Hi all,

I'm halfway through my own TES IV fan fic, and I would appreciate feedback on the chapters I've written so far.

I realize that for many, starting in the tutorial dungeon is old news, but for me, that is when my character really came alive. Learning a new console system, a new game, and becoming so immersed in it was powerful stuff for me. It was my first exposure to the TES world, and to this day I am still thanking the young man at Best Buy who directed me to this game. So it's kind of hard to start this story anywhere else.

I take the approach that if something is worth doing, it's worth doing well. So please be absolutely ruthless with your criticism. Let me know how I can make it better.

Thanks for taking the time to read this. Here goes:

Chapter 1.1a - Escape

Waking up vomiting nothing but a small amount of bile, I gagged on the burning in the back of my throat. Coughing the last of it from my mouth, I lay curled on my right side on the foul cot, my bony knees drawn up to my chest. The rough wood of the cot's frame pressed into my cheek. The smith's hammer pounding on the inside of my skull sent stars shooting across my eyes. Grinding the heels of my hands into my closed lids to drive the lights away only succeeded in making that damn hammer pound even harder. Groaning, I turned until I lay on my back, opening my eyes.

Ignoring the taste of moldy stones on my tongue, I gulped down deep breaths of the damp, chill air. The stars subsided as I stared at the stone blocks rising into the gloom above my head. The hammering slowed to once every shaky breath. Raising my aching wrists, I looked at the iron shackles encircling them. The prominent veins in the backs of my hands disappeared as the blood drained from them. Turning them so their palms faced me, I studied the ghosts of rough calluses, the dark skin pale in the dim light of the window above my head.

Shouting. The clash of steel on steel. The dark room spinning around me. Pitchers breaking, fluid flying everywhere. Then the helmed face of the Legion rider before me, his gauntleted hand holding my shoulder in an implacable grip, shouting something at me. My empty hands between us, palms towards the Rider, my voice drowning in the chaos around us. Then the cold night air, my feet stumbling on the rough cobblestones. Falling through them into darkness.

"Ach, what happened?" I muttered softly to myself. In spite of my whisper, the smith's hammer pounded hard for a couple of heart beats before slowing down again. Struggling to a sitting position on the cot, I ignored the old stabbing pain in my left side and my right knee. Seeing the pitcher sitting on the rickety table at the foot of the cot, I scooted my rump along the lumpy mattress until I could reach it. Looking into the mug, I grimaced at the dirty water inside. Picking up the pitcher, I raised it to my lips, gulping the stale water hurriedly, trying to avoid tasting it. Taking another mouthful, I rinsed my furry teeth with it, rising from my cot and moving to the privy at the back of the cell, where I spit the foul water out.

"Awake now, are you, pretty Redguard?" the sarcastic, biting voice sounded behind me. Shooting a glare over my shoulder, i took in the barred door, the Dunmer in his cell across the way. "How do you like your cell, huh?" he continued, his voice still mocking. Turning around, i stepped through the trickle of faint moonlight falling from a window too small to show any stars. Another step took me past the table, its wan candle shedding little additional light. Yet another step brought me to the door.

"Roomy enough for you?" The mocking voice continued as I studied the Dunmer. Thin, colorless, unhealthy seeming, he looked as I felt, sick, hungry, and weak. Turning away from him, I limped around the room, hunching against the sharp pain in my left side. Nausea roiled in my stomach, and my muscles quivered uncontrollably, their former strength forgotten. "I can't even imagine what it's like for you," the other prisoner's voice followed me on my limited perambulation. "No more sunshine, no more open seas. Just a box and a dirty sunbeam for the rest of your life. Bet you're glad it won't last long, eh?"

"What?" I returned to the cell door, squinting at the Dunmer across the way. "I won't be here long?" My voice was crackly, harsh, weak in my still-burning throat. My lips cracked as I spoke.

"Oh, didn't you know?" The Dunmer's thin face turned bitter. "No one ever leaves this prison alive. You're going to die here, Redguard. Die!" His sharp-edged voice ground on my already raw nerves. We heard the sound of a bolt being drawn back, a heavy door creaking open somewhere down the passage. "Hear that, Redguard?" the Dunmer exclaimed, his red eyes glittering in the torchlight from the hall. "They're coming for you!" He drew back into the shadows of his cell as I heard voices.

"Tell me what happened to my sons," an old man's voice reached me, heavy with grief.

