Another good part-o'-chapter (for those of us who do not post full chapters, but only portions of a chapter, we need a good term) that moves the plot forward. This was the most difficult part of the main quest for me. Even after reading in the wiki that the letters in drop caps spelled out the clue, it came out as all gibberish to me. Julian did much better! You did a good job of portraying her efforts do decipher the code. It was very thorough, covering all angles.

I have often wondered, was Mankar Camoran's wife named Womankar Camoran? Perhaps she will be the villain in ES V, seeking revenge?

Seriously though, I have been wondering something for a while now. Are you writing exactly what happened in the game (with the interactions between characters obviously being new, and the depth added to them)? Or is it partly what happened in the game, and partly pure fiction? I am just curious what your vision is, a faithful recording of the main quest (and beyond?), or to go off into uncharted territory?

I have been a huge Angela Bassett fan ever since I saw her in Strange Days. I took a look, and unfortunately I could not find any mods that let you play her (like there are for some other celebs). Otherwise I would have offered to make screenshots for you.

Does this mean that the sequel to Old Habits Die Hard will be How Julian Got Her Groove Back?

Julian is so smart! Buffy never would have figured all that out and would have driven Tar-Meena crazy. Acadian would have had to help her with those clues.

It's wonderful to see that Julian is trying to take care of herself. It seems like a habit of casting three healing spells before bed every night is a good idea. Smart again, Julian!

What a joy your stories are to read!

Buffy would need 15 scholars around her to work it out.

Well done Julian. Who said that fighters never thought lower than their foodbowl?
Mankar here we come. :twirl:

Isn't it amazing how angle and perspective allow you to see things that are otherwise invisible? I thought you captured that perfectly in this chapter. The clue itself seems a little vague, but I blame the game for that. And a 'four pointed star', isn't that the same as 'x marks the spot'?

Again, you seem to have an instinctive feel for just how much Tar-Meena to give us before her sssibilant sss ssstarts to grate.

Have not read all of the newer chapters, but I will get caught up (today I hope) thanks to the excellent Download button we now have. And then I will likely have more to say. For now:

"The place is warm inside, and the company even warmer, sir."

Time and again, you express a tremendous amount in a concise way. I cannot help but be reminded of my own Athlain, still recovering from his own addiction, and the warm reception he received at Thirsk. Part of his recovery (and Julian's) has been to regain a feeling of self-worth- and of being fit company for others.

"Oh, frick, what happened to two?"

Hee! Never let them know when the shot is really coming- that way, they can't tense up!

I never realized how many blasted steps there were at my university until I banged up my knee and had to cross the campus- going from the 3rd floor of one building (on top of a hill) to the 3rd floor of another- and back. I ache along with Julian.

I must also reference the line about attention from a general being "bad news." A major of my acquaintance had a sign on his wall that said,

"You NEVER need to 'Go down to headquarters and see what's happening.' If they need you, they'll let you know."

And your passages describing the Imperial City are lyrical and beautiful and bring the place alive in a wonderful way.

@mALX1: The frustration with vague clues is all too familiar to me from years of playing point-and-click adventure games. The facepalm moment comes more often than my forehead cares to remember.




@SubRosa: Julian's story is based on the first game I played, using this particular character. While the plot follows the main quest, there are moments of pure fiction that comes with roleplaying the character to add interest to the story and to fill out the characters, both the PC and the NPC's she meets. As for the sequel, well, that's far in the future yet . . .




@Acadian: Thanks again for your comments. Buffy may be blond, but she isn't stupid. Still, that clue is pretty vague! I would never have figured it out, if not for the UESP wiki!




@Winter Wolf: You have made me chuckle. Aye, Mankar, here we come!




@Destri: Thanks for the comments. I'm a fan of visual illusions, and understand all too well how angle and perspective can affect how we see the world around ourselves. How often has the solution to our problem of the moment been under our nose?




@treydog: I've slowed down my postings, so I hope that helps you catch up! I'm glad to see your comments about things that caught your attention -it helps me keep up the quality of the content. Like everyone else's feedback, it helps me keep focused on the things that make Julian's story so enjoyable for others to read.




Back on the road again, Julian catches up with a friend, and makes another, among the Legion riders. Riding along the Blue Road under the full moons is special. I hope I've managed to convey that feeling to all my readers.




This post is a little longer than my self-imposed limit, but it was hard to edit a much longer interlude down into something that was more manageable for the forums and still had the important stuff. I'm now about twenty-four post ahead in the story, and there will be a few other posts that will be long. I promise to keep such posts to a minimum, though!




*******************

Chapter 8.1 Bandits and Riders




Paint was eager to go. He chose to gallop around the Red Ring Road, only slowing down when we caught up to Marc Atellus between Sercen and Red Roxey Inn. Blowing and bouncing as he slowed down to match the Legion horse's slow amble, Paint whickered at the other horse.




"Hello, Julian!" Atellus greeted me heartily. He slapped his left thigh. "Thanks to you, all healed now!"




"Good," matching his grin, I tried to catch my breath. "I'm glad to see you again, Atellus."




"In these dark times, friends are more valuable than treasure," the Legion rider commented as the two horses continued down the road at an easy pace. "Your horse looks well-rested this afternoon."




"He should be, sir," I responded, slapping the brown-and-white neck fondly. "He's been loafing for the past two days, since I saw you last. He just galloped all the way from Weye."




Atellus's brows lifted beneath his helm. "All that way?" he whistled. "Paint must be feeling really good today!" He laughed as Paint tossed his head and bounced twice, as if in agreement. The Legion bay pinned his ears briefly at Paint, who subsided and became sedate again. "Shush, Bucky," Atellus chided his mount quietly, with amusemant in his voice. "Our horses may seem lazy," he admitted to me, "but it's because they go all day and all night, with little time for rest. They're smart enough to conserve their energy."




"I've noticed, sir," I responded. "It's a good thing when you have to ride long hours."




"So, Julian, where are you and Paint headed on this fine afternoon?" Atellus asked.




"Cheydinhal, sir," I answered. Ahead, in the shadows thrown by the westering sun, I saw a shabby little inn off to the north of the road, tucked beneath high mountains.




"That's Roxey Inn," Atellus pointed at it. "And we're near the end of my patrol. You'll run into Marius Tarquinius between here and Wellspring Cave, just past the Blue Road. Caelius Drusus patrols the Blue Road. He's the youngest of us, and has never served in the provinces."




"Is he the least experienced, sir?" I asked.




"Humph," Atellus shook his head. "Actually, Drusus has done nothing but patrol," he responded. "Started out as a forester, so he's a pretty tough bastard." He looked hard at me. "I mention him because he's likely the least prejudiced of all of us riders."




"Against Redguards, you mean, sir?" I asked, thinking of Adrian Remus, the rider I had encountered east of Skingrad. He had been cool, even suspicious, toward me, though he had maintained a professional demeanor. Atellus nodded, a little ruefully.




"And Dunmer," he added. "That's why he's assigned to the Cheydinhal patrol route. That city's half Dunmer as it is. He gets along very well with everyone there." Atellus halted Bucky and threw me a half salute before turning the bay back westward. "Farewell, Julian!"




"Thanks for the company, sir," I said. "Stay safe," I called to his departing back. "And watch out for marauder archers!" His guffaw trailed behind him. Paint resumed his slow walk. Patting his neck again, I found it cool. "Out of energy, Paint?" I asked him. He tossed his head and bounced once, but resumed his walk immediately.




The night settled around as we turned onto the cobblestones of the Blue Road. The highway climbed steeply to the top of a ridge, and Paint marched resolutely up the slope. Nearing the top of the hill, I spotted the ruins of an old farmstead to the right of the road. When I saw movement within the ruins, I stopped Paint near an oak tree about twenty meters away. Dismounting, I limped forward, the Kvatch Wolf in my left hand, my right hand near the hilt of my katana.




Two shadows detached themselves from the ruin, one carrying a hammer, the other a shortsword. They separated as they drew near. Recognizing the tactic from my years in the service, I knew they intended to attack me from opposite sides. Hobbling toward the swordsman, barely recognizable as a Redguard in the darkness, I ducked his blade and circled to get him between me and the hammer-wielding Khajiit. My katana picked up the starlight along its slender blade. Blocking the sword strike from the Redguard with my buckler, I shoved him back into the Khajiit, sending both of them staggering.




Before the swordsman could recover, I brought the edge of my shield down on his sword arm, feeling the bones snap beneath the metal disc. Groaning and bending forward, he hunched over his broken arm. In spite of his greater weight, I managed to knock him aside in time to backhand my katana against the man-feline. The tip of my blade sliced through the other's upraised right arm.




The Khajitt spat as my blade caught on the edge of his leather cuirass. He pulled back, freeing my katana, and raised his hammer again with more difficulty. Slipping my sword beneath his chin, I twisted my blade through his throat and tore it out sideways.




As he fell back, a shout reminded me of the Redguard with the broken arm. Hopping to my right and spinning around to face him, I saw that a Legion rider had already engaged the bandit. Awkward with the sword in his left hand, the Redguard was no match for a fresh fighter, and a heavily armored one at that.




Kneeling stiffly to wipe my bloodied blade on the Khajiit's sackcloth pants, I sheathed it as the rider strode up to me, his own weapon put away. "Caelius Drusus?" I asked, aware of his assessing gaze and the way his eyes lingered on the Kvatch Wolf in my left hand.




"Yes," he answered, "and you must be Julian."




"I see you've heard about me already," I muttered. "Thanks for your help, sir."




"Yes, I have heard about you," Drusus remarked, amused. "Are you unhurt, I hope?"




"I'm fine, sir," I answered. "Tired of battling bandits and marauders, though."




"Well, if you're going to Cheydinhal," Drusus remarked, lighting the torch, "you'll probably run into another bandit ambush about half a kilometer west of the city gates." The torchlight illuminated the youth in the other's face, as well as the experience in his level gaze. He shrugged. "They are never around when I ride by, but travelers have come to grief there. They've been particularly -" he paused, "bothersome lately."




"Well, I'll see when I get there, sir," I commented. I turned back to look for Paint. "I left my horse back a ways."




"I did, too," Drusus admitted. "Tell you what, I'm weary of hearing about those invisible bandits. They'll likely ambush you - with that white hair of yours they'll think you're easy game. I've got to ride on down to Fort Urasek," he indicated the ruined fort on the lakeshore, past the end of the Blue Road, "then come back toward Cheydinhal. If you wait for me, maybe we can take care of those bandits once and for all."




"All right," I said. "I'll travel slow until you catch up to me."




"Travel real slow," his tone was dry. I couldn't help smiling at his irony.




Masser and Secunda were just rising over the eastern horizon when Paint and I passed the ruined farmstead. He was all too happy to remain at a slow amble for now. The road floated along the shoulder of the foothills to the north, the lofty Jeralls just visible beyond. To the south, on my right, the land dropped away into an expansive plain, dotted with groves, small lakes, and a single Ayleid ruin.




I spotted an overgrown gateway and a faint dirt path heading north into the foothills just past the farmstead. Briefly I wondered what lay at the end of that path.




Deer spooked at us and ran off, quick shadows highlighted by the white undersides of their tails. A grey ghost paced us from the side of the road, but veered off when Paint turned his head and looked directly at him without faltering in his stride. That wolf's not hungry tonight. Bet those bandits up ahead are. I followed the wraithlike form with my gaze as the canid ran up a bank to the shore of a highland lake, just north of the road, its waterfall argent in the growing moonlight.




Looking ahead, I could see the trees becoming thicker as the road began to rise into the foothills of the Valus Mountains to the east. A crenellated silhouette of a wall nearly blended into the treetops, only the right angles along the top of the barrier giving away its manmade origins. Slowing Paint even more, I waited until I could hear the clopping of Drusus's mount behind us. Stopping at the bottom of the slope, I dismounted from Paint. Limping forward, I strained my eyes into the shadows on either side of the road, where thick trees and boulders crowded close.




Perfect place for an ambush. No wonder Drusus never saw anyone here - plenty of places to hide close to the road. Shaking my shield into my left hand, I drew my katana. A bird whistle - birdcalls in the middle of the night? - prompted me to raise my buckler as the thwap! of a snapping bowstring followed. The broadhead arrow smacked into the light iron, staggering me to the right. Booted footsteps on my right drew my head and katana around in time to catch the wrist of a mace-wielding woman. Keeping my shield to the north side of the road, where I knew the bowman hid, I elbowed the female Redguard hard, freeing my blade from the bones of her wrist and kicking her legs from beneath her.




Drusus's footfalls and clanking armor reached me. Not taking my attention off the Redguard woman at my feet, I shouted at him, "Archer, in the trees on the left!" Drusus changed direction, and his footfalls went silent as he left the cobblestones of the road.




The woman regained her feet with an agility that surprised even me. Switching the mace to her good hand, she proved to be ambidextrous, just as adept left-handed as with her right. She charged me, and before I could back away, she was inside my guard and swinging that mace low. The heavy iron head smashed into my right hip. Groaning, I danced left, chopping downwards with my katana to catch her left elbow. The blade bit into bone before skittering away, tearing muscle and tendon with it.




Effectively neutralized, the bandit dropped back, her mace striking sparks as it landed on the cobblestones and rolled away. Shouting in the trees across the road told me that Drusus had found the archer. Lifting the tip of my blade, I pointed it at her throat. "Are there more of you?" I demanded.




Clenching her jaw in defiance, the bandit used her right forearm to knock my katana away. Her left foot came up and slammed me in my belly, knocking the wind out of me. Managing to recover before she could follow through, I stabbed the katana into her lower abdomen. Slicing the tip of my blade sideways, I heard her gasp, and stepped back as she shuddered to the cobblestones, blood appearing black beneath her body in the moonlight.




Panting, I looked around as the shouting fell into immense silence. Turning towards the trees where Drusus had disappeared, I limped across the road, my right hip stabbing with each step. The Legion rider reappeared out of the forest, sheathing his sword. A couple of arrows protruded from his chest plate, a couple more in his shield.




"There," he said, catching his breath, and walking up to me. Yanking the two arrows out of his armor, he looked at me, "That went rather well, I may say so." His gaze sharpened on my face. "Are you hurt, Julian?"




"Ach," I groaned as my hip twinged. "She managed to hit me once or twice, sir." Together, we pulled the bandit's body off the road, placing the corpse behind a clump of azaleas. Turning down the slope, I started limping back to the horses. "It'll heal," I added, casting my healing as I spoke.




"I see Atellus is right," Drusus said, an approving note in his voice. "You do know how to fight."




I shook my head. "I don't think I'm as good as I used to be, sir," I answered. "It's been a while."




"Don't worry, it'll come back," Drusus assured me as we reached the horses. My hip protested at the thought of mounting up, so I picked up Paint's rein and started trudging for Cheydinhal. Drusus fell into step beside me, his bay trailing behind.




"I do hope I get it back, sir," I muttered. "It would seem my work is far from done."




"There are days when it seems like it never ends, huh?" Drusus commented. I nodded at the wisdom of his words. He may be young, as Atellus said, but experienced beyond his years. At the top of the slope, the closed gates of Cheydinhal visible less than a hundred meters away, Drusus stopped and mounted his mare.




"Thanks for your help, Julian." He pointed out the stables to the left of the road. "There's Black Waterside Stables. If you leave your horse in the corral, they'll take care of him. You can pay them later." He considered me a moment longer. "Get a bed at the Newlands Lodge. The innkeeper is a Dunmer, but it's warm, cheap and comfortable. You'll do well to stay there. There is the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn, but it's more expensive."




"All right, Drusus, thanks," I said, leading Paint towards the stable corral. "I'll see you again, sir."

Really Awesome how you incorporate the Legionnaires into your story, Julian having been one before - it kind of gives that brotherhood feel to the story, as is found IRL with the police - I love how you work that in! Awesome Write, as usual!

Yes! Another great story! Very solid in all regards, methinks. Julian is getting much better at fighting; hopefully faster than she is getting beat up. I hope that hip heals up ok.

Boy, those Legion types you meet along the road are handy to have around!

I now give you an A minus for Combat Writing. Very, Very close to perfect... if I was writing there would be only a few things I would change.

And why has Acadian missed the mis-spelling of 'canid' for 'canine'? And it should be 'tore it out sideways' instead of 'tearing'.

But otherwise...delightful!!!

Prejudice? Against Redguards? Say it ain't so! Atellus' giving of the names and traits of each of the riders on patrol makes them real as characters instead of just the arbitrary meat-shields you encounter in the game. By the time I met Drusus I felt as if I already knew him.

Your description of combat has improved tremendously and is now one of the strengths of your writing instead of the weakness you once perceived it to be. I know that you have written thirty-plus chapters of this story, but still. There are writers who don't improve this much after ten books, much less one.

Foxy already pointed out the nits that I spotted so, for now, let me just say Congratulations. :trophy:

I liked the detail you gave to the behavior of the horses. Once again, you show us that they are not simply vehicles to drive back and forth as cars are, but are in fact living beings with their own unique personalities.

As the others have noted, I like how you have given names to the legionary riders. Now they are real people, rather than just clones patrolling the roads.

Edit: Now I have a bit more time, I can add a bit to my earlier responses.

You did a good job here of taking what would be a pair of incidental encounters on the road and buffed them up into a meaty part-o-chapter, given more depth by the pair of meetings that Julian has with the legion riders, and the relationships we see her slowly building with them. As I said before, not only are you making the riders people, but you are drawing them into the web of Julian's life. Now they are not just strangers, in the very least comrades-in-arms. Perhaps real friendships might spring up, given time? I guess the chick in me is speaking, because you see there is where I am dwelling, on the possibility of building relationships.

nits:
I think the forum ate the space between these two paragraphs:
"That's Roxey Inn," Atellus pointed at it. "And we're near the end of my patrol. You'll run into Marius Tarquinius between here and Wellspring Cave, just past the Blue Road. Caelius Drusus patrols the Blue Road. He's the youngest of us, and has never served in the provinces."
"Is he the least experienced, sir?" I asked.

You have the word "again" twice in the same sentence here:
Patting his neck again, I found it cool again.
maybe change it something like this:
Patting his neck again, I found it cool once more.

Did you mean west here? East of the gates would be on the opposite side of the city. Also would klick (as in kilometer) be the best term for ES? I thought they usually used miles in the game (although I cannot swear to either, just some food for thought). Mainly though, because it is modern slang, I suddenly found myself thinking of a modern war movie, rather than something in a fantasy setting.
"you'll probably run into another bandit ambush about half a klick east of the city gates."


The battles are exciting. However, some things seemed kind of vague to me. Specifically whenever Julian hit someone, there is not much description of what her blow actually does.
For example:
Groaning, I danced left, chopping downwards with my katana to catch her left elbow.
You do not tell us what the katana does to the bandit's elbow. Does Julian chop her arm off? Merely lay her open with a deep gash? Does her sword not penetrate armor, but the shock of it cause the bandit to drop her weapon? That is what I mean. I realize you might be purposely trying leave those things to the reader's imagination, in order to not be overly gory with your writing. I would not mind that at all. It is not blood and gore I am personally looking for in a story. If that is the case, maybe you could give a description of what is happening, without getting too icky about it?

Hello all -

I've tried to be patient, but this new forum style is getting to be too much. I've noticed that I'm not the only one having a problem with the new format. Half the emoticons don't work (or most, I'm not sure which at this time), I've lost my siggy, and the white text on black that is still present in the PM section is just too hard on these eyes. While I greatly appreciate the changes the IT team has made to make this forum more like the old one, it is still too jarring for me to relax with.

I'm in the process of moving "Old Habits" to Chorrol.com. For now, I'm posting previous chapters there, but once the story is caught up, I'll stop posting new chapters on this thread. I will provide the link once I reach that point.

As far as this forum goes, I'll continue posting twice a week for those remaining here to follow the story. Hope y'all understand!

Thanks for reading and giving me support!

@mALX: Thanks for noticing the "brotherhood" spirit among fellow Legion soldiers. I've seen it time and time again among police, firefighters, Marines, army, navy, etc. Get two of a kind together in the same room, and more times than not, it's hard to separate them, though they've never met before!

@Acadian: Many are the times I've been grateful for those unnamed riders during my travels, especially at early levels. Of course, once I get to level 20, I spend more time saving their steel-plated behinds than not!

@D.Foxy: An A-? Really? I'm twirling here! 'Tearing' has been replaced with 'tore.' Missed that in the final edit. As for 'canid', it is not a typo. 'Canid' refers to the genus that includes wolves, coyotes, and domestic dogs; 'canine' refers to all of them as well. However, for purposes of the story, I prefer to use 'canid' when Julian can't be certain which she is looking at (as in this case), 'canine' for dogs, and 'lupine' for wolves. Hope that clarifies things for everyone!

@Destri: Thanks for griping about prejudice against Redguards! There is a lot of it in the game, much of it historical. I figured that some of the riders had previously served in the provinces, and have formed their own opinions of the locals based on their experiences there; Hammerfell has been troublesome recently, according to the Pocket Guide, 3rd ed. Julian will deal with it in her usual practical, pragmatic style.

@SubRosa: I have fixed your nits - yes, I did mean west instead of east (sometimes I have trouble telling my left from my right!). The spacing between paragraphs is the forum editor's fault - when I went to post, it put THREE hard returns between paragraphs instead of the normal one, and I had to manually go back and fix every one of them. It is also bold-facing the entire reply instead of just the portions I want. I'm not sure where the glitch is originating, but it sure is driving me nuts! Argh! So if the formatting looks different from usual, that would be why.

And I have expanded just a little bit on the combat with the female Redguard at the second ambush. I'll keep your advice in mind. As for the relationships she is building, some will have surprising consequences in chapters to come.

In this next chapter, Julian finally has a chance to rest and recuperate.

********************

Chapter 8.2 Searching for Enlightenment

After settling Paint in for the night, I limped up to the closed gates of the city. A lone guard stood outside, his mailed armor covered by a surcoat. Entwined green vines on an ochre background covered the front of his surcoat and marked his shield.

"Out late, traveler," he greeted me.

"Yes, sir, and I'm tired," I answered, hearing the persistent pain in my voice. "I'd like to head in and find a bed."

"Of course," he said, knocking a rhythm on the heavy wooden panel with his gauntleted fist. Thumping came from inside as the crossbar within was removed. The gate creaked open, and another guard peered out. "A traveler," the first soldier said. The other stepped back to let me in.

As I turned to help him close the heavy gate, his eye fell on the Wolf on my left arm. "Hey, you're the Hero of Kvatch, aren't you?" he exclaimed, his gaze moving from the shield to my face. "The one that closed the Oblivion Gate and saved the city?"

"It was too late to save the city," I answered, too weary to shush him. May as well get used to it. Looking around, I spotted two half-timbered structures near the gate, directly across from each other. Cheydinhal Bridge Inn, the sign on the right said. The Newlands Lodge stood opposite, on my left. Nodding good-night at the guard, I limped toward the inn on the left.

Its diamond paned windows gleamed golden in the late night. The moonlight shone on the pale river stones that made up its foundation and ground floor walls. The upper level, half-timbered in elaborate patterns, rose to a steep-pitched shale roof. Four stone steps, rounded to match the contour of the corner tower, led to the reinforced wooden door in the base.

Smoky darkness welcomed me within, just a little warm for my comfort. Stepping into the common room, I looked around. Grouped around a couple of small tables, five or six Orcs dwarfed their seats as they hunched together, murmuring between themselves. They gave me an assessing gaze as I looked past them to another room, where I saw the bar and the proprietor. Returning the gaze of each in turn, not pausing long on any one visage, I limped past the group towards the Dunmer woman behind the counter.

Reaching the bar, I set my pack and shield down and selected a stool, adjusting the katana at my hip so I could grab it if needed. The hard stares of those Orcs did not sit well with me.

"Hello," the Dunmer woman greeted me, setting a clay goblet before me. "Welcome to the Newlands Lodge. I'm Dervera Romalen, proprietor. What's your pleasure, muthsera?"

"I'm Julian, from Anvil," I answered. "Water, and some hot food, please, muthsera."

"Did you run into those bandits in the valley west of here?" Romalen met my gaze. Looking down at my hands, I saw the blood stains on my right wrist, on the front of my leather.

"They won't be a problem any more," I said, scrubbing my right hand on my greaves. Romalen dipped a clean rag in a bucket of water beside the bar, wrung it out, and handed it to me wordlessly. "Thanks," I said, wiping the blood from my hands, then my cuirass. "So I'm tired, I'm hurting, and I want a place to sleep tonight. Drusus told me this was a good place for it."

"Of course," Romalen smiled at the compliment, placing a bowl of stew in front of me. "This is a Dark Elf bar. Cursing, spitting, and screaming? No problem. Fighting's fine with me, too, only the Guard objects. They'll fine you or lock you up." She shrugged. "Not my call. But I'm glad Drusus put in a good word. You'd think he'd prefer the other place, being Imperial and all."

"He said you're a good value for the price," I answered. "I think the other place would have a problem with me walking in covered with blood."

"None of it's yours, I hope," Romalen commented as she watched me eat. I shook my head, my mouth full of food. A shout from the other room caused her to scowl. "Give me a moment," she said to me. Taking a large clay pitcher, she filled it with mead from the huge cask behind her and headed out into the front room. Those Orcs called for refills. Romalen returned with an empty pitcher after a moment. "I have a bed available upstairs," she continued, returning behind the bar. "It's ten drakes for the night."

Pulling out a ten-drake piece, I laid three single drakes next to it. "I'll take the bed, and this is for the food. It was quite delicious, muthsera." I finished the last of it for emphasis.

"Thanks," Romalen smiled at me as she collected the gold. "Sleep well tonight, then. Hopefully that hip will be better in the morning. The room is upstairs, first door on the left."

"Good night, muthsera," I said, picking up my pack and shield. Stiffly, I regained my feet and limped toward the stairs in the front room. One of the Orcs rose to his feet and stood before me, his bulk effectively blocking my way. I met his black gaze, watchful for trouble. He was quite a few inches taller than me, and easily twice my weight. Be careful. Your hip and knee will only slow you down. I said nothing, but waited, aware of the other Orcs watching me.

"Gro-Gharz!" Romalen's voice cracked from the back room. "Better stand aside and let her be!"

"I thought she didn't mind fighting," I heard myself say quietly to this green mountain of a mer. He chuckled at my comment and stepped back to let me by.

"Nah," he replied, amusemant in his voice. "But she minds the Guard busting in here."

"Good night, then," I nodded at him, extending the courtesy to the rest of his group. They grumbled a chorus in reply as I headed for the stairs.

Going up the stairs hurt, really hurt. Straining not to wince from the pain, I made myself climb the wooden steps. Aware of the Orcs' continued regard of me, I couldn't convince myself that they wouldn't take advantage of me if I showed any weakness. Something about these Orcs bothered me, something lacking from other Orsimeri I had met in the past.

