Remember Piner was called to serve Talos in a different way . . .

He always struck me as being boyish in manner as well as looks. Recall Matthew Broderick's character in Ladyhawke?

For future reference, how would a big, burly, testosterone-stuffed warrior respond?

"Oh, F no!" Piner shook his head emphatically

"Damn!" Piner looked down at the hilt of the fine sword with some pride

I liked Julian's confusion over the two Jauffres, the Grandmaster and the Brother. It is one of those things that the game sort of just blows right through. I am glad to see you put some thought into it. I also liked her emotional reaction to hearing Jauffre stating that he died. Even though it has been several days, it had that "Bam!" right back to the moment feel. Once more, we see the impact that the brief meeting Julian had with him.

Something I have been meaning to mention/ask about for a little while now is how Julian feels about magic. I understand from the Lore that Redguards in general have a very low opinion of magic and magic-wielders. Julian learned her healing spell as a child from her mother. So was her family different from most Redguards? Perhaps that is something you might visit upon in the future?


a minor observation:

noting his stained linen clothing, the well-worn leather apron.
this might work better if you change "the" with "and"
noting his stained linen clothing, and well-worn leather apron.

"Damn!" Piner looked down at the hilt of the fine sword with some pride


And exactly what kind of 'sword' are you talking about, my MalxMinx...


:hubbahubba:


... I swear, you're doing this DELIBERATELY!!!


:rofl:

I too am interested to see how Jauffre presents 'Find the Heir' to Julian.

I find myself becoming more and more interested in the nature of the injuries that cost her a place in the Legion, and how those injuries were acquired. I now wonder if the Wrothgarians had something to do with it.

I have edited Brother Piner's dialogue a little bit - hope it suits you better, D. Foxy! The problem is so many soldiers are so potty-mouthed, it's hard to keep things PG-13 without losing their unique - ah, flavor, shall we say?

I will have to revisit Rachel the Breton's dialogue periodically, as well as Old Andy's (that you referred me to) for ideas and inspiration. I especially loved Rachel's "Mehrunes Dagon's buttocks!" epithet.

It seems that more than one of you want to know more about Julian's character. Don't worry, SubRosa, you'll find out how Julian feels about magic and its place in her life. Let's just say it's - umm - equivocal.

Having been in the Legion, Julian, like most military folks, has been around. Oddly though, she has spent relatively little time in Cyrodiil itself. Again, this is something that will come out in dribbles and drabs. It's kind of an interesting "getting to know someone" sort of thing, how you work with another person and get to know that person in bits and pieces over a long period of time, and how sometimes that person can surprise you, even after years.

Keep the comments and speculations coming - you have no idea how this is all helping . . .

One thing I really like about this version of the story is Julian's caution. She has learned (in a very hard school) that things are not always as they seem- they are usually worse. And just because the player "knows" what she has to do next, the character is not gifted with that omniscience... No quest compass, no handy self-writing journal- just memory, maps, and asking directions.

Wonderfully descriptive and gritty.

OT- Ah, yes- the actual Trey. His smile is considerably less toothy these days, but he is still our sweet boy. He is somewhere between 18 and 20 years old. As you have been owned by a dachshund, you know how it is....

Thanks to all for continuing to read this thread.

@Acadian: Who said Julian has to limp her way to Kvatch?

@bobg: Yes, I'm going to have to watch the prescience - Julian isn't psychic, but has a lot of experience to draw on. One thing I've learned as I've gotten older, the more things change, the less things change. I can watch a Hallmark special or a Lifetime drama and predict what is going to happen next (not that I do lately, just a few was enough). Sometimes I catch myself speaking lines before the actor himself (or herself) does so! And that's on something I'm watching for the first time!

Your point is well taken and I will keep it in my mind. Thanks.

@D.Foxy: I will rely on you for my testosterone meter man. Say what you will about that!

@mALX1: I'm glad you're still enjoying this. Your response to my question got me thinking. This is PG-13, but I'm sure I can come up with something a little more soldierly.

@SubRosa: let me just say that starting out, Julian was primarily a combat character. Being on her own, rather than as part of a military unit, has forced her to utilize her rather, ah, skimpy magicka as a result. In the Legion (at least as I see it), she had battlemages there to do all the spell casting. Now she has to figure out how to do her own. In the beginning, her attempts are pathetic, to say the least.

@Destri: Patience, brother. All will be revealed.

@treydog: thanks for appreciating what I'm trying to present with Julian. Give your sweet boy a hug from me. Though Doxie has been gone for over thirty years, I remain very, very partial to dachshunds.

Chapter 2.4: Jauffre

Jauffre rose from his desk and went to a nearby shelf. He rummaged among the vials sitting clustered together, and brought one to me. "Drink this, Julian," Starting to shake my head, I saw the hard look in the old man's eyes and took the vial. He waited until I had choked down the bitter potion, then returned to his desk.

"Let me explain things a little more to you, Julian of Anvil," he looked down at his hands, clasped loosely on the edge of the desk. "Many years ago, I was the Captain of Uriel Septim's bodyguard. Late one night, he called me into his private quarters. There was the babe," his eyes grew distant, seeing something from long ago. "The Emperor told me to take the child someplace safe, where he could grow up in peace." Jauffre's fingers started drumming an irregular rhythm on the wooden surface. "I placed the babe with a farming family, and watched him grow from afar."

Looking down, Jauffre covered the woolen lump with one hand, as if to feel the heat I knew emanated from the stone. "We need to find Uriel's last son." Now that blue gaze looked directly at me. "Apparently the assassins don't know about him yet, but they will, soon. And when they find out -"

"They'll kill him, too, Grandmaster," I whispered, finishing Jauffre's sentence. He nodded, and I thought I saw a satisfied gleam in his eye. "Just like they killed the Emperor's other sons, and the Emperor himself."

"Aye, that they will do," Jauffre looked me up and down. His assessing regard made me acutely aware of my mismatched ensemble of shabby armor. He rose to his feet. "Come, it's dinner time. Join us, please, Julian from Anvil." It was more an order than a request.

"Yes, Grandmaster, thank you." I rose to my feet and followed him downstairs. Thanks to the potion he had given me, the stairs were easier to navigate this time. The pain in my side had disappeared with the potion, and my knee felt stronger, though it still hurt to put all of my weight on it.

Brother Piner was serving the older man when we arrived. Jauffre gestured me to an empty chair next to the black-robed monk, and sat down across from me. Piner set steaming bowls of aromatic stew in front of Jauffre and me, before seating himself in front of his own bowl. Sniffing appreciatively at the food, I picked up my fork. Taking that first bite, I looked up to see the three men sitting quietly, heads bowed over their own meal, eyes closed and hands below the table. Mortified, I put the fork down when I realized they were praying.

They did not take long, and began eating, not looking at me. If they knew I had not shared grace with them, they showed no sign of it. We ate silently, and we ate quickly. Piner stood to clear away the empty dishes, and the older man picked up a pewter flagon from the center of the table and poured into Jauffre's cup. Smelling the wine, I shook my head hurriedly as the pitcher moved over my own small goblet.

"No, thank you, sir," I murmured, afraid of what the wine would to do me, of what it had done. I did not want the smith's hammer again.

"We have water from our well," the man said, pouring himself a mug without hesitation. "You will have to wait until morning for some klah."

"Water is fine, sir," I watched as the black-robed man with the proud features rose and moved to the sideboard under the front window, where he picked up a clay pitcher and returned. He filled my goblet, then set the jug next to my elbow. "Help yourself, guest." Sitting back down, he picked up his wine and sipped it, his face warming a little. "I'm Prior Maborel."

"Julian," taking a sip of the clear water, I caught Jauffre looking at me over the rim of his goblet.

"From Anvil," he added, addressing the prior. "She has traveled far today."

Looking around, I caught the prior's gaze at me. "Thank you for the meal and the water, sir. It's a nice place here," I commented.

"It's simple," Maborel responded. "We are, after all, a monastic order dedicated to Talos and the Eight Divines." He smiled slightly, kindness more evident in his dark eyes than on his lips. "I am responsible for the religious and secular affairs of the Priory." He nodded over at Jauffre. "Brother Jauffre came to us late in life, after many years in the Blades. He continues to serve, in his own way, but spends much of his time studying."

Jauffre glanced up from the apple he was slicing. "It is never too late to gain knowledge," he commented before turning his attention back to his steel dagger.

I turned back to the prior. "What's the Brotherhood of Talos?" I asked him.

"Our order works to spread the teachings and worship of the Divine Talos," Maborel settled back in his chair. "Talos is Tiber Septim ascended. He teaches how to be strong for war and peace, to protect his people, and to be bold against the enemies of Tamriel."

Recalling some of the chapel teachings from when I was small, I nodded to myself. My time in the Legion had been in the service of Akatosh and the Emperor. What Talos taught was not so different from what I had practiced all these years.

"And the Blades," I tipped my head at Piner, who had rejoined us from the kitchen area, "are a part of the Order as well?"

"Yes," Maborel nodded. "They are the elite knights of the Emperor, dedicated to Talos above and the Septims here on Nirn." His eyes turned dark, as Jauffre's hands slowed in their slicing. "The loss of the Emperor is a terrible blow to the Blades."

"Yes," looking into my tankard, I saw again Baurus kneeling beside the Emperor's body. "I can't remember the Dragonfires ever being out."

"There will be change ahead of us," Maborel remarked softly, his eyes on Jauffre. "The future will be hard to foresee."

Shifting in my chair, I hid my unease behind the water, taking another sip. "I try not to think beyond tomorrow."

"Spoken like a true soldier," Jauffre commented, lips twitching in a barely suppressed smile.

Finishing the last of his wine, Maborel rose to his feet, his kind eyes on me. "If you ever want to learn more about Talos," he inclined his head slightly, "I'll be happy to answer any questions you may have." He nodded at Jauffre and Piner. "Good night Brothers, Julian. Talos guard you all."

"And you also," both Brothers murmured in response. As Maborel left, Piner excused himself, removing the platter of apples and the pitchers from the table. Finishing off the last of my water, I became aware of Jauffre's steady regard on me.

"Grandmaster," I returned his gaze. "What will you do next?"

He shrugged. "I need to find someone to go to Kvatch," he said, looking down at his small plate, spiking the last apple slice on his dagger. "Find Martin the priest, in the Chapel of Akatosh, and bring him back here."

"Martin?" I repeated the unfamiliar name. Jauffre popped the fruit into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully, wiping his blade on the napkin in front of him.

"Yes, Martin," he said after swallowing the apple, still avoiding my gaze. Leaning back in his chair, he tipped his goblet towards him, swirling the wine still remaining in the bottom. "Problem is," he continued, "all of my Blades are occupied at the moment. The Palace contingent has been severely decimated." He shook his head. "I've got a couple of agents missing out Cheydinhal way, as well. We're like the Legion, spread thin."

I studied Jauffre silently. Why does he need to speak to a priest of Akatosh? He is a Brother of Talos, he doesn't need to speak to the Dragon. But it's the Dragon's blood in the Amulet. Maybe Martin may be helpful in determining what to do with it - Inhaling sharply at a sudden thought, I became aware of Jauffre's gaze on me. "Martin Septim, right?" I asked him. He nodded. I looked down at my hands, resting in my lap.

"What is it, Julian?" Jauffre asked.

"If the Prince of Darkness," Mehrunes Dagon, has to be, "gets a hold of the Amulet, what will happen then?"

Jauffre scowled at me. "Then the barriers that protect Tamriel from Oblivion will fail," he answered. "That's why Martin needs to be found, so he can take the Amulet and re-light the Dragonfires."

"Are you ordering me to go -" No. That's ridiculous. I couldn't save the Emperor from that assassin. I'm too old, too feeble. Something moved beneath my briastbone, like a snake shifting its coils.

"You're not a Blade," Jauffre responded. "So technically, I can't order you to go. But it's because you're not a Blade that I'd like you to go. Sure, you don't look like much at the moment," again he raked me with that calculating glance, "but you've made an impression on the Emperor." He emptied the wine glass. "The assassins will be watching for the Blades, but they likely won't know you. You can pass right through them." Setting the goblet on the table, he leaned his elbows on the table and pointed at me. "Looking at you, one would never suspect you of being on a mission to recover the Emperor's last son and heir."

What Jauffre said made sense. We regarded each other for several moments. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes. I've accomplished the task the Emperor gave me. Or did I? "Close shut the jaws of Oblivion," he said. How? It's simple, really. Find the heir. Give him the Amulet, get him to the Temple of the One, so he can relight the Dragonfires. That's all there is to it. The Emperor called me Sun's Companion. Or did he mean Son's Companion? Is that what he meant, for me to make sure this Martin makes it to the throne?

I opened my eyes and looked at Jauffre. "Very well, I'll go." After all, how hard can this be?

Reads MUCH better now, Rachel! :thumbsup:

Woo Hoo !!! The inner dialogue is amazing !!!

Very nicely done! Your immersive description and dialogue (inner and external) hit the spot. :goodjob:



Son/Sun - very perceptive! How hard indeed? Beautiful.

Hmm. . . I didn't mean my limping comment literally, but perhaps a horse would help here. :nod:


See if this is mixing singular & plural?
His eyes turned dark, as Jauffre's hands slowed in its slicing.
hands + their? or perhaps hand + its?

I liked how you handled this phase of the MQ. It reads as plausible, where in the game it just sounds silly.

I loved this:
Something moved beneath my briastbone, like a snake shifting its coils.

Now this is even more true than in the case of a certain stringy wood elf!
"The assassins will be watching for the Blades, but they likely won't know you. You can pass right through them." Setting the goblet on the table, he leaned his elbows on the table and pointed at me. "Looking at you, one would never suspect you of being on a mission to recover the Emperor's last son and heir."

Now this was quite brilliant! I never thought of it this way:
The Emperor called me Sun's Companion. Or did he mean Son's Companion?

What is klah? I could not find it in the wiki.

Klah is familiar to those who have read Anne McCaffrey's Dragonrider series. It's Pernese for coffee, and I liked it better than, well, coffee, or even an alternative, 'stim.' Java and joe would work, but strike me as too real-world trendy in an icky Starbucky way. :chaos:

Them's fightin' words !!!! ROFL !!! Coffee of any kind is the sacred nector of the GODS !!!!!!! (ROFL - kidding !!)

I can't wait to see what happens when Julian sees her first Oblivion Gate! bliviongate:


I like how Julian remained true to herself and didn't share grace with the priests. This reveals much about her convictions.

Your presentation of 'Find the Heir' is the most plausible that I have read.

I agree with SubRosa and Acadian, sun's/son's companion never occurred to me before. Off to Kvatch! :twirl:

It is often the seemingly "quiet" moments that make a character-driven story truly sing. And the scenes you have painted here sing to me. Jauffre's forceful personality; Julian's sense of doubt- and duty; and all the little touches that make this story your own. Yes, paint me as a devoted fan.

I have a problem.

I'm now more than halfway through the Main Quest (with a few side quests thrown in), and very happy with the way the story is shaping up. I catch myself thinking - oh, Acadian's going to like this, - or - SubRosa will have something to say about this, - or - this might make Rachel laugh . . . and the list goes on. Even at once a day, I'm posting too slow for my taste! I know, I know, I've got to give people time to read and catch up, but . . .

So I'm giving you a heads up, guys. Looking at my word count, I'm guessing I have well over 100,000 words written so far. Now I'll be pruning quite a bit here and there, throwing out entire sections, focusing on character and plot development without sacrificing description and continuity.

I will be going back to work on Monday, so I have a few days off yet to work on this. I'll post two chapters today, just to get Julian on the road to Kvatch. And Acadian, the horse plays a big role in the second chapter, so enjoy!

I just wanted to warn all of you asking questions about Julian, her past, etc, to stoke your patience, because it's going to be quite a ride!

Thanks to all of you for your encouragement, enthusiasm, constructive criticism, and nits. All have been positive influences on Julian's story!

Chapter 3.1 Advice and Assistance

Morning came too soon, yet not soon enough. Premonitions of blood and fire had danced through my dreams all night, leaving me shaking and scared. Waking to the sounds of the Brothers moving around quietly, I lay still as they dressed and headed downstairs to start the day. Waiting until I heard them leave the Priory, I threw back the covers of the cot they had loaned me, the first clean bed I had slept in for years. On the small table next to my cot, I found a water pitcher and washbowl, with a clean towel neatly folded.

Refreshing myself, I took the time to wipe away the small amount of discharge that had accumulated on the old wound on my left hip, still festering in spite of the healing spells. Still, I could see new scar tissue filling in the unhealed gash, and the pain was now a mere twinge. Casting a couple of healing spells, I realized that I did not feel so shaky after two. Could it be? Attempting a third spell resulted in the magic fizzling from my fingers without effect. At least I'm improving. The smell of brewing klah hit my nostrils and spurred me to get dressed. Some part of me rebelled at putting on the battered leathers, but I had little else, and the red robe was now too skimpy for me to wear by itself. Especially in a priory full of monks.

Downstairs, I found the table set for the morning meal, along with a slip of paper beside one of the plates. Julian, it read, don't wait for us. Go ahead and help yourself to some breakfast. Klah's in the fireplace. Feeling honored, I sat down in the same chair I had used last night. Taking a piece of bread, still warm from the oven built into the side of the fireplace, I topped it with butter and honey. Eating slowly, I savored the simple food.

The apples from last night were back on the table, waiting invitingly. Having been too full after dinner to have one, I now helped myself to one of the red and green globes, sinking my teeth into the crunchy flesh. My eyes rolled involuntarily at the wonderfully sweet and tart flavor. It has been a long time since anything tasted so good. I had been so obsessed with the next drink, the next dose of skooma, that I had forgotten the simple pleasures of wholesome food.

"Good, I see you found Brother Piner's note," Jauffre's voice reached me from the door. As he passed by on his way to the fireplace, I saw his smile. My mouth stuffed full of wondrous grub, I struggled to swallow it so I could be polite. Without waiting for a response from me, Jauffre took the pot of klah off its hook and brought it over, pouring it into two clay mugs. He placed one beside my plate before returning the pot to the fire. He sat down beside me, his eyes on my face. "Our food is simple," he took a sip of the klah, "but nourishing. And you need to get some meat on those bones of yours. The last few years have obviously been hard on you, Julian." The crows-feet at the corners of his blue eyes crinkled at my startled glance.

"Umm," I finally managed to clear my mouth. "Thanks for breakfast, Grandmaster." Pushing my plate away, finished with my meal, I picked up the steaming mug of klah in my hands. The heat felt good against the old fracture in my left hand, which still ached on these cool mornings. The klah was as I remembered it, strong, bitter, with a wallop that drove the last of the early-morning fuzziness out of my brain.

Jauffre rose, his mug in hand, and motioned for me to follow him, and to take my klah with as well. He led me upstairs, back to the library. Walking to a massive cabinet set against the long side wall, he unlocked the panels and swung them back.

My head swam when I saw the weapons neatly racked on the left side, and the shelves of armor, both heavy and light, on the right. "You are not going to Kvatch without some help," Jauffre turned to me. "Blades pass through sometimes, and they need supplies. Help yourself to what you need." He pointed to a familiar pack and weapons on the floor to the side of the cabinet. "I had Brother Piner bring up your gear. If you want to replace any of it with what we have, or lighten your load, you can leave the extras here."

I studied the weapons. Most were iron, similar to what I carried, but there were about thirty steel-tipped arrows in a new quiver. Removing one of them, I studied the fletching, the shaft. "That's ironwood," Jauffre commented. "Less likely to warp in wet weather." He tugged on the shoulder of my cuirass. "Do you like the light armor, Julian?"

"I'm not as strong as I used to be," I shrugged. "And I'm tired of being slow."

Jauffre humphed silently, then pointed out a large object wrapped in linen. "That's a fine leather cuirass, it may fit you better than this old thing. There's greaves to match, too. Try them on."

While Jauffre set the quiver of steel-tipped arrows beside my pack, slinging the iron ones into the bottom of the cabinet, I undressed. Jauffre caught his breath, and I glanced at him, suddenly self-conscious about stripping in front of a monk. He was staring at the old wound on my left hip.

"That never healed right," Jauffre touched the raw scar with his fingertips. Flinching at his light touch, I held my ground. The Grandmaster walked around me, cataloguing the map of old injuries on my body. His eye lingered on the knurled tissue covering the outside of my right knee. "Neither did that," he commented. Finally, he took my left hand in his and turned my wrist so he could see the Red Dragon on my forearm.

"You served Akatosh," it was a statement, not a question. I nodded. "Honorable discharge?" I saw again the hard stare as Jauffre raised his eyes to mine.

"Medical," I answered. He grunted noncommittally and moved to the cabinet, pulling out a padded linen tunic.

"Put this on," he said, handing it to me. "You're too thin for the cuirass and greaves, they will rub you in the wrong places. You need to protect that wound," he pointed again to my left hip. "The leather is stiff and will chafe it raw."

I put the tunic on, and Jauffre adjusted the laces to make it fit better. Then he handed me the greaves. As he had said, I found them stiff, and they did indeed rub at the hips. Putting on the cuirass, I realized that Jauffre was right - the padded tunic did help with the fit. Even so, he snugged the buckles all the way down to the last hole.

Jauffre handed me a pack, specially shaped to sit beside the quiver on my back. It held a strap for my bow stave, with a pocket on its outer surface for the strings. Inside, I found compartments. This will help with keeping all my gear separated.

Dressed in my new leathers, I transferred my gear to the new pack. Lockpicks. Cairn bolete, wisp stalks, fly amanita, and other miscellaneous ingredients I had picked up. The mortar and pestle. The miscellaneous gems and jewelry I intended to sell. I paused, picking up the steel shortsword. Looking at Jauffre, who had been watching, I held the sword to him, hilt first. "This was Captain Renault's backup weapon," I said quietly. "I took it to defend myself, until I found the longsword."

Jauffre unsheathed the shortsword, eyeing the blade and swinging it experimentally. "It's a good weapon," he commented. "Sure you don't want to keep a steel blade over an iron one?"

"I'm used to the longsword," I replied. "I like the reach of it." Watching Jauffre place it in the weapon rack, I shrugged. "Besides, I was taught that it isn't what you have that matters, it's how you use it."

Jauffre regarded me thoughtfully. "What is a soldier's best weapon?" he asked finally.

"The brain," I responded automatically. It was something Carius had pounded into my head time and time again. "Think before you fight."

"Hmm," Jauffre only said. Stepping back from the cabinet, I gathered my weapons and looked at the old Breton.

"Thanks, Grandmaster," I said finally. "I will bring Martin back, sir."

"I know you will," Jauffre responded, closing and locking the cabinet. "A couple more things, Julian." He waved for me to leave the library. As we headed down the stairs, he stopped by the dining room and picked up a wrapped package. "Here's some food for the road," he said, stowing the package into my bag. "But try to stop at the inns whenever you can. Eat meat at least once a day." He looked me up and down again. "Spells and potions are fine and all," he waggled his fingers dismissively, "but nothing beats meat for long-term health, strength and proper healing."

Staring at Jauffre, I was reminded of the pilus prior I had had as a raw recruit. Like the old man in front of me, that grizzled veteran of border conflicts and provincial uprisings had been gruffly solicitous of his green charges, imparting as much knowledge he had gained over the years in a sometimes-futile effort to keep as many of us alive as possible. I had thanked Carius many times in the following years.

"And," Jauffre returned my scrutiny, his eyes twinkling, "when you find Martin, consider your words carefully." His tone turned serious. "He never knew he is Uriel Septim's son. Be ready for disbelief when you tell him."

"I'll be sure to choose my words, sir," I responded. "I'd be skeptical, too, if some skinny beggar told me I am descended from Cyrus the Redguard," naming the hero of my mother's homeland, and my own secret childhood hero. Jauffre smiled at the comparison as I headed to the front door.

"Before you go, speak to Brother Piner and Prior Maborel, too." Jauffre said finally.

"Yes, Grandmaster, I will," I turned to say farewell to him, but Jauffre was already disappearing up the stairs towards the library. I watched him go silently. Not much for good-byes, are you?

Brother Piner entered as I turned back to the door. "Good morning, Julian," he greeted me with quiet cheerfulness. "Talos smile on you, friend."

"And also on you," I returned.

"Brother Jauffre told us you are leaving on a mission for him," Piner smiled at me. "I know what it's like to set off, not knowing what lies on the road ahead." He walked to a bookcase near the bottom of the stairs, running his finger over the spines until he found the volume he wanted. "Here," he placed a small book with a red leather cover into my hands. "I had this when I was training with the Blades. I no longer have need of it."

I studied the script: The Warp in the West. A book? Why a book? Trying to hide my confusion, I met Piner's gaze, his expression both eager and wistful. "Thank you, Brother," I tucked the book into the pack. "I'll be sure to read it." When I have time. Having walked it before, I knew all too well the hard road that lay between the Imperial City and Anvil. Full of bandits and creatures, it was not for the weak.

And now it is time for me to live up to my username. Like Julian, I had dreamed of riding horses for many years. Unlike Julian, I was able to realize my dream nineteen years ago. Paint is based on my first horse, Rosehill. She was almost thirty when she passed away last March. She taught me so much in the eighteen years I've owned her. This chapter is in her memory.

Chapter 3.2 Paint

I found Prior Maborel in the stable behind the Priory, brushing out the mane of a paint gelding. I paused outside the stable, eyeing the horses. In the stall next to the paint, a chestnut stallion tossed his head, and the bay mare in the adjoining enclosure pinned her ears and stamped her foot at him, clearly rejecting his amorous advances.

"Brother Jauffre tells me you have a long and lonely road ahead," the prior spoke, leading the paint out of the stable. "Have you ever ridden before, Julian?"

I stared at Maborel, unable to believe where this conversation was going. In my time in the Legion, I had served only in the infantry, had never learned to ride horseback, though in my younger years I had yearned after the magnificent horses of the cavalry. I had given up on the dream of becoming an equestrian so long ago I had forgotten it.

After a moment, I could only shake my head wordlessly, my eyes full of the gleaming brown and white splashed coat of the paint gelding before me. The horse blinked a great brown eye at me, then turned his head to blow softly on my chest, his nostrils fluttering.

The paint stood quietly while the prior picked up a saddle from the nearby railing and settled it over the horse's round back. He gestured for me to come closer, and showed me how to position the saddle to the horse's comfort, and to tighten up the girth.

Then Maborel picked up a confusing tangle of leather straps, buckles and a jointed metal bar. He identified the different parts of the bridle, and demonstrated how to put it on. I noticed that the paint opened his mouth to take the bit, lowering his head to let the prior slip the headstall over his ears.

Leading the gelding to a nearby rock, Maborel motioned for me to climb to the top of the rock. He took my shield from me and waved me to the saddle.

"Always mount from the horse's left side," he advised. "With that bad knee, I'd mount from a rock or something similar to make it easier on yourself." He reached for the left stirrup, twisting it so I could put my left foot into it. "Take the pommel," he patted the high front of the saddle, "in your left hand, your left foot in the stirrup, that's it," his tone became encouraging as I followed his instructions. "Now step off your right foot. Put your weight into the left stirrup and swing your right leg over the cantle," he indicated the high back of the seat.

The horse stood motionless as I swung my right leg over the cantle and landed with a thump in the saddle, without any of the smoothness and grace I had observed in the Legion riders. The paint lifted his head momentarily, then lowered it to Maborel's hand. As his head dropped, the gelding's back rose alarmingly beneath me, and I grabbed the pommel with both hands. The prior smiled up at me.

"He's gelded, so you don't have to worry about him being around mares," he continued. "He's slow, but his gaits are very smooth and easy. Temperament is very kind, too. He is very smart, and he has taught me much about riding. I know he will take good care of you, too."

He put the reins into my right hand, showing me how to guide the horse by laying the rein on the side of his neck opposite the way I wanted him to turn. "For now, just neck-rein like this. When you want him to walk on, just give him a loud kiss," he smooched. The paint took a step forward, catching me off guard. Again I grabbed for the pommel, but the horse stopped again when Maborel laid his hand over his long nose. "If you want him to canter, just kiss again, and he will pick it right up." The prior handed me my shield, waiting until I had settled it on my forearm. "If you want him to slow down, just sit back in the saddle. If you want him to stop, tell him 'whoa.' Be ready though, because he will stop very quickly, and if you're not ready, you'll catch the pommel in your belly and knock the wind out of yourself." His tone suggested Maborel spoke from personal experience.

He stepped back with a final pat on the paint's arched neck. "I'm certain Jauffre's mission is most urgent, but take things slow at first. Walk Paint for a while, practice stopping him, making him walk on, and turning him. Remember, keep your back straight, and your legs long but relaxed. You want to move with his movement." He cast a look over me, walking around Paint and checking the girth. "Once you're comfortable with the walk, try the canter on flat, level ground. I would suggest you do that on the Red Ring Road, where it's safest."