"Sire, all we know is that they were attacked," a woman's voice, clipped with authority and respect, responded as boot steps drew nearer our cells. "We must hurry, Sire, we need to get you to safety."

A tall Redguard, clad in steel armor with blue enamel and brass trim, marking him as one of the Blades, lifted his torch as he stopped outside my cell. Behind him, the woman, also clad in the same, paused at the sight of me. Her blue eyes scowled beneath the helm as she glared at me. "This cell was supposed to be empty!" she exclaimed softly under her breath.

"I don't know, Captain," the tall Redguard shrugged. "Some mix-up with the City Watch."

"It doesn't matter," the captain responded. Beyond her, another armored Redguard, not quite as tall as the first, and an old Imperial in royal purple robes, appeared. "Prisoner!" the captain's voice crackled between the stone walls. My back straightened involuntarily at the unmistakable command in the small woman's voice. "Stand back beneath the window!"

Although I had been out of the Legion for four years, old habits die hard. Complying with her order, I limped to the back of the cell, behind the moonbeam. The captain unlocked my cell door while I squinted through the grey light. She opened the door, stepping back to let the other two Blades enter. The tall one advanced to stand between me and the others, his black eyes cold on mine. Sensing his dislike of me, thick as molasses in a Skyrim winter, I accepted it, as I accepted the captain's authority, since I could do nothing else.

"Watch the prisoner, Glenroy," the captain ordered, moving to the side wall opposite my cot.

The slim sword whickered as Glenroy drew it. "Aye, Captain," he growled, turning the blade so it shimmered in the moonlight between us. "You stay where you are," he snarled at me. "Don't even breathe." Breathing slowly and shallowly, I stayed put. Looking past him, I regarded the other Redguard. Slightly shorter then Glenroy, his impassive expression scared me in its implacability. Years of combat in the Legion had taught me that the most deadly enemies are the ones you can't read.

The captain started muttering under her breath, and I felt the unmistakable tingle of magicka shimmer over the plain rock face. Catching my breath, I realized the captain was a Breton, with high innate magicka. Probably trained as a battlemage.

The old man, his dark fur-lined robe a shadow in the shadows of the cell, stepped past the impassive soldier and peered at me, his sad eyes puzzled. "I've seen your face before, it seems," he muttered softly, his voice coarse with grief which I knew was not for me. "Come closer," he said to me, his voice smoothing out. Glancing at Glenroy, I hesitated, but he fell back to stand beside the old man, keeping his blade between me and the other. Acutely aware of the shimmering sword, I stepped forward into the moonlight.

The old man's eyes widened. "Ah, yes, I've seen you before, in dreams and visions." His dark gaze held mine, becoming sad and resigned. "That means today is the day, and the hour is near." Suddenly aware that the smith's hammer had stopped pounding in my head, I stared at the old man.

Licking my dry lips, I remembered how the captain had addressed him. "What's going on, Sire?" He can't be - no, not the Emperor, not here, not in my cell! My eye fell on the large red amulet on his brocaded chest. The Amulet of Kings? The Emperor!

"Assassins attacked my sons, and I'm next," the Imperial answered, his voice growing heavier again. "My Blades are taking me out of the City by a secret escape route. That way leads right through your cell."

Stiffly, against the pain in my left side, I bowed. "How may I serve you, Sire?" Old habits die hard, very hard, indeed. Looking up, I saw the faint smile touch Uriel Septim's eyes.

"I have served Tamriel all my life," he answered. "You, too, shall serve Tamriel in your own way. But you have your own path to follow." His eyes grew even darker. "Be warned, though. There will be blood and death before the end."

"Blood and death are not new to me, Sire," I spoke softly, surprised at the weariness in my cracking voice.

The wall of my cell crumbled under the captain's hands, falling away in a cloud of dry, choking dust, to reveal a passageway beyond. "Sire," her voice cut between us. "We must go now, there is little time." She disappeared into the darkness beyond the jagged stone edges.

Glenroy turned the tip of the slender blade towards me as the Emperor started toward the opening. "What of the prisoner, Sire?"

"Leave her be," the command voice, though quiet, was unmistakable as the Emperor stepped through the opening, following the captain. "Her path may yet lie with ours." Glenroy gave me one last glare, sheathing his sword and following the Septim. The impassive Blade turned his back on me and brought up the rear.

