http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pS_jvLvLiok&feature=player_embedded


Awesome take on that "Go Fish" - on the 360 you can't collect the scales till he gives you the quest or it glitches on about the 6th fish, lol. Awesome Write !!!

I have always liked the Go Fish quest too. It is also one my characters tend to do early on. That water-breathing ring is a handy. I like how you made it a pearl ring. Very appropriate. I have found several ways of doing the quest without getting eaten by Bruce's little brothers.

Is an orse one of those critters from Morrowind? Seriously though, I like how you put that Breton accent in. Little things like that add flavor to the writing, which in turn pulls us readers more deeply into it. Good touch of how Aelwin put his hand out for Paint to smell. Very lightly done, but again, it is small things like that which really make the scene come alive. I also like how you turned Aelwin into a groom. That is an idea that never occurred to me! I have always liked him too. Julian's feeling of how easily she could be in his situation rings very true, and at the same time shows us not only that as old warrior she knows she is not invulnerable, and also displays her empathy for others.

I wonder if I am the only one who sees: Abacean Sea and thinks Sebacean Sea, and pictures Claudia Black in her head?



Nitpicks:


You use the word "still" twice in here, I think you can remove the second instance and the sentence works fine.
The fragmented memories I had still didn't clue me in regarding the cause of that brawl, and I still cringed to think what it could have been.


I glanced at the old man, seeing the tattered fishing waders, the worn sandals, and regarded him skeptically. A Watch soldier standing on the doorstep of the Inn, helm under his arm, saw my look.
You have a lot of commas in here that I do not think you really need. I believe you can smooth it out a bit like this:
I glanced at the old man, seeing the tattered fishing waders and 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.


You can also remove the comma here:
I dismounted, and handed the reins to Merowald.

There is a nice sense of atomement here. Julian returns to the scene of her crime (literally)- and performs a selfless act which goes some way toward her rehabilitation, as well as aiding Aelwin.

Immersive, impressive- did I mention that I really liked it?

A pleasure to read! Well done. A familiar quest, but delightfully a-la-Julian.



A touch of deep rumination.



I liked this very much.



Nice detail with the pipe. The little details bring a richness to Cyrodiil, do they not?

Your description of how Julian fishes (with a cord and a dagger) is perfectly in keeping with her background as a Redguard raised in Anvil, where the slaughterfish can be dangerous. She went into the lake with the ease of someone who has spent a lifetime in such pursuits. I can imagine long lazy days on the Abecean with Julian and Cieran using their absent father's discarded equipment to hunt down the evening meal.

At first I thought the 'Breton' accent would be a distraction, but as I read more it began to define and characterize Aelwin for me. So much so that now whenever I hear him speak in my game I'll wonder why the accent isn't there.

The only nit that I can pick is that 'Abacean' is spelled 'Abecean'.

@mALX1: Thanks for the praise, as well as the link. My Rosehill was actually a Morgan, which is very similar to Lippizaners, only American-made. Her colt had all the potential for the dressage work you see in the links I previously included. Still, I remain fond of Lippizaners because they are the epitome of haute ecole dressage.

@SubRosa: I was back and forth on the accent for Aelwin. I'm not good at accents, but when I play the game, I "imagine" his voice being a little different from the actual voice acting. That's what I tried to convey, and I'm glad it went over well. I just picked a couple of "hallmarks" for his accent ('ye' instead of 'you', and no 'h' sounds, like the Cockneys), and figured I would let my readers imagine his voice for themselves.

Thanks for the nits. They've been fixed.

@treydog: I'm glad you picked up on the atonement here. Whatever reason for the brawl, still she got into it with someone else, and that person ended up dead because of her. It's different in combat, and that's why this particular death doesn't sit easily on Julian's conscience.

@Acadian: I have always pictured Aelwin with a pipe, ever since the first time he said "long mornings in bed, afternoons at the stables . . ." My dad loved to relax with a pipe at the end of the day, and would sit outside with a pipe watching the sun go down when the weather was warm. For some reason, pipe smoke isn't as offensive to me as cigarette or cigar smoke, though I can live with that for a short bit. Probably because pipe tobacco comes in many aromas, most of them absolutely wonderful.

@Destri: If you can't listen to Aelwin without 'hearing' that accent, then I've done my job. Thanks for the correction on Abecean Sea, it has been fixed too.

Now Julian arrives at Kvatch and gets her first look at the aftermath. Hey, how hard can it be?

Chapter 3.4: The Refugee Camp

Paint paced nervously at my shoulder as I led him up the slope toward the campfires at the base of the mesa. His breath blew hard on my shoulder and cheek.

All the way from Chorrol, he had been an easy ride, ambling up and down twisting, curving paths, cantering easily on level ground. His ability to detect enemies was more sensitive than mine, and I had quickly learned to rely on him to warn me of opponents on the road ahead.

But as we had approached Kvatch, after our overnight stay at a bandit camp outside Skingrad, Paint had become more and more jittery. Even joining a Legion rider for part of the way had not calmed him down. The roiling thunderstorm I could see above Kvatch's walls had not helped matters, either. Though the sky was overcast, and a light rain drizzled down, that clot of blood-black clouds over blackened city walls had only increased our mutual feeling of dread.

When the panicked Altmer had run down the road toward us, waving his hands and screaming, "Run, run while you can!" - Paint had nearly jumped out of his skin. The Altmer had disappeared behind us by the time I dismounted the trembling horse.

Ahead, we approached a cluster of small campfires, some with tents around them, others showing only huddled bodies. The rain increased, until both Paint and I were soaked.

Three children, covered in soot and blood, watched me numbly as I passed them. One girl, an Imperial, had tears tracing white paths down her cheeks. A small Dunmer boy curled next to her, his head in her lap. A slightly older Altmer girl had her arms about the Imperial.

At the next campfire, an old man, a Breton by his slight frame, lay shaking on a rough bedroll, moaning. He held his shattered left arm, the ends of bone poking through a mess of flesh and skin, close to his ribs. His eyes stared unblinking at the sky above, heedless of the rain. A young Redguard woman covered him with a tattered blanket before looking up at me, despair in her dark eyes.

By Akatosh, what happened here? Who are all these people? Pausing in the center of the plateau, formerly a hayfield, I looked around, trying to find someone who was somewhat coherent. Seeing only fear, desperation, and shock in the faces around me, I limped on, following the road towards the mountain. Behind me, the moaning faded away. Looking back, I saw the young Redguard woman rise to her feet and wander away, her face turned to the ground at her feet.

"I lost everything," the hoarse voice sounded at my left shoulder. Paint flinched and snorted as I stopped to look at the tall Nord woman. Covered in soot, her once-fine blue velvet dress dragging over the trampled grass, her hair straggling from a bun that was coming apart, she was still beautiful in her despair. "I'm just tired, really," she said to me. "I can't face it anymore. You picked a bad time to visit Kvatch, ma'am."

"Who are all these people?" I asked, waving my hand at the campfires.

"What's left of Kvatch," the woman said bitterly. "Everyone else is dead."

"Now, Sigrid," a man's voice reached us. A Redguard joined us, standing between me and the Nord woman. "We don't know that for certain." He looked at me. "I'm Boldon, traveler, and this is Sigrid. She's an alchemist."

"I was," she corrected. "Now I'm nothing. I lost all my equipment, my ingredients, up there."

Where is Martin in all this? Whatever happened here, it didn't kill him, did it? "I'm Julian, from Anvil. Can you tell me what happened here?"

"Something, a Gate to Oblivion, I think it's called," Boldon began, then faltered, uncertain eyes on me. Gaining courage from my nod, he continued, "it opened late last night while we were all asleep. They had a siege engine that came through the walls. It blasted us all with fire, burned the whole city. Most of us were killed, and the few that are left -" he waved his hand expressively at the campfires scattered across the hayfield.

"If you don't believe him," Sigrid spoke defensively, "go see for yourself!"

Thinking of the dreams of blood and fire that had haunted me the past two nights, I met Sigrid's blue gaze. "I believe Boldon, and you, too." Glancing back at the refugees, I took a deep breath. "There's the evidence right there." Just like the aftermath on the battlefield. The blood, the smell of death and dying, the sounds of pain and agony. I looked back at the two survivors. "It looks bad from here."

"You think that's bad?" Sigrid's tone became less angry, more weary. "It's worse up there, believe me."

"Savlian Matius is up there," Boldon added. "With what's left of the Guard. He's holding the road, keeping the daedra from overrunning us here. But once the Guard gives way -"

"I came here for Martin," I met Boldon's gaze. "He is a priest of Akatosh. Did he survive this?"

"I'm not sure," Boldon and Sigrid exchanged glances. He looked back at me, his expression guarded. "The last I saw of him, he was leading a few citizens into the Chapel. I don't know if he is still alive. Savlian may know."

Cacat! If he's dead, who is left to re-light the Dragonfires? "He didn't make it down here?" I asked, looking from Boldon to Sigrid. Again, they exchanged looks, then shook their heads.

