fit and with quite a reputation.”

“Reputation?” I repeated. “For what? Rescuing housecats?”

Both Morvayn and Enilroth chuckled. “Among other things,” Morvayn clarified. “And all of them good.” He shook his head. “Quite the far cry from the little hellion who wouldn’t leave her big brother alone.”

Again my heart twinged, but I mentally shook it off. “I always wondered if that’s why Cieran apprenticed with you, Morvayn.”

“He never said,” the Dunmer grinned sardonically at me. “But I always suspected that was why.” He turned to Enilroth. “Don’t get us wrong, youngster. Cieran loved Julian heartily. He had more patience with her than I did!”

“Yes, you used to chase me out of the smithy with your bellows,” I chuckled at the memory. “Shouting Dunmeri obscenities all the while. By the time I joined the Legion, I could outcuss my recruit pilus.” I leaned back in the chair, stretching my spine.

“How did you make a career of closing Oblivion Gates?” Enilroth wondered. “If I may ask, ma’am,” he added hastily after Morvayn sent him a scarlet glare.

“You may ask,” I smiled at him. “It started at Kvatch,” I sipped at the cool beverage. “That was the first one, and the scariest of them all, just because I had no idea what to expect.” I slapped my right knee for emphasis. “I was still limping, still in pain, but at least I was sober. Had been for several days by then. It was then I found out that old habits really die hard.”

“Felt good to hold a sword again, eh?” Morvayn commented. “Yes, I always pegged you as a blade fighter, not an archer like Cieran. You were never afraid of getting up close and personal.”

“I’m finding archery has its value,” I countered softly. “Especially now that I’m working alone more than not. And I’ve begun using spells more and more.”

“Spells?” Morvayn’s tilted brows rose. “What sort of spells?”

“Healing, convalescence, restore magicka on touch,” I paused and thought a moment. “A couple of different flare spells. Summonses - a skeleton and a flame atronach. Starlight, detect life. I just learned a shock on touch spell that really helps with those big dremora when they surprise me around a corner.”

“Really?” Morvayn’s brows rose again. “Was a time you could barely manage to heal your own scrapes!”

“When this is over,” I gestured toward the north wall of the building, indicating the defunct Oblivion Gate beyond the city walls, “I plan to enter the Arcane University and study restoration and alchemy. I’m getting too old for combat.”

“And after that?” Morvayn sipped at his wine.

“I really don’t know,” I replied. “Go where someone with my skills is most needed. Maybe Kvatch - the survivors there are determined to rebuild the city.”

“Bully for them!” Morvayn nodded emphatically. “Do they need anything?”

“Lots of things,” I replied. “Especially clothing, building materials, perishable foodstuffs.”

“Now that you’ve cleared the Gold Road of Oblivion Gates,” Morvayn remarked, “the authorities can take care of that rogue mage that’s been harassing merchants. That ought to be quick work, then we can see about sending vital supplies to Kvatch.” He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, exchanging glances with Enilroth. “How are they set for smithwork? Do you know?”

“Batul gra-Sharob survived,” I answered. “She’s really good.”

“Aye, that she is,” Morvayn agreed. “Does custom work like nobody’s business. Especially leather.”

“Those leather boots and greaves of yours,” Enilroth spoke up, “those are her work, aren’t they?”

“They were pieces I picked up elsewhere, but she customized them for me,” I nodded. “And yes, they’re wonderful. I had a cuirass to go with them, but that got shredded beyond repair in one of those Gates. Clannfear.”

“Nasty buggers, those,” Morvayn agreed. He met my gaze. “Any chance you’ll come back to Anvil to live?”

“I’m not certain,” I replied. “Has anyone moved into Mother’s old farm up on the bluff?”

“The old Gweden homestead?” Morvayn repeated. “Not that I know of. Folks don’t want to live where people died so horribly.” His gaze sharpened on me as I suppressed the tears in my throat. “You’re not thinking about -?”

I recalled the vision I had at Cloud Ruler Temple. “Yes, I am. Maybe I will speak to the Countess about it.” I shrugged. “I remember my mother was able to grow so many rare plants there. I’d like to give it a try sometime.”

Interesting dinner conversation. Finding out that Gweden Farm's previous owner was Julian's family may make her time in Anvil all the more interesting. Particularly when it comes to tenant clearing.

Question: Does Julian appreciate showing a little skin? Because we've already established that there at least a few men that wouldn't mind seeing that.

nit:

Looks like the forum ate up a "There" there.

GAAAAH!!! NO JULIAN !!!! Never mention egglpant to a man that is talking tomatoes!!! (unless you know in advance he is hung like a Daedroth!) Think ... carrots.

I loved this chapter - Morvayn is one of my fave characters anyway - seeing him when he has stepped out from behind that counter is Awesome! Great Write !!! WOO HOO!!! Er...where is that cold shower again? ROFL !!!

Rescuing housecats?
I loved this, because in the game it often seems that every time a cat is trapped up a tree, only the player character is capable of saving it.

It was then I found out that old habits really die hard.
And how long have you been waiting for Julian to say that line, I wonder?

This episode gives us a nice little recap of not only Julian's past, but how far she has come since the beginning of the story. When she reels off all the spells she knows, she seems far less a fighter and much more a mage! Proof that her decision to join the Mages Guild was indeed the right one for her.

What a wonderful conversational segment - one of my favorite types of episodes. Especially when done with your level of skill. Here, we have three individuals and you deliver their personalities with crystal clarity on a pasta-filled platter. Oh, that reminds me, thanks for the chow. I never met a pasta I didn't like.

I quite respect your style of dialogue. You blend the actual dialogue with speech tags that render clarity and supportive natural actions that bring your characters fully to life. A real pleasure to read.

Based on the hint you dropped, it does indeed seem we may get to see that rogue mage who haunts the Gold Road. I look forward to that!

“The old Gweden homestead?” Morvayn repeated. “Not that I know of. Folks don’t want to live where people died so horribly.”
You continue to tease and tantalize with hints of Julian's past and future.

*

Let's talk about nits -

“Was a time you could barely manage to heal your own scrapes!”
While begging the Captain's forgiveness, I offer that in the eyes of this humble reader, the above passage seems perfectly fine for conversation - natural even.

'I paused and allowed the memories return for the first time in years'
I suspect you want a 'to' in betwixt memories and return?

“Go where someone with my skills are most needed.'
I ask you to consider whether 'is' suits this better than 'are'. I think the verb applies here to the singular someone, not the plural skills.

This was not a suggestion for the menu in your story, this was simply me with my recipe brain turned on. And I am very well aware that the romance was nonexistent, hence the exaggeration in the comment about it.

Now Sicilian, I do agree with you, is whole different world from mainstream Northern and Central Italian, though you do see heavy Sicilian influence in Southern Italian. Unfortunately for me, most of my expertise is in the former two, but I'll get there eventually.

I am, however, rather proficient at Japanese Fusion now. [/offtopic]


Anyways, another excellent character-building chapter. We finally get to learn a bit more about Julian, and we get a brief glimpse into what life was like for her before the legion, as well as a tantalizing hint as to what's next (possibly).

Nice line, clever. Introduce what comes alter before and all that so good stuff.

And a good part generally, it consolidated her past well and the dialogue was very clean.

I really enjoyed this quiet conversation over dinner. We learned so much about Julian’s past, and there’s so much coming up for us to anticipate! The subject matter was painful for both Julian and Morvayn, and I admire their calm restraint. Enilroth keeping a lid on his natural inquisitiveness (mostly) was fun to see. Now I can’t think of Enilroth without picturing him banging away with a wide grin on his face.

Neither can Mrs. Oaken-Hull

@ Cap’n Bam Bam: Yes, tenant clearing will be a little bit interesting. As for Morvayn’s dialogue, I elected to leave ‘there’ out since he is speaking very informally with Julian. As for showing skin, well, that’s reserved for that one special man.

@mALX: We have plenty of six-foot snowbanks around here for you to dive in. Feel free! See you in the spring.

@SubRosa: Julian and I just loved your comment way back when you said Julian just can’t resist helping a cat up in a tree (me neither!). I thought it was a good idea for our readers to have a clear idea of how Julian really got injured so badly, since up until now we only had bits and pieces. Morvayn and one other person that we will meet later in the chapter are the only people with whom Julian really feels comfortable about letting her vulnerabilities show. And yes, I have plans for her future that involves more magicka!

@Acadian: You’re welcome for the chow! You know I try to feed you at least once a chapter! As for Julian’s past and future, we’ll see quite a bit of her past, and a little bit of her future.

@TK: I knew you were kidding with your comment. But not everyone knows the difference between Italian and Sicilian, and being part Italian myself (Palermo region), I couldn’t resist the opportunity to - ah - enlighten those who may most benefit from it!

@Olen: Thanks for the vote of approval on the character building in this chapter.

@Grits: I really wanted to show Enilroth as more than just another annoying Bosmer (whew, narrowly escaped alliteration there!). And there will be more of Julian’s past revealed in upcoming segments.

After an evening of good fare and better conversation, Julian finally makes her way to the Mages Guild. As we will see, this place holds its own memories for her as well.

****************************
Chapter 23.4 Friendly Mages and a Tame Imp

The Chapel bells rang twelve times as I crossed the Guild Plaza from Morvayn’s smithy to the Anvil chapterhouse of the Mages Guild. My pack still weighed down my back, since I had collected several daedra hearts. If Felen Relas was still assigned to Anvil, I knew he would appreciate fresh samples of an otherwise hard-to-come-by ingredient.

The chapterhouse was quiet as I entered. Before me, the counter stood unattended. The room and its furnishings were unchanged from my childhood memories.

“What, little imp?” The brown-haired Breton mock-growled at me, looking down from his great height. He placed his hands on the countertop and peered over its edge at what I held. “Did you steal those from Mistress Thelas’s garden?”

“No, sir!” I piped up, lifting the bunch of purple-pink blossoms up for his perusal. “Mother picked these herself!” I could barely see over the top of the counter. “She said Master Relas needed more!”

“I believe Master Relas wanted the seeds, not the flowers,” the chapter head scowled at me. “Your mother wouldn’t make such a amateur mistake, Julian. I still think you stole them from Mistress Thelas’s backyard.”

“No, sir,” I jumped up and down. “I’m telling the truth, sir!” Again I held the fragrant bouquet up. “See, Mother tied them with a ribbon like she always does!”

The Breton’s brown eyes sparkled at me, but his expression remained skeptical. “How easy would it be for you to tie a stolen bunch of bergamot flowers with your very own ribbon?”

I stamped my foot. “It’s turquoise! That means it’s Mother’s. Mine are always green!”

“Oh, so you stole your mother’s ribbon, as well?” His left brow rose. I stared at that wayward feature, and tried hard to lift my right brow in imitation. I couldn’t quite do it.

“Stop teasing the child, Master-Wizard,” Felen Relas spoke from the doorway into his alchemical studio. “You’ll likely give her ideas for the next time. Her mother wouldn’t approve of it.”

“Neither would I!” the Breton exclaimed. His forbidding expression dissolved into an puckish grin as he waved me toward the waiting Dunmer alchemist. “Scoot, little imp!”

“Thank you, sir!” I bobbed a curtsy to him as my mother had taught me. The chapter head’s chuckle followed me as I skipped to Relas and thrust my fragrant burden towards his face. As Relas accepted the bouquet, I turned around and stuck my tongue out at the Breton. “I told you I didn’t steal them!”

He spiked his left hand toward the ceiling. Sulfurous magic swirled in front of the counter and coalesced into an imp. As the creature, leathery wings flapping, turned toward me, I scampered after Relas into the studio with a squeal.

The flapping of leathery wings brought me back to the present. I blinked, looking for the brown-haired Breton. Instead, a fluttering shadow from the right appeared in the doorway, followed by a male Bosmer. His brown gaze fell on me.

“So Sparky did hear someone come in!” he exclaimed as the imp hovered at his shoulder. I watched the creature warily, but the little beast did not make any threatening moves, only watched me with wide, curious eyes. “Hello, Julian of Anvil!” the wood elf continued. “Carahil mentioned that you would be coming by tonight. Welcome to the Anvil chapter! I’m Thaurron, Journeyman.”

I tore my gaze from the lesser demon to meet the Bosmer’s gaze. “That’s Sparky?” I gestured toward the imp.

“Yes,” Thaurron grinned. “I found him when he was just a fingerling, near death beside the road. I took him in and healed him right up, and he’s hung around with me ever since!” He turned and waved the imp off. “He’s a terrific watchdog here. No one ever has to wait long for service!”

“I see -.” But I didn’t. Why would someone want to heal an injured imp? They’re such nasty creatures, and frightfully aggressive with their targeted spells.

Somehow Thaurron sensed my skepticism. “Oh, I know, I know. What possessed me to do that? I really can’t tell you why I saved his life, but he’s been a great companion since. It’s like taking in a wolf cub because you feel sorry for it, even though it could grow up into a livestock killer.” He moved back to let me into the dining hall at the rear. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Yes, I had dinner at Morvayn’s,” I answered. Thaurron’s brows rose in surprise.

“The smith?” He shook his head. “Do you know him?”

“My brother apprenticed to him over thirty years ago,” I followed Thaurron toward the stairs.

“That’s before my time,” Thaurron opened the door at the top of the stairs. He led me through. “This is the library,” he murmured softly. “Carahil and Felen Relas have already turned in for the night. We do have a guest bed, but it’s upstairs.”

So Felen Relas is still alchemist here. But where is the chapter head? “Lead on, sir,” I nodded my willingness to follow. Thaurron smiled and did so.

At the top of the second flight we entered an attic room with three gables, one on either side and the third directly across from the door. Thaurron pointed at the wide bed in front of us. “That’s the guest bed, Julian,” he said. “Marc!”

A Breton seated off to the right lifted his head from a book. His brown eyes brightened when his gaze fell on me. “Welcome, Hero of Kvatch!” With a finger tucked between the pages to hold his place, he rose and held his right hand out to me. “I’m Marc Gulitte, Mages Guild Evoker, and advanced trainer in destruction.” His grip was firm and confident as we shook hands. He waved toward the double bed. “You can sleep there. I take it you were at Skingrad before coming here?”

I slid a glance at him before setting my pack down on the wide mattress. Gulitte grinned widely, exchanging an I-told-you-so look with Thaurron. “Yes, I was,” I confirmed him as Sparky fluttered lazily after me. I noticed the imp’s eyes were fixed on my pack. “Thaurron, what does he eat?”

“Oh, Sparky!” Thaurron tossed a mild spell at the imp. “No, no, no!” The creature returned to the Bosmer’s side, looking sheepish, if that were possible. “Anything we eat,” Thaurron continued. “He’s been taught to eat only what we give him.” He selected an apple from a bowl on a nearby desk. Sparky watched with intense anticipation as Thaurron cut the fruit into thin slices. He handed three to me. “Here, give him one at a time.”

Sparky remained fixated on the bulk of the apple, still resting on the desk. Thaurron smiled at me. “Just whistle. You do know how to whistle, don’t you?”

“Just put your lips together and blow,” I answered, and did so. Sparky’s head turned sharply toward me, and he looked into my face. When I held up the apple slice, he fluttered eagerly over and reached for it. His grasp was surprisingly gentle, and he waited until I released the apple before conveying it to his mouth. He held it in both hands and nibbled delicately on it. I watched, captivated in spite of myself, as his wings worked to keep him roughly eye level with me. He met my gaze when he finished the slice, licking the last of the juice from his lips.

“What was that spell you used on him?” I asked, handing another slice to the gentle imp.

“That was a very mild drain magicka spell,” Thaurron replied. “Lasts as long as it takes you to blink. It’s mostly to get his attention more than anything else. I made it at the University when I was trying to train him.” He tilted his head at me. “Do you have anything edible in your pack?”

“I have some daedra hearts in there, for the alchemist here,” I answered. “He probably smells them, even though I rinsed them off.”

“No wonder he was trying to investigate!” Thaurron moved to a trunk that sat at the foot of the bed. He cast an unlock spell at it, and swung the lid up. “Stow your gear in there, and I’ll spell-lock it right up.”

I noticed the trunk had a conventional lock as well. “If you have the key for it -“

“Oh, Sparky can pick the usual locks,” Thaurron picked up my pack and gave me a quizzical look. I nodded my acquiescence, and he set it within the trunk with a soft thump. Then he closed the lid and cast a second spell at it. “But Sparky can’t unlock magical locks. It’s the only way to keep things safe from him!”

“Even if he’s trained to leave food alone?” I asked, smiling to myself.

“Ach, it’s his streak for trouble that I don’t trust! What’s to stop him from picking the lock while we’re asleep?” Thaurron laughed heartily, his eyes on the imp. To my surprise, Sparky smiled and imitated his master, his laughter a tinkling counterpoint to Thaurron’s deeper tone.

“Felen Relas will be glad of those hearts,” Gulitte offered. “I’m certain he’ll pay you well for them, too.”

I whistled to bring Sparky back to me. “It will be good to see him again.” The imp took the last apple slice from me. I moved to the bed and sat down.

“You must be tired,” Gulitte remarked. Again his brown eyes twinkled as he smiled. “Don’t worry, there are no musical beds here like there is at Skingrad!”

“Good,” I couldn’t stop the flush that spread across my cheeks. “But tell me, who is the chapter head?”

“Carahil, of course!” Gulitte responded. “She inherited the chapter house from Traven when he was elected Arch Mage a few years ago. She runs a clean house, just like he did.”

I stared at the Breton. “Hannibal Traven is the Arch Mage now?” I asked.

The two mages stared at me. “You didn’t know?” Thaurron asked.

“I’ve only heard the other mages speak of the new Arch Mage, but never by his name,” I shrugged.

“Where were you four years ago when he was elected?” Thaurron couldn’t believe it. “No, almost five years ago! Under a rock?”

I couldn’t hide my wince. “Something like that,” I admitted.

“Hush, Thaurron,” Gulitte made a shushing motion with his hands. He turned back to me. “Since you’ve been closing Oblivion Gates all over Cyrodiil, I hope you’ve been wined and dined by the good folks of Anvil tonight.”

I shook my head with a smile. “Just Varel Morvayn,” I answered.

“And is your brother still living here in Anvil?” Thaurron asked. “You mentioned he was apprenticed to the smith.”

“He died several years ago.” I pulled the coverlet down. “If you don’t mind -“

“Not at all!” Gulitte put his book down and lowered the flame on his lamp. “I’m off to bed, myself. Keep quiet, Thaurron!”

Cap’n Bam Bam? Sounds like somebody's been watching the Flintstones. Or pr0n!

So Julian ran afoul of the old curmudgeon Traven when she was a child. That was an excellent little piece, as it not only shows us that the MG hall is a place filled with memories, but also gives us yet another piece of her childhood. It seems that Julian has not been reading the Black Horse Courier while she was off the wagon, else she would have known about his promotion.

Am I the only one who always sees Marc Gillette rather than Gulitte?

Sparky was wonderful. It always seems so odd to see an imp for a pet. But you portray him in a very believable, realistic fashion. Sometimes I have considered adding a mascot for the Bravil FG, like a lion cub (ala the Lafayette Escadrille).

“Don’t worry, there are no musical beds here like there is at Skingrad!”
I was thinking that Gillette had the misfortune of spending a night at the Skingrad guild hall from his first mention of the city (when Julian was looking at the bed). Now it definitely appears to be so. I wonder how he reacted to Vigge climbing into bed with him!

All in all, a much more friendly, and less creepy, introduction to the Anvil MG than that of Skingrad. I know which one I would choose to stay at!

What a treat this delightful story was! Despite only a few apple slices to eat, it was fabulous.