Waiting a few minutes, I listened to the sound of their booted feet fading away. Glancing around the cell again, I felt something coiling in my belly, just below my briastbone. Discharged from the Legion four years ago, I had once hoped to find peace and health after decades of blood and death. Yet, blood and death had come here, only a hint of it, and I found myself drawn towards it again.

Here is Chapter 1.1b Escape:

Looking down at myself, I saw the pathetic sacking I wore, the thin pants, the flimsy shirt, the sandals with the rotten strings. No, I can't do this. I'm too old, broken down, sick. My knee hurts, my side hurts. Unconsciously, my hand dropped to my left flank, over the debilitating wound that had led to my discharge from the Legion. Though it had been four years, the wound still festered, pulling me down to my left when I was tired, or when the weather turned cold and damp, much like the air in my cell.

Again, something shifted in my belly, and I suddenly felt claustrophobic in the narrow confines of the cell. The hammer tapped softly in my skull. Those headaches had begun when I sickened from the wounds in my left side and right knee, and only grew worse the longer I lived out of the Legion. Silencing that hammer became the sole focus of my existence over the last four years, but led to my downfall.

Involuntarily, I moved to the passageway, coughing against the rock dust still swirling in the air. Peering into its shadows, I caught a glimmer of an open space beyond, below the level of the cell floor. Limping between the fallen stones, wincing whenever my right foot slipped on unstable footing, I made my way down the rough-hewn corridor. Soon I reached an ancient stairhall, dust thick on every horizontal surface, undisturbed except for the boot prints in the floor. Following those boot prints, I soon spotted torch light flickering ahead. Moving quicker to catch up, I soon reached the impassive Blade.

He turned his head to his left shoulder, still walking forward. "Careful, prisoner, and stay out of our way," he warned me. His matter-of-fact tone was as impassive as his face. It reminded me of my pilus prior back when I was a raw recruit, a tiro, in the Ninth Legion, many, many years ago.

Following them through dusty, ancient passageways and bare stone-walled rooms, I could see the captain at the head of the line, torch high in her right hand. The flame guttered when she started and dropped it. Her sword glimmered in the dying light as she drew it ringing from its sheath. Beyond her, a red and black shadow towered above her, swinging something. She went down before she could bring her shield to bear. Glenroy and the impassive Blade leaped forward, their swords clanging as they attacked the shadow. As the attacker disappeared in a red and yellow haze, I moved to stand beside the Emperor. The old man had drawn a silver shortsword, ready to defend himself. Clenching my empty hands - oh for a weapon! - I spotted movement on the other side of the room.

"To your right!" I shouted, unconsciously moving between the Emperor and the new threat, forgetting the pain in my knee and side. As one, Glenroy and the impassive Blade dashed to the other side, moving into darkness that pooled in that area. Only the flashing of blades, the sparks flying in faint sprays as metal clashed on metal, could be discerned. The fight was over nearly as quickly as it began, the two Blades the only figures left standing. I could see their helmets moving around as they scanned the lower part of the chamber, the soft snickers as they sheathed their swords.

"Captain Renault?" the Emperor spoke behind me, as Glenroy moved to look at her.

"She's dead, Sire," he spoke curtly. "Let's go, we have no time. There may be more." He moved towards the gate at the far side of the dimly lit chamber. Uriel Septim walked past me, his shortsword already sheathed, and weaved his way past red-robed bodies. The impassive Blade shot me a warning glance that froze my feet to the floor as he fell in behind the Emperor.

I moved quickly to the red-robed bodies. Weapons. I need a weapon. Something! I cursed when I heard the brass gate snick closed behind the Blades. Dimly aware of a collapsed section of wall to my right, I ran towards the gate, and tried to open the it. Damn, locked! Now what? My mind started pvssyring as I looked back at the bodies. Find weapons. That combat sense that warned me of danger was tingling crazily now.

A scuffling sound from the collapsed section of the wall warned me. Raising my left arm reflexively, though I held no sword, I whirled in time to see a large rat leaping towards me. Its teeth clattered on the iron shackle still on my wrist. Shoving it away, I felt another one slam into my right thigh just above my knee. Sharp pain told me the damned creature had bit me. Swinging my right fist down hard on top of the second rat, I heard it exhale in surprise as it let go. Sliding back, it shook its head, momentarily stunned. Turning in time to catch the first rat scrambling towards me again, I seized it around its chest and slammed it against the wