I've only now caught up. I loved the part about Paint and I'm curious; how well do you think the game gives a sense of being on a horse?

Julian's premonition of blood and fire was again a bit off-putting but not enough to detract from the rich atmosphere you create. Having played for so long all of this would be frankly boring without the uniqueness you bring to the character.

Another good installment. I remember that first time into Oblivion from the Kvatch gate. Just as in your case, it took forever, a long struggle in which I had no idea what to expect. Nice work in recapturing that feeling.


Here is a good reason for the guard to go back to Nirn:
Don't tempt me. You're exhausted. You're more of a liability than my knee is right now.


Nitpicks:
I think you can lose the first comma here:
Fortunately the door opening into the smaller tower was unlocked, as well,

You have a lot of commas here:
Within, a man crouched, stripped to his undergarments, blood splattered on his fair and bruised skin.
Perhaps it could be cleaned up a bit like so:
A man crouched within, stripped to his undergarments and blood splattered on his fair and bruised skin.

This is also an extremely long sentence:
Twisting my body to face the churl, now starting to recover from his swing, I reversed my grip on the hilt and raised it, pivoting around the tip in the other's shoulder, and drove the blade in a downward angle as far as it would go.
You might try breaking it up into two sentences, I am not sure exactly where though.

Same here:
The dremora screeched, the sound almost too high-pitched to hear, and turned into me, his right arm useless, and fisted me to the floor with his left hand.

Great job of capturing the sights, sounds, heat and terror inside that gate.

Very nice choices on what to lavish attention on and what to pass over.

Excellent portrayal of the tragedy of Menian. The sword salute was most appropriate, given Julian's background. They both knew what was required, but that doesn't make it any easier.

I completely enjoyed reading this!

Me too. I think he should appear outside the gate.



@ Hauteecole Rider - My favorite part was that fight with the Churl - Awesome battle !!!! Then you saluted the legion soldier, that brought tears - Perfect Write!!!

A fun read. I like the way you are trying to put realism into the fight scenes. The salute also worked out great.

Every character I've played has invited the Kvatch guard to come with me instead of running. They have all died within 10 seconds. Lol.

@Beniamus Revas: I hated that I had to leave Goneld behind, every time. Every time. :banghead:

@treydog: Yes, those darned Oblivion Gates get a bit tedious after a while, don't they? bliviongate:

@bobg: Of all the computer games including horses that I've played, this is the most realistic. It's one of the things I love about the immersive aspect of the game. Unfortunately, it still doesn't capture the movement of the horse's back as he walks along, that's something you'll have to experience for yourself. :toughninja:

As for the vision of blood and fire, it's true of any combat when you think of it, and Julian's had plenty of it. All the talk from the Emperor about Oblivion has kind of revived that part of her life again.

@SubRosa: thanks again for catching the nits, all of them. They've all been fixed. Yup, all of them. :spotted owl:

@Acadian: I'm glad you caught the significance of the sword salute. After all, what else can she do to honor a fellow soldier? She felt horrible leaving him behind.

@mALX1: I get your adrenaline going, then bring you to tears? That makes me glad, for I'm doing what I'm trying to do. :twirl:

@Winter Wolf: I learned quickly that having followers just don't fit with my playing style. Besides, at this low level in the game, I just can't keep my fellow soldiers alive. That's the veterinarian interfering with the soldier here. :rolleyes:

@Destri Melarg: Yes, I kind of laughed at how quickly Vonius left me in the game. But remember, Julian is a soldier, not a lady. Though she is a woman, the lady part just ain't natural for her. If she were somebody's wife, she'd be the kind that rules her household with liberal applications of a frying pan. :lmao:

And yes, there will be more of Morvayn later. He is one of my favorite NPC's in Anvil, no matter what character I'm playing.

***************
Chapter 4.2 Taking the Sigil Stone

Re-entering the central well of the keep, with its roaring, screeching pillar of fire, I nearly bumped into a scamp. He saw me before I could duck into the shadows. Too close to use his usual fireball spell, the creature leaped for me. His claws raked across my cuirass, tearing through the tough leather before I could raise my shield to bear.

