Chapter 23.5:
Again I saw Vigge the Cautious in his strained finery.
You got me to spit out my tea and throw out my donut with this line!!
I too am delighted with your vision of Carahil. She is a star!

Chapter 23.6:
The castle courtyard garden and Countess Umbranox’s airy balcony by the sea, how lovely!
Julian gets her home back with four years’ worth of back pay for a housewarming gift – it’s going to be hard to leave Anvil!!

You show Umbranox in an interesting light, quite believeable in her slight hypocracy. While she knows Julian (and so, I would imagine many of her citazens and their doings) and seems to care beyond that Julian just closed the gate as shown by the pension. Equally she certainly knows how to live well and spend their taxes on herself.

Still it seems Julian has just come across quite a bit of money and another house. She'll be a property tycoon soon enough.

Her reactions on going back to her old home will be powerful I suspect. But once she's cleared it out (and possibly found someone to look after it?) there's a rouge mage to take care of... and of course the world to save. She's got quite a lot on her plate.

@Cap’n H: Thanks for the kind words. And not to worry, Julian still isn’t exempt from property tax! As for death, that’ll come, but not in this story!

@ghastley: Thanks for the thoughts. I decided to leave things the way they are. Like Julian, I try not to read too much between the lines. So the two thrones really don’t have that much symbolism, other than the fact that Millona doesn’t believe her husband is dead. If he had died, and she had seen his body, then yes, she would have had the second throne removed.

@TK: We all know how it goes for old soldiers trying to retire - after a while the farm life starts to pall. And yes, there’s always horses!

@mALX: He he he.

@SubRosa: The haunting actually refers to Julian’s family, not the Sirens. Those women wouldn’t know a wraith if one bit them in the tush! But I wanted to show how the deaths of her family still has a lingering impact on the town of Anvil. What we saw here about the relationship between Umbranox and Indarys is but the groundwork for what comes after the MQ.

@Acadian: Sendal is one of those urchins that just wormed his way into my heart. I just couldn’t ignore his charm, and I’m glad you picked up on that. Julian thinks he’s quite the troublemaker, but in a good way. As for your sense that she is torn about staying in Anvil versus carrying out her duties, you’re quite right there. At this point, the feeling that time is running out is stronger than ever.

@Grits: Julian is like that, all serious, then throws out a poker-faced comment that just bites you in the tush!

@Olen: I think you hit the nail on the head. I don’t think Julian will be obtaining any more houses, though. The one in the Waterfront is just a handy place to stow her gear while she is traipsing all over Cyrodiil. Even though I’m playing on a console, I’m roleplaying that Gweden Farm actually becomes Julian’s farm. As for the order of events, you’re slightly backwards.

In the last chapter, Julian gets more aid for Bruma from the Countess. Now she learns of her next task for entrance into the University; this is followed by a fateful meeting.

*******************************
Chapter 23.7: Carahil and Blanco

Carahil looked up from her studying at my arrival. She smiled at me, then her green eyes sharpened at the look on my face. “Did things go well with the Countess?”

“Very well, ma’am,” I managed to keep my voice even. I still held the packet containing the deed to Gweden farm and the purse full of my pension in my hand. “Better than I expected, actually.”

“Then why the long face?” Her question brought home to me how observant the older Altmer really was. I could never tell a lie in front of her. Carahil stepped out from behind the counter and led me into the small parlor off to the right. As we sat in the comfortable chairs, I held out the deed to her.

Her slender hand brushed the long strawberry-blond bangs from her eyes as she read the script. Her tilted brows rose high, then she met my gaze. “The Countess gave you your mother’s old place?” She shook her head. “But why would you want to go back -?”

I leaned back against the cushioned back of the chair. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told her - it’s time to put those old ghosts to rest. It’s not like I have anything to fear from these particular spirits.”

“Are you certain?” Carahil handed the parchment back to me. Carefully I folded it and tucked it away into the leather packet.

Again that vision of my mother and my brother coalesced in front of my eyes before I shook it away. “Let’s just say that Akatosh sent me a message.” I hefted the blue silk purse. “And the Countess has held my pension for me all these years.”

“How much do you have there?” Carahil asked.

“About forty-five septims,” I drew a slow breath. Never in my life had I held so much gold. The look in Carahil’s wide eyes mirrored my own feelings, still stunned by the Countess’s revelation.

“That’s almost enough to buy the old Benirus manor from young Velwyn!” she exclaimed. “He’s been trying to sell it for the past year!”

“Why?” I asked, recalling the dilapidated old ruin I had passed on my way to Chapelgate this morning. I had been shocked at how rundown it now seemed.

“He wants to live in the Imperial City with his parents, it seems,” Carahil responded, her gaze growing thoughtful. “They made him responsible for selling the place first before he could leave Anvil.”

“He doesn’t live in the house?” I asked.

Carahil shook her head. “He’s staying at the Count’s Arms,” she answered. Her eyes sharpened on me. “Are you thinking of buying it?”

“Why would I buy it when I have an equally dilapidated farm to restore?” I retorted mildly, smiling to take the sting out of my words. “Besides, the view is so much better from the homestead!”

“So you’re moving back to Anvil?” Carahil asked.

“I’m thinking about it,” I tucked the packet and coins into my belt purse. “But first I have to get into the University and study alchemy and restoration. Before I can do that, I have to finish my task for the Countess of Bruma.”

“So you finally decided to follow in your mother’s footsteps?” Carahil smiled at me. “Just when you’re becoming quite the battlemage, from what I hear!”

“I find myself wanting to help people heal and recover more than harm them,” I spoke slowly. “I’ve spent the past several weeks casting convalescence and restore magicka on a sick horse, and I’ve learned more about alchemy in that time than I have in my entire life before that.” I looked down at my hands, seeing again the fine scars left by the bloodgrass. “It hurt to see the people of Kvatch after that night,” I continued. “I found myself wishing I could do more for them.”

“As a battlemage you can heal as well as fight,” Carahil mused.

“As a battlemage I may be called to apply torture in interrogations,” I countered. “I’m not certain that’s something I’d want to do.”

“I see,” Carahil nodded to herself. “Well, are you ready for your recommendation?”

I blinked at the sudden change of conversation. “Yes, I am, ma’am.”

“Unlike some of the other tasks you have had to complete,” her tone became mildly censorious, and I briefly wondered which tasks she referred to, “there is nothing frivolous about this one. There is a rogue mage that has been attacking merchants along the Gold Road between Lord Drad’s estate and Gottshaw Inn.” She locked gazes with me, and I saw again the intimidating battlemage she had been in her younger days. “The attacks stopped for a while with the two Oblivion Gates, but now that you’ve closed them, the mage will be attacking again. Why, one of the first merchants to leave town was found dead by Veranius just this morning. This situation has become intolerable and will not be tolerated any longer.”

I recalled Morvayn’s words last night: “- 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.” “What do you know about the mage?” I asked.

“The attacks started over the summer. Victims were found with frost burns on their bodies. Simple robbery seems to be the motive,” Carahil steepled her fingers before her face. “The one common link between these deaths, other than that the victims are all merchants, is Brina Cross Inn. I sent two battlemages, Arielle Jurard and Roliand Hanus, there over a month ago, but we’ve lost touch with them when the Oblivion Gate opened here. If you can contact them on your arrival at Brina Cross, they can fill you in on what they’ve found so far.”

“Frost burns?” I considered her words. “I’ll have to be careful, then.”

Carahil rose and moved to a nearby cabinet. She opened the doors and examined the ranks of scrolls within. Selecting three, she drew them out and brought them to me. “These are frost shell spells,” she explained. “They should provide sufficient resistance to frost magic, if and when you encounter this rogue mage.”

I rose to my feet and considered my options. “I’ll take Daedra Slayer,” I mused aloud, fingering the scrolls. “It has fire damage. But I’m not certain if Morvayn is finished with my armor.”

“Then you will have need of these,” Carahil indicated the spells in my hand. “Do not let your guard down. He may have a few extra tricks up his sleeve. I don’t know if the inn’s staff is involved somehow in this.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I’ll leave right away.”

Carahil smiled at me, crinkles appearing at the corners of her green eyes. “I knew you would not hesitate, Julian. You fit in well with us, unlike some mages who do not abide by the principles of the guild.”

************************
Morvayn met me near the sales counter. “I’m sorry, Julian, but your cuirass took a lot of damage. We’re still working on it.” He indicated my weapons racked behind the counter. “But the bows and Daedra Slayer are fully repaired and ready to go.”

“I’ll take just Daedra Slayer,” I answered. “It should do, ser.”

Morvayn regarded me a moment longer. “You’ve got that look in your eye, Julian. Off to rescue another cat?”

I chuckled shortly. “In a manner of speaking,” I answered, buckling the enchanted katana at my waist, over my linen skirt. I paused a moment, then dug into my belt purse. “Would you mind holding this for me, please?”

Morvayn looked at the packet and coin sack I held out to him. “Certainly,” he nodded. He fingered the leather. “Got the farm?”

“As a reward for closing the Oblivion Gate,” I nodded. “And my back pension, too. Four years’ worth.”

Morvayn whistled softly, hefting the sack in his hand. “Enough here to buy one of Clesa’s horses, if you want to ride rather than walk.”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “I’m walking today.” I nodded farewell at him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

************************
The sun shone brightly overhead, warming the countryside as I stepped through Northgate. I nodded my greetings to the two guardsmen standing outside the portal. To the left, nestled in the curve of the Gold Road as it turned northwestward, the stables showed signs of bustling activity, with a golden-red horse standing within the open-sided shelter. Muscular and huge-boned, he towered above the smaller white horses as he munched at a pile of hay nearly as massive as himself.

In the courtyard, a male Redguard was grumpily stripping a lathered white stallion of his tack. The horse, beautifully proportioned with a graceful, arching neck and black eyes, tipped his small ears at me, then playfully nipped at the groom’s shirt. Busy with the girth, Ernest grunted and nudged the horse’s nose away with his elbow. As he pulled the saddle off the stallion’s round back, the white equine snorted loudly, splattering Ernest’s shirt and arms with mucus.

Ernest scowled at the horse’s mischievous gaze and snarled wordlessly before stumping away with the tack. As he disappeared within the stable office, the stallion turned his gaze back to me. I found myself leaning on the fence, watching him. There’s something about that horse. He’s different from the other white horses Clesa breeds here. I couldn’t quite pin it down. He’s the same size, same color. I glanced at one of the other horses tethered within the shed, and began comparing the two. The gelding holds his head lower. His skin is pink, and his eyes are light. His back is longer. I turned my gaze back the stallion, who still watched me.

This one is more close-coupled, more rounded and muscular. Dark skin that shows around the eyes and muzzle. His nose is straight, not bowed out like the other one’s. He carries his head high, and that neck is so beautifully arched. Suddenly the stallion moved, his compact body turning gracefully until he faced me. Slowly he walked toward the fence and me. I realized I had stopped breathing when his warm breath brushed my crossed forearms.

“Hello Julian,” Clesa’s voice reached me from beyond the stallion’s rump. The horse swung his head in her direction, waggled his ears, then turned back to me. His soft muzzle found its way to my right ear. I scrunched my shoulder as his breath tickled the side of my neck. “I see Blanco’s introduced himself to you.”

“Blanco?” I repeated. “He’s beautiful, Clesa. I’ve been trying to figure out why he’s so different from your other white horses.”

“He’s High Rock bred,” Clesa answered, running her hand affectionately along the stallion’s arched neck. “I brought him down to improve my bloodlines.”

I noticed that Clesa herself was dressed for riding, in leather breeches and high-topped boots. Drying sand was splattered along her calves, matching the same on Blanco’s belly. “I’m sorry, you were riding him just now?”

“I have to,” Clesa responded. “He’s highly trained, and needs to be ridden nearly every day. I take him down to the beach and put him through the movements. He loves it, and it gives him a chance to blow off excess energy.”

“Excess energy!” Ernest grumped as he returned to Blanco, brush and curry in hand. He met my gaze and grinned. “Hello, Julian!”

“You have to admit that he doesn’t just stare dumbly at you, Ernest,” I teased him. The scowl returned and he growled at Blanco. The stallion flipped his head as if agreeing with me. Again he nudged my arms with his muzzle. Finally I dared to pet him, rubbing his chiseled nose the way I always did with Paint. “I’m sorry, Blanco, if I’d known you would come up to me, I would have come with an apple for you. Next time,” I promised him.

“I heard you had a Wildeye paint,” Clesa said to me. “So you finally got yourself a horse?”

“He was on loan,” I responded, as Ernest vigorously rubbed the curry in circular motions along Blanco’s side. “But we encountered a will o’wisp in Blackwood, and he became very ill.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that!” Clesa exclaimed sympathetically. “Of course you can’t ride him anymore, correct?”

“He’s getting stronger,” I answered, “but I had to leave him behind near the Imperial City.”

“Not with gra-Bura!” Clesa exclaimed.

“Why not?” Ernest grumbled under his breath. “She understands the real value of horses!”

“Oh, shush, Ernest!” Clesa retorted. I laughed softly. Blanco tipped his ears at me, his black eyes sparkling. I swear he’s laughing too.

“No, I left him with Aelwin Merowald, a fisherman in Weye.” I rubbed Blanco’s nose again. “They love each other, and Merowald promised me he would get Paint better. But I think Paint’s days of wandering Cyrodiil are over.”

“That’s too bad,” Clesa’s eyes sobered. “At least he’s happy, isn’t he?”

I thought again of Paint gazing after me as I walked away from him. I managed to swallow the sadness choking my throat. “I hope so, ma’am.”

“Well,” I gave Blanco a final pat and moved back. He stepped forward and put his head over the fence. “I must be going, Clesa, Ernest. Next time I’ll stop by with an apple for Blanco if that’s all right with you.”

“Certainly!” Clesa smiled at me, a calculating light in her eyes. I turned away and started up the Gold Road.

****************
A/N While the horses in-game are quite well rendered for video games, and very realistic in their gaits and scripted actions, my vision of Blanco is more - well, vivid. So to give you an idea of his personality and his energy, I found images taken of a real-life Lippizzaner stallion that is a dead ringer for Blanco.

Another character, and Blanco certainly is one. You managed to give him a real personality in quite a short space, are we seeing her next horse? If he's there to improve bloodlines it seems unlikely but maybe... Can't say I know much about horses so I'll assume all the description were desirable properties in a horse.


Most of them? Other than Skingrad and possibly Leyawin they're all covering someone's incompetance.

Now I suspect things are about to go badly for a certain rouge mage...

A nit?
Carahil looked up from her studying at my arrival. - a small thing but seeing as it's the first sentence 'study' might be smoother as the noun here, unless it's a dialect thing.

Well, Carahil is indeed putting Julian's skills to good use. That blasted battlemage won't be giving anyone the cold shoulder for much longer (bad joke intended).

As does a certain Khajiit whom you've quoted, dear Hautee.

Now that is one beautiful stallion! I'm envious of Julian now, I want to meet him!

Nit?

This sentence came off as clunky to me. Perhaps it would flow a bit better if you dropped one of the conjugations of "tolerate?"

I only meant the Sirens as a joke, as that farm is where they meet you.

“That’s almost enough to buy the old Benirus manor from young Velwyn!” she exclaimed. “He’s been trying to sell it for the past year!”
Speaking of old ghosts...

“She understands the real value of horses!”
Horseburgers!

So Julian is at her latest fetch and carry mission for the Mages Guild. Or this time, a fetch and kill mission.

As Olen said, you breathed quite a bit of life into the playful stallion. Although it seems unlikely that Julian will wind up buying him, as Clesa said that she brought him all the way from Vienna, Austria High Rock to breed her stock. So it is doubtful she would part with him.

Ah, dealing with ye' olde rogue mages. Giving run-of-the-mill mages a bad name since the First Era!

I particularly liked how Julian was steered towards the acquisition of Benirus Manor with her earnings, instead of taking up residence in Gweden Farm on account of the "haunting" and spirits that seem to be there. Everybody knows Benirus Manor is a far better choice for those looking to avoid performing an Exorcism. By Fire!

Hm, I wonder if I can trademark that. "Exorcisms By Fire! Guaranteed to leave you free of any possibility of a haunting for a given structure!" 'Course, my rates would depend on fuel and napalm costs...

Now you are making me think of Ghostbusters:
"Let's split up."
"Yeah, we can do more damage that way."

Another great episode with Carahil. I think she is right. This is a recommendation quest that really does matter and mean something. I think she chose wisely in asking Julian to help. Another of my very favorite mages is Arielle Jurard. I look forward to meeting her.

Yay! We meet Blanco! I'm betting I can guess where Julian's pension is gonna go.

“Why would I buy it when I have an equally dilapidated farm to restore?” I retorted mildly, smiling to take the sting out of my words. “Besides, the view is so much better from the homestead!”
I was so disappointed in the game to find I couldn’t go back into that farmhouse!! May the restorations go smoothly.

Blanco, wow!
Clesa smiled at me, a calculating light in her eyes.
A time share horse?

Unless he suddenly went sterile. Julian, (being good at alchemy) could tiptoe out in the night and slip some Salt Peter in his oats. Then, after Clesa sells Blanco to Julian ... Julian stops doing it. The stud is back, and Julian can sell his "services" to fund her adventuring after the Oblivion Crisis is over ... Later on she can buy a mare and sell the foals .... Oh! Er ... did I say that?

@Olen: Yes, I assure you, all the conformation traits Julian spotted in Blanco are desirable, especially in a saddle horse. As for ‘study’ vs. ‘studying’, it may be a Midwestern dialect here. We often complain that we’ve ‘got so much studying to do to pass this course!’ So that’s what I went with.

@TK: I would normally not write a sentence like the one you pointed out, but as many people in conversation don’t edit themselves, and this is part of Carahil’s dialogue, I decided to leave it be. And I’m a bit envious of Clesa too. That Blanco is something else! I actually modeled his behavior after a Morgan stallion I knew that was full of mischief.

@SubRosa: I’m not really certain that Gweden Farm is actually haunted the way Benirus Manor is. I think it’s called ‘haunted’ mainly because of the deaths that occurred there thirty years ago. I’m glad you enjoyed Blanco too.

@Cap’n H: Why do I have Robert Duvall taking a deep breath and exclaiming “God! I love the smell of napalm in the morning!” going through my head since reading your comment? As for Benirus Manor, it’s just not Julian’s style.

@Acadian: I agree that this recommendation is the only one with the Guild’s welfare in mind, not the personal tush of the chapter head involved. And you might win that bet!

@Grits: I stand with you in your disappointment in being unable to go back into that house. That alone is one reason I’m considering installing a second hard drive in my Intel Mac, putting Windows 7 on it, and buying the PC version of the game. I’d love to be able to tinker with Gweden Farm and make it Julian’s farm! Restorations will have to wait, though. Julian’s got to save Nirn and get an education, in that order, first! As for Blanco, I don’t think you’re so far off the mark there --

@mALX: Ah, no.

I really struggled with this quest. After all, according to the script, success hinges on the PC being anonymous to other members of the Mages Guild. Yet Julian has quite the reputation by now. How can she maintain anonymity with that white hair, height and grey-green eyes? I ended up borrowing a little from Robert Ludlum, John LeCarre, et. al.

******************************
Chapter 23.8: Brina Cross Inn

“Hail, Hero of Kvatch!” The barkeep greeted me when I entered. I nodded sheepishly at him and scanned the common room. A Breton woman and an Imperial man sat together at a table near the counter, murmuring softly between themselves. An aged Altmer woman, resplendent in blue velvet, turned from holding her hands over the fire to regard me. Next to her, I recognized Pollus seated by the fire and nursing a tankard of ale.

The Breton woman looked up from her conversation, then nodded at her companion. She stood up and approached me. “Hello, friend!” she greeted me. Though her voice was light and airy, and her youthful face seemed welcoming enough, I caught the hard look of a warrior in her brown eyes. Arielle Jurard? “I take it you are Julian of Anvil?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” I responded. She leaned slightly toward me and whispered, “Carahil sent you, didn’t she?” She saw something in my gaze and straightened up. “I’m glad you’re here, Julian!” She resumed her normal voice. “We’ve been in need of an escort. Are you headed east along the road by any chance?”

Arielle Jurard. She’s trying to tell me something. I decided to play along. “Yes, ma’am.”

“We’d like to pay you to accompany us as far as Skingrad,” the Breton woman continued, as the Imperial man joined her to stand before me. “I’m Arielle Jurard, and this is my partner Roliand Hanus. We’re merchants with gems intended for the Skingrad court.”

“We’re prepared to pay you five septims for your work,” Hanus volunteered.

“When do you wish to leave?” I asked, still playing along. Undercover? As myself? Unless I change my hair color, it’s now impossible to go unrecognized.

“In the morning, an hour past dawn,” Jurard responded. “Will you escort us?”

“Yes, I will,” I answered. Jurard smiled brightly, but that hard edge still remained in her eyes.

“Excellent! Rent a room from Christophe tonight, get some rest! We’ll pay for your dinner and drinks if you’ll join us!”

“Let me get the room first,” I said. “I’ll be with you in a moment.” As the pair returned to their seats, I caught the assessing regard from the Altmer woman. Pollus regarded me thoughtfully over his tankard. I nodded once at him in greeting, surreptitiously sending the military signal to hold position. His eyes returned to his ale in acknowledgement.

Christophe smiled at me when I approached the bar. “What will you have, friend? Food? Drink? A bed for the night?”

“Whatever’s on the fire for dinner,” I answered, “anything hot to drink that’s not alcoholic, and a bed.”

“That’ll be thirteen drakes,” Christophe said. I counted out the coins and laid them on the counter between us.

He swept them off into his hand and pocketed the money. “Terrific!” he turned for the big soup pot simmering behind him. “It’s ham stew with peas and carrots,” he continued over his shoulder as he ladled something steaming into a wooden bowl. “And would hot spiced cider be good for you? Otherwise I’ve got klah.”

“Cider’s fine,” I accepted the bowl and pewter spoon from Christophe. He wiped a pewter tumbler with a towel and set it on the counter before me.

“You’re going to escort those two merchants?” he asked as he poured the cider. I nodded. “We used to get a lot of merchants through here, but that was before the deaths started occurring. And when those two Oblivion Gates opened, I’ve hardly had any business at all!”

“Deaths?” I repeated when he set the pitcher down.

Christophe straightened up. “I don’t like to talk about them, it’s bad for business.” He placed a key next to the bowl. “Here’s your room key. It’s upstairs, last door on the right.”

“Thank you, sir,” I pocketed the key and collected the meal. The Altmer woman slowly and gingerly approached the table as I joined my new comrades.

“Did I hear you’re merchants?” she asked Jurard. “On the way to Skingrad?”

“Now we are!” Jurard’s voice took on a brittle brightness. “Now that we have a proper escort!” I glanced at her as I took the first mouthful of stew. I’m a proper escort? Why do I get the feeling that it’s going to be you protecting me, rather than the other way around?

“Aren’t you worried?” the Altmer asked, sliding a cool glance at me. My right hand twitched with longing to reach for Daedra Slayer at my hip, but I kept it on the table. Easy Julian, she’s just an old woman. “I’d be scared, if I were you,” she continued, her gaze flickering at Hanus before returning to Jurard. “What with all the recent deaths lately, I’ve been too terrified to leave the inn!”

“That’s why we waited for an escort,” Jurard nodded pleasantly at me. “I’m certain the Hero of Kvatch will be more than a match for what awaits us down the road!”

The stooping woman turned to me. “Do you know magic, Hero of Kvatch?”

“Julian of Anvil, and I know little restoration,” I chose to ignore the sarcasm I could hear in her voice. “I’ve always relied on my Legion training. It’s gotten me this far, ma’am.”

“Well, let’s hope it continues to serve you well, Hero!” the Altmer’s concern rang false. “I hear those killings have not been by blade or bow, but rather by magic!”

“Like half the daedra I’ve faced in the Deadlands,” I mumbled to myself. The Altmer drew in her breath sharply, then smiled broadly, her deeply lined face crinkling further.

“You’re right, of course! Well, it’s late, and I’m off to bed. Take care, all of you,” she included Jurard and Hanus in her well-wishes. “I’d hate to hear of more senseless deaths!” She turned and walked with care toward the stairs that led past the entry to the second floor.

“That’s Caminalda,” Jurard said to me. “She’s been staying here for the last several weeks. Typical stuck up Altmer.”

“I’ve met more nice Altmeri than stuck up ones,” I remarked, glancing over my shoulder to see the last vestige of blue velvet disappear around the corner. “But Caminalda certainly fits the stereotype.”

Hanus chuckled into his tumbler. “You got that right, ma’am,” he mumbled.

“Did you get the room?” Jurard asked. I nodded silently. She laid a few coins on the table and pushed them across to me. “That’s for the food and drink, as well as the room. Do you have a map?” Now she lowered her voice. “When Carahil sent a message that she had someone coming to aid us, someone new to the guild, we thought we could have that person masquerade as a merchant, and we would ambush the mage. But since it’s you -“

“You’re too recognizable,” Hanus added softly as I drew my map from my belt pouch. “No one would believe it if you claimed to be a merchant.”

“I’m sorry,” we put our heads together over the map in an appearance of consulting on the route for the morrow. “But it seems to me that you made a rather effective change of plans. Any idea who the mage might be?”

Jurard shook her head. “It could be anyone from that Legion soldier,” she nodded at Pollus still nursing his ale next to the fire, “to Christophe, even the stableboy!” She regarded me thoughtfully. “But with you as escort, we can still ambush him.”

“You might be escorting me instead of the other way around!” I whispered softly into my stew. Jurard chuckled, that hard edge in her eyes softening a little.

“You didn’t join the Mages Guild for a joke, I don’t think,” she responded softly. “I’ve heard stories of your summons. I believe you can now call up a flame atronach?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I matched her quiet tone. “She’s saved my keister more than a few times.” I shook my head. “But I’m still slow to cast spells. It’s not second nature to me yet, not like my blade is.”

“Then it should be good practice for you tomorrow,” Jurard smiled at me. “And I believe that’s a fire enchantment on that blade of yours?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is,” I nodded. “It should give me the slightest edge against that mage.”

“Don’t underestimate the effectiveness of an enchanted weapon,” Hanus advised me.

“Well, that’s it for now,” Jurard leaned back, resuming a normal tone. “We’ll start out an hour after dawn tomorrow. Till then, sleep well!”

“Thanks,” I replied as the pair rose from the table and headed away. As they disappeared upstairs, Pollus rose ponderously from his seat and walked over to me with a soft clanking of his plate.

“Hello, Julian,” he greeted me quietly. “I see you’re working.”

“A job for the Mages Guild,” I answered. “More than that I can’t say. Sorry.” I waved at the seat just vacated by Hanus. “But I thought you were going to return to your patrol?”

“Soon,” he nodded. “My captain wants me to hang around until that rogue mage has been caught.” His gaze sharpened on me. “I presume it’s not you, Julian.”

I smiled and shook my head. “I’m certain it’s not you, either, Pollus.”

Clever, I always thought sending a hero to be disguised as a merchant was silly, but this works. Though Caminalda would still be a bit of an idiot knowing that someone who shut so many oblivion gates is accompanying the merchants, but then she is fairly arrogant.

The parting lines with Pollus were good, more tying the world together and making the whole setting a single entity.

Very clever flip-flop on that quest, and quite logical, too!

Caminalda has got a very rough day ahead of her tomorrow, perhaps even her last. If she had any sense about what she was getting into (knowing that the Hero of Kvatch, Anvil, Skingrad, The Inn of Ill Omen, etc.) it would probably be in her best interest to scoot her overlarge ego out that door and never return. But considering she is a "typical stuck up Altmer" going against a Redguard (whom most consider magic to be a sign of weakness), that is highly doubtful.

Give her soul to Oblivion, Julian! Let that ice queen never harm another soul again!

I'm left a bit confused as to how you're going to explain what Arielle and Roliand were posing as before they revealed themselves as merchants. One assumes it's a new idea, or they could have just tried it on their own before. Hopefully they'll tell us after the next day's events have taken place.

Caminalda's inquiry about Julian's magic skills is a nice touch, especially with the answer implying that she has little defense against frost, (fire and shock being the choices of the Deadlands foes).

Undercover? As myself?
Brilliant!

Julian of Anvil, and I know little restoration,
Not to mention a bit of everything else as well! I think our rogue mage is going to be a little surprised when the mule she thinks she's attacking turns out to be a battle-mage!

I smiled and shook my head. “I’m certain it’s not you, either, Pollus.”
This was just a perfect way to end the scene!

Hmm, I see Arielle's dilemma. Expecting some newbie and the Hero of Kvatch walks in! Very quick thinking by Arielle in adjusting her plan. I hadn't really thought about it before, but I can see the challenge this quest created for you. Fine job adjusting it to fit!

Because Napalm is like an applied version of Wizard's Fury, for those less gifted in the magical arts. It's my second favorite spell in the game (right after the Supreme Magicka mod's version of Finger of the Mountain).

And yes, Wizard's Fury does smell like victory. Particularly since it can kill a maxed-level Storm Atronach, who happens to be immune to my awesome lightning spells. Annoying buggers. They don't even have the loot drops that you can get off a Valkynaz...

Where was I? Oh, right, your installment. Ahem.

<Insert Generic Praise Words Here> for your handling of Julian's fame. Add my remarks to <Insert Other Applicable Board Member> that thought it was a good idea. <Paraphrase Another, Better-Written Comment Stream About Appropriate Change in Story to Account for Mediocre Game-Mechanics in This Space>.


Well duh, she has an alibi.


Julian, as a retired pilus prior should know by now that when you "assume", you make an "@**" outta "u" and "me." Pollus has not given us his alibi. I'd like to have that noted for the record.

@Olen: Yes, I wanted to highlight the fact that Caminalda actually fits the Altmer stereotype. If our friend Destri is reading this, he would have picked up on the racism - Redguards are ineffective mages. And why shouldn’t Julian see Pollus again, especially as in game he’s always there!

@TK: That quest only makes sense if it’s the very first thing you do right out of the sewers with no fame points at all.

@ghastley: You raise a good point about what the two battlemages were doing before Julian's arrival at the inn. Hopefully the next segment will address that to your satisfaction.

@SubRosa: The undercover comment you pointed out is something I learned from reading too many spy novels. A famous person attracts more attention than your average Joe Blow. That can be used to advantage, as we will see.

@Acadian: Yes, that Arielle thinks really fast on her feet.

@Cap’n H: Well, Pollus does have an alibi - up until a few days before, he had been with his legion cohort elsewhere, and Julian knows this. The rogue mage has been a problem since the summer. The time line just doesn’t fit.

The one thing that drove me batty about this quest is that damned legionary standing watch next to the dead horse. He always butts in. He always ends up killing Arielle and Roliand. Always. Then I figured out to lure Caminalda off the road into the brush before letting her talk to me. But this is fan fic, so it’s a little different.

***************************************
Chapter 23.9: The Rogue Mage

We said little to each other as we gathered in the commons. Other than Jurard, Hanus and myself, only Christophe was present. Sleepily he fed us a cold breakfast of bread, cheese and fruit, along with generous portions of hot klah. We made quick work of his labors and headed out.

The sun gleamed ruby through a misty sky as we stepped through the gate onto the path. I walked in the lead, befitting an escort on the road. The two battlemages trailed behind. All of us scanned the brush and rocks tumbled along the sides of the road, Jurard and Hanus more covertly than I. I kept my right hand on the hilt of Daedra Slayer, ready to draw. In my left I cupped one of Carahil’s frost shield scrolls in my palm.

Reaching the Gold Road, I paused and glanced up and down the way. There were no sign of any one else, not even a skittish deer. Larks sang overhead, their lilting melody punctuated by the rough caw of a raven somewhere in the trees ahead. I turned and walked east. Around us, the light grew brighter and less roseate. The mist drew away, until it covered only the distant sea far to the south.

The sun warmed the night chill out of the air and dried the heavy dew from the foliage lining the cobblestones of the road. Jurard and Hanus slowed their pace until they were several strides behind me. I glanced back once, and they nodded at me, walking shoulder to shoulder like good merchants.

I could see the torn up cobblestones ahead where Pollus and I had dragged the dead horse off the road. A rustling in the forsythia to my left alerted me and I stopped. Daedra Slayer’s blade flickered in the sun as I drew the weapon.

Caminalda appeared from the brush, walking unhurriedly toward me. The strong morning sunlight shone unforgiving on the deep wrinkles in her face, yet her movements were strong and steady, not hesitant and frail as they had been last night. Caminalda’s the rogue? She is certainly not moving like an old woman anymore. I kept my eyes on her face as I lowered the tip of my sword slightly toward the cobblestones.

In the corner of my eye, I saw Jurard and Hanus halt a couple of strides away. I clutched the scroll tighter in my left hand while Caminalda stopped before me. Her gaze moved over me scornfully, then glanced at the pair of disguised battlemages. “I’m afraid your journey ends here, travelers,” her left hand darted toward me. I dodged the green spell she tossed at me and struck her with the flat of Daedra Slayer. Her eyes widened as fire licked along her hip and wrapped around her slender waist.

I backed away and shook out the scroll, lifting it up to read the words on it. “Ha’la su’jat’a!” White energy consumed the scroll and swirled around me just as Caminalda flung a gold-tinged spell at me. I staggered and fell to one knee, Daedra Slayer dragging my right arm down, the weight of the immense sky above pressing me into the hard cobblestones. With tremendous effort that hurt my neck I looked up in time to see her step toward me, triumph on her face as she raised her hand for the killing spell.

A Dremora lord materialized from sulfurous smoke behind her, mace rising high. Footsteps to my left alerted me to the running approach of Jurard, a short sword in hand. Some part of me wondered how she had hidden the weapon beneath her civilian clothing. Caminalda spun to face the Breton battlemage in time to duck the falling mace from the Dremora. Her eyes widened in the realization that she had been entrapped, then she scowled and summoned a flame atronach.

Paralyzed by the weight of being, I could only watch as the two battlemages furiously traded spells with the aged Altmer. In spite of her advanced years, or perhaps because of them, Caminalda proved to be formidable against the two. Still Jurard and Hanus managed to drive her away from me.

A shout drew my attention west just as the burden spell wore off. Clattering plate warned me of a legionary’s approach, and I staggered to my feet. Pollus ran past me and charged Hanus, the nearer of the two battlemages. The Legion sword bounced off Hanus’s magical shields, but the force of the strike staggered the mage. I darted forward and seized Pollus by the pauldron, barely managing to yank him back before he could strike the Imperial again.

“They’re attacking an unarmed woman!” Pollus shouted at me, breaking free of my grip. I ran around to block his advance, locking gazes with him.

“Caminalda’s the rogue mage!” I matched his battle tone, placing my left hand flat on his chestplate and shoving him back. “The others are Mages Guild!”

Pollus stared at me as the magical battle raged furiously beyond. “Are you certain, Julian?”

“Caminalda attacked me,” I stepped forward, trying to increase the distance between Pollus and the mages. “And I’m Mages Guild, too! Carahil sent us!”

The sudden silence behind me drew my head around. Hanus knelt on one knee, blood dripping down his left thigh onto the cobblestones. Jurard was still standing, but the skin on the right side of her face was blue with frost burn, and she was visibly shaking. At her feet, I spotted the blue velvet of Caminalda sprawled motionless in the road.

I turned away from Pollus and moved to Hanus. “Let me see,” I said to him. He grunted when I traced the blood to a parallel set of gashes in his left side, his linen shirt fluttering with every ragged breath he drew. Someone’s clannfear. I placed my hand over the wound and concentrated. Energy passed from me to him, and the gashes closed beneath my fingers.

“Thanks, Julian,” Hanus gasped as he staggered to his feet. I glanced over at Jurard. A quick peek at my magicka indicated I still had enough for another convalescence spell. I moved to her side and gently touched her face. Another surge of the healing energy restored color to her face and stilled her shivering.

Pollus, his weapon sheathed, shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir,” he addressed Hanus. “I thought you were attacking the old lady.”

“That’s all right,” Hanus answered. “Until we knew who the rogue mage was, Julian was the only one we could trust with our mission.” He knelt beside the Altmer’s body. “But Caminalda revealed herself, and things happened too fast for us to explain to you, sir.”

“But Julian did,” Jurard smiled up at me. “And for that, we are grateful. Legionaries are formidable opponents, even without magic!” She nodded respectfully at Pollus.

“I never thought old Caminalda was the rogue mage,” Pollus exclaimed as Hanus searched the body. “She told me she was traveling to Anvil to see a friend.” He glanced from battlemage to battlemage. “How long had you been watching her?”

“Not Caminalda in particular,” Jurard responded. “We’ve been here since before the Gate opened outside Anvil. Hanus and I spent a few weeks searching the surrounding countryside in case the mage was hiding out there between attacks. We found nothing, so earlier in the week we set up here and started observing everyone.” She shook her head. “Not once did Caminalda let on that she could move like this.”

“She may be old,” Hanus remarked. “But she has years of experience behind her. That makes a big difference.”

I turned to Pollus. “Did you follow us, sir?”

He nodded. “I was concerned about you facing that mage on your own, Julian. I’m certain you don’t have that much magicka to go fighting spell-to-spell with a wizard, and you’re unarmored.”

I looked down at my plain linens. “I see, Pollus. To tell the truth, I’m touched by your concern.”

The legionary turned back to Jurard. “Forgive me, ma’am. I didn’t think you would be able to help Julian, that’s why I followed you. I never thought you’d be battlemages yourselves!”

Jurard chuckled. “We certainly don’t look the part, do we?” She nodded at Hanus. “That was the point. Julian was supposed to draw out the mage. Once he - no, she identified herself as our target, it was our job to take over.” She looked down at the body sprawled at her feet. “Though I admit this one did a better job hiding her true nature than we did!”

“She certainly played up the part of the stuck-up Altmer,” I added. “Fitting the stereotype makes it easy for folks to brush her off as just another one of those.”

Hanus searched the Altmer’s pockets. Recovering a small amount of gold, he held them out to me. “Here, take it, treat yourself to something.”

I shook my head. “No, I’ve got plenty more of that back in Anvil. You two did all the work, you’ve earned something nice.”

“We will, then,” Hanus pocketed the coins and returned to his search of the corpse. “Here’s the key to her room. We’ll search it, and give this back to Christophe when we’re done. Hopefully there’ll be something left that we can send along to the families of the victims.”

“Aye, that’ll be a good thing to do,” Pollus agreed gruffly. “And now the Gold Road’s safe again.” He nodded at me.

“And you can go back to your post, Pollus,” I added with a smile. “Report to your captain with all your duties fulfilled.”

Jurard turned to me. “Julian, will you report our success to Carahil? We need to clean this mess up and tie up loose ends. You’ve done well.”

“Of course, I will,” I answered. “I just have to stop by Brina Cross and get an apple from Christophe.”

“An apple?” Jurard’s brows rose.

“A promise I made before I came here.” I smiled at the thought of meeting that white stallion again. Will he still like me?

Paralyzed by the weight of being is a beautiful description for a burden spell.

I love how the magical battle was fast and furious and largely unseen. The damage afterward tells us what happened. Pollus attacking a battlemage makes a lot of sense, since they’re not in uniform. This quest is so prone to screw-ups!

The sun gleamed ruby through a misty sky
This is a wonderful way of describing the morning.

Larks sang overhead
The Fifth Legion sang overhead? Sorry, whenever I see the word Larks, I think of the Fifth Alaudae Legion...

That was a good battle, showing one of the oft-unappreciated spells in ES, the lowly Burden. I use a mod that increases the carryweight of people, so it is useless in my game. Hmm, I looked it up, and even in the vanilla game it is not much use. Drain Strength gives you more bang for the buck.

I also liked the legionary's intervention, on the wrong side! His logic was faultless though. Who would not jump to the same conclusion?

I smiled at the thought of meeting that white stallion again
She is going to meet Pappy? She needs to head to Bravil for that!

That all rings true from the times I've played it. Everyone summons something, and it's total confusion as to which side the summoned creatures are on. Especially when the summons are firing spells, the actors are firing spells, and everybody's half-hidden by the long grass.

And all loose ends wrapped up nicely. You've rescued a broken quest and made it quite believable.

Interestingly this has never happened to me, and I've played the vanilla game a couple of times. I can see that would be annoying though, especially on the xbox where the console can't sort glitches.

I liked the description of burden, it's much more fic friendly than in game (where I find it doesn't really work), it was a good way to get Julian out the way and then have her in the right place. Her healing the mages at the end was a good touch too, it shows how far she's come on in magic that she can be doing that now.

Now back to Carahil who as I recall will be rather less elated that the rogue mage is dead...

A nice adaptation of the Anvil guild recommendation quest to fit Julian's story.

'I could see the torn up cobblestones ahead where Pollus and I had dragged the dead horse off the road.'
This was nice because it firmly set the location, reminded of who Pollus was and tied nicely back to a previous chapter.

'A Dremora lord materialized from sulfurous smoke behind her, mace rising high. Footsteps to my left alerted me to the running approach of Jurard, a short sword in hand. Some part of me wondered how she had hidden the weapon beneath her civilian clothing.'
Oh, I know! From the same place she pulled that Dremora lord!

Very nice, tense fight scene here.

Crushingly effective description!

Argh! Don't let mALX see that, it'll just lead to more spear-polishing speculation!

Nice touch with Pollus coming in confused as to who's on what side of the fight, too. A neat little nod at the now rather famous bug in-game that resulted in passing Legion soldiers thinking that your Battlemage escort assaulted Caminalda, and not the other way around (as it was in reality).

Nit?
I understand you are at complete liberty to change things up between the game and the story, but isn't Alteration magic (which Burden belongs to) supposed to be a sort of golden-white? Green is Illusion.

I suspect a combination of a short Paralysis (for the knockdown effect) with a Burden that lasts longer and keeps the victim down. I forget what one is used when multiple schools are mixed. Is the first or the strongest?

Burden alone seems to just lock one in place, rather than make its target drop.

Well, wouldn't you fall to your knees if you had the rough equivalent of two giant bags of onions suddenly appear on your shoulders, without warning? That weight would be quite paralyzing on its own. This is especially so in this story, where I believe Rider is trying to communicate exactly what it would feel like for someone to become dramatically over-encumbered. It does a lot more than just root the person to one spot. Having such weight placed on your shoulders with such suddenness can send you to the floor easily enough without the aid of paralysis.

How would you react if I went and dropped a 100lb dumbbell onto your shoulders without you knowing it? It most definitely would not simply prevent you from moving, it would send you to the ground in a heap. Weight on its own is quite paralyzing enough. Caminalda also strikes me as one intelligent enough to know this, and would see the need to add a paralysis spell to the burden as redundant and wasteful.

That's why I pointed that out.

@Grits: That phrase you quoted was a momentary flash of inspiration. I’m glad you noticed it!

@SubRosa: I figured Pollus would not notice how well Caminalda moved after seeing her creak and stoop her way around the inn for at least a couple of days. When I played this quest prior to writing it, Caminalda used something that wasn’t Frost Damage. My PC dodged it, but it left me wondering what the heck that was. So I thought why not have Caminalda use something other than Frost Damage, especially after she hears Julian recite the Frost Shield spell? She was the perfect opportunity to demonstrate the unpredictability of mages.

@ghastley: I’m glad you liked how I fixed this quest, and how I made sense out of the things that confused you before.

@Olen: You’ve been lucky! Actually, it only happens if you have the MQ advanced far enough for the dead horse and that OG to show up (after the Dagon Shrine quest, I think). It’s one of the regular Gates that always open, like the ones outside each town. I’ve done the MG questline before advancing the MQ that far, and no, the legionary isn’t there when you do the Anvil MG recommendation. If I recall correctly, you’re one of those folks who usually don’t play the MQ, so it makes sense that you don’t have that problem. And yes, Julian’s restoration skills have advanced a great deal since the early days. She can now cast convalescence twice in a row? Boy, I remember when just once left her depleted of enough magicka for anything more than a simple flare spell!

@Acadian: Thanks Acadian for telling us how Jurard came up with that short sword! You can tell that Julian and I are still stuck in melee fighter mode.

@TK: Thanks for bringing up the spell. It was something I thought up as the most effective way for Caminalda to neutralize Julian without killing her outright (as befits a sadist). I couldn’t remember what color the burden spells are, so I imagined green. But you are likely right, and I’ve fixed the spell color to make it more accurate. Still, I appreciate the discussion you and ghastley had about the spell. I had envisioned a simple Burden spell, and the weight of Julian’s sword dragging her down. Now granted she was traveling light, but I wanted something dramatic. It is likely that Caminalda has the skill and the experience to come up with the kind of custom spell ghastley described. However, Julian (and I) are not well-versed enough in the ways of magic to be able to analyze a spell beyond its immediate effects. So I’d say both of you are right. Thanks for educating me (and Julian) on that spell!

The Anvil recommendation successfully completed, Julian is on her way back to the Mages Guild. But she has a stop to make first.

**********************
Chapter 23.10: A Promise Kept

This time when I returned to the Horse Whisperer, the courtyard was empty. Only Ernest was visible, raking the packed dirt clean of droppings. He looked up when I stopped by the fence. “Hullo, Julian,” he greeted me. “Looking for Clesa?”

“Actually, I was going to keep the promise I made Blanco,” I answered.

“Clesa’s riding him down on the shoreline,” he leaned on his pitchfork. “Head straight west from here, you’ll see them. She’s been working him almost every day there.”

That explains the sand I saw on the two of them yesterday, I thought. “Thanks, Ernest.”

He grunted as he bent back to his task. “Don’t get why you’re so interested in that horse, Julian.”

“Because he’s not ripe, stiff and silent,” I teased him before turning for the sea. Ernest only growled at me as I walked along the fence. Past the stables, I struck my way across the rolling hills of amber seagrass that waved down to the seashore. It’s still warm here, I mused to myself. Not cool like it is in the highlands. Winter will likely be mild along the coast. I missed these warm winters, a welcome relief from the baking summers typical of the Gold Coast.

I squinted up at the mid-afternoon sun as I walked along. I’ll give Blanco the apple I promised him, then get my gear from Morvayn’s, pay him what I owe for the repairs. I’ll head up to the farm after I report to Carahil, just to see what needs to be done. Again the walnut of grief closed off my throat, again I swallowed it down. I must get it over with. Anticipation is always worse than the reality.

Reaching the top of the last hill before the sea, I paused to look along the waterline. The strip of white sand separating the seagrass from the blue water shimmered brilliantly in the sunshine. Now why am I looking for Blanco? Why did I make him that promise in the first place? It’s not like I want another horse! But I do - the realization hit me. I miss Paint. I miss having his company on the road. And Blanco seems to have the same kind of personality as Paint. But he’s a stallion. Stallions can be hard to manage, especially around mares.

I recalled how Red constantly jibbed at Jauffre’s hands during the ride from Weynon Priory to Cloud Ruler Temple, how he quickly wore himself out prancing instead of walking sedately along like Paint and Jasmine. But Jauffre didn’t seem to mind riding him. In fact, I think he rather enjoyed it. But the prancing can’t be comfortable to sit! I remembered how Paint had nearly lost me the few times he decided to bounce instead of ambling along. I thought back to all the war-mounts I had seen through my years in the Legion. They were mostly geldings, though some of the legates also had stallions they rode in parade review. But in combat, they used geldings. How can I sit a stallion during combat?

I shook myself. Enough daydreaming about a white stallion, Julian. Find yourself another sturdy paint nimble-footed enough to climb the mountains with you.

But Blanco is from High Rock, and that’s mountain country, too. But he’s probably too much horse for me.

Below, the sun shimmered off a white form gliding along the sand. I recognized Clesa’s slim form on the horse’s back. I took a few moments to watch Blanco move. He had a long-striding trot that covered a lot of ground between footfalls. It was so graceful he seemed to float just above the sand. He held his head vertically, his beautiful neck arching high out of his shoulders. His back was so short the saddle seemed to be sitting on his rump. His tail swayed behind him, resembling the breakers chasing him along the sand.

I realized I had been standing frozen to the spot when Blanco slowed to a stop, apparently of his own volition, and Clesa looked up in my direction. She waved, her teeth flashing brilliantly in her dark face. His ears up, Blanco turned off the sand and began walking loosely through the seagrass toward me.

I dug into my belt purse for the apple as they drew near. “Hello Julian!” Clesa called as soon as they were within earshot. “Come to see Blanco again?”

“Yes, and I brought him an apple, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course!” Clesa exclaimed as Blanco stopped before me. His lips quivered and his nostrils fluttered as he eyed the fruit in my hand. Clesa released the reins, flung her right leg over his neck and slid to the ground. Almost immediately Blanco lowered his muzzle to my hand, but he didn’t take the apple just yet.

“You have to give him permission first,” Clesa said to me.

“I’ll bite it into smaller pieces, then,” I proceeded to do so. He took the first bite from my hand with as much delicacy as Sparky did with his tiny hands.

“He really likes you, Julian,” Clesa sounded pleased as Blanco waited for his next bite, happily crunching the hard flesh.

“You mean he’s not like this with everyone?” I asked.

“No, he’s normally very reserved with strangers,” Clesa answered. “It took him a while to warm up to me, and here he’s cottoning to you more than he has with me.”

“What about Ernest?” I glanced at the ostler. “Seems to me that they get along well.”

Clesa chuckled. “Blanco loves to tease Ernest. I keep telling Ernest to stop being so cranky, it only makes Blanco pick on him more. He just doesn’t get it.”

“You said he’s from High Rock?” I asked Clesa as we worked slowly through the apple. “Why did you import a horse so far?”

“Horses from High Rock are much like the Wildeye Paints of Bruma,” Clesa answered. “Tough, sound, easy keeping horses with a lot of sensibility and a great deal of endurance. They are ideal for long distance riding over rough terrain. I like their intelligence and their spirit.” She ran her dark hand along his near foreleg, wrapping her fingers around his lower leg. I noticed her long fingers didn’t quite meet her thumb. “They’ve got a lot more bone than my own bloodlines, which makes for sounder horses that can take a lot of hard use.”

“And he doesn’t stare dumbly at you, either.” I recalled what I had said to Ernest yesterday.

Again Clesa laughed. “And that drives Ernest crazy!” She slapped Blanco fondly on his arched neck.

“Isn’t he hard to handle when you ride him?” I noticed that Clesa wore no spurs, nor did she carry a whip, as I had often seen with Legion officers.

“Not at all,” Clesa shook her head. “He’s very highly trained, he knows how to behave himself. Blanco’s so sensitive he knows what I’m thinking before I figure it out!”

“How old is he?”

“Eleven this past spring,” Clesa watched as I gave Blanco the last piece of apple.

“That’s past his prime, isn’t it?” I thought of seventeen-year-old Paint.

“No, he’s just hitting his stride now,” Clesa answered. “That’s the other thing about Renoir’s bloodlines. They mature slowly, and live a long time. Thirty years is not unusual for these animals. By comparison, the Black Waterside horses are aged by the time they turn fifteen.”

“So you brought him to cross with your mares?” I asked, holding my empty palms up for Blanco to nuzzle.

“Yes, and six of my girls are in foal to him, so hopefully I’ll have a nice crop come spring.” Clesa smiled when Blanco licked his lips in disappointment. “Want to try riding him?”

“What?” I stared at the Redguard ostler, then looked down at my linen skirt. “But I’m not dressed for it!”

“Oh, come on, Julian,” Clesa plucked at the loose folds of the garment. “That’s loose enough. Blanco won’t mind at all!”

I took my heart in my hands and nodded. Clesa took Blanco’s reins and moved to his head while I took my place at his left side. Hiking up my skirt, I placed my left foot in the stirrup as Prior Maborel had taught me and swung up into the saddle. Blanco waited patiently as I picked up the opposite stirrup and settled myself into the seat.

“Remember, keep your heels down, keep your legs long and loose,” Clesa spoke quietly, releasing the reins. “When you’re ready, take up the reins and kiss at him. Don’t squeeze your legs!”

“Won’t taking up the reins make him stop?” I asked Clesa. She shook her head.

“He’s trained differently from what you’re obviously used to. When you establish light contact with the reins, that’s his signal to move forward. The kiss is the signal to walk, while the double kiss is asking for the trot. Clucking makes him canter. Squeezing with your legs will make him bouncier in his movement.”

“Contact?” I wasn’t quite certain what she meant.

In response, Clesa tugged the reins until they hung in a loose arc from my hands to Blanco’s mouth. “Hold on to your end. Your hands are now the horse’s mouth. I’m going to take up contact, and show you how that feels to the horse.” She took the slack out of the reins until I felt the lightest pressure on my fingers. “That’s all the pressure you put on his mouth. You can see it won’t stop him at all. But by keeping light contact like this, you are able to signal very subtle changes,” she squeezed her fingers, and I felt the slightest tug on my hands. “If you must, you can close your hands into fists, or even use your wrists.” She demonstrated the different levels of contact. “Most of the time you will find that you only need the slightest finger pressure on him.”

“How do I turn him?” I asked.

“By doing this,” Clesa held contact on one side while squeezing her fingers on the other. I could feel the difference in pressure. “He’ll turn toward the side with the greater pressure, since you’re flexing him that way. The tighter you must make the turn, the further back on the outside hip you must sit. He’ll move away from the pressure. Don’t lean to the inside, though!”

“Outside? Inside?” I repeated.

“Outside and inside refers to the direction of the turn,” Clesa explained. “If you turn right, you are describing an arc, and outside the arc is your left side, while your right side follows the inside of that arc. It’s useful to think of the turn as a part of a circle.”

“Yes, I understand,” I nodded to myself. “And how do I ask him to stop?”

“Sit down in the saddle, keep the contact on the mouth symmetrical and light. He doesn’t need more than a squeeze of your fingers to get the message.” Now Clesa released the reins. “Ready?”

My heart pounding, I nodded nervously. As Clesa had demonstrated, I took the slack out of the reins until I just felt Blanco’s mouth. Instantly, he alerted, his neck and shoulders rising slightly in front of me. I could feel his back rounding beneath me, and yet Blanco hadn’t moved. Keep my legs long and relaxed. Keep my hands still. I smooched at him.

Carefully the stallion stepped forward, moving quietly through the seagrass. He kept his head up, his ears constantly switching forward and backward. After a few strides, I felt myself relaxing into the easy movement of his back. He’s like Paint in some ways, but different.

To my surprise, Blanco walked quietly without bouncing the entire way back to the stables. Clesa walked alongside us, making small corrections in my riding technique. When we entered the courtyard, I followed her instructions and sat down in the saddle instead of following the movement of his back. She was right, he didn’t need much more than that to come to a quiet halt in the center of the area.

“One last thing, Julian,” she said to me. “When you’re ready to dismount, drop the reins onto his neck. That’s his signal to stand quietly in place. As long as you maintain contact, he’ll be ready to move off. He will do that if you don’t release the contact and shift your weight to dismount. You do not want your horse to disappear from beneath you while your leg is up in the air!”

By Akatosh, she’s right! I dropped the reins, and Blanco immediately relaxed into that quiet stance, his head and neck dropping a little.

Once I was on the ground, I patted Blanco on his neck and handed the reins back to Clesa. “Thank you, ma’am. It was enjoyable!”

“I see that Wildeye paint taught you well,” Clesa responded. “But it’s time for you to move on. You should consider buying Blanco for yourself, especially if the paint is on loan to you.”

I stared at Clesa. Buy Blanco? “I can’t afford a fancy-trained imported horse like this,” I began, but Clesa shook her head firmly.

“I sell my horses at reasonable prices, as you know. My own home-breds go for about forty septims each. But you did us all a great favor, closing the Oblivion Gates and re-opening the Gold Road to travel.” She clapped the horse affectionately. “And you’ve still got a lot of traveling to do, I know. He’ll get you to where you’re going. I’ll sell him to you for forty-five septims, on one condition.”

“What’s that?” I still couldn’t believe it.

“You bring him back here every spring so he can breed my mares,” Clesa answered. “Without that condition, he’s not for sale at all.”

No. He’s just too much horse. But I couldn’t take my eyes off of Blanco. He turned his head and nudged my shoulder, as if to say C’mon, take the deal! We can have sooo much fun together!

I took a deep breath. “Let me think about it, Clesa.”

Excellent musings about the pros and cons of stallions vs. geldings on Julian's part as she walks to the sea. Along with a riding lesson afterward. Sooner or later Teresa is going to learn to ride. I will have to steal it for then!

C’mon, take the deal! We can have sooo much fun together!
Sounds like the white horse is a blackguard at heart!

What a wonderful horse-filled chapter! My two friends sure do appreciate the attention to detail you gave them!

By the way, if you want a sure-footed down-to-earth horse with lots of personality, Beauty (the palomino) is your gelding! He's Missouri Fox-trotter, which they are very well suited to trail-riding and mountainous terrain.

A lovely day at the beach.

'Again the walnut of grief closed off my throat, again I swallowed it down.'
Very nicely put.

Julian is acting pleasantly girly here at the beach. Not quite so young and giggly as the 60 year old Mrs Acadian, but nevertheless a refreshing break to see Julian rather relaxed. Horse craziness is quite becoming on her.

'I took a deep breath. “Let me think about it, Clesa.”
Hmm. Something tells me that will be an easy decision for Julian!

A good horsey section. Certainly it's an education readng these parts, I had no idea the lifespan of horses varied so much. On a similar note, especially as she's travelling what sort of distance is a harse good for (as a one off or day after day)? I know very little about them except that one end bites and the other kicks.

Anyway he seems quite a character, I'm not sure Cyrodiil is ready...

Wow. I must say, I never had the problem of the Imperial Legion rider doing that. Then again, I just checked, and it's one of the bugs fixed in the Unofficial Oblivion Patch, which I do not play without, so I guess I wouldn't have had the opportunity for it to occur.

It's an impressive set of chapters, but especially well done in the way you handle the guard's bad identification of the real criminal on the Gold Road.

As for Blanco's starring chapter, I can't say much. I'm not a horse person, and rarely use them in-game. I've got a few places where they might be useful, but since I use Supreme Magicka, I end up leaving my steeds off in the wilderness or in the stables somewhere, since I'm a Levitation addict. But your writing makes it work even for a non-horse guy like me, and I appreciate that.


Think he'll say that after seeing a couple of Oblivion gates?

Granted, a guaranteed annual marathon of breeding would be something for any stallion, horse or human...

*The Captain quickly uses Levitation and makes a bee-line for Bruma.*

Thoroughbreds are trained like that for racing, engage the bit and they're off - drop the rein and they stop. (and the floating feeling when they hit their racing stride). Somehow I knew Julian would end up with the horse, lol. Will she take a prized stud into battle? Uh Oh !!! GAAAAAH !!!!! Great chapters !!!!

@SubRosa: I’ll be glad to help you teach Teresa how to ride when the time comes! And yes, he is a blackguard! I know of three stallions who have very pronounced mischievous streaks like this.

@TK: MFT’s are really cool horses. I’ve owned Morgans, who are very similar. The Morgan breed is actually the basis of many American horse breeds, including the MFT, Saddlebreds, Tennessee Walkers, Standardbreds, Quarter Horses (yes, Quarter Horses) and later generations of mustangs.

@Acadian: Yes, she is horse-crazy, and it’s catching up to her! And you’re right, not much thought is required for this decision!

@Olen: Lifespan is determined not only by genetics, but also by how the horse is used during his lifetime. Thoroughbreds start training as yearlings, they are saddled and ridden as two-year-olds. They are not fully mature until they’re five, so that kind of strenuous racing breaks their bodies down very quickly. I’ve met Thoroughbreds who have never raced, who didn’t start training until they were older, and they held up much better through the years. Seventeen for a race horse is considered old, while twenty is more common for a Thoroughbred who was never trained for racing (those are pretty rare birds, but do exist). By comparison, the stallions at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna do not start saddle work until they’re seven, and don’t begin the dramatic above-the-ground airs they’re famous for until they’re in their early teens. They keep working into their thirties. As for using horses, they are creatures of endurance. They can gallop for ten miles before becoming tired. They can trot for much longer distances (but the trot is more uncomfortable to sit for the rider). At a brisk walking speed, they can cover up to 40 miles before becoming tired. And ready or not, Cyrodiil is stuck with Blanco!

@Captain Hammer: Console player here, so I never will have the benefit of the UOP. Yes, stallions have it made - just ask any of them!

@mALX: Thoroughbreds are also trained to pick up the left lead every time. They have a difficult time cantering on the opposite lead. As for taking Blanco into battle, I think it’s more a problem of keeping him out of fights!

The next three segments lead directly from one into the next without a break. I’m trying not to leave you with any unbearable cliffhangers, though.

*************************************
Chapter 23.11: An Old Betrayal

The overgrown path wound between tumbled boulders on its way up the steep slope. I stepped out of the cool shadow cast by Anvil’s city walls behind me and paused to check the sky. Early evening. Sun will be gone soon. Still I knew the way and was confident in my ability to find my path home. My mind drifted back to the conversation in the smithy.

“Clesa offered to sell you one of her horses?” Morvayn chuckled. “And yet you hesitate? You who always wanted one for your own?”

“It’s not just any horse, Morvayn,” I examined the cuirass critically. It shimmered like ruby rain in the light from the forge. “Good work, Enilroth,” I nodded at the apprentice. He beamed at me and handed me the surcoat, mended and cleaned. The Kvatch Wolf looked up at me from the neatly folded fabric, slightly faded but still lethal of gaze.

“Which one did she offer you?” Morvayn brought my mind back to the conversation at hand.

I tucked the armor into my pack. “The stallion Blanco.” I looked up to see Morvayn and Enilroth both gaping at me.

“The High Rock stallion?” Morvayn whispered. “How much is she asking for him?”

“Forty-five septims,” I answered.

“Forty-five?” this time it was Enilroth’s turn to croak. “But she told me she paid ninety for him! Why so cheap?”

Cheap? I wondered. Forty-five septims is cheap? “There is a condition to the sale,” I shrugged. “She wants me to bring him back every spring so she can breed him to her mares.”

After a few moments, Morvayn snickered. “Oh, ho that Clesa! So that’s how she is going to get out of paying for his keep ten months out of the year!”

I glanced at the amused Dunmer. “What?”

“What use is a stallion when he’s not breeding?” Morvayn asked me. “Since mares tend to come in season only during the warm weather, and since one wants early spring foals, he’ll get bred in the spring, get all his ladies in foal, then he gets to loaf around the rest of the year.”

“Not a bad life for a male, when you think about it,” Enilroth returned my glare with an innocent gaze.

“So I should refuse the offer?” I remarked casually. For some odd reason, my heart sank as I said it.

“No!” both Morvayn and Enilroth shook their heads vehemently and in perfect unison. “A High Rock bred stallion is a valuable animal,” Morvayn continued. “And this one is trained by one of the top trainers in Tamriel. Mira Renoir’s renowned for the horses she breeds and trains.”

“I’ll think about it,” I gathered my weapons. “I’m afraid he’s too much horse for me.”

“Ah, not at all, not at all Julian,” Enilroth assured me. “I saw you with him earlier this afternoon. He took real good care of you. You’ll not go wrong with that horse. He’ll last you a long time, he will.”

I returned to myself with a sigh. A glance around showed that I was now halfway up the steep slope. That’s it. I’ll spend my pension and buy him. But I’ll have to warn Clesa that the Oblivion Crisis takes precedence, and if it was still ongoing come spring -

When I surveyed my surroundings for wildlife, my gaze fell on the tumbled stone blocks of Fort Strand, off to my left. Instantly all thoughts of white horses fled my mind as more powerful memories staggered my stride.

“Come on, Julian!” The handsome young man caught my left hand and drew me up the slope after him. “There’s no one there, I already checked it out.”

Still reluctant, I looked up at the ruined keep of Fort Strand. “I don’t know, Jared,” I still hung back. “Those places don’t stay empty for long.” I still remembered when the Anvil guard and the Legion cleared the fort of bandits just a few months ago.

“It’s the only place around here where we can have privacy, Julian,” Jared stopped to face me. “Unless you want to go to your mother’s house?”

I flinched at his words. A year later, it still hurt to think of Mother and Cieran. I had not been back to the house since that dreadful night. “That’s cruel, Jared,” I whispered, turning my face away from him. “You know what happened there.”

“I’m sorry, Julian,” his strong arms were around me. I let him press my head onto his shoulder for a moment before I broke away. “That was thoughtless of me.” He cupped my face gently in his hands, callused from years of hard labor on the galleons that sailed between Hammerfell and Anvil. “You do know I love you with all my heart, don’t you?”

My pulse sang in my throat as I nodded. “Yes, I know.” Ah Dibella, how I wanted him! But fear of the unknown held me back. “But I’m still not certain -“

“Don’t you trust me?” Jared asked, hurt filling his dark eyes.

I took a deep breath and fought to still the moths in my stomach. “Yes, I do, Jared. I - I trust you.”

We explored the ruin’s first level, then Jared led me to a high-ceilinged room with stairs leading up to a stone platform at one side. I was surprised to see a mattress spread out on the floor, heaped high with blankets. Jared used the torch he carried to light two tall braziers and a third wide and shallow one. As the flickering light grew and filled this corner of the room, I saw a flagon of wine, two pewter goblets, and a plate of grapes and strawberries on a napkin near the mattress.

I stared at Jared as my seventeen-year old mind clicked through the implications. “You set this up ahead of time?”

“Yes,” he smiled at me. “I wanted to make this special for you.” This time when he took me in his arms, he pulled me against him. The heat from his body suffused through mine as he kissed me for the first time. “There’s no one like you, Julian,” he whispered into my mouth. “No one else for me.” I melted against him as his hands began roaming up and down my back, shivers trailing after his palms. “I promise it will be memorable.”

Jared kept his promise. It was memorable. He fed me grapes and strawberries doused in wine. We drank from the same goblet, looking into each other’s eyes. He never stopped touching me, making my body ache for more. By the time he took my virginity, I was more than ready to lose it. In the warm afterglow, my energy depleted, my curiosity satiated, my body sore yet somehow fulfilled, I fell asleep in his arms.

I woke some time later to cold darkness. Disoriented, I lay on the mattress, trying to identify the familiar contours of my sleeping alcove above Morvayn’s smithy. Only a dull glow from the wide brazier appeared in my vision. I blinked and struggled to a sitting position. The ache between my legs, my nudity beneath the quilts brought memories back. Jared! Where is he?

“Jared?” I called into the silence. When I heard only a faint echo of my voice bouncing around the large room, I groped around. My fingers closed on the haft of the torch, cold and inert. After identifying the handle by feel, I crawled to the brazier and shoved the business end of the brand into the embers. The dying flames reignited the pitch on the torch, and I held it up to look around. Within the small globe of light from the brand, I saw no other living creature.

Puzzled by Jared’s absence, I found my clothes. Where is Jared? Why did he leave me alone? Is he all right? Did he explore more of the fort? What time is it? It must be late - Athesi must be so worried about me! I drew on my undergarments, ignoring the blood clotting on my thighs, the small spot on the mattress. As I picked up my skirt, I began to shiver from the chill seeping across my skin. Quickly I finished dressing, slipping my feet into my shoes. I picked up the torch from the brazier and found my way to the stairs leading down from the platform. The oaken door at the side of the room was still locked. He didn’t leave through this door.

It was still light when I made my way out of the fort keep into the evening air. I doused the torch in the patch of sand beside the door and made my way out of the ruins. Overcome by a sudden urge to bathe in the sea, I started down the slope toward the road that ran around the city walls.

An hour later I reached the harbor. I walked past the shuttered storefronts and warehouses, the ships rocking at their moorings. Jared’s ship, Hallin’s Heart, still remained at its dock, dark and quiet except for the creaking of its timbers.

Golden light and laughter spilled out the open door of the Blue Anchor. I thought again of Jared’s disappearance, and turned toward the inn. Perhaps his captain knows where Jared is. I straightened my skirts and smoothed my hair back from my face. I’ll just stop in and speak to him, then head for the point and go for a swim.

I stepped into the smoky interior of the tavern, my eyes scanning the faces of the sailors and wenches that filled the common room. Captain Rizhad looked up from the fate stones scattered over the wooden table in front of him with a scowl. His black eyes met mine with a start, then his gaze flickered toward the fireplace at the opposite side of the room.

I glanced in that direction and recognized the brown-haired Imperial girl who had always made fun of my name, my height, and my eyes. Her head was thrown back onto the shoulder of a Redguard sailor, his muscular arms around her waist, his lips pressed onto her neck. The green gem of an amulet glittered at the base of her throat with her giggling. Astia’s eyes lowered from the ceiling and locked with mine.

“Ah!” she exclaimed, holding her hand out to me. “Miss Know-it-all! Do you know how I got this?” Her hand touched the amulet at her throat. “He gave this to me because I am the most beautiful woman in the harbor!” Her hand touched the sailor’s close-cropped hair. He lifted his head from her and looked at me.

My heart stopped as Jared and I locked gazes across the room. What is he doing with her? With Astia of all women? Does he know she is engaged to another man? He held my eyes for an eternity before he smiled slowly. I backed a step at the contempt I could see in his black eyes. Contempt for Astia? Or for me? How could he leave me and go to her? The raucous noise faded away into woolen silence. Then a hand grasped my arm and drew me away from Jared and Astia, out of the tavern.

I stumbled into the night air and began gasping for air, sobs tearing my chest into raw pieces. The hand that had pulled me out of the Blue Anchor steadied me. “Julian?” the familiar voice barely broke through the silent ringing in my ears. “Are you all right?”

I blinked back the tears, not wanting Felen Relas to see them. I turned away from him, but he caught both my shoulders and turned me to face him. “Julian, look at me,” his voice commanded me to obey. “Tell me what happened.”

I could only shake my head, the tears flowing freely now. Though I remained speechless, Relas understood. His ruby eyes lifted to the stars above us. “That fetcher!” he muttered under his breath. “I ought to slip some snakeroot into his ale! That’ll fix him!” Gently he wiped the tears from my cheeks, then enfolded me in his arms. “Did he hurt you, Julian? Tell me the truth.”

“Only my heart,” I sobbed into his shoulder. But why does it hurt so much?

“Ach, that’s the worst,” he muttered into my hair, hugging me tighter. After a few moments, he released me. “Let’s get you home. Varel and Athesi are besides themselves with worry.”

“Don’t tell them,” I pleaded. Relas’s eyes darkened in a scowl. “Please don’t tell them!”

Not a bad life for a male, when you think about it,
As long as you are one of those lucky few who does not get his balls chopped off...

Jared's love nest is an abandoned fort? Well I suppose I have to give him an A for the effort he went to in order to get it all set up. I would have just went for a room at the Count's Arms instead though...

Only for him to two-time her! Typical. Poor Julian. No wonder she had never had a boyfriend since.

Agreed with the A for effort, the hotel room is far simpler.

It explains why she's quite so single though, and why there's only been Jared even after being surrounded (and probably rather popular) in the Legion.

I suspect an element is her anger at herself though. He was a sailor, and by the sounds of it said he loved her awfully quickly, which was all very dramatic for her younger self, but perhaps should have set off some alarm bells.

It's another bit of background filled in which explains her current self though.

Jared, that dirty dog. Waking up in the dark like that, no wonder she has perhaps been reluctant to trust. What if the coals had gone out before she woke up?! I hope something awful befell him.

And that Astia. Grrr! I can’t help but think she goaded him a little.

The raucous noise faded away into woolen silence.
Made me feel like I was right there with Julian. *Grits storms off to geld Jared*

Methinks Morvayn is too harsh on Clesa. I think her motivation is much sweeter than Morvayn describes. After all, given Julian's profession and history with her last horse, who would trust that the valuable stallion will survive one, much less several years in the care of she who closes gates to Oblvion. I suspect that Julian will indeed honor her word, but against fairly formidable odds. Perhaps Clesa is wise indeed, but I don't think she is siimply trying to save a septim.

Julian's recollection of her time with Jared is bittersweet and painful. You did a wonderful job helping us to feel the terrible wrong inflicted upon her heart.

I don't know, Acadian. Morvayn is fairly knowledgable.

And so we meet Jared.

Now, as a man, I find the idea of going after one's, ah, family equipment to be a bit excessive.

One wonders, on the other hand, what could be done by eventually letting slip that there's not much to go around down there? Malicious rumors fly faster than the winds, they say.

Alternatively, hiring one of the afflicted "Ladies of Negotiable Affections" to visit Jared before such a "Seamstress" visits the Chapel of Dibella for a Cure Disease might just be the appropriate justice for him. The @$$-hole deserves it, and does a fine job of making 50% of the world look bad.

I am all for gathering up the guys and giving ol' Jared a piece of mind to let him understand why we don't appreciate his actions speaking ill of our good names. Preferably behind the Flowing Bowl. With my heavy gauntlets still on. Maybe call the dentist.

So wait...because one boy at 17 years old was just using her ... and I don't minimize how painful something like that is to a 17 year old girl - but as an adult she would have realized there were bad and good men, and that she had just made a bad choice.

Now if she chose to turn to women from that incident, that would be understandable, but she couldn't have stayed totally sexless for 60 years over one incidence like that! Where's that girl that pulled the thong out of her hair? Julian, we gotta talk !!!

Morvayn can't be right, no one throws away half the cost of their highly prized imported stud just to save on the cost of a few oats, especially not when that stud would be endangered by Daedra where it was going. I can't wait to find out the real reason she is giving the horse away like that - it has got to be really interesting !!

Great Write !!!

Ugh... what a typical man. Hopefully that will dispell any more rumor-mongering about Julian's love life. All it takes is one two timing idiot to shatter a woman's heart, and she'll allow another near it again. Given Jared, the Legion, and finally the Oblivion Crisis, I'd think Julian's very well sealed off that part of her soul with Adamantium walls.

Let's hope Julian doesn't find that guy now. I don't think the results would be very pretty.

@Sage Rosa: Jared wanted privacy in his wooing, and the Count’s Arms would have set Julian off. Even at seventeen, she knew all too well how nasty rumors get started.

@Olen: I’m sure there were a lot of men (and maybe not a few women, but I’ll let Sage Rose be the judge of that) in the Legion who were interested in Julian, but no, she wasn’t interested in them. Not that way anyway. And yes, she was angry at how easily she was so humiliated, especially in front of her arch-nemesis, Astia.

@Grits: I suppose something awful has befallen Jared in the twenty-nine years since that night. After all, he was a sailor, and sailors like him don’t hold up well over the years. As for gelding him, that is what the snakeroot is for (causes impotence in men). Kudos to Felen!

@Acadian: Morvayn actually has a great deal of respect for Clesa as a fellow merchant. He always struck me as the kind of guy that would see the humor in any situation. He’s the wisecracking corporal in the foxhole that tells jokes and one-liners while HE shells are dropping all around. As for her motivation to sell Blanco to Julian, it’s not something that becomes clear for some time, but we will see . . .

@Zalphon: see above. Morvayn is knowledgeable, true, but he also considers Clesa a good friend and equal in the haggling business.

@Cap’n H: I agree, Jared does a fine job of making 50% of the human race look bad. Fortunately, there’s more good ones like dear Matius et al to more than offset the likes of that bahsterd. Thanks for your vote of support!

@mALX: my dear kitty, Jared hadn’t seen seventeen in at least a decade at that time. As for Julian’s sex life since then, you seem to be making the common mistake of substituting love for lust. Julian is one of those people who doesn’t feel the need to have sex at the drop of a hat. Yes, kitty kitty, there are such people capable of living a long time without sex. They just find something else to do . . .

@TK: I prefer to think of Jared as not a typical man, but rather a typical bahsterd. The two are not necessarily synonymous. And yes, you’re rather right, she’s sealed that part of herself off pretty well. As for who will batter those walls down . . .

Now that the mystery of Jared is revealed, we move on to another facet of Julian’s past, one likely more traumatic.

****************************
Chapter 23.12 Eviction Notice

That was thirty years ago, Julian, I silently berated myself. Why does it still hurt so much? It’s just my virginity. Losing my family was far worse, still is. The stars above me twinkled heartlessly as I blinked away the tears that threatened to spill down my face. I found myself standing just outside the broken fence that encircled the abandoned farm. A waist-high boulder gave me a place to lean my hip against while I struggled to recover my self-control.