The room Romalen had assigned me was plain, but roomy, with a wide bed and a dresser. It didn't take me long to strip down to my undergarments. Cleaning my cuirass and greaves, I mended the small tears here and there. Studying the Kvatch Wolf, I noted the numerous dents in its painted surface, the crimping around the edge where I had used it to deliver blows. Too late to use the hammer - I'll have to do this in the morning. I felt too full from dinner to lay down, so I pulled out Brother Piner's book.

Struggling through the second chapter, which summarized the apparently catastrophic events that led to the formation of the western provinces, including Sentinel, made me even more tired. The words too blurry to continue reading, I put the book back in my pack. Casting a couple of healing spells, I scooted beneath the covers, pulled the blanket over my shoulder, and closed my eyes.

Bright sunlight pouring in through the small window above my bed roused me. Pulling on my leathers, I noted that my hip didn't hurt at all today, and my knee felt just a little achy. Every day, it throbbed after hours of walking and standing on it, but fortunately the pain subsided every night with some rest. Wishing it would subside all the way into nothing, I reminded myself that at least it was not getting worse.

Downstairs in the back room, Romalen was already up and cooking. She set a cup of klah in front of me. From my pack, I drew out my map and the little purple books, looking for more clues. Much of it did not make sense, speaking of places and beings I did not recognize, strange combinations of words, odd syntax. Red-drink. Blood? King Maztiak. Someone who had his carcass dragged through the streets? Mnemoli. Traitors? Traitors to what? Lord Dagon? That could mean most of us mortals. I found the words somewhat disturbing in their denseness.

Toward the end of the third book, a phrase jumped out at me: Starlight is your mantle, brother. Wear it to see by and add its light to Paradise. It was about the only thing in the entire series that made some sort of rudimentary sense to me. Starlight. Where I need to go, it will be dark, and I must go humbly. Only then can I draw near the heart of the matter - the Amulet of Kings.

Considering the implications of my thoughts, I sighed to myself. Leaving my weapons behind rubbed against my grain as a soldier - just having them on me made me feel less vulnerable. That is the whole point of entering as a novitiate, I thought to myself. Stripping myself of all worldly possessions, going to meet my Divine - or in this case, my Daedric Lord, as naked as the day I was born, for this is a form of rebirth.

Can't I just fight my way in and find the Amulet? I wondered, studying the map again. I could see the shoreline of a small lake near the location of the shrine.

The Amulet is buried deep. They will hear my coming, and hide it, or take it beyond my reach, I answered myself. Best to approach as one of them, get near the Amulet, before I reveal my true intentions.

"Traveling again, muthsera?" Romalen asked as she set the plate of eggs and ham before me, refilling my cup with more of the strong, black liquid.

Why would anyone visit a lake? I wondered to myself. "I thought I would go to this lake," I indicated it on my map. "I'm thinking it might be a good place for a little fishing." Kind of a weak story, isn't it?

"That's Lake Arrius," Romalen said, looking at the markings on my chart. "There's a Heaven stone north of it, and a cavern system to the west of it. The caverns are uninhabited as far as I know - nothing worth looting."

"It's cold up there," she added, taking a seat behind the bar and sipping at her mug. "You're not likely to find slaughterfish there, if it's the scales you're after. However, I believe there are some mountain trout, those make good eating. If you can catch enough of them."

Considering the situation, I decided to leave my pack behind and travel light. Placing another ten-drake piece on the counter, I looked up at Romalen. "I think I'll be back tonight," I said quietly. "I'd like to leave my pack here, if that's fine with you."

"No problem," Romalen said, taking the coin. "Keep the key."

The first thing I found exciting on here was the way you had the gate guard knock on the gate and someone lift a beam from inside - how AWESOME !!! That detail made the whole rest of the chapter just that much more real !!!!

The next part I loved was the dealings with the Orcs, very natural way to handle a rowdy crowd, get them on your side with humor - very slick to slip that in instead of her just going to bed.

The part where she is talking about Lake Arius Cavern while Julian is thinking things to herself - another beautiful spot that felt so real and natural - This chapter was so perfect !!! Awesome Write !!!!!

I agree with mALX, there was so much to like in this chaptr that it is difficult to know what to point out.



I like the way that you incorporated the in-game dialogue here. Sometimes listening to yet another guard go on about the 'Hero of Kvatch' is a little like listening to someone gargle broken glass, but you make it work.


I actually had to read this over a couple of times before I got the joke. Once I did I could only marvel at the ease in which Julian diffused a potentially deadly situation.

Did you switch to Verdana to make it easier to read, or did you do it to make it easier to edit? :wink_smile:

Chapter 8.3 The Path to Dawn

After checking in on Paint at the Black Waterside, I found the gravel path leading north past the stable into the foothills, that I had noticed last night. It led me to a ramshackle house surrounded by an equally ramshackle stone wall. The two-story half-timbered structure rose above overgrown hedges and shrubs, heavily shaded by tall trees. I skirted the wall to the west, continuing north. The land rose steeply in front of me, trees, grass and blooms giving way to gravel, boulders, and lichen.

I had left my pack and the Kvatch Wolf in my room, taking only the leathers I wore and the katana. Though the weapon was very distinctive and might make me recognizable, I still couldn’t bring myself to leave it behind. The only other items I carried were my belt pouch, containing my coins, and the small bag slung over my shoulder, containing the four volumes of the Commentaries in case I needed them.

Soon the slope became very steep, forcing me to veer west. Before long, I encountered a rough cobblestoned road that lead to the top of the slope. Following the road, I soon came upon a small lake, its clear waters reflecting the blue sky. A waterfall burbled at its north end. The path I stood on turned to follow the western shore of the lake.

Winded from the climb, I sat on a nearby boulder to survey the area. To the west of the road, a cliff rose sheer, running back further into the mountains themselves. Above me, at the top of a faint trail that crossed the face of the escarpment, I could see a cave entrance. The trail ran north towards the road, meeting somewhere along the western shore of the lake. That’s got to be the cavern system Romalen spoke of. Consulting the map in my head, I studied the contours of the land around me, matching what I saw with what I recalled. Satisfied that the two matched, I pushed myself off the rock and started limping up the road. The shrine has to be in those caverns.

The sun stood well past the zenith when I reached the entrance to the cave. The light dusting of snow that had accumulated in front of the door showed signs of prints, prints of people entering and leaving, grooves left by the bottom of the door as it opened and closed. The solidity of the latch belied the battered, weathered appearance of the door.

The wooden panel swung open with a loud creaking. I froze, listening for alarm from within, but heard nothing but the rising wind blowing cold from the northern mountains. Ducking inside and closing the door behind me, I flinched at the noise. They never oiled the hinges. A very effective alarm. The tunnel within was immediately warmer, once I was out of the wind.

Daylight seeped through the cracks in the door behind me, lighting the first few meters of the tunnel. The rest of the passage dropped through shadow to an amber glow at the bottom. The light had the flickering quality typical of torches. So they’re no longer hiding the fact that this cavern is occupied.

“Who’s there?” a voice called from below. Drawing my katana, keeping the tip low toward the floor, I limped down the rough corridor. My heart pounding, I stepped into the torch light, finding myself in a large domed cavern. At the far end, standing just before a pair of torch standards, a young man, dressed in the characteristic red robe of a Mythic Dawn acolyte, watched me draw near. Unarmed. Probably knows a few summoning spells. I sheathed the katana and approached, my palms open and out to the side.

His red hood cast shadows across his face, making it hard for me to see his expression. Stepping to one side of him forced him to turn partly into the torchlight. Enough of his visage emerged for me to see his boyish Imperial features. He watched me warily.

“I’ve come for the Mythic Dawn,” I said quietly. His eyes flickered from my white hair to my katana, narrowing thoughtfully at me.

“Dawn is breaking,” he intoned.

What? Something surfaced in my whirling thoughts, spoken in Raven Camoran’s voice during his condescending lecture to Baurus. “Greet the new day,” I responded reflexively.

“Welcome, sister,” the doorkeeper remained dubious. “The hour is late,” he continued, “but the Master still has need for willing hands.” He stepped between the torch standards to the door set in the rock wall. Swinging the door open, he pulled on a cord hanging next to the jamb. A chiming sounded from within as he returned to where I hesitated, between the flares. “You may pass into the shrine,” he said, pointing me to the open doorway. “Harrow waits within. Do not tarry.”

Taking a deep breath, I entered the dark, winding passage beyond the door, its far end glowing with torch light. As I limped my way toward the light, a shadow fell across the passage. My right hand twitched for my sword hilt, but I kept it clenched at my side.

The Dunmer blocked my path, eye to eye with me. Tall for a Dunmer, he matched my own slightly above average height, and the black hair springing from a pronounced widow’s peak gave him additional stature.

“I am Harrow,” he said in the hoarse voice typical of Ashlanders, “warden of the Shrine of Dagon.”

“I am Julian,” I answered, reaching into my small bag and pulling out the four volumes of the Commentaries. “I have these -”

“You have followed the Path of Dawn hidden in these writings of our Master, Mankar Camoran,” Harrow said, waving the books away. “You have earned your place among the Chosen.”

Putting the books back in the small bag, I glanced up at him. “Your doorkeeper said I’m late?”

Harrow shrugged. “The time of preparation is almost over, and the time of cleansing draws near,” he explained. Turning, he led me to an alcove behind a torch standard. He drew out a red acolyte’s robe from a small dresser placed there.

“As a member of the Order of the Mythic Dawn,” he placed the robe on top of the dresser, “everything you need will be provided from the Master’s bounty.” His eyes gleamed as they rested briefly on first my white hair, then on the hilt of my katana. “Put on this initiate’s robe, and leave your possessions here.”

Hesitating, I eyed the Dunmer dubiously. He cocked a slanted eyebrow at me. Turning away from him, I unbuckled the katana and laid it on top of the dresser. Forcing my hand to release it, I left it there. My small bag went next to it. Unbuckling my cuirass, I shrugged out of it, placing it over the katana so I wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. After removing the padded tunic, I pulled the robe on over my head, its woolen folds warm on my skin after the brief exposure of the cool, damp air of the passage.

Removing my boots, I unlaced my greaves and slid them off, dropping the skirts of the robe over my legs. Harrow stopped me as I reached for the boots I had set aside. He looked at the hem of the robe, which reached my ankles. “Leave the boots, too,” he said. I stared at him, stunned. “All initiates must go barefoot to Dagon,” he explained. “Once you are initiated, you will be provided with appropriate footwear.” My soul screaming at leaving the katana, I turned around to face the Dunmer, my hands shaking. His hands mimed raising the cowl over his head. Feeling at the collar of my robe, I found the heavy folds and covered my head, pulling the edge forward over my face.

“Very good,” he said, eyeing me up and down. His gaze stopped on the ring on my little finger. “Take that off, too,” he ordered. My heart in my throat, I obeyed, tucking the ring into my belt purse. Harrow stepped forward and took the belt purse, leaving the rest on the dresser. His long blue fingers did linger on the hilt of the katana in a caress that left my skin crawling. Tucking my purse into a pocket of his robe, he turned and led me to a second door. “Now I shall take you to the Master,” he spoke over his shoulder.

My feet recoiling from the cold stone floor, I followed after the Dark Elf warden. My heartbeat dunned in my ears as I trailed Harrow. He led me first into a second shadowy cavern, a stone dais in the center lit by more of those flaming torches. Trying not to be obvious, I scanned the cavern, but saw little outside the light of those brands. Harrow skirted the platform and led me toward another corridor leading out of the cavern. Two red-robed men, one an Altmer and the other an Imperial, passed Harrow as they left the passageway. “Dawn is breaking,” each said to him.

“Greet the new day,” he responded to each in turn. They eyed me as I followed Harrow into the corridor, but did not speak. Before continuing after Harrow down the passage, I watched them take up positions around the dais.

Harrow led me to another door, lit by another pair of torch standards, with yet another one of the red-robed members, this a Dunmer woman. “Dawn is breaking,” she said to me as Harrow opened the door.

“Greet the new day,” I managed to respond. My mind was still screaming for the katana - Fool! Never leave your weapon behind! Hobbling after Harrow, I found myself on the upper level of a huge, shadowy cavern. The center was well below the outer rim, too far to jump down. There a high platform with a horned altar at one end and a colossal statue of a four-armed Daedra Lord, served as the focus of a gathering of acolytes. That has to be Mehrunes Dagon, I studied the sculpture. That's one ugly lavasvcker.

Harrow paused and turned to me. “How lucky you are,” he said, barely suppressed jubilation in his voice, “to be initiated by the Master himself!”

Tearing my gaze away from the dais, where a blue-robed Altmer held forth, sermonizing to his audience, I stared at Harrow. “Th- that’s Mankar C- Camoran?” I stammered.

“Aye, that he is,” Harrow said proudly. He pointed out the equally tall woman, dressed in red with a mages staff at her back. “And the lady with him is his daughter, Ruma.” He led me to a wide flight of stone steps that led down a landing, where another set of stairs rose to the upper level at the opposite side of the cavern, and a third set dropped down to the floor. Scanning the cavern, I spotted at least four shadowy figures around the upper level. Guards. Harrow led me to the group of several acolytes standing before the dais, who listened to Camoran with rapt attention.

“- Dragon Throne is empty,” the stentorian voice rang out, “and we hold the Amulet of Kings!” As I drew near the platform, I recognized the large red diamond in Camoran’s left hand. The Amulet of Kings! How dare he! “Praise be your brothers and sisters,” the Altmer mage continued, tossing back his iron-grey hair. “Great shall be their reward in Paradise!”