I unslung my pack from my shoulder, hanging it over the cantle. Reaching in, I drew out the mutton and the vegetables I had scrounged from the bandit camp. I handed them to Boldon, along with the remaining food Jauffre had packed for me two days ago. "I know this isn't much," I said to him. "But you've got to get these people fed. They need food in a bad way."

My fingers felt the mortar and pestle, caught at them. I handed them to Sigrid. "Here, you know how to use this better than I do." Pressing my collection of ingredients at her, I caught the astounded looks on their faces. "I've got to go up there," I continued, detaching the steel bow stave, a gift from a dead bandit, from the pack. Tucking the coiled bow strings into my belt pouch, I slung the quiver over my shoulder. "I have to be sure Martin is dead before I can give up."

Boldon stopped me before I picked up Paint's rein. "Don't take your horse up there," he warned me, his eyes grim. "What's up there -" he shook his head, "your horse is jittery enough as it is." He pointed out a small open area to the west of the camp. "I'll put him there, make sure he has water. There's grazing for him."

Regarding him silently, I considered the options. These people are desperate. If they get hungry, what's to keep them from slaughtering Paint? I had seen enough refugee camps to know the depths to which people could fall. On the other hand, it would be cruel to force him to go up there with me. Paint regarded me with wide brown eyes, his ears pointed at me. He's scared enough as it is. He never asked to be in this situation.

"He's not my horse, Boldon," I said quietly, putting as much strength as possible into my voice. "He was entrusted to me, and as such, I'm responsible for his welfare."

"I will care for him myself, until you return, Julian," Boldon assured me. Regarding his open, honest expression, I made my decision. Patting Paint on his curved neck, I leaned to his ear.

"Go with Boldon, friend, and wait for me." Handing the rein to Boldon, I let my hand move along Paint's body as he followed Boldon away.

Checking to make sure my longsword was secured on my belt, I strung the bow, then started for the road switchbacking up the mountain. Sigrid turned to watch me go. "I hope you find Martin, Julian," she called after me.

YES!

By the way, H.E. Rider, a question...have you ever read Steven Pressfield, and Coleen McCullough?

A beautiful take on the horror of war. Sickness, whether through illness or despair, always appears in the eyes. You captured it perfectly!

Lovely to see Julian hand over the mortar and pestle. Quite touching.

I am missing Paint already. Man that horse has personality. :twirl:

Well done! :goodjob:

You really captured the despair and 'feel' of the encampment.

Julian has a good and selfless heart.



I liked how you mentioned that Paint could detect approaching danger before Julian. Are you mixing a singular noun(ability) with a plural verb (were) here though? Perhaps ability+was, or abilities+were?

This was AWESOME! You made that part of the storyline come to life! I love what you did: Having Paint getting nervous a distance away was perfect, animals always sense before humans - your innate knowledge of animal behavior is putting a whole new spin on the storyline that no one has used (that I have read) before - totally AWESOME !!

I liked your description of the ominous atmosphere of Kvatch as Julian approached the city, and the shambles of refugee camp she found there. Her generosity to the refugees shows us a great deal about her nature, especially considering how she herself has only begun to climb from out of the pit she has wallowed in for the past four years. Or perhaps that was precisely why she is so willing to help others? I also liked that you took the time to point out that horses are often the first thing on the menu when people get hungry.

The one thing that really jumped out at me was this:
Cacat!
Brilliant use of Latin here to avoid the swear filter! I should look into doing that myself.


nitpicks:

This would probably work better as "A small Dunmer boy"
The small Dunmer boy curled next to her, his head in her lap.

That entire paragraph reads a little odd, as if it is backward the way you describe each individual child and then say that they are a group. It might read more smoothly if you start by saying there were three children, and then describe them in turn.

I liked everything about this one- you do "atmospheric" really well. And the other thing that comes through strongly is Julian's sense of responsibility. It is so much a part of her, she does not even remark upon it- just states her intention to find Martin.

I am so glad I came along for this ride!

Bloody laptop died on me this weekend so I have a lot of reading to do to catch up....I got halfway page 4 but have to stop now (or my collegues might find it strange I'm still starting at my screen with all the work done )
Anyway; I just dropped in to say I really like how this is unraveling!
I loved the Dragonriders of Pern so I knew immediately whay you meant with "klah".

@D.Foxy: hold your breath; the next two chapters after this one will be more your kind of speed, I think. I have already emailed you about the authors.