When my breathing steadied, I looked up at the cottage again. It looks almost the same as in my vision. But it’s been abandoned for thirty years! The scraggly plants enclosed by the fence belied the once productive garden that my mother had tended so painstakingly. Yet the thatched roof was freshly repaired, the door firmly closed against the night. Suddenly a faint noise reached my ears.

I straightened up off the rock. What is that? Laughter? Women? Now I saw the chinks of gold between the shutters in the windows next to the entrance. I reached for the remnants of the gate that still hung from its post. As I pulled it toward me, the door swung open and a man’s figure, briefly silhouetted against the lantern light within, stumbled out of the cottage. The panel closed behind him, but not before I realized he was completely nude.

“What -?” I could only get the one word out as he ran past me, his face averted. I stared after his departing figure, then turned back to the cottage. Just what is going on? Squatters? Prostitutes? I checked the katana at my hip, loosening it in its sheath. Momentarily I thanked Akatosh that I had thought to change into my repaired greaves for the hike up the hill, though I still wore the green shirt.

My boots scuffing the dirt softly, I made my way to the door of the cottage. Sounds of laughter, of good humor reached me through the weathered boards. What are they doing in my house? I could feel my jaw tightening and forced myself to take a deep breath, forced my fists to relax. I laid my left hand on the door handle and eased it open.

The interior was unrecognizable from my memories, with every square meter of wall covered in luxurious red woolen drapes, a plush carpet covering the worn stone floor, and a large bed occupying the center of the main room. The rich odor of wine caused me to inhale sharply. Three figures stood before the crackling fire in the hearth.

“Look at this amulet!” A tall Nord woman, her back to the door, held up something green and glittering in her hand. “What do you think it’s worth!”

The female Khajiit tilted her head to one side as she touched the gem. “Oh, about a hundred drakes, I’ll bet.”

The dark-haired Imperial woman spotted me standing in the shadows near the door. “Oh, girls, we’ve got company,” she smiled at me, shaking back loose tendrils from her heart-shaped face. The amulet clinked on the floor as the Nord spun around, her hand reaching for the blade at her side. The Khajiit pinned her ears back and hissed at me.

“What are you doing here?” I kept my voice calm.

“Welcome, Julian of Anvil, Hero of Kvatch!” the Imperial woman chose to ignore my question. “We’ve heard so much about you. You can handle yourself in a fight, eh?” She elbowed her companions aside and stepped toward me, stopping a few paces away when my right hand lowered to my hilt. Her bright eyes considered me a moment longer. “Hmmm, how would you like to make a little extra money?”

“Faustina -“ the Nord whispered warningly, her oval face moving from me to the Imperial woman.

“Listen, I’ve got a proposition for you,” Faustina ignored the taller woman. “I’m certain there are plenty of men who would jump at the chance for a night with the Hero of Kvatch, especially when she’s as exotic as you.”

What? My eyes narrowed at her, and I could feel my jaw tightening again. Me? Exotic? What, is she blind? Still I waited silently.

“See, we’re a gang,” Faustina continued. “We make money by luring men out into the middle of nowhere and robbing them blind. We target married men who are easily convinced that they will have their way with us.” She laughed, a brittle, tinkling laugh like shattering crystal. “Men are so gullible! But let me make something clear. We’re not prostitutes. We do everything on our own terms, and the men never, ever lay a hand on us.”

“Faustina, I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell -“ the Nord tried again to stop her comrade.

“Look at her, Signy!” Faustina did not take her eyes off of me. “Tell me a man can’t look at her and see how seductive she is in those leather greaves!” I resisted the impulse to look at my outfit. She addressed me again. “Listen, here’s how it would work. We spot a likely candidate in the Flowing Bowl, and you go in there and charm him. When he thinks he’s going to get lucky with you, then you tell him to meet you here in a few hours. When he gets here, you make him take off all his clothes. It’s pretty easy, by the way. That’s when we spring the trap and rob him!” She laughed once more. “The best part of the entire plan is that they’re so embarrassed, they never go to the guards!”

“That’s a nice enough plan,” I replied smoothly, feeling the pilus emerge in my soft tone. “There’s only one problem.”

Faustina’s smile disappeared. Signy’s hand gripped the hilt of her long sword, but she froze at a look from me. The Khajiit’s tail lashed as she hissed again, crouching and bringing her hands up. Her talons glittered in the firelight, but I kept my gaze on the Nord. Of the three, Signy seemed to be the only one to have the air of a trained fighter.

“What is the problem?” Faustina asked coldly.

“This is my house.” Now I let the pilus out fully. “I hold the legal title to this place. And the three of you are trespassing.” In my mind I visualized the shock on touch spell that had proved so effective against dremora mages. “Under Imperial law, as well as the law of this county, trespassers forfeit any right to their lives.”

“Well, if that’s the way you want it,” Faustina reached for her own sword. Signy’s blade rang as it cleared its sheath. “It’s three to one, Julian!”

Before she could draw her weapon, I took a long step forward, laid my left hand on Faustina’s shoulder and sent a bolt of energy sizzling through her body. She reeled onto the bed as I turned toward Signy, my katana leaping from its sheath. Already the Nord had her weapon arcing at me. To my right, the Khajiit faded into thin air.

Cacat! She knows invisibility! I hated those spells that caused the caster to disappear. Quickly I cast my detect life spell while I ducked Signy’s swing. While her greater height and longer reach gave her an advantage over me, I had years of training and experience on my side. I danced back to keep the Khajiit’s pink glow on the far side of my blade and to stay out of Signy’s reach.

The Khajiit leaped toward me, and my blade twitched toward the center of that glow. I felt the impact of her body on my weapon as something sharp sliced down the right side of my neck into my shoulder. Ignoring the icy pain of the claws, I stepped into the Khajiit, thrusting the point of my blade deeper into her mass. The spell shimmered away like rain spilling off the roof as blood seeped around my katana where it entered her abdomen.

Signy took another step toward me, her sword flashing in the firelight toward my head. I dropped to one knee and flung the fireball Berene had taught me toward her legs. With a twist of my wrist, my katana tore itself out of the Khajiit’s body as she slumped bonelessly to the floor.

Faustina reappeared at my left, screaming wordlessly as she slashed her sword downward. I tucked my knees against my belly and rolled to the side, away from Signy and clear of the Imperial’s amateurish attack. Some part of me noted how slowly Faustina moved compared to the Nord. That shock spell slowed her down quite a bit. But I’m still going to have to kill her. Before Faustina could recover her balance, I slapped her with another shock spell. With a groan she collapsed to the floor, shaking violently. I didn’t take the time to look down at her, but instead called on Domina Incendia. Signy moved her gaze from the convulsing Imperial to the voluptuous ‘fire-lady.’ I took advantage of her distraction to leap over Faustina and slip to Signy’s left side, tossing my katana from my right to my left hand.

As my summons began firing flames at Signy, I sliced my katana across the backs of her legs. Engulfed in a conflagration, crippled by my attack, Signy went down to her hands and knees. But she still clutched her sword, and she wasn’t giving up yet. Signy managed to straighten up and stab her blade in my direction, but I was already behind her right shoulder.

My grip now reversed on the hilt of the katana, I brought its tip down into Signy’s shoulder, angling it toward her heart. I felt it skim along the edges of her top ribs before something else stopped its advance. But by then, my blade had done its job. The long sword clattered from Signy’s lifeless fingers onto the stone floor.

The last of the magical flames flickered out as I staggered back, shaking from the natural adrenaline. I thanked Domina Incendia with my eyes as she shimmered out of existence. Faustina’s convulsions finally stilled, and she lay arched on her back, her hands frozen into claws, her bulging eyes fixed on the ceiling, the breath gone from her lips. The female Khajiit remained slumped in a growing pool of blood.

I caught my breath. Blood flows in this house once again.

I was wondering if you were going to work the Sirens into this or not. For a while I thought not. But here I see I was wrong! A house people think is haunted would be the perfect place for their lair. No one would want to go there, and if people did see lights within, they would probably put it down to ghosts, and keep even further away!

Me? Exotic? What, is she blind?
Sounds like someone suffers from a bit of Teresaitis!

Quickly I cast my detect life spell
Here is something no NPC ever has the brains to do...

As ever, you give us a rousing cat fight (literally), as Julian takes on three to one odds. Good thing she has gotten so skilled at magic, and has a Domina to call up to help her. Oh wait, not that kind of domina, unfortunately. Still, she was lucky that her house was not set on fire!

Interesting shuffle-round of the skills. It's usually Faustina casting a chameleon spell and disappearing, not Tsarrina, but this way makes a more credible fight of it all, and the balance between swords and magic on both sides worked well.

I'm just a little disappointed that Maelona and Gogan didn't get to turn up after all the danger's past, like they usually do.

Don't ever break into Julian's house!

See how everything goes better with magic? It's nice to see Julian continuing to integrate magic into her fighting more and more impressively. Here, she showed her skill with detect life, conjuration, good old destruction, katana slashin' and even some tumbling. She did well choosing the right thing at the right time.

Those ladies did have the place pimped up pretty nicely though.

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You seem to have totally misread my comment. I didn't mention Jared in it at all, nor mistake love for lust or imply having sex at the drop of a hat. When my first husband died I personally went four years without even thinking about ever dating again, so I know better than anyone what love is and that people are capable of going long periods without sex.

Julian made a wrong choice as a teen girl, (the guy was a jerk) - but why did that affect her ability to go on to a healthy relationship (be it with a man or woman) for well over 30 years? All I'm saying, is that seems to be an extremely excessive reaction.

Why wouldn't she have dealt with it? It comes across like she was so traumatized that it remained fresh in her mind - which makes the reader question why would she not deal with the issue, put it behind her, go on to lead a normal happy life?

I was trying to understand how you meant us to take that for the purpose of your story. It brings up questions because IRL if someone reacted that strongly it could reflect on them very differently than what you may be trying to represent in your story - and I didn't know if that was what you were meaning to portray.

Happy homecoming Julian! Wow, talk about a welcome home party...

So in the last chapter we see the worst that men have to offer, and now we see the worst of women. I do hope Julian saw a glimpse of Jared the Fetcher in Faustina. Fitting to give those loser robbers a slow and painful death, complete with the signature Kneecap a'la Julian! Ouch!

Looks like the Sirens have deceived their last man. Hopefully Julian won't have to deal with the Anvil Secret Service on the way out (oh, my... I totally didn't mean for that acronym to come out. ).

This quest has never made sense to me in the game, but it works in your story beautifully.

She laughed, a brittle, tinkling laugh like shattering crystal.
I love what you did with Faustina. She’s instantly recognizable, but somehow she is even more herself.

I resisted the impulse to look at my outfit.
This is perfect. When another women is telling you how your butt looks in those pants, you almost have to look.

Signy’s last moments were impressive. A hamstrung, burning Nord still trying to get her blade in. That image is going to stay with me. Hopefully Faustina’s professional assessment that Julian is a hottie will help her accept the next compliment she receives. And the house is already redecorated, just a little bloody. It makes me wonder, what is Julian going to do with all of the red draperies? Uniforms for the Anvil Little League? Ball gown? Hmm.

I caught my breath. Blood flows in this house once again.
Dangit. And it was already a complicated homecoming.