'I stamped my foot. “It’s turquoise! That means it’s Mother’s. Mine are always green!”
“Oh, so you stole your mother’s ribbon, as well?” His left brow rose. I stared at that wayward feature, and tried hard to lift my right brow in imitation. I couldn’t quite do it.
AHAH! So there is, or at least used to be, a girlie girl in there. How fabulously cute she must have been.

He spiked his left hand toward the ceiling. Sulfurous magic swirled in front of the counter and coalesced into an imp. As the creature, leathery wings flapping, turned toward me, I scampered after Relas into the studio with a squeal.
The flapping of leathery wings brought me back to the present.
As you snapped me from the flashback to the present, I was stunned at the masterful manner in with which you did it. What a magnificent transition!

Sparky!!! Woohoo! I love him!

'Where were you four years ago when he was elected?” Thaurron couldn’t believe it. “No, almost five years ago! Under a rock?”
I couldn’t hide my wince. “Something like that,” I admitted.
Oh wow. I winced too as I conjured images of poor Julian at her addicted worst. I'm so proud of how far she's come!

Alliteration!

Little girl Julian was utterly charming. I enjoyed the look into the Anvil Guild’s past with playful Master Traven. I knew he was the chapter head, but somehow I never pictured him there. I look forward to meeting Carahil.

“Just whistle. You do know how to whistle, don’t you?”

“Just put your lips together and blow,” I answered, and did so.

Delightful!! I expected Thaurron to call her Steve. Sparky the light-fingered imp, I love it! He comes to life as vividly as your non-demonic characters. What a thoroughly enjoyable evening in Anvil!

Are we contradicting ourselves, now? (Sorry, couldn't resist.)


I liked this lore stab. Very agreeable with Morrowind, as Trebonius most likely stepped down (or lost the duel, whichever path you chose) early in 3E 428.


Sparky: ehehehehehe

Loved the little segue into Julian's childhood, too!

Cap'n Bam Bam? While a fan of the Flinstones myself in my younger years, I think that's the first somebody's referenced my by that. And I definitely don't think he'd be found on a Lipizzaner any time soon.

I enjoyed the reference to Traven's previous position at Anvil. That was one of the parts of the game that always upset me the most. They make a huge deal in some of the in-game books, but you only really hear about it once or twice from the actual people. Even Lorgren Benirus seems to be more clued in with Anvil's guildhall happenings than the rest of Cyrodiil, and he's (un-)dead!

Good to see that this time, at least, Julian will be enjoying a more secure night's sleep.

That was quite a bit of building... as said actually mentioning Traven as head of Anvil is a good touch, I could never really see him as a local master but it sort of brought it to life. Otehr than Carahil's objection to necromancy you wouldn't know in game really. Their little jab at the Skingrad guild was good too, it showed a bit of rivalry but also suggests that the Skingrad guild is widely looked down upon (and it would be).

The flashback went a long way in giving the guildhall a sense of history and backstory, it seems somewhat like home for Julian, whereas other places have been new. The change is an enjoyable one.

And I look forward to her meeting Carahil and Relas.


Is fingerling a word you invented? It's perfect for a baby imp...

Nope, it's very much real. I know that because (surprise surprise) it gets used a lot in the culinary trade. (very small potatoes are called fingerlings).

@SubRosa: I’m glad you enjoyed that little scene between little Julian and a much younger Traven. I wanted to show a lighter side of him than what we see in-game. And yes, until I started writing this, Marc had the same name as the disposable razor, then it was a d’oh! Moment. Sparky was fun to write. I wanted to make more of him than just a pair of flapping wings. And yes, Marc probably stopped the night at Skingrad on his way out to his posting at Anvil.

@Acadian: Julian’s mother was the girly one, Julian herself was more tomboyish. Still, she has her moments. I remember writing that transition - it was an all-too-rare moment of genius, so thanks for noticing.

@Grits: Yes, those two lines you quoted are a nod of respect to one of my favorite couples, Lauren and Humphrey. They were so hot together. And just as dogs love to steal things off the kitchen counter (especially the Sunday roast), Sparky the imp loves to explore other people’s belongings.

@TK: I missed that part of lore, but I’m glad it worked out so well. I knew he had to have become Arch Mage recently as people are still talking about it. And Sparky’s not just an imp, he’s an imp!

@Cap’n H: Yes, I figured Traven made a big impression on Julian when she was little, since he had to have been chapter head at the time. Carahil is older, but for some reason she didn’t get it. Goes to show how cleverly manipulative Traven can be, and I think the MG questline only bears that out.

@Olen: Thanks for picking up on the fact that Anvil is Julian’s old stomping grounds and that she has a lot of history here. Yes, it was her second home, as we will see. And fingerling, I think refers to an immature fish (as well as tiny potatoes, TK is right), but it works for a baby imp IMHO.

Of all the folks in Anvil, I like Morvayn, Felen Relas, and Carahil the best. I think Morvayn and Relas are my two favorite Dunmer men in all of Cyrodiil. And I never could shake the feeling that Carahil’s brisk, efficient manner hides a heart of gold.

***************************
Chapter 23.5 A Reunion with an Old Friend

Cup of steaming klah in hand, I wandered into the alchemy lab just off the lobby. It seemed little changed from my memories. I looked around, studying the furnishings and inhaling the mingled scents of the various ingredients.

Bergamot. Aloe vera. Thistle seeds. Horsetail kelp. Relas still keeps his shop organized the same way. I recognized the battered stool tucked away beneath the long work counter at the back of the room. Relas used to make me sit there, out of his way, while he worked at his alchemical equipment spread along the counter. I would read whatever book he gave me to occupy my time while I waited for him to finish his tasks.

From the time I could first walk down to Anvil with my mother, I had bonded with the aged Dunmer alchemist. Something about the way he regarded my questions with that air of seriousness always made me feel intelligent. While my mother traded her produce for essentials at the harborfront, Cieran and I would sit with Relas. Cieran always fidgeted, and eventually began spending time over in Morvayn’s smithy. But I adored Felen Relas with his quiet voice, his unflappable manner, and that pomaded brown hair that he sculpted into a peak like a conical hat.

“Hello, Master Relas!” I skipped into the workroom, a heavy volume in my arms. “Mother sent me to return this book,” I managed to lift it onto the counter. “She says thank you very much, it was very helpful!”

“Did you read it yourself, Julian?” Relas accepted the Fundaments of Alchemy and turned away to place it on his desk.

I toed the floor. “No, sir, I didn’t.” I bolted from the workroom, through the lobby into the sitting room on the other side. Master Wizard Traven’s puckish complaints about the sound of my little feet lent speed to my passing. I found the book Carahil had been reading resting on the side table. Making certain her ribbon still marked her place, I carried it back to Relas, sticking my tongue out at Traven as I passed him. “I want to read this!” I held the volume up to the alchemist.

“The Real Barenziah,” he read aloud. “I’m not certain your mother would want you reading that.”

“I want to read this one!” I insisted, clambering onto the stool next to the counter. I retrieved the book from him and opened it on the counter, leaning forward to look at the pages. “It’s about a princess and a king and a knight - Carahil told me!”

“But there are no pictures in this one,” Relas closed the book firmly, but not before I had a chance to be dismayed by the mass of text that filled the first page. “Would you prefer I tell you the story myself?”

“Would you, sir?” I clapped my hands.

“Once there was a beautiful princess named Barenziah -“ his voice took on a melodic quality as he told the story of a Dunmer princess who was orphaned at an early age, raised as a poor relation far from home in the far north of Skyrim, and eventually returned to Morrowind and reclaimed her inheritance as Queen. I listened, cheeks propped in my palms, with my eyes following him around the workroom as he continued his tasks beneath the story.

“Looking for Felen?” Carahil’s voice roused me out of my reverie. I turned to look at the beautiful Altmer. She was another member of the Anvil chapter that I considered my friend. She was the one who taught me the basic flare spell, though she once despaired of ever succeeding.

“Yes, I wanted to say hello to him,” I waved my hand around the empty room. “I have to be at the castle by seven bells, but I was hoping to catch him before I left.”

“You missed him,” Carahil shook her head regretfully. “He left at dawn this morning. His supplies have become low, since it has been too dangerous to venture out of the city with that Oblivion Gate. Felen is anxious to restock his shelves, but he hopes to see you when he gets back.”

“I understand,” I nodded. Carahil motioned for me to follow her. “Belated congratulations on your promotion, ma’am.”

“Come, Julian. Let’s sit a bit before it’s time for you to leave for your audience.”

We seated ourselves in the sitting room across the lobby from the alchemy shop. As I settled back in the comfortable chair, Carahil regarded me. “You know, Julian, I was surprised to learn that you had joined the Mages Guild, and furthermore, you were traveling for recommendations.”

“Who would have thought?” I asked, thinking of those days when I struggled to even generate a spark from my fingers. “But my years of training in the Legion has prepared me well for the discipline that mages require, it seems.”

“Tell me, what do you know?” Carahil steepled her fingers before her ageless face.

I started off with the spells I had learned since leaving the prison sewers. I told Carahil of my experimentation with the alchemy equipment in my humble Waterfront shack. Then I described how I had integrated magicka usage with my combat techniques. She seemed very interested in what I had learned of the Deadlands and of the strengths and weaknesses of the various daedra I had encountered.

When I mentioned my thoughts about the sigil stones and their varying strengths, she leaned forward with intense interest. “Really? The stone from the one you closed immediately after it opened felt the weakest of them all?”

I nodded. “When I think about it, there weren’t as many corpses in there, either. But Skingrad and Anvil were the worst ones for the butchery I saw in there.”

“The one here has been open for a month,” Carahil mused. After a moment’s thought, her eyes brightened suddenly. “Something just occurred to me. Excuse me a moment, I’ll go check something in the library.”

As she disappeared upstairs, I leaned back and enjoyed the klah. Breakfast had been a do-it-yourself affair, but I had easily satisfied my early morning pangs with a bowl of mixed fruit, a few thick slices of cheese and a chunk of bread. Too bad there aren’t any bakers like Salmo here in Anvil. Those sweet rolls are outrageous! Again I saw Vigge the Cautious in his strained finery. Then again, maybe it’s a good thing. That’s a temptation I don’t want to struggle with.

I set my mug down on the small table next to my chair. My gaze fell onto a somewhat familiar green covered book. The Lusty Argonian Maid? Sounds like nighttime reading. Idly I picked it up and flipped through the pages. A phrase caught my eye: Here, polish my spear.

“Julian! What book is that?” The tall Altmer swept across the library in a swirl of burgundy and gold fabric and bent down to me. Before I could meet her gaze she had plucked the book out of my hands. “Oh, dear! If your mother were to find out -“ She turned from me and placed the volume with the green cover on the highest shelf of the bookcase behind me - impossibly high for me to reach. She turned back to me and took a deep breath, smoothing back her strawberry-blond bangs. “My dear child,” she knelt down beside my chair. “There are some books you must not read. That’s one of them. If your mother finds out you were reading such books here, she will forbid you to come here ever again. Is that understood?”

“You mean, never to see Master Relas again?” I asked. “Or Master Traven? Or -“ I swallowed, holding her green eyes with my own, “- you ever again?”

Solemnly Carahil nodded. “Yes, your mother has the right. At least until you turn eighteen, that is.” Her eyes sparkled with sudden humor. “By then, it won’t matter if you get caught reading that book anyway!”

I frowned, puzzled. Carahil patted my small hand. “Don’t worry about it, Julian. By the time you’re eighteen, you’ll understand.”

“But that’s -“ I paused to count on my fingers. I had to count the fingers of my left hand twice. “- that’s twelve years away!”

“Only twelve years?” Carahil repeated. “Posh! You’ll be eighteen before you know it!”

“But I don’t understand why I can’t read that book,” I would not give up. “All it’s about is a girl polishing some old man’s spear!”

Carahil’s golden skin suffused a startling color as she choked, coughed and spluttered into a long-fingered hand. Finally she was able to take another deep breath, fanning herself with her other hand. “Julian, dear, you are still too young to understand the real meaning of that book.” She sighed. “But the day will come when you will understand all too well.”

Laughter spilled through my nose before I could stop myself. Yes, I understand all too well now.

“What is so funny, Julian?” Carahil asked, returning with a thick volume in her hands. I showed her the green book. Her eyes widened as she read the title.

“I completely forgot about this book,” I explained between chuckles. “I’d say I’ve understood it for thirty years at least, but I’d completely forgotten about the book!”

Carahil’s eyes brightened, and her chuckle told me she had recalled the same conversation I had. “So now you know about spear polishing, do you understand why I was so scandalized to catch you with that book? All of six years old and you were reading smut!”

I laughed. “Only I didn’t know it was smut!” I defended myself. “And by the time I reached eighteen, I had forgotten about it.”

“Of course, by the time you were eighteen -“ Carahil’s smile faded. “You had other things on your mind,” she finished sadly.

My mother. My brother. Jared. I nodded silently.

Carahil held up the book in her hands. “You may be on to something, Julian. Have you ever read this book?”

I squinted at the title. “Spirit of the Daedra?” I considered it for a moment, then shook my head. “No, Carahil, that was one of the books you kept on the top shelf in the library. The same shelf as this,” I held up The Lusty Argonian Maid.

“Ah, yes, it was not considered suitable material for a six-year old child,” Carahil nodded at the memory. “Anyway, in this book, it discusses how the daedra are not truly killed when you destroy their physical manifestation.”

“Really?” I leaned forward as Carahil sat down in the chair she had previously occupied.

“Hmm hmm. ‘We do not die. We do not fear death. Destroy the Body, and the Animus is cast into The Darkness. But the Animus returns.’” She met my gaze. “It makes me wonder if mortal souls travel the same path, but are somehow trapped in these sigil stones to provide the magical energy needed to keep the portals open.”

“Kind of like soul gems?” I asked.

“Maybe,” Carahil shrugged. “There are so much we don’t understand about Oblivion. But these observations of yours are very interesting.”

“Thanks, Carahil,” I drained the last of the klah. “I need to leave for the Countess’s audience. But I’ll be back afterwards to discuss the recommendation with you.” I looked down at the simple linens I wore. “Are these suitable for meeting the Countess?”

“Oh, Julian!” Carahil smiled as she took my empty cup from me. “Countess Umbranox is very practical. She won’t expect you to be dressed in gaudy silks!” She waved me away. “Now shoo!”

The memories are thick in Anvil, my fave:

Julian as a child wanting to read "The Real Barenziah" and Relas telling it in story form - leaving out the R & X rated parts - that was cute.

Another part I liked: Julian wanders about with her cup of coffee (klah) - gee, why does that sound so familiar? ROFL !!

Great Chapter !!

I carried it back to Relas, sticking my tongue out at Traven as I passed him.
I love this! Little Julian is so adorable!

Again I saw Vigge the Cautious in his strained finery
Now there is something I would rather not see!

that’s twelve years away!
Longer than the First Age! I love this. It is a wonderful example of how when we are children, becoming a grown-up seems like an impossibly long time away.

This was my favorite of the coming home chapters so far. Julian's stroll down memory lane is positively delightful. From racing through the guild hall, to hearing the story of the not quite so real Barenziah from Felen Relas (am I the only one who thinks of an ice cream cone when they see that hairstyle?), and finally to Carahil, one of the coolest chicks in Cyrodiil.

This had a wonderful natural flow to it and was a real pleasure to read. Little Julian is indeed adorable!

I'm so glad you like Carahil. I very much do as well. Hers would certainly be our second favorite guild hall to hail from.

It was nice to follow up some on Julian's observations that the power of a sigil stone may be related to how long the gate it held open remained open. I can see why Carahil would be interested.

Carahil as I remember her in the game was very stiff and by the book. I'm liking this new version of her, she much warmer, and has so much significance to Julian. I can foresee her not being too thrilled about assigning Julian the rogue mage task... and who knows? Maybe she won't?


That line brought little Julian all the way up to the level of Princess for me! It was just that charming.

As for the Sigil Stones, you are getting quite insightful into them... many of the points you bring up I have a feeling will make it into my own personal canon (and I mean in general, not the fan-fic).

Great fun to read!

The referances to in game books were great, and made me chuckle. Young children have an uncanny ability to find anything they shouldn't... I'm enjoying the flashbacks too, and re-meeting old characters from her past.


So this Jared was around when she was young before the legion, and was from Anvil... I'm wondering when we'll find out more.

And next the countess, I suspect Julian might get on with her better than the other counts.

@mALX: I really enjoyed writing Julian as a child, especially with the books. Here we see how she came by her way of speaking, and her vocabulary - she was a bookworm like me! Only now, with both of us losing our eyesight to old age, has it become more of a chore . . .

@SubRosa: Like I told mALX, I really enjoyed writing Julian’s flashbacks. Her interactions with Traven as a child just made me chuckle as I was writing them. And yes, Carahil is one of the coolest chicks evah!

@Acadian: The thoughts about the sigil stones came about as Julian was telling me her story. It was one of those ‘hmmmm’ moments.

@TK: Carahil is still pretty much by the book, it’s just tempered with compassion and kindness. So Little Julian is now a Princess for you? She’s blushing!

@Olen: It’s surprising how much things went over my head when I was little, but when I revisit them, it’s facepalm time! And don’t worry, you’ll learn more about Jared eventually (like about the eleventh segment).

The Countess of Anvil, though she doesn’t have much to say in-game, always struck me as a kind, gentle soul. She is the kind of woman that founds orphanages and widow’s homes for the people of Anvil.

******************************
Chapter 23.6: Meeting with the Countess of Anvil

“Good morning, ma’am.” The two guardsmen greeted me warmly with smiles barely visible in the fog as I stepped through Chapelgate. The odors of the salt flats hit me before I saw the smooth water of the inlet separating the castle from Anvil’s walls. I murmured a response to the guardsmen before I started across the narrow stone bridge leading to the castle gate.

A Dunmer boy stood in the tall portal leading to the castle courtyard and peered through the thick fog. “Good morning, Midave Sendal,” I greeted him as soon as I recognized his slight figure. He jumped slightly at my voice and straightened his thin shoulders. “Is it seven bells already?”

“No, ma’am,” he brushed that wayward lock from his ruby eyes and bowed with a little more deliberation than he had yesterday. “You’re early.”

“Are you waiting for someone else, then?” I paused beside him, locking gazes with him. Sendal looked away and shifted his feet.

“No, I was waitin’ for you, ma’am,” he responded. “I thought you might be early.”

“You thought right,” I smiled at him. “Lead on, Sendal.”

“Have you had breakfast yet?” The boy glanced back over his shoulder at me as he took the lead.

“Yes, I did, thanks.”

Sendal and I passed through the courtyard, filled with blooming orange and lemon trees, forsythia bushes, and roses. Jasmine vines twined up trellises that flanked the main entrance into the keep. Sendal kept glancing back at me, as if making certain he hadn’t lost me. He paused when we reached the double doors that led into the county hall, seeming to work up some courage. “Is it true you’re from here?”

“Yes, it’s true.” I pointed beyond the eastern castle walls. “I grew up on that old farm on the bluff overlooking the mouth of the Strid River.”

“That old Gweden place?” Sendal’s eyes grew wide. “But that place’s haunted!”

“Haunted?” I repeated, pushing away the old grief. “It wasn’t haunted when I lived there.”

“No one wants to claim it,” Sendal volunteered, placing his hand on the huge iron ring of the left hand panel. “It’s been empty all these years.” He tugged at the door, leaning his weight back on his heels. The door began to swing slowly. I reached forward and laid my hand beside his, but he shouldered me away. “I got it, ma’am,” he said. I heard the fierce pride in his voice and smiled to myself.

Not one to let your small size get in the way, are you? I rather liked Sendal’s determination to pull his own weight, but wondered how much of it had been forged by teasing about his height. I hadn’t forgotten how cruel children could be to each other. “You’re stronger than you seem,” I remarked as the door finally groaned open. “I apologize for thinking otherwise.”

Apparently I hit the right note with Sendal, for his somber face brightened in that brilliant white smile. “’Tis all right!” He bowed low and waved for me to precede him, as if I was a court lady dressed all in velvet instead than the old soldier in simple linens. I waited inside the brightly lit entrance hall while he dragged the heavy door closed, shutting out the dampness of the sea mist.

Braziers kept the air within dry and warm. The hall was bright with hangings made, not of heavy tapestry as I expected, but rather of delicate Valenwood hand-knotted lace. The lightweight material swayed like spider webs in the thermal drafts created by the braziers. That lace must cost a fortune. There’s a lot of it.

“If you would follow me, please,” once again Sendal took the lead. We moved at a quiet but efficient pace through the antechamber into the county hall beyond. Ahead, two thrones of white ash stood empty, and their turquoise cushions glimmered brilliantly. In the high ceiling above, clerestory windows at the base of a dome admitted the grey daylight. I looked around, but the hall was empty.

“Where is the Countess, Sendal?” I asked when he moved toward the stairs leading up to the mezzanine across the back of the hall. He glanced back at me.

“Milady’s at breakfast, ma’am. She asks that you join her, even if it’s just for a cup of klah.”

My strides faltered slightly. A private audience? First Count Skingrad, now Countess Anvil? Is this the beginning of a trend? “Very well, Sendal,” I hid my surprise. “Lead on.”

He brought me through a passage that ran directly toward private chambers located at the seaward side of the castle. We entered a suite consisting of two large rooms, airy thanks to the large floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the south wall. More of that hand-knotted lace draped between the windows, and shutters were neatly folded back against the walls.

Sendal led me past the sleeping alcove and the four-poster bed of white ash and creamy silks. I saw little more than an impression of white with turquoise accents before Sendal led me through a doorway onto a balcony. Beyond, the thinning fog drifted past the balustrade.

I stepped onto the sky-blue and white tiled floor of the balcony and paused. Sendal stepped to my right and bowed to the Countess seated at the table. “Milady, Julian of Anvil.”

“Come, have a seat,” Millona Umbranox waved across the round surface. “Did you have breakfast yet?”

“Yes, I did, ma’am,” I inclined my head to her before obeying her tacit command.

“Then have some klah, at least,” she poured some of the black fluid into a fine bone china cup without waiting for a response. “It’s still a bit chilly out here.”

I had to agree. The steaming liquid smelled wonderful. I declined the offer of cream and sweetener and took a sip. It tasted as rich and smooth as it smelled, with none of the bitterness typical of the brew. “This is quite delicious, ma’am,” I murmured.

“It’s from the mountains of Southern Valenwood, near Greenheart,” Umbranox met my gaze. Elegant blue silk trimmed with white lace on the cuffs, bodice and skirt hem covered a still-youthful figure. Light brown hair parted in the middle framed an unlined face and swept back into an elegant bun at the nape of her neck. Light brown eyes regarded me with a calm steadiness that inspired confidence. “I understand you were posted there for a while?”

“Near Arenthia,” I took another sip of the klah. “It’s a beautiful region.”

“I’ve never been,” Countess Umbranox gazed into the depths of her cup. “You are so lucky to have seen so much of Tamriel!”

“Lucky?” I repeated. “Aye, the Legion recruiters tell you you can see all of Nirn when you sign up, but truth be told, you’re too busy soldiering to see much of the local sights.”

Umbranox smiled, and now the first hints of her true age appeared at the corners of her eyes. “I believe it!” She leaned back in her chair. “My father served as legate in the Legion, and he was gone more than not!” Her gaze sharpened on me. “Perhaps you knew him? Milonius Silvanus?”

I thought for a moment, then shook my head at the unfamiliar name. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I served in Legio Six for most of my career.”

“Well,” Umbranox spooned up some berry compote. “It was a thought.” I remained silent and waited. After a moment, she dabbed at her lips with a lace napkin and met my gaze again with those steady brown eyes. “I want to express my gratitude to you for closing that Oblivion Gate outside Anvil,” she began. Her gaze turned out to sea, now visible with the mist burned away. “I understand you’ve been seeking aid for Countess Narina Carvain of Bruma.”

Mildly startled, I nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I have.”

Umbranox smiled at my surprise. “Count Cheydinhal sent me a message. He suggested that I do not refuse your request.”

My gaze drifted to the Dunmer boy standing just past Umbranox’s shoulder. He returned my gaze expressionlessly, but there was a flicker in his red eyes. He’s from Cheydinhal? Or House Hlaalu in Morrowind?

“Ah, yes, my page is Indarys’s nephew,” Umbranox added. I blinked at her uncanny perception. “And one of my young cousins serve in his court. That is as close as I want to get to Count Indarys.”

“Sendal seems to be doing well as your page, ma’am,” I nodded at the boy. Now the Countess’s eyes saddened slightly.

“He is coping well, so far from home and family,” she responded. “With his parents and aunt dead, it’s been, ah, difficult. But it is Indarys’s hope that by serving here so far from Cheydinhal, young Midave will find his place in Cyrodiil. I intend to see that happen, if only for the boy’s sake.”

Again I glanced at Sendal. His eyes were downcast, and his skin had the purple tinge that characterized the Dunmer blush. “He’s not the sort to accept pity,” I aimed my words at him. “And I like what I’ve seen of his determination. He’ll do well, with or without your help, ma’am.” The ruby flash preceded the insouciant smile, then Sendal’s face was impassive again, befitting that of a page. I turned my gaze back to Umbranox. “So Count Indarys asked that you grant the request I make on behalf of Countess Carvain, ma’am?”

“Yes, and I’m inclined to do so,” Umbranox responded. “I can not spare a full century as he did, but I shall send eight contubernii. I hope that will be sufficient.”

“Yes, eight contubernii is most generous of you, ma’am,” I agreed.

“But what of you, Julian?” Umbranox refilled her cup before folding her hands around its warmth. “What would be reward enough for you?”

I turned my head and gazed out at the ocean, now blue in the morning sun. The fog had completely disappeared during our conversation, and the sun sparkled off the whitecapped waves below.

“That farm east of here, on the bluff -“ my voice faltered. I took a deep breath. “I understand it’s been empty these many years.”

Umbranox’s silence drew my eyes back to her. Dark brows drawn together, her face had a look of concerned bemusement. “The old Gweden homestead?” she asked. “Are you certain, Julian? I know what -“ she stopped herself. “Are you certain you want to go back there?”

I thought about it for a moment. Do I want to relive that day I found what was left of my mother and my brother? Do I want to see their blood again on the walls and floor? Do I want to smell that goblin stench again? “It’s time to put those ghosts to rest,” I spoke slowly, my eyes on the Dunmer boy. “Time to return the farm to happier times, to restore the beauty of the place.”

Umbranox regarded me for several moments more. Then she lifted a hand in a signal to Sendal. He disappeared through the door into the Countess’s quarters. “Normally I would require that you pay the back taxes on the property before I deed it to you,” she said quietly. “But no one can put a value on the service you provided us in closing that Oblivion Gate. If you are certain you want to move back to Anvil, if you are certain that you can make it a productive and happy place once more, those back taxes will be waived and the deed shall be yours.”

Sendal reappeared, a rosewood box in his hands. He set it on the table between us with a bow. As he stepped back, Umbranox opened the wide casket, drew out a parchment and laid it on the table near me. While I picked it up, she set a blue silk purse beside my cup with a soft jingle of coins.

“When you were discharged from the Legion four years ago,” Umbranox spoke softly, “apparently you left instructions that your pension payments were to be sent here. Unfortunately, you never came for them. I’ve been holding them all these years for you, in hopes that someday you would return to Anvil.” I stared at the purse. “You’ll find the amount matches that of the Legion records down to the last drake.”

Okay, two posts to comment on, with very different tones.

Julian's misadventures with Carahil's more...personal...book collection had me in snickering while reading. It reminded me of the shocked reaction my father had when I first tried reading through his collection of the Casca books, at the tender age of 9. He caught me before I even made it past the first page.

Secondly, Julian's meeting with the Countess of Anvil: in it, you write an excellent account of Millona Umbranox's character, as well as some more insight into the politics of Cyrodiil. Her relationship with Count Indarys is well depicted, and her governance of Anvil shows through.

Though I must say, I think Julian's time in the Deadlands has made her something other than fully human. She's now avoided two things that somebody can always count on: Death and Taxes.

The "two thrones of white ash" struck me as wrong until I went and poked around in the wiki. There I found that the second throne is relocated from a storeroom to the main hall after Corvus is "revealed" so I'm assuming that's happened, but someone else is the new Grey Fox. It made sense to me that Milona would be making the point that Corvus may not be around, but nobody else is taking his place, by not leaving an empty throne next to her. She also doesn't move the one remaining to the middle, but leaves the space vacant, to imply that she does expect him back.

But if Corvus is back, wouldn't Julian then be talking to the two of them?

Incidentally I've never done the Allies quest after becoming the Grey Fox myself. Either the thief character didn't do the MQ, or they were done MQ before TG, so I've no real idea how it plays with Corvus back.

First, I'm not playing quite true to game. If you look at the throne in Anvil (in-game), it doesn't match the description in my FF. Corvus is not present in my story, and at this point I'm undecided whether he does come back or not (Julian does not do the TG ever). As for Corvus in the game, when he returns, he never quite gets his power back. I suppose Millona has held the reins too long to give them back, and likely she doesn't trust him not to pull another disappearing act like he did the last time. So she continues running Anvil as she always did, and Corvus is stuck being decoration. He doesn't even get to share the bed with her!

Homecoming indeed! I see a future very fitting of a former soldier and Champion of Cyrodiil... who wouldn't want a quiet life of farming after saving the world? I perceive Julian will be sick and tired of her celebrity status after a week when all this is over, the novelty of being fawned over wears off quite fast, especially for the unlikely hero types like our angelic-haired Redguard.

Besides, there's also horses.

I can certainly agree with you axing Corvus from your canon, Countess Umbranox really does seem to do just fine on her own.

So Julian really is going home again.... I do hope she can put to rest whatever ails her of the loss of her family. Let's just hope a certain Trio of bumbling Sirens don't realize there hidey-hole is under new management, or Julian might end up polishing her spear sharpening her sword

ARG!! DIRTY! DIRTY!! BEGONE, YOU IMPS!!!

Well, you know what I mean.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to give Sparky a scolding...

GAAAAH! I didn't know that, I've only broken into their bedroom once after he returned, and he was in there - but neither of them were laying in the bed. Where does he sleep? (or is he like he was in the "Abandoned house" awake 24/7 ???)

I have done the main quest after being a thief (most of my games, actually) and he is sitting there beside her, but you speak to her.

For some reason I found it impossible to raise Corvus's opinion of my characters over 70%, whether he was the gray fox or at the throne - after all you do for him !!! Has anyone gotten him to 100% ???

I always brought Corvus back before getting Allies for Bruma, but the reason you talk to Millona above all else is the fact that the scripting would probably be too buggy to get the Count Umbranox to send aid to Bruma.

As for getting him to 100% disposition, I've done it, but then I also had a high personality after power-leveling my character for maxed out stats.

you’ll learn more about Jared eventually
What, that he went on to become the The Goblin King? (okay, so that was Jareth...)

So Julian's old house is haunted? By Sirens I suspect! Seriously, that was a good touch. IRL, no one wants to buy a house where someone was murdered. I doubt ES would be any different. It also leaves you a nice little thread for the future, as Julian could move back there some day. And now that I have finished the episode, I see that is exactly what you have in mind.

I love the descriptions of Castle Anvil, from the trees and flower trellises, to the lace swaying in the breeze. It definitely shows a woman's touch.

The Countess has some very interesting opinions on the Count of Cheydinhal. Such as that perhaps he murdered his wife perhaps? In any case, I loved how you tied the page Sendal into that situation.

Anvil is beautiful and you present it well! The descriptions approaching and inside the castle were wonderful.

'Not one to let your small size get in the way, are you? I rather liked Sendal’s determination to pull his own weight, but wondered how much of it had been forged by teasing about his height. I hadn’t forgotten how cruel children could be to each other. “You’re stronger than you seem,” I remarked as the door finally groaned open. “I apologize for thinking otherwise.”
This says much about Julian's perceptions and what she does with them - all of it good.

I very much liked your Countess and see her very similarly!

And more glimpses into the tragedy of Julian's homestead.

I find myself wondering how long Julian will allow herself to linger in Anvil. There is so much holding her here, yet there is as much or more pulling her away. I know she will make the right choices for her.

I don't know about this version of Milona Umbranox's opinion of Count Indarys, but the same throne symbolism leads me to think that Indarys had nothing to do with his wife's death. He has not removed her throne, like Countess Valga, or Regulus Terentius, who have both centered theirs as if their spouse never existed, but he's blocked it from use with a bouquet of flowers on the seat.