@Winter Wolf: War. Can't have the glory without the blood and guts, right? Only glory has evaded Julian, and she's come to the conclusion that it's overrated. She's obviously had too much of one and too little of the other. I think that's typical of most combat grunts.

@Acadian: Dang those verb tenses! I have always had trouble with those! Fixed!

@mALX1: You'll see more of the animal behavior as the story goes along.

@SubRosa: I actually learned Caca! from a Romanian immigrant, and as the Romanian language is Latin based (it was a Roman colony under Trajan), it was easy to trace its origin to cacat! I knew you would like it. And I agree about that one paragraph. I had it written the other way, didn't like it, switched it around, but it still isn't right. I have rewritten it as you have suggested.

@treydog: I hope you continue to enjoy the ride! I certainly am enjoying your story about A&A!

@RemkoNL: don't you hate it when the frickin' computer dies on you? I'm glad you're still with Julian.

@all: I'm posting this a little early today as I have to head off to work tonight. It may be a couple of days before my next post, but I promise the next two chapters will be worth it!

Chapter 3.5: Matius and the Great Gate

The rain turned heavier as I hiked up the steep road. Above, the sky grew darker, more forbidding. Beneath the thunder, I started hearing an unholy shrieking, like a horde of tortured souls screaming their agony to Nirn. My breath started puffing in the cooling air as I went higher, higher, up that escarpment.

Finally I saw something ahead, something other than bare rocks and scorched tree trunks. A rough barricade was thrown across the road at the top of the slope, where it leveled out onto the top of the mesa. A scattering of soldiers stood along it, once-white surcoats smudged with soot, blood, and other things. Their shoulders were slumped, and a couple of them swayed on their feet.

Now I could hear something else beneath the thunder and the screaming of souls. A crackling, buzzing sound set my teeth on edge, and made the small hairs on my neck stand up beneath my soggy ponytail. As my head reached the level of the mesa, the sight that met my eyes bought me to a stunned halt.

A hot wind blew in my face, causing the rain to disappear into steam. On the mesa, Kvatch's broken, burned walls rose behind an ovate lens of fire and sizzling energy. Black, blood-stained tusks rose around it, some propping the flames up, others serving as grounding rods for the red lightning that flew off the Gate at irregular intervals. It seemed to svck the life out of its surroundings.

Creatures began appearing out of that inferno, naked male creatures with stringy muscles, monkey-like faces and pointed ears. Scamps! Damn! As the bare-headed soldier shouted orders, the men sprang to action, some slower than others. Two archers started firing arrows, while the others ran through the barricades to tackle the scamps.

Drawing my longsword, I shouldered my bow, its string loosened, and limped forward as fast as I could. Pausing behind the archers, I counted swiftly. Eight scamps against four swordsmen. The daedra were forming fireballs and flinging them with deadly accuracy at the mailed soldiers. As I moved through the barricade, I could hear bowstrings twanging madly. Hobbling toward the nearest scamp, I came up behind him and struck him in the side. His screech, too high pitched to hear, nevertheless drowned out the roaring of the Gate for a brief moment. He turned for me, but the guardsman he had been attacking swooped in and stabbed the scamp in the lower back.

As the scamp slid off the other's blade, the guardsman shot a puzzled look at me, then ran to take on another scamp. Following as quickly as I could, I came under fire from another of the daedra. I dodged the fireballs and turned for him. He tossed another fireball at me, then came running. Ducking the fiery missile, I shoved my shield into him, knocking him off balance. Closing with the staggering creature, I shoved the tip of my sword into his upper abdomen, twisting the blade as I did so, before stepping to my left and tearing the blade out his side. Intestines and blood trailed the tip of my blade as the scamp fell away.

Turning back to the melee, I found that while the numbers of scamps had decreased to three, so had the number of guardsmen, from four to three. The soldiers had drawn together into a defensive knot, their backs to each other, and faced the remaining scamps. Not a good idea. They can't duck those fireballs. For the moment, the scamps were focused on the three guardsmen, so as I had done before, I hobbled behind the nearest one and stabbed him in the kidney. Now the odds are better. The men separated, going after the remaining two scamps. In a flurry of steel, almost too fast for my eye to follow, the three succeeded in finishing off the last of the daedra.

The bare-headed soldier, apparently the commander, spotted me, and said something to the guardsman I had assisted earlier. He shrugged in response, and knelt beside the fallen man. Shaking his head at the commander, he waved the other swordsman to help him carry the body to the barricades. The commander stalked up to me, sheathing his sword when I put mine away.

"Who in Oblivion are you?" he demanded once he was within earshot. His square face, which would have been boyish if not for the exhaustion and pain, scowled at me.

"I'm Julian, from Anvil," I answered. "I came here -"

"You don't belong here," he cut me off. His brown eyes were cold on mine. "I don't care if you carry a frickin' daedric claymore, you're not one of us!" He jabbed a gauntleted finger at the barricades. "Get back there, now!"

I stood my ground, my need to find Martin warring with my natural inclination to obey a commanding officer. "Sir, are you Savlian Matius?"

"Yes, I am!" he growled, but I saw he was swaying on his feet. Younger than I expected, the strain around his eyes belied the weight on his wide shoulders.

"Then maybe you can help me, sir," I said, turning for the barricades. Now is not the time for a pissing contest.

"Help you?" Matius returned, his voice quieter now. "What makes you think I can help you? I can't even help my own people!" he stabbed his hand at the Gate behind us.

"I'm looking for someone, I'm hoping he's one of the survivors, sir," I said when we reached the barricades.

"Did you look down in the camp?" Matius shot a glare at the Gate.

"I talked to Boldon, he said Martin might be in the Chapel. He told me you would know."

Matius turned to look at me, and now I could see the despair he refused to show his men. "Know? Me?" he shook his head. "I know nothing." Regarding him thoughtfully, I considered what approach to take with him.

"You know something, sir," I said finally. "What do you know?"

"What do I know?" Matius's anger flared up again. "I know we failed to protect the city. It was too much, too damned fast. We couldn't get everyone out in time -" he stopped suddenly, straightening up and turning away from me, staring at the slice of Oblivion crackling before the smashed gates of Kvatch.

I stepped close behind him, so I could speak into his ear without the men overhearing me. "Sir, you've never seen anything like this before. By Akatosh, I've never seen anything like this, and I've been around the provinces. What could you do, what can you do?"

"The only thing we can," he answered grimly. "Hold these barricades as long as we can."

"And when the last one of you falls, what then?" I asked. His head snapped around at me.

"Do you think I don't want to do something about that?" he snarled, punching his fist at the Gate. "My damn home is in flames, and I can't do anything about it! But we can't leave the barricades until that damned Gate is closed!"

"And how do you close it?" I asked him. He shook his head, turning to face me.

"It's some kind of portal to Oblivion. The daedra are using it to attack the city. I'm not sure how it can be closed. There were three smaller Gates that opened just before this one," he jerked his head backwards at the Gate. "They closed once the Great Gate was open, so I assume this can be closed the same way." His eyes shifted. "I sent six men in there several hours ago, but they haven't come back. And I can't spare any more -" he waved at the four men standing behind the barricades. "I've got ten men down in the encampment, badly wounded, maybe dead by now."

Stepping past Matius, I studied the Gate. "Your men went in there?" I said. If they went in there, then they should be coming out. But if they close that Gate, can they come back out?

"I fear the worst for them," Matius was saying. Tears were in his eyes when I glanced back over my shoulder at him.

Ach, what else is there to do? If Martin's still alive, as a priest, he probably won't leave his flock, as long as this thing is open. What to do? Eliminate the source. How? Something shifted in my gut, just below my briastbone. Close shut the jaws of Oblivion.

"I will go in there," I found my mouth saying, before my mind could stop it. Me? In there? Am I crazy? But it has to be done. It needs to be done.

"You?" Matius stepped in front of me, blocking my way. "It can mean your death if you go in there."

Holding his steady gaze for a few moments, I looked away and stepped past him, through the barricades, and started limping toward that ovate fire.

"Julian!" Matius called after me. "Good luck to you! It's a brave thing you're doing!"

Brave? Me? I'm all jelly inside. I straightened my back and kept limping.

Very exciting battle! You did an excellent job of portraying the standard Roman tactic of punching with the shield and then stabbing in the gut when the opponent is still off-balance. A very simple but profoundly effective tactic!

Julian shows her age and experience with her resolve not to get into a battle of egos with the Matius, who is quite the macho ass. You underscored his youth, and the two things certainly go hand-in-hand. I liked how you portrayed his behaviour, as it is quite natural given the fact that he just got his ass kicked royally.

I also liked her decision to enter the gate. Following the Emperor's own words, and her own gut, if not her forebrain. You last sentence is just priceless in describing both her determination and fears.


Nitpicks:
Really a continuity issue here:
He tossed another fireball at me, then came running. Deflecting his charge with my shield, I shoved back into him, knocking him off balance.
Did you mean Julian deflected the Scamp's fireball with her shield? Or its physical attack? If it was the former, would not her shield have caught fire and her arm possibly still burned from the heat? If the latter, what happened to the fireball? Did Julian dodge it?

I think this has to be the best journalistic I've seen on the main questline! Awesome how you make it your own unique take on it, and your detail is unbelievable !!! AWESOME Write !!!

A wonderful display! You really capture the top of that mountain well, with its mesmerizing terror and the despair of the force at the barricade.

Your fight scenes are effective and capture the quick pace. :toughninja:


A 64,000 Septim question! Here you remind us that Julian does not know what we know. What a most reasonable and basic question, and one that serves to highlight the old warrior's courage. For several decades, I have defined courage as action in the presence of fear - and Julian has it.



'Turning back to the melee, I found that while the numbers of scamps had decreased to three, but so had the number of guardsmen, from four to three.'
This struck me as reading a bit odd. After studying it, the reason seems to be the presence of both 'while' and 'but'. Removing either one really seems to smooth it out. 'Tis a minor point though and your meaning is perfectly clear.

"I will go in there," I found my mouth saying, before my mind could stop it. Me? In there? Am I crazy? But it has to be done. It needs to be done.

Yes...that is how many decisions in combat are made. Not from the head. But from the heart which, for better or worse, rules the soldier.

And the last sentence is the basis of all true soldiers. They do not what is exciting to do, but what needs to be done.

Well done. You're turning into a Stephen Crane.

We are getting to know Julian a bit... and now you show us something about Savlian, as well. How can an old soldier like Julian fail to respond to his courage in the face of impossible odds?

Intellectually, she wonders how one can come back from closing a Gate- emotionally, she can only try.... Because fighting- whether for home, or honor, or love, or family- is not an intellectual pursuit.

Again your descriptions ring with clarity and atmosphere- I found myself transported to that miserable camp on that mountain road- far more so than even in the game. If someone wants to know "what's the point" of fan-fiction, I will point them to work like this, that transcends the game and adds that last bit necessary to make it soar.

A hot wind blew in my face, causing the rain to disappear into steam. On the mesa, Kvatch's broken, burned walls rose behind an ovate lens of fire and sizzling energy. Black, blood-stained tusks rose around it, some propping the flames up, others serving as grounding rods for the red lightning that flew off the Gate at irregular intervals. It seemed to svck the life out of its surroundings.

"I will go in there," I found my mouth saying, before my mind could stop it. Me? In there? Am I crazy? But it has to be done. It needs to be done.

* * *

These are my two favorite passages. The first is such an incredibly effective description of an Oblivion Gate that I was transported to that mesa with Julian. I could hear us both saying "We do not want to go in there!"

The second passage is where Julian's character diverges from mine. Whereas I would have adopted the fetal position and quietly embarked toward my happy place, Julian acts in opposition to her best interest. That is what defines a hero. :clap:

Facing your fear and still do what needs to be done, that, dear Julian, is pure bravery!

Loved it! I particularly like all the details you've put in the horse-back riding. :goodjob:

I found myself smiling when I visualized Julian limping towards the gate. And shouting "Go girl!" as I kept reading.

The last part of the chapter was fantastic. I sensed a real struggle within your writing as you were saying to yourself, "Why is she doing this? Shouldn't she just be hightailing herself back to Anvil instead?"
The awesome part is that you found that moment of clarity in the conclusion and it saw you through. Yes, Julian should be inside that Oblivion Gate, that is where she belongs.

We, the audience, stand and applaud. :foodndrink:

Hello all, and thanks for the great comments:

@SubRosa: Thanks for picking up on the Legion combat technique. I've done some reading, and have learned that the smaller shields favored by the Roman Legion are actually effective as weapons in their own rights. When I watch movies like "Gladiator," I pay attention to the tactics. The big tower shields are more defensive, but I like that the small shields can act as an extension of one's own fist, to be blunt. They also afford more mobility to the bearer. Julian is learning that mobility is key when you are on your own.

Your nit has been fixed. Again thanks for catching that one. I continue to learn from the Minx-Mistress.

@mALX1: I'm glad you liked it. I knew I was breaking a major rule of this forum when I decided to write the Main Quest, but I just had to try. It means a lot to me that you think it's working.

@Acadian: I've known for some time that taking action in the face of fear, as you define it, is courage. After all, it takes courage to get back on the horse after he just bucked you off. I've wrestled enough mean big dogs in my line of work.

Thanks for pointing out the redundancy in that one sentence. After all, this is fiction, not the Pentagon! :hehe:

@D.Foxy: I'm glad you see the old soldier as well as I do. Oh, and Stephen Crane? Really? :wub:

@treydog: Savlian is one of my favorite characters in the game. I liked how he showed his anger to the PC, but at the same time held himself together by a thread. Like SubRosa said, he had his heinie kicked royally. I just asked myself how I would feel if I were in his place. Honestly, I think I would be a greater PITA than he was. Argh! *bites the messenger's head off* (takes deep breath). Yup, that's me.


@Destri Melarg: Thanks, that's a big compliment coming from someone who is writing some pretty awesome stuff!

@RemkoNL: I'm glad to see you still reading Julian's story. I see that Paint has resonated with quite a few people. Don't worry, he'll be around for quite some time.

@Winter Wolf: That last part just kind of wrote itself. I was thinking about the interaction between Savlian and Julian. I couldn't help feeling that he recognized a veteran soldier in her. That led to the moment of clarity that you speak of. And yes, she has to do what must be done. To do less would be letting a certain person down. Believe me, I know how that feels.

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Okay, the first Oblivion Gate, only the first of what turns out to be too many. Only Julian doesn't know this, and neither did I, the first time I played this. It was a very nerve-wracking hour of creeping, crawling, backtracking, with moments of sheer terror. When I finally finished the Gate, I felt like I had been doing this for 24 hours! Talk about immersion!

Chapter 4.1 The Kvatch Gate

A moment of disorientation, a red flash, then I found myself in a totally strange environment. Red sky, red rocks, boiling red lava, even the wind was red. It felt like Morvayn's smithy, only a thousand times more so. The heated air robbed me of breath. The Gate stood behind me, my link back to a normal world.

Down a rocky slope in front of me, I spotted the surcoat of a Kvatch guardsman as he battled a scamp, fending off fireballs with his shield. Locating one of the fireball throwers, I moved forward to lend the soldier my blade. The scamp spun toward me as I neared him, hissing as he slashed his clawed hand at my face. Swinging the edge of the shield, I hit him hard in the nose, sending him reeling back. I followed, ignoring the pain in my knee, and slid my sword into his bony chest. After sweeping the tip of the sword across the inside of his rib cage, I stepped back, withdrawing the blade. The soldier finished off his scamp, then we were clear. For the moment.

The soldier turned to me. "By the Nine, I thought I'd never see a friendly face again!" he panted, sheathing his sword. Doing the same with mine, I wiped the sweat off my face. "But who are you?"

"I'm Julian, from Anvil," I answered. "Where are the others? Matius told me there were six."

He shook his head, looking around at the hostile environment, swaying with exhaustion. "Ilend Vonius," he responded. "They ambushed us," he pointed toward a pair of tall metal gates, closed. "They trapped us on that bridge, picked us off one by one." He looked back at me. "I escaped, and have been fighting daedra since. I can't find another way across, though." Now his brown eyes sharpened on me. "Matius is still alive?"

"Yes," I answered. "You're the only one left alive?"

"I saw them taking Menien Goneld prisoner," he winced. "They took him to that big tower," he waved at the tall tower barely visible beyond the war gates. He looked me up and down thoughtfully. "I should go and report to Matius, but if he sent you here, maybe we should stick together . . ."

Don't tempt me. You're exhausted. You're more of a liability than my knee is right now. "Matius needs you more on the barricades than I do here." Again my words surprised me.

"Thanks!" Vonius responded. "I'll see you again when the Gate is closed. Best of luck!" He ran to the portal and disappeared. I took a deep breath against my audacity. I would have liked his company.

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Only one door unlocked, I looked around the hall again. The great tower that Vonius had pointed out had been the most difficult part so far, with the constant roar of that pillar of fire running up the center of the keep, and the dremoras and daedra infesting the passages and side halls.

Only the amazing magicka founts and the blood wells had kept me going. Slinking along the walls, hugging the shadows, I had crept ever higher and higher. My feet hurt, my throat burned, and my knee threatened to down me for good. My right shoulder ached where a fireball had hit me - twice.

Three doors led off this side hall, but only one was unlocked in the outer wall. Cautiously, I opened the door and peered out. A narrow bridge, high above the ground, connected the main keep with one of the smaller towers I had noticed from outside.

Akatosh! That's a damned long way down! Forcing my eyes up from the vertiginous drop, I looked across the bridge at the smaller tower. Maybe the key to those doors is in there. Having nowhere else to go at the moment, I crept across the spindly bridge. Akatosh, don't let any of those creatures find me on here!