Swinging the shield as hard as I could, I brought its edge down hard on the scamp's arm before he could come back with another swipe. I felt the bone snap, and the daedra screamed, reeling back. Raising my right leg, I shoved my heel into his belly. The scamp staggered back, then flipped over the low iron railing that lined the spiral ramp.

The thin stone vibrated under my feet, and I looked up to see a dremora charging at me, his mace raised high. Managing to duck under his swing, I hobbled around to swing the iron blade outward across the unprotected back of his knees. Buckling to one side, he somehow brought the mace back and clipped my left hip. Pain exploded out of the old wound, and I spun away, to nearly meet the same fate as that scamp. Only by grabbing one of the clawed struts with my shield hand did I keep myself from going over that railing.

"Damn you, keister!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. My panic and terror tore out in a string of curses that would have turned my old pilus prior's hair as white as my own. Feeling the heat build up in my right hand, I threw the sword at the dremora as he limped towards me. He batted the blade away and moved to give me the fatal blow. He was so close, I couldn't miss his face with the fireball if I wanted to, and I didn't.

The flames melted the red flesh off his head as he reeled back. Pulling myself forward off the railing, I half ran, half stumbled toward my sword, laying beside the door through which I had entered. Skidding to my knees and bracing my left arm against the wall, I grabbed the hilt and whipped it around at the dremora. He was kneeling, screaming that odd, almost soundless screech that temporarily blocked out all other noise, his hands still over his face. I limped up to him, and taking the hilt in both hands, swung the sword at his neck with all my remaining strength.

The sturdy iron blade smashed into his neck and bit into his spine, then jammed. The force of the blow knocked his bulk over to his left, dragging the sword, and me, with him. His sheer mass forced me onto my right knee, sending even more daggers of pain shooting into my thigh. Cacat! Sitting on my right hip, I twisted the sword loose from the neck bones and set it down close to hand. Reaching into my belt pouch, I fumbled out the last vial of healing potion. Leaning back onto my right elbow, I looked up the central well of the keep, my eyes tracing that pillar of fire. Still a long ways to go. Yet there was no walking on this bum knee right now. Uncorking the little bottle, I choked down the vile liquid.

Waiting for the full effect of the potion, which wouldn't be enough to fully counteract these injuries, I hoped it would at least let me function again. Picking up the sword, I crawled over to the dead churl. A quick search of his gear netted me a couple of lockpicks, some septims, and a piece of amber.

"Honey, run down to Felen, see if he has that order of daedra heart for me." My mother's voice snaked through my memory. "I'm getting low on the Fire of Life potions."

Gingerly putting some weight on my knee, I fell back down to the floor. Ach, damn. Fumbling at the churl's cuirass, I struggled to lift the heavy plate off of his chest. Ending up pushing it to the side, I drew my dagger. With the hilt in my right hand, and my left hand over the pommel, I drove it into the briastbone with as much of my weight as I could bear behind it. My left palm stung with the impact, but I felt a satisfying crack! as the sternum split into two.

Feeling it give under my fingers, I wrestled the knife out and used it to slice the flesh over the broken bone. Then I shoved the tip of the dagger back into the fracture, picked up the sword, and jammed the the iron blade next to the knife. The longer weapon gave me the leverage I needed to wedge the rib cage apart. Leaning my right hand on the sword kept the incision open. I picked up the dagger, which had fallen away, and reached into the chest cavity with the blade cupped in my left palm.

Using my fingers on either side of the small weapon, I located the heart, then the great vessels coming off of it. The dagger made short work of them. Then I peeled the heart out of its membranous sac, and pulled it from the chest cavity. The rib cage snapped shut with a thud when I withdrew the sword.

The heavy organ dripped clotted blood as I cradled it in my lap. Using the dagger, I sliced the muscular walls into thin sections, much like slicing a sweet bell pepper as my mother used to do. Closing my eyes, I popped one of the sections into my mouth and started chewing.

Almost immediately, I started gagging. Gods, this is awful! The meat was tough, gristly, and foul tasting. Part of the metallic taste was from the blood still coating the heart, but the meat itself was almost as vile. But the pain in my knee drove me to continue chewing. Finally I choked it down, fighting the increasing urge to vomit.

Waiting for a few moments, I regarded the remaining sections. Do I have to eat the whole thing? Wishing for my mortar and pestle, I took another piece and chewed it into submission. Fortunately, the pain subsided enough after it that I could stand up. Wrapping the remaining pieces of the heart into parchment, I slid the whole gory mess into my belt pouch and picked up my weapons. Sheathing the dagger, I limped up the ramp towards the top.

*******************
I reached the blood well with some relief. Extending my shaking right hand into its red fountain, I felt the healing surge through me. My strength restored, the pain in my left hip, right shoulder, and right knee damped down to more tolerable levels.

Limping to the double doorways that led into the central chamber, I realized I had finally reached my goal. Through the red dome that formed the floor of the immense room, the sigil fire punched upwards to something that hovered at its tip. That something glowed, throwing off sparks and red lightning bolts, and howling with the barely audible sound of tortured souls. The sigil stone!

Two ramps, formed of bloodstained talons, rose on either side of the chamber, meeting at a mezzanine that ringed the room. Another balcony, this a round one, jutted out above it, at the level of the sigil stone.

Assessing the room, noting the long sightlines from one side to the other, I sheathed my sword. A little archery would be good here. Tightening the string on my bow, I made it ready. Notching one of the steel-tipped arrows to the string, I moved to the ramp on my right. Slowly, feeling my way up the ramp step by step, I climbed until I could just see above the edge of the ring balcony.

Two more ramps, these made of a leathery material, connected the mezzanine with the round platform above. Two scamps patrolled the circular floor, dwarfed by the immense scale of the chamber. Neither seemed aware of my presence as I paused to watch their movements. Their patrol seemed confined to the base of the leather ramps, across the room from me.

Picking the scamp on the right to be the first, I sighted on him with the bow. I raised my aim point quite a few degrees above his head to allow for the greater distance and the slightly upward angle of my trajectory. He paused in his patrolling, and I loosed the arrow. Pulling another shaft out of my quiver, I watched the scamp stagger and turn in my direction. By the time he started forming his fireball, the second missile was already winging its way across the chamber into his abdomen.

The second scamp had moved behind the ramp, out of my sight. Limping quickly onto the balcony, I continued widdershins around the room, hugging the wall. He appeared past the base of the far ramp, pacing back towards his partner. He stopped at the sight of the corpse, and started scanning the chamber. Arrow already nocked to my string, I aimed and loosed it in a smooth movement. The bodkin tip slammed through the scamp's bony chest, the shaft disappearing until only the fletching could be visible. The scamp stared down at the missile, then turned his face in my direction before falling backwards.

Drawing my sword, I hobbled to the first scamp. Dead as the Deadlands. Moving to the second, I found him in similar condition. Crouching at the base of the ramp, I looked up at the sigil stone. A shadow moved on the platform just past it. It seemed bigger. Dremora. Cacat! Those beings were more than I could handle. I had been lucky so far, but I knew I wasn't strong enough for those oversized war machines.

Working my way up the ramp, crouching to keep my silhouette low, I nocked another arrow to the bow. The dremora was pacing restlessly from one side of the sigil platform to the other. He's missing his minions. He stopped at the far side of the platform from me. Take him. Now.

In a smooth motion, I sighted on him. Calm came over me as my arms steadied, and my aim settled on that small space at the back of his left knee, where the armored greaves left a gap as large as my hand. Letting the arrow fly, I nocked a second arrow before checking to see if the first had flown true. The churl staggered as the bodkin point stabbed through his knee, felling him to a half-kneeling stance. He spun around, trying to stagger back to his feet, and my second arrow thunked home in his side. He went down instead of up, and stayed down. Drawing my sword as a precaution, I approached him cautiously, but the churl was dead.

Turning to the sigil fire, I walked up to it, to the very edge of the platform. The heat of the fire scorched my face and left hand as I reached for the stone. Taking a lung-searing breath, I cupped my fingers around the round thing and pulled it out of the fire. The stone pulsated in my hand, a high-pitched screeching emanating from it, yet it was comfortably warm to the touch. The unexpected sensations nearly caused me to drop it. I pulled it instead to my chest, behind my shield.

Fire exploded outward, flames swirling first red and orange, then turning through yellow to blinding white. The platform shifted beneath my feet, and I dropped into a crouch. Abruptly I could no longer feel solid ground under my soles.

This may be your best one so far.



Yes! I so love knocking those blasted Daedra over the edge!

The description of removing the dremora heart is anatomical, clinical- and chilling. The more I see of Julian, the more I like her. Nothing else to say except, "Please, may I have some more?"

Wow! What an outstanding depiction of the harvesting of a daedra's heart. Your description of battle makes each scamp and dremora a trial that Julian never passes unscathed. I breathed a sigh of relief with her on that platform when the final dremora fell.

In all the time I've played Oblivion I have never actually done the main quest. I just tote the Amulet of Kings around while doing all the guild and side quests. Julian's experience is my guide now, I can't wait for the next chapter.

I will leave the nitpicks to SubRosa and Acadian, but as a matter of style:

You might be burying your lead here a bit. If I may suggest - 'His claws raked across my cuirass, tearing through the tough leather before I could bring my shield to bear.'

bliviongate: Bravo! This was riveting to read. Perfect choices of what to pass over and what to lavish attention on.



I was wishing and gagging too Julian! Wonderful!


Great description of the top of that tower and the sigil stone area. You really captured the feel.

OOHHH, this was as real as it gets, it felt like being there !!!

Exciting! It reads just like that first Oblivion Gate. A long, desperate battle that never seemed to end, leaving one tired and nearly witless at the end, and just thankful I had finally found the stone and gotten out of there! Very immersive!

I liked how Julian's sword got caught in the bone of the Dremora's neck. Most fan fic is loaded with people hacking others in half, running their swords completely through people, etc... A bit of reality is a very refreshing change! :thumbsup:

I also liked eating the heart. It always makes me think of the Viking Sagas where the heros did just that, in order to gain the power of their enemy.


nitpicks:
The word keister sounds a little odd. You can just say ass, the forum does not block that word.


This sentence seemed overly technical, given the character and the fantasy setting:
First the aorta, then the two smaller vena cavas
Would Julian really know an aorta from a vena cava? Or have ever even heard of those terms?


I think you left the middle comma in here by accident?
Cradling the heavy organ, dripping clotted blood, in my lap,
I also counted five commas in the sentence it is part of. You might want to take another look at that and see if it can be broken up into two sentences.


Perhaps you should state that the first scamp was felled by this arrow shot? You jump ahead to the second one, and only tell us the first died a few sentences later. It is a little disorienting.
By the time he started forming his fireball, the second missile was already winging its way across the chamber.

By the Nine! That was rivetting! I reallty enjoyed the sense of despair ("are we there yet?" ) I applaud your clinical way of describing battle and the surgical precision of the removal of the heart. Gross :yuck: But I loved it!

I remember the first time I went into that tower. I hadn't a clue what I was supposed to do there (I was looking for some switch to turn off the gate. Yes really ) and walked around for hours until I stumbled upon "sanctum sigilis" and figured that must be what I was looking for.

After reading that account of wortcraft, it took me a while to think about having breakfast.

I hope that gimp hip is not beyond eventual recovery. My totally healthy characters regularly brushed past death so close they could smell the grave. I hate to think what it would have been like if they were crippled.

@ all: Thanks for continuing to read Julian's story. I see that everyone had something to say about the daedra heart. I drew on my experience performing necropsies for that part. :yuck:

@treydog: My best one? Uh oh, I'm in trouble!

Yes, it's fun kicking those daedra over the edge. It gets really funny when they keep running in mid-air, like Wile E. Coyote after one of his brilliant schemes backfires.

@Destri: Thanks for your words of encouragement. Yes, that first time through, I was dismayed by the number of enemies I had to fight through to get to the darn thing. And yes, I was so glad when that last one died. I (the player) was drained and shaking after that. Talk about immersion!

I fixed your nit. It's a valid observation, and it reads better your way.