My head reeling, I stared at Maborel while the full meaning of his assistance sank in. "You are lending me your horse, Prior?" I whispered incredulously. "You would trust me with him?"

The haughty expression dissolved into a wide and brilliant smile. "It's more a case of trusting him with you," he answered. "Remember, if you feel you need to panic, just say 'whoa.' Don't forget to brace yourself!" He clapped my left knee. "Safe travels, friend."

Tentatively, I stroked the horse's neck, tangling my fingers in his coarse, two-toned mane. "Thank you, Prior," I whispered, feeling overwhelmed. "I will bring him back to you."

Maborel only nodded. Paint's back rounded beneath me again as he turned his head toward the prior, nuzzling him affectionately. I kissed at the horse, as I had been instructed, and was pleased when the horse stepped off readily. I looked up, and realized how high off the ground I rode, how different the world seemed from this higher vantage point.

Paint's walk was gentle and slow, giving me time to feel the swaying motion of his back. His footfalls sounded quietly on the cobblestones as we passed beneath the porte-cortere towards the courtyard. As we made our way onto the Black Road, I glanced back at the Priory to see two figures watching my departure - Prior Maborel and Brother Piner. I gave them a final wave with my shield before a roadside tree hid them from my sight.

**********

We passed Fort Ash without incident, and I could see the spire of White Gold Tower ahead as the road started to wind down from the highlands. Paint tossed his head up, and his amble faltered to a halt. I looked at him, and followed his intent gaze into the woods ahead and to the left of the Road. A rustling in the underbrush warned me of some creature. Dismounting with some awkwardness, I drew my sword, dropping my shield into my left hand. Paint remained as still as stone as I slowly walked toward the trembling shrub.

A low growl emanated from the leaves, sending a chill down my spine. I spotted a hint of grey fur and braced myself, lifting my shield before me. A wolf ghosted out of the bush, snarling, his yellow eyes blazing on mine. He charged me swiftly, and leaped for my face. I fended him off with my shield then slashed at him with my blade as he fell back.

The handsome predator staggered as the blade cut through his pelt. Go away. Don't make me kill you. He shook himself and circled me, head down and hackles bristling. My sword ready, I waited, keeping my eyes on him. I held my breath as he came between me and Paint, still facing me. In the edge of my vision, I could sense Paint tense up, his head up, ears forward. Don't bolt, Paint. Stand your ground. And you, wolf, if you so much as look funny at Paint, I'm not going to hold back. Leave, now.

The wolf stopped, staring at me, teeth bared in a silent snarl. Forcing my shaking body to hold still, I locked eyes with the animal, keeping my gaze steady. Another tense moment, and the wolf blinked first. He turned and faded back into the forest without a backward look.

Shaking, I found myself panting hard from the confrontation. What the hell just happened? Did that wolf just hear my thoughts? Soft hoofbeats on the cobblestones broke into my musings. Sheathing my sword, I turned just as Paint reached me, nudging my shoulder with his muzzle. Looking closely at him, I noticed his relaxed stance. I can not let predators get near Paint. I recalled how Fulvius had dismounted and left his horse some distance away when he rescued me from the wolves at Fort Nikel.

Slipping the shield carry-straps back onto my forearm, I led Paint to a nearby boulder. He stood quietly as I struggled, first to climb onto the rock, then to step into the saddle as Maborel had instructed me. This time, I made a more gentle landing onto his strong back. Rubbing my hand along his crest, I ruffled Paint's mane. He turned his head slightly toward my right knee, his ears flopping sideways briefly.

"Let's go, Paint," I said softly to him, ending with a soft kiss.

Two excellent pieces. I like the so-called slower spots in stories like these, because they put the spotlight on the characters rather than things blowing up or being chopped apart. It was good to see more about Julian's wound, and learn that it never truly healed. Interesting that. I take it we will be learning why? It seems odd in a world where magical healing exists. Unless there is also a magical reason for the persistence? I like how you are revealing a bit at a time like this, as what you do show us often leaves us wondering about more. That is good, because it makes her interesting!


Oooh, this is brilliant!
Jauffre handed me a pack, specially shaped to sit beside the quiver on my back. It held a strap for my bow stave, with a pocket on its outer surface for the strings. Inside, I found compartments. This will help with keeping all my gear separated.


I liked the depth you have gone into with riding. I have never had the privilege to ride horses myself, but would like to. Most novels completely forget what a task riding a horse is, and treat it like just getting in a car, turning the key, and pushing the accelerator. But reality is much different of course. Both horses and riders have to be trained. All horses have their own temperaments and personalities, different breeds of horses have different strengths and weaknesses (one would not want to race with a Percheron, nor pull a wagon with a Thoroughbred, etc...). Being a good rider takes years of hard work. In societies known for their horsemanship people were riding from their childhood. It is nice to see you really doing a deep dive on this!

Of course reading it also hearkens me back to Monty Robert's The Man Who Listens To Horses. I take it you have read it?

About the wolf though. In the ES games all forms of wildlife are homicidal maniacs with absolutely no shred of self-preservation. But in reality wolves rarely attack people, and then it is usually due to extreme circumstances, like the wolf is starving and cannot get any other food, or the person in question is a child alone, or otherwise an incredibly easy mark (like someone laying injured and bleeding and unable to defend themselves). Otherwise wolves, even in packs, leave people alone. It is your call on whether to be true to the game with animals like them, boar, lions, bears, etc... or to portray them realistically. I am glad that you portrayed the wolf as withdrawing when it was injured, as again, real animals usually do not fight to the death if they can escape.

My brother had an interesting close-call with a pack of wolves in Tennessee (or was it Kentucky?). He had gone down there with some friends to go four-wheeling in the woods (yes, my brother is a redneck...). They grilled some hamburgers for dinner, and one fell in the fire. So they just picked it up and threw it in the bushes. Well, guess who came to call that night? An entire pack of wolves showed up to eat their cast-off burger. They could see their eyes glinting in the light, hear them growling and snuffling in the brush just ten feet from their tents. They hung onto their handguns (my brother has a .44 Magnum and his friends had similar), and hoped the wolves did not come into their tents! Well, needless to say they did not. Although I doubt they slept at all that night!