“So sayeth Lord Dagon!” the acolytes around me chanted, mesmerized by Camoran’s charisma. “Praise be!” As Camoran continued pontificating, I glanced at Harrow. He watched me, his red eyes speculative.

“The time of cleansing is now here!” Camoran’s roar snapped my attention back to him. “I go now to Paradise, to meet with Lord Dagon! When I return, Lord Dagon shall walk with me at the coming of the Dawn!” Stepping back from the altar, he turned his back on the acolytes. Stepping to the center of the dais, he tipped his head back to look up at the colossal statue at the far end and lifted his hands. My breath stopped as Camoran brought his hands, the Amulet between them, together above his head and disappeared into a ball of argent light.

This was AWESOME!!!! I was holding my breath reading it, even having played the main quest every game! You ROCKED this chapter!!!!!

Even having played the game, my heartbeat rose in reading this. Goood. Verrry good.

I am so glad that I have never played the main quest, because it gives me the opportunity to experience this story with fresh eyes. Following Julian following Harrow was like reading a very good fantasy novel. Your attention to detail was outstanding. Too many young writers believe that they key to description is the piling on of details. They would do well to read this chapter to learn that it has more to do with what you describe than how much.

I do think that you missed a small opportunity here:

First, you don't need a comma after the word 'platform'. Second, and I must stress that this is only coming from my own sensibilities and you by no means need to address it, given the part that the statue plays later when it frames Mankar Camoran's exit from the cavern, I would have liked to have heard Julian make reference to it as a statue of Dagon:

There a high platform with a horned altar at one end and a colossal statue of a four-armed Daedra Lord, whom I presumed to be Lord Dagon, served as the focus for a gathering of acolytes.

Thanks to all who read the last chapter.
Destri, I have fixed your nit in the previous chapter. My solution is a homage to Ahnold.
mALX, if you thought the last post was good stuff, fasten your seat belts for this one!

Here is the rest of Julian's adventure in the Dagon Shrine. Destri, I hope you are satisfied with my answer to your question concerning Redguard racial abilities.

This was a very hard adventure to write, mainly because in the game it was very nonsensical. The player character can walk right into the cavern in full Blades armor and claim he wants to join, and they believe him?? Up to this point, I've managed to make the game play work more realistically, but this chapter is the biggest departure for me. It took three major rewrites, as in each one being completely different from the one before, before I was satisfied. Remember, I'm playing vanilla Oblivion on the XBox, so no mods.

*************
Chapter 8.4 The Dagon Shrine

Stunned, I stared at the afterimage of the portal. Harrow approached me before I could recover my composure. "Don't worry, initiate," he assured me, clapping his hand on my shoulder. "You will soon follow the Master into Paradise!" He led me to the side of the dais and pointed out the stone steps in the edge. "Go to Her Highness, Ruma Camoran, for your initiation!"

Looking up at the dais, I saw the Altmer woman, her face shadowed by her cowl, waiting for me. Still reeling from the disappearance of the Amulet, I climbed the stairs, Harrow steering me with his hand on my shoulder. Stepping onto the dais near the foot of the statue of Mehrunes Dagon, I glanced to my right and spotted a bound Argonian laying on a low altar at the statue's base. nvde but for a loincloth, his scaled skin had the grey undertone of ill health, and his eyes were closed.

Harrow guided me to where Ruma Camoran stood near the horned altar. A silver ceremonial dagger rested on its surface, next to a large volume, bound in a bone-white leather cover. "You have come to pledge yourself to Lord Dagon's service," Ruma intoned, her feminine voice an echo of Camoran's. "The ritual requires red-drink. Take the dagger," she indicated the silver weapon laying on the taller altar at the front of the dais. "Sacrifice to Dagon for your initiation," she pointed at the Argonian.

Blood sacrifice? Looking again at the Argonian, I saw that his eyes had opened, and were watching me dully. No, I can't do this. Harrow reached up with his free hand and drew my cowl back before gripping my other shoulder. Ruma's eyes gleamed as they fell on my white hair.

"Or would you prefer to be the sacrifice, Hero of Kvatch?" her voice held a note of triumph. The blood fled my face as I realized the danger of my situation. They've recognized me!

My mind started spinning through options, slipping into combat mode. Free the Argonian. Take the book. Kill Ruma Camoran, and Harrow, if I have to. Get my money back from that fetcher. Get the Argonian out of here alive. Find my armor and sword. Use the dagger on Ruma first, get that staff away from her. She'll be dangerous with it.

The rising panic suddenly dissolved, replaced by a familiar calmness, the same calmness I felt standing in the ranks waiting for the order to engage. I may well die here, but by Akatosh, I will fight as if I'm immortal. My long-forgotten personal mantra came back to me, slowing my heartbeat to a slow thumping in my chest.

"Ki'ire!" The long-forgotten word escaped my lips, white light cascading around me. Of its own volition, my body shook off Harrow's grip and sprang for the altar, my right hand closing around the grip of the dagger. My fingers brushed against the volume, sending shocks of energy tingling up my nerves. In that instant, the large glyph on its bone-white cover sent chills down my spine. That looks like an Oblivion Gate, I realized. But I had no time to dwell on the mystery of that book.

Shouts whirled around me as I spun toward Ruma. She was backing away, bringing her staff around. Chasing her, I caught the head of the staff with my left hand and yanked it toward me. This brought Ruma within blade-range of the dagger, which flashed across her throat. Her grip on the staff eased, and I wrested it from her slack fingers as she crumpled away. Beyond her, Harrow sprang for me, teeth bared in a hateful grimace.

Sliding my grip down to the center of the staff, I whirled it in my hand to bring the steel-capped end into Harrow's soft belly. His lungs emptied as he bent forward, his own throat meeting the edge of my dagger. Running toward the Argonian, who was now watching me, I blocked the falling mace of a charging guard with the staff, letting the horned weapon slide down the shaft away from me.

This brought me within his guard, and I sank the dagger into his side, between the front and back plates of the bound cuirass. Hot blood cascaded around my hand, telling me I had struck something vital in his belly. Letting his weight slide off the blade, I jumped for the Argonian, who now sat up, his bound hands in front of him.

The dagger flashed, trailing blood, and parted his bonds. Behind me, shouting warned me of another attacking sentry. Whipping my left hand to the side and behind me, I brought the steel-capped end of the staff against his cuirass, feeling the solid thwack! which sent him staggering back.

"That'ss a magess sstaff!" the Argonian shouted at me. "It firess sspeellss!"

I shoved it at him. "Here, then! I don't know how to use it that way!"

Apparently, the intended sacrifice did, for he lowered the gnarled head of the staff toward the knot of assassins now climbing the steps to the dais. Yellow sulfurous fire sizzled forward from the tip of the staff, engulfing the three attackers in sickly smoke. They collapsed, two of them vomiting blood, another voiding his bowels violently. The odor of sickness pervaded the air.