@Acadian: I really had to search for the words to describe the Sigillium area. As my sister would say, thank God for the Internet - the architectural dictionary helped a great deal with that. The place is so bizarre, there really isn't much of anything in real life that compares to that. :shakehead:

@mALX1: Great words from a writer who can keep me on the edge of my seat! Thanks! :dance:

@SubRosa: As I mentioned above, my necropsy experience serves me well in describing the effects of sword fighting. I became very good at sharpening knives out of necessity. Bone, skin, and the gristle between the bones of the spinal column dull your knife very, very fast. I figured after battling all the way up that tower, her iron sword was no longer as sharp as it was when she stepped through that gate.

Your nits have been fixed. That second arrow she fired was meant for the first scamp, I have edited that sentence to make it clearer. Julian, like Buffy, shoots two arrows at each enemy to make sure. She just doesn't utilize the Buffy trick of shooting the first arrow high and the second one flat - she's not that good an archer. :nope:

@RemkoNL: You walked around those Deadlands? I crawled from one end to the other! It was no stroll in the park! :ahhh:

@bobg: So sorry I ruined your appetite. I'm a typical vet in that I would be doing a necropsy and thinking about Chinese food for lunch at the same time.

And don't worry, Julian won't be a gimp forever.

This will be it for a few days, as I'll be working over the weekend. I shall be back, though. A quiet interlude after the intensity of the last couple of chapters.

*****************
Chapter 4.3 Recovery

Landing on my knees with a grunt, I hunched over the pain flaring in my right leg and left hip. Lowering the sigil stone, hissing and crackling in the cold rain, I braced myself on my left arm. My scorched breath steamed in the damp night air, the rain hissing into vapor as soon as it hit my heated cuirass. Lifting my head against the pain in my back, I let the cold drops stream onto my burned face. Oblivion was gone, Nirn had replaced it. A normal thunderstorm roared above my head. Before me, the twisted and ruined metal gates of Kvatch rose from shattered walls. A circle of steaming ashes and charred struts were the only evidence of the Oblivion gate's erstwhile existence.

Goneld! He's still back there! The realization hit me hard. Warm tears mingled with the cold rain on my face. Not wanting to imagine his fate, I shivered suddenly. Bringing my eyes back down to the world around me, I could see the barricade behind me, barely visible in the downpour. Two shadows moved cautiously toward me, weapons drawn.

"Julian?" one of them called. "Is that you, ma'am?"

Not recognizing the voice, I sheathed my sword and struggled to my feet, turing to face the pair. The tall archer hung back as the other walked up to me. "It's me, sir," I said, my voice harsh in my parched throat. "Where is Matius?"

"Down in the encampment," the Imperial answered. "I'm Jesan Rilian," his gaze moved past my shoulder towards the remnant of Oblivion behind me. "You did it," he exclaimed softly. "You really did it! Akatosh be thanked!"

The Altmer had lowered his bow, returning his arrow to his quiver. "I'm Merandil," he said to me, looking me up and down. "You're hurt." Oh, no kidding. "Matius is resting at the moment," he added. "He's been on the barricades nonstop for almost twenty-four hours. He will be glad to see you again."

"Vonius?" I asked, looking from one to the other.

"He's fine," Rilian volunteered. "Matius made him go down and rest right away, he should be coming back to relieve us."

"You should head down yourself, too," Merandil advised. "You look like you need rest as well."

************************
At the bottom of the mesa, Boldon greeted me. "Julian!" he exclaimed. "What happened up there?"

Meeting his gaze, I tried to think. Well, there was this Oblivion Gate that was blocking the way into Kvatch - my mind couldn't focus on his question.

"Julian," Boldon tried again, gripping my right elbow when I wavered. "Paint's been restless, pacing all yesterday and for much of the night. But look!" he pointed at the small grazing area where he had turned the horse loose. Paint's brown and white splotched coat was barely visible in the rain, but I could see him standing three-legged, characteristic of horses at ease. "He's been like that for just the last half-hour."

When I closed the Gate, my eyes widened. "Well, Boldon, that Oblivion Gate is gone now," I said.

The Redguard stared at me. "That thing is closed? You closed it?" he looked me up and down, taking in the gash across my cuirass, the scorch marks on my right shoulder and my shield. "By Akatosh, you really did it?" He led me to a nearby campfire, where a big Orc woman sat slumped by an anvil. "Batul!"

She lifted her head to look at us, rising to her full height. "What?" she growled.

"This is Julian, from Anvil," Boldon ignored her tone. "She has need of you."

"Me?" the Orc snapped. "Look at this!" she whipped her hand around the fire, at the anvil, the few repair hammers next to it. "I lost everything! Everything!"

Boldon turned to me. "This is Batul gra-Sharob. She is our best smith." Now he faced the angry Orc again. "Mind your manners, Batul," he said mildly. "Julian just closed the Oblivion Gate. Can't you hear it? The silence?"

Gra-Sharob eyed me thoughtfully. Returning her gaze, I drew my longsword. She tensed, as did Boldon, but I took the sword by the blade and held it out to her, hilt first. "How much to sharpen this blade?" She eyed the blade, then snapped her eyes at me. "I see you have your anvil, a fire, and some hammers," I continued, keeping my tone bland. "I'm assuming you still have your skill, ma'am."

The big mer narrowed her eyes at me. I held my breath - Orcs are hard to stop once they get going, especially angry ones. She exhaled suddenly, and her pointed teeth gleamed in the firelight. Taking the sword from me, she examined it expertly. "Two septims," she answered, after casting that same expert eye at my armor. "Throw in your bow, shield and armor, and I'll repair the lot for four septims total."

Looking down at myself, I considered gra-Shrob's offer. Nodding, I thanked her. She gestured for me to lay my weapons down next to the anvil.

"Julian," Sigrid greeted me, waving at me from the next fire. "Come with me, you can use my tent to change." Following the tall Nord, I was struck again by her regal bearing in spite of her disheveled appearance. "Thanks for the mortar and pestle," she said to me over her shoulder as she drew back the flap of a pavilion. "I've been making healing potions as fast as I can get the ingredients."

The daedra heart. I drew out the bloody package from my belt pouch. "My mother used this in her strongest potions," I said, handing it to Sigrid. "Sorry about the mess."

Taking the object, she gasped when she had unwrapped it. "A daedra heart!" her eyes shot up at me. "Then it's true, you closed the Oblivion Gate, didn't you?"

Already unbuckling the cuirass, I only grunted. Easing it off over my shoulder, I looked down at the linen tunic. Other than being stained with sweat, it was fine. Dropping the cuirass onto the floor, I sat down to peel off the greaves. Sigrid bent down to touch the scar tissue covering the outside of my right knee. The knee itself was badly swollen, already turning black and blue. The wound over my left hip hadn't broken open, but the flesh around it was severely bruised. Sigrid looked at me wide-eyed, handing me a blue woolen robe. Stripped down to my undergarments, I wrapped myself in the soft fabric.

"You need to sleep, Julian," she said finally, picking up my leathers and tossing them outside the tent. "No amount of healing spells or potions are going to heal these," she pointed out my various bruises, muttering under her breath.

"I need to see Matius," I gritted my teeth against the weariness overwhelming me. Sigrid shook her head.

"He's finally asleep," she answered. "I'm not going to let you wake him. He needs his rest, too." She pointed me to the bedroll behind me.

Obeying her unspoken command, I lay down gingerly on the thin mattress. "Then let me know when he wakes," I mumbled as Sigrid left the tent.

Nicely done aftermath! Nothing specific to point out this time, or nits to pick. Just a solid entry in what is already an outstanding topic.

:read: I loved this story. As you say, a chance to begin to decompress. The writing was superb.



This is your opening paragraph and it blew me away with its powerful perfection. Wow!

I was pleased to see Julian's earlier kindness of giving her mortar & pestle to Sigrid be rewarded by Sigrid's kindness to Julian in return.

Your portrayal of the guard force working and sleeping in shifts was great.

I could really feel the exhaustion one would feel after a battle from the way you wrote Julian's responses, et.c Sigrid, huh? Acadian really started something about Sigrid a while back. ROFL !!!

Man, 'gritty' for both the feel of the story, and the grit of Julie...Ann. :meh: All right, Julian!!

Bye all for 10 days!!! Keep up da good work, girl!!!

I echo all of the above statements. Incredibly vivid and well written, total immersion from the first sentence to the last! :goodjob:

I find myself reduced to one-word descriptors- "solid, gritty, realistic." And I fear that those cannot do justice to how incredible this was. Elsewhere, noted that the true measure of a writer is not in their action scenes, but in the quiet moments. There we see the heart of the warrior- and of the writer.

Julian- and you- have shown us all how to write with honesty and feeling.

A fascinating new perspective on the physical trauma that permeates the game.

I thoroughly enjoyed this installment,.

Wow. To say you nailed the last two chapters would be an understatement. That is truly epic writing.

The way she bit into the daedra heart was so like a warrior, ie you do what needs to be done. I see that getting the blood upon her hands and lap didn't faze her too much.
She came upon the bloodwell fairly soon afterward. That must have made her regret the big bite she took.

Very cool the way Paint can sense her master. Awesome.

@SubRosa: Here I felt that was not one of my best chapters, yet you had no nits to pick? I'm very pleasantly surprised, and glad that you didn't agree with my assessment!

@Acadian: You picked up a lot more from that chapter than I did. I was thinking of it as a bridge from one scene to another, but I guess it turned out to be quite a bridge! I'm pleased with what you got out of it.

@mALX1: I always liked Sigrid in the game, but yes, it was Acadian's portrayal of her that got me thinking about her more in depth. And yes, it was his portrayal that got me looking at her with fresh eyes. And your writing continues to inspire me.

@D.Foxy: Don't be a stranger, fella. There will be plenty of grit (grits?) for you to catch up on when you come back! Until then, you'll be missed.

@Destri Melarg: Wonderful praise from the master of immersion! To misquote you on your own thread, I'm going to have to stock up on butter for my ears!

@treydog: Solid, gritty, and realistic, huh? I'm glad to accomplish all of these things. Especially the solid part. Consistency is a difficult thing to achieve, especially in writing and veterinary medicine. Guess that's why they call the art of being a veterinarian 'practicing.'

@bobg: Your work continues to inspire me. I have truly enjoyed your latest swashbuckler! To receive these words of praise from the likes of you means a great deal. Thanks!

@Winter Wolf: You seem to have picked up on a couple of things that I didn't even think about! As for finding the bloodwell so soon after such a grisly meal, well, as I recall it, Julian would never have made it to the bloodwell if not for the daedra heart! And I had been thinking of Paint's reaction as being more in response to the peace that came when that horrendous Gate was closed, rather than the return of Julian. Horses hear so much better than humans, that the sound of that Gate must have been torture for him, and only his bond with Julian kept him there. But who knows? Maybe he did know Julian had come back, and felt that all was now well.

Here is another chapter. I really enjoyed writing this one, as it gave me the chance to explore a little more of Savlian Matius, the soldier and the man. I hope all of you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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

Chapter 4.4 Request for Help

Waking up from a dreamless slumber, I lay for a few moments, disoriented. After a while, memory came back, and I sat up suddenly. My burned right shoulder had healed, and so had the top of my back where that churl had slammed me with his fist. The bruising over my left hip had faded to an ochre tinge against my dark skin. Raising my right arm brought no pain.

Looking around the small pavilion, I spotted my leather gear, neatly folded, beside the bedroll. Shaking out the greaves, I found them not only cleaned and repaired, but also conditioned. The tough leather was now supple, and pulled on easily. Lacing them up, I found them soft and light over the wound on my left hip. The padded tunic had been washed as well, and lay softly against my skin. The boots had been resoled with the softest buttery leather that embraced my still-tender feet.

Studying the cuirass, I found the patch across the front was cleverly worked to follow the original stitching. It was much easier to shrug it on, not only because my aches and pains had mostly healed with only an occasional twinge, but also because the stiff leather was broken in at all the right places. Buckling it on, I took a deep breath. It moved over my body like a second skin.

This gra-Sharob is a truly talented smith, I smiled to myself. Four septims? The work on this cuirass alone is worth oh so much more! Fingering the patch on my briast, I shook my head to myself. Who would have thunk an old Legion pilus like me would prefer light armor to the old plate? It was true, after my experiences over the past several days, I found the leather armor to be better suited to this new way of fighting. I couldn't hide in the shadows clanking around in a tin suit. Uh-huh, no way. My smile faded, as memories of my century surfaced, the young tironii so eager to prove themselves, anxious to blood their weapons. The same tironii laying scattered around the battlefield, their armor and weapons broken, their bodies bleeding into the hard ground. The hope of glory gone from their dead eyes.