Fortunately the door opening into the smaller tower was unlocked as well, and I escaped into the relatively cooler interior. This tower had no central pillar of fire, and was quieter as well. A ramp spiraled up its inner walls from below. A guttural voice sounded above, and another, this one human, responded in pain. Torture? Menien Goneld? I crept up the ramp, making sure of each step before putting my weight on it.

I saw a glass floor at the top of the spiraling ramp, a glass dome above it, showing nothing but red, red sky. Corpses dangled down the center of the keep, suspended by chains from the floor. Thunder from outside shook the stone of the tower and vibrated through the scorched soles of my feet.

Nearing the dome, I could make out a cage suspended just above the glass floor. A man crouched within, stripped to his undergarments and blood splattered on his fair and bruised skin. His voice was angry, despairing. A tall dremora spoke to him in an interrogatory tone. Slowing down at the top of the ramp, I held my shield and sword ready. Waiting until the dremora was facing away from me, I stepped onto the floor. In spite of my caution, the glass surface thrummed under my feet, and the dremora spun around. He immediately approached me, his posture threatening.

"You should not be here, mortal," his voice had an odd inflection, like stones tumbling down a long mountainside. "Your blood is forfeit, your flesh mine!" His mace swung for my head, trailing clotted blood and gore. Stumbling to my right, I came up hard against the side of the dome. The horned head of the daedric weapon snagged the edge of my shield, wrenching it down and twisting my elbow.

Bent off balance by the weight of the mace, I brought my right arm over and sought the gap between the churl's pauldron and cuirass. The tip of the blade slipped between the metal pieces and bit into something soft. Twisting my body to face the churl, now starting to recover from his swing, I reversed my grip on the hilt. Raising it, I pivoted it around the tip in the other's shoulder, and drove the blade in a downward angle as far as it would go. It sank in half its length before the end struck something hard.

Slipping the shield straps onto my wrist, I seized the guard in both hands and twisted it in place, causing the blade to tear through flesh and sinew. The dremora screeched, the sound almost too high-pitched to hear. He turned into me, his right arm useless, and punched me to the floor with his left hand. I hung on grimly to the hilt of my sword, which slid out of the churl's body.

Scrambling backwards across the glass floor, I managed to raise my sword at him. The top of my back, where his blow had landed, screamed with the effort. The churl stumbled toward me, his mace dropping from nerveless fingers, blood seeping out of his right armpit, and red foam appearing at his mouth. He fell forward, and his great bulk struck the cage and set it swinging wildly.

The prisoner inside yelled as the iron enclosure tossed him from side to side. Struggling to my feet, I managed to catch the thing and bring it to a stop, though it nearly threw me off my feet. Panting, I managed to sheath my sword as the injured man subsided into moaning.

"Menien Goneld?" I asked, scanning the frame for a way to open it. He became quiet, and I glanced at him to see his eyes steady on me.

"Did you get the key?" he asked, pain making his voice ragged.

"There is a key?" I asked. "I can't get any higher in that big tower, I need a key."

"He has the key!" Goneld pointed at the churl I had just killed. "He's the sigil keeper. Take his key, get to the top of the main keep, and take the stone. It's the stone that's keeping the Gate open!"

Limping to the churl, I knelt stiffly beside him and searched his corpse. A ring of keys dangled from a loop on his armor, at his waist. Getting the ring off took a couple of tries, but I managed in spite of my shaking fingers. Returning to the cage, I looked at the keys. Let's see if one of these unlocks the cage. I've got to get Goneld out of this!

The injured Imperial shook the cage violently, catching me in the face and causing me to drop the keys. His desperate gaze met mine.

"You do not have the time," he rasped. "Leave me! Hurry!"

Staring at him, stunned, I realized he was right. I can't leave him here in this place, but he'll only slow me down. He knows it. I know it. I could see encroaching death in his face. Stepping back, I drew my sword and swept the blade into vertical before my face, in the salute accorded only to Legion officers. Courage showed in Goneld's gaze as I picked up the keys and returned to the ramp.

I've always hated that you couldn't release him from the cage especially when he doesn't appear outside with you after the sigil stone had been retrieved.

Your vivid descriptions really transport the reader to that awful place. I appreciate that you short-handed the search for the tower entrance. By the time I am on my 10th or 20th gate, I feel like just using the console to tcl to the tower entrances...

You also do a wonderful job of showing how Julian's human nature conflicts with her training- and how she makes the hard choices... She is such a strong character, despite (or perhaps because of), her frailties.