Ah, the dressage rider begins to show. I've read human characters that weren't given the depth that Paint possesses.

I remain intrigued by the nature of Julian's wounds. Your ability to weave the smallest morsel of new information into your chapters guarantees my return for more.

Oh, this has got to be my fave chapter so far! Awesome, in depth, your detail was perfect - and SOOOO interesting! The actions of the horse and the wolf - just Awesome !!!

Wow. How lucky we are to have a person come to the forum with the knowledge of dressage that you do. :twirl:

I am definitely one of those people who understand nothing about horses. As a kid I always ran a mile when I smelled them. Lol.
There are very few writers anywhere that seem able to combine both knowledge and personality into their horses like you can. Simply awesome.

You are posting so often that I struggle to keep up with your story. It is like a horse that is flying free!
I am really enjoying the frequence of the combat in your story. Considering the beaten up condition of your Redguard it does seem to ring very true.

I have always wondered what Adrenaline Rush would look like on a female character. Have fun with the Incredible Hulk moments.
Your protagonist is one of the most engaging reads I have come across. The 1st person sits beautifully.

Both these stories were a real pleasure to read. You continue to develop Julian wonderfully into such an endearing character. I very much enjoyed your sharing of horse knowledge and found it fascinating.


Is there perhaps a word missing in this?
...that grizzled veteran of border conflicts and provincial uprisings had been gruffly solicitous of his green charges, imparting as much knowledge {as?} he had gained over the years in a sometimes-futile effort to keep as many of us alive as possible.

Two more brilliant additions. Although I grew up in farm country, I never spent much time around horses. Therefore, seeing the descriptive detail about riding (and Julian's growing bond with Paint) is a treat.

And you do such a great job with the details that make the story live and breathe.

I'm glad everyone seemed to like my introduction of Paint as a minor character. He becomes Julian's partner in her lonely travels around Cyrodiil.

@SubRosa: I've thought long and hard about the whole TES healing thing. It doesn't make sense to me that some people suffer disabling injuries and others have diseases they can't cure. Yet our player character never seems to run out of the ability to heal. I've come to the conclusion that the quality of the potions do depend on the skill of the alchemist making the potions, the efficacy of the spells depend on the skill of the spellcaster, and some injuries and disease can't be healed in one fell swoop. This aspect of the TES world will be explored in later chapters.

@Destri Melarg: I'm glad you liked how I developed Paint as a living, breathing creature capable of feeling affection and loyalty, as well as pain and suffering, and not like some PITA as many people seem to feel. Developing a working relationship with an animal that often weighs in at ten times your body weight is like a man and a woman learning to form a permanent relationship with each other. Respect and trust is required, nay, demanded. Given respect and trust, that horse will give you everything he's got. The same is true of other animals. On the other hand, a car doesn't care.

@mALX1: So this is your favorite chapter so far? I'm going to have to top that. It's not good if your fav chapter happens this early in the story.

@Winter Wolf: about running away at the smell of horses, don't let my sisters and mother run you over! How nice that you are comparing my story to a free-running horse - few things in life are more exhilarating than that (okay, maybe jumping out of a plane at 10,000 feet or however high paras jump). However, it can be scary! I will try to rein this story back to a more http://www.equinenow.com/video-num-82873.htm with a not-so-occasional http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8HifuSuqRg thrown in.

@Acadian: I'm glad you enjoyed the interlude. If I can get Buffy to look at Superian in a slightly different way, I've done my job!

@treydog: Thanks for continuing to read. I hope to continue to entertain your little doggy heart!

This is one of my favorite side quests in the game. Naturally, I keep thinking of a certain '60's muscle car . . . This is the first side quest I do when I get out of the sewers, no matter what character I play. I find fishing in real life kind of boring (maybe I have a touch of ADHD?), but this was a lot of fun, and the old man is such a fun character. Of course, I ended up fleshing him out quite a bit in the story!

Chapter 3.3 Gone Fishing

It was nearly noon before we reached the road that led east from the Red Ring Road to Weye and the Great Bridge. I slowed Paint, my left side beginning to stab me repeatedly, and turned him towards the inn. Pausing momentarily, I wondered if anyone there would recognize me as the drunken addict that had brawled with the Dunmer mercenary. The fragmented memories I had still didn't clue me in regarding the cause of that brawl, and I cringed to think what it could have been.

But Jauffre's advice was greater than my shame, and I decided that now would be a good time to get my daily meat ration. I stopped Paint beside the Wawnet Inn. An old Breton limped toward us, his eyes admiring Paint.

"Good day, ma'am!" he called to me. "Need your 'orse tended?"

I glanced at the old man, seeing the tattered fishing waders and the worn sandals he wore, and regarded him skeptically. A Watch soldier standing on the doorstep of the Inn with his helm under his arm, saw my look.

"That's Aelwin Merowald, ma'am," he volunteered. "He's disabled, can't fish any more. Taking care of travelers' horses is about all he can do, but he does it well."

But for the grace of Akatosh go I, I mused as Merowald stopped beside Paint's head, holding his hand out for the gelding to sniff. Paint blew softly at him, then nudged the old man's cheek.

"Well, I was going to stop for lunch," I mused, considering the Watch's words. I dismounted and handed the reins to Merowald. "Yes, I would appreciate it, sir," I told the delighted Breton.

"Ye won't regret it, ma'am," Merowald grinned at me. "I'll be takin' 'im across to my 'ouse - there's good grass there 'e can graze." He patted Paint affectionately on his neck. "Come find me when ye are ready to leave." As Paint docilely followed the old man across the road towards a humble cottage with a beautiful garden and a little paddock next to it, the watchman shook his head.

"I think you just made his day, ma'am," he commented to me. "It's all Merowald's got to live for, the occasional traveler letting him take care of the horse. Most of them go on up to the Imperial City, and leave their horses at the Chestnut Handy Stables by the City Gate."

"You said he was a fisherman, sir?" I asked, my eyes on the small Breton, dwarfed by the paint gelding.

"Aye," the soldier said. "Made a good living at it, too. Apparently, he had an alchemist paying him well for slaughterfish scales. And not just any slaughterfish, mind you, but the Tamriel Barracuda. Nasty things, more teeth than anything else." He shook his head again. "A full grown one will strip a man of his very flesh, right off his bones, in a few seconds flat." He waved his arm toward the nearby Lake. "They're found only here, in Lake Rumare."

He looked at me. "It was a juvenile that got Merowald, ended his career." He rubbed at his close-cropped blond hair. "Merowald's always complaining that he only needed scales from just twelve more slaughterfish before he had enough saved for retirement. Now, as it is, he's struggling to make ends meet."

"I see." Feeling a little sad for the old man, I knew how that felt. "Seems like you're a little fond of him, sir," I said to the soldier. He shrugged.

"It's hard not to be fond of the old man," he answered. "Merowald's always cheerful, always glad to help or cheer one other than himself. Even when he was in pain from that bite -" his voice trailed off. The soldier squinted up at the sun, just east of the zenith. He placed his helm on his head and nodded at me. "Well, ma'am, I'd best get going, or I'll be late for my post."

Watching him march for the Great Bridge, I turned to look across the road at Merowald's cottage. He had Paint loose in the small paddock, and was stripping him of his tack. Unable to shake the feeling of pity for the old man, - pity for myself? - I turned away. Walking around the inn to the lakeshore, I spotted an old dock and limped out onto it, looking at the water.

Impulsively, I stripped down to my undergarments, piling my gear on the dock. Digging out a length of cord, I tied it around my waist, leaving a long end trailing free. Taking the steel dagger in my teeth, I dove off the dock into the clear water in a shallow arc. Ducking my face under the surface, I found the Lake to be surprisingly clear. Several yards away, I spotted the lean form of a large slaughterfish. Swimming toward it, I nearly swallowed water in surprise as the fish darted toward me. I caught a glimpse of a gaping mouth full of teeth before my blade swished through the water into its underbelly.

A few cuts and slices later, the fish floated on the surface, dead. Taking the cord, I attached the fish by its gills close to my body, leaving the long end free to trail behind me. Casting a healing spell, I looked around underwater again, and spotted another. In this manner, I found and killed eleven more Tamriel Barracuda, bringing them ashore after every two or three kills. They were heavy fish. The healing spell I cast kept me going in spite of the cuts and scraqes the barracuda gave me.

Returning to the shore, I gathered the tethered fish on the deck, then scraqed the water off my skin before donning my leathers. Though I was tired, it felt good to be swimming again. Still, it's not like the Abecean Sea. Gathering up all my gear, I looked at the sun again, realizing how hungry I felt. Just after noon. I trudged up the hill, the fish dangling from my pack, and entered the inn.

If anyone there recognized me as the brawling drunk that got a Dunmer mercenary killed, they showed no sign of it. The stew was hearty, and the water fresh, well worth the three septims the Altmer innkeeper charged me for it. I ate quickly, for I wanted to get back on my way. Kvatch waited at the end of a very long and dangerous road, and I had Paint to worry about.

Stomach full, I stepped out into the brilliant afternoon light, the breeze cool on my warm cheeks. Crossing the road to Merowald's cottage, I found him seated in his garden, puffing on a pipe and watching Paint graze. He jumped up when he saw me, setting his pipe carefully on the bench and meeting me at the garden gate.

"'Ello, ma'am," he greeted me courteously, opening the gate and welcoming me in among the fragrant flowers. "I rubbed 'im down for ye, watered 'im, and 'e's been grazing for the past 'our ro so." He picked the bridle up from the fence post and entered the adjacent paddock. Paint raised his head as Merowald approached him, and accepted the bit gracefully. Merowald stroked Paint's face as he settled the headstall over his ears, adjusting the buckles, and making sure the bit was seated comfortably in the horse's mouth. "Aye, 'e's a fine one, well mannered and kind," Merowald remarked with a wide smile as he led Paint to the road.

Following them, I had to agree, "Aye, that he is, sir."

The Breton held the reins out to me. I unknotted the cord holding the fish at my back and lifted the shimmering bodies toward him. His brows lifted in amazement at the offering. "Here, sir, take these for your trouble."

"Stendarr bless ye!" he exclaimed, taking the cord from me. "Twelve Barracudas!" he stared at me. "How did ye know?"

"A friend of yours told me, sir," I answered. Tapping my right knee, I winked at him. "Us old gimps have got to stick together, right?"

Laughing heartily, Merowald slung the cord over one thin shoulder. "Aye, we do!" he followed as I led Paint to a nearby boulder, patting the horse on the neck as I mounted from the top of the rock. "But ma'am, ye risked much to 'elp me," he said, as I settled myself into the saddle. "Let me give this to ye in return - I 'ave no further need of it." He pulled a small brass ring off his ring finger, handing it up to me. Taking it, I studied the simple yellow circle in the late afternoon light, noting the opalescent pearl setting. "It's the Jewel of the Rumare," he explained. "It gives ye the ability to breathe underwater." Trying the ring on the little finger of my right hand, I found it fit perfectly.

"I appreciate you taking good care of Paint," I smiled at him in gratitude. "My name is Julian, from Anvil, and I will try to send more business your way."

"Ah, no need for that!" Merowald lifted the weighted cord off his shoulder in emphasis. "Ye just paid for my retirement!" His eyes turned dreamy. "Long mornings in bed, long afternoons in the stables, a fine smoke in the evenings." He gave Paint a fond pat on the horse's shoulder. "But ye come back, ye 'ear. Paint's welcome to stay with me anytime!"