Fleeing those memories, I stepped out into bright sunlight. The air smelled clean and fresh after the rain. The campfire before me was warm and friendly. The bareheaded soldier, sitting hunched over a plate of polenta, looked around at me and rose to his feet. It was Matius. Hastily swallowing the grub in his mouth, he gestured me to a nearby stool.

"Hello, Julian," he greeted me, remaining on his feet as I returned his gaze. "I'm sorry I was such a pain in the heinie to you yesterday." He still looked tired, but his eyes were sharper, his boyish face less strained.

He seems to be in a better mood this morning. "Sigrid wouldn't let me wake you when I got back," I said after a few moments, taking the proffered seat. "She said you had finally gone to sleep."

Matius reached one-handed towards the fire, handed me another plate, then plopped a ladleful of polenta onto the metal disc from the pot simmering beside the fire. Sticking a spoon in the thick gruel, he handed me an empty pewter cup. Still balancing his plate of half-eaten grub, he poured klah into my cup.

Staring at the meal in my hands, I stifled a chuckle at his brisk style of hospitality. Just like the mess line in the Legion. Take your plate, here's your grub, no complaints now, move along soldier!

Matius hesitated as he sat back down, glancing at me. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he murmured. "That was rude of me. I can try to find something else to eat -"

I looked at him. "Sit down and eat, sir," I told him, taking a sip of the hot klah. Hiding my wince at the weakness of the brew, I set it down on the ground, next to my boot, and picked up the spoon. "I asked Sigrid to wake me when you were up, sir," I added, before taking that first bite. The taste of the bland polenta took me back several years.

Relaxing a little, Matius sat down and refilled his spoon. "She wouldn't let me wake you up when I found out you had returned." His tone was dry. "I gather you closed that Gate, ma'am."

"It needed to be done," I said quietly, taking up another mouthful. "I found Menien Goneld, but I couldn't get him out of that place," looking away from his gaze, "I'm sorry, sir."

"We have lost many of the guard here," he matched my tone. "Goneld will be counted among the fallen."

We ate in silence, while the camp woke from the long night. A couple of children appeared just beyond the small circle of tents, watching us hungrily. Matius, finishing off the last of the polenta, looked up and saw them. With a gesture, he waved them to the fire. Refilling his plate, he held it out to the pair. They looked at him hesitantly, but he did not meet their looks, only picking up his klah with his other hand and taking a long gulp. He did waggle the dish slightly.

Finally the older boy, a Redguard, took the plate from Matius. He turned to lead the little Bosmer girl away, but Matius stopped them with a wave. He pointed at a bench on the opposite side of the campfire from me. Hiding my smile behind my cup, I sipped at the klah as the two children took the seat and dove into the food together.

"Well, Julian," Matius turned to me. "I may be presumptuous, but there's still work to be done, and I'm still short good soldiers." He cast a glance up and down me, as he had yesterday. "We need to clear Kvatch of daedra, and get to any remaining survivors. The Count is still in the castle, we must get him to safety." He held my gaze as I put the spoon down on my dish. "Obviously you've got more experience than my guard - what's left of them. I could use your help."

Looking across the fire at the children, I could see them watching me, wide-eyed. I must seem old - no, ancient, to them. I certainly feel it, after yesterday. "Well, I came here looking for Martin," I said slowly. But I can't turn my back on these people. If Martin is alive, and if he really is his father's son, he won't, either. "I'll do it." Meeting Matius's gaze, I saw a flicker of relief in his blue-grey eyes. "Don't know how much good I'll be, but I'll help."

He clapped his hands on his thighs, rising to his feet. "Good!" He nodded at the next campfire behind me. "I believe gra-Sharob has finished with your weapons." Giving the children a wordless glance, he picked up his sword and shield. "I'll meet you at the barricades, whenever you're ready, ma'am."

Awesome Write! A quiet interlude between battles, and the addition of children survivors was ingenious, really brought out the Hero in the already heroic Matias