Panicked acolytes ran toward the stairs leading out of the chamber, screaming and waving their hands in the air. Their flight hampered the attacks of the rest of the guards from the upper levels.

The book! Running for the altar, I seized the volume and shoved it into my robe, where the belt created a loose pocket in front of my chest. My skin crawled from the contact with its power.

Behind me, the colossal statue crumbled with a loud crack, falling into pieces over the sacrificial altar and the stairs, just missing the Argonian. The screaming escalated as the acolytes ran for the entrance to the cavern, only to have a heavy iron grate slam down, shutting off their escape. Two more attackers made it down to the cavern floor, trailing yellow smoke from their summons.

Catching the Argonian's elbow, I leaned to his ear. "I'm Julian. What's your name?"

"Jeeliuss," he hissed back. He hefted the staff and aimed it at the two oncoming assailants. "You lead the way." The two attackers crumpled to the floor, with similar results as the first group.

I hobbled to Harrow's body, holding my breath against the stench of illness. Searching his robe, I found my belt purse, with an ornate iron key, and snatched them, shoving both into the pocket of my own robe. Moving to the side, I was able to scramble over the pieces of the statue to the steps leading off the platform. I could hear Jeelius's bare feet slapping the stones behind me.

Ahead, the acolytes ran up the second set of stairs that led to the far side of the upper level. Fighting against their panicked flight, more guards streamed in through a second entry I had not noticed before.

"Give me room!" Jeelius hissed, and I ducked sideways against the wall as he shot more of that sickly spell at the armed attackers. They scattered before the spell reached them, and it hit only two of them. The other three came on, maces swinging.

Two of them attacked Jeelius. It became clear to me that the Argonian was no fighter. Ducking beneath the swing of the third one, I stabbed him in the throat and grabbed his crotch with my left hand. Getting my right knee behind his legs, I raised my left hand and upended him over my thigh, and off the edge of the stairs. Turning back to my Argonian friend, I saw him manage to block one mace strike with the staff, and felt anger rise in my chest at the unfair odds.

Remembering Martin's words on the Gold Road, when we were walking to Weye from Skingrad, I clenched my left hand against the rage, letting it build up and seethe. When flames licked around my fingers, I flung the flare spell at one of the two assailants. He caught it full in the helm, which became scorchingly hot.

Screaming, he yanked the metal cover off, and his face came off with it. Not pausing at the gruesome sight, I jumped toward the other guard and sank my dagger into her unprotected thigh. Twisting the blade to cause as much muscle damage as I could, I elbowed her back into the stairs. Screaming from pain, she threw her mace at me in desperation. The weapon struck my right shoulder and clattered away down the steps.

Another flare-spell flew from my fingers into her face, and I kicked her over the side of the stairs. Then I grabbed Jeelius and hauled him up the stairs after me. The second entrance was now locked, but Harrow's key opened it. We bolted through the door, and heard more shouts ahead.

What followed was a chaotic impression of maze-like passageways, attacking assassins, fleeing acolytes, and the staff spitting that horrid yellow fire.

Jeelius proved to be a solid supporter. Using the staff on the attackers when they were still some distance away, he thinned their numbers for me. He also sent convalescence spells my way whenever I was wounded or hit by spells. Suddenly the staff went dark in his hands.

"Out of charge," Jeelius spat, throwing the staff away in disgust. We kept running.

We came to a locked, bolted door. Jeelius cast a quick spell at it, and I heard the lock click over. Opening the door, I went through to find myself in a small chamber, a narrow passageway dropping downward to dead end at a rock wall. I started to backtrack, but Jeelius directed my attention to a hand crank mounted on the wall at the top of the passageway. He spun the lever clockwise, and the wall at the bottom of the corridor rumbled into the floor.

Through the new opening I recognized the entry cavern, where I had encountered the door keeper. That young man was nowhere in sight. Entering the cave, I collapsed to my knees as the adrenaline I had called failed abruptly. Jeelius knelt beside me, calling my name in concern.

"I'm all right," I gasped, shaking violently, my forehead on the rocky floor. "It's just the adrenaline crash."

"That was the famous Redguard adrenaline rush?" Jeelius asked softly. "I'm impressed!"

"Oh, I hate it," I muttered. "It tends to leave you at the worst possible time." That's what happened before. As my hammering heart slowed down, and my breaths became less painful, I staggered to my feet. When my battered feet and right knee took my weight again, I stifled a cry at the pain. With Jeelius staying close to my side, I wobbled to the passageway that led into the shrine, where I had first met Harrow.

Relief nearly overwhelmed me when I found my leathers on top of the dresser, as I had left them. Picking them up, I sighed at the sight of my katana. Taking the bone-white book out of my robe, I slipped it into the small bag, underneath the four Commentaries. Stripping out of the loose-fitting robe, I glanced at Jeelius. His back to me, he looked cold in the damp air of the cavern. I handed him the robe, then quickly slipped into my padded tunic and leathers.

Belting on my katana, I felt complete, though still shaky. As I turned toward the entry door, Jeelius stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. Warm white light passed from him to me, and the shakiness disappeared. Grateful for his healing, I handed him the ceremonial dagger.

Quietly, to avoid attracting attention of any remaining survivors, I led Jeelius to the tunnel leading for the surface. We stepped outside into falling snow, glimpses of stars visible through chinks in the overcast above. "Feels late," I commented. As if in answer, my stomach growled. "Jeelius, let's get to Cheydinhal. It's about two hours away."

"I need to get back to the Imperial City," Jeelius said, falling into step behind me. "Not to ssound ungrateful, but -" his voice trailed off. Glancing back at him, I saw the uncertainty in his expression.

"My horse is at Cheydinhal, and I've also got a room at the inn there," I responded. "I'm hungry, and tired. Come with me, I'll get you food and a bed as well. We can leave in the morning."

Jeelius did not speak again until we left the slippery trail and reached the shore of Lake Arrius. "You will esscort me to the Imperial City?"

"I'm going to Bruma," I answered, "but yes, I'll escort you as far as I can."

Remember what I told you about your combat scenes before, kid?

You GET A FOXY "A" FOR THIS AS WELL!!!

:goodjob:

:trophy:

:tops:

I've been posting this on another forum, and now I'm about three posts away from being caught up.

Is there anyone here (who is not already on the other forum) who would be interested in seeing this continued? I'm going to keep posting new material on the other forum, and will be happy to keep it going here as well if there are folks here who want to see more of it.

Let me know via reply or PM!

How did I miss this? I have never seen this chapter before!!!! ARGH!!! Hauty, if you ever post and don't see me by the second day, PM me over at Chorrol and I will get right over here. I'm sorry! Awesome Write!!!!! I love this part of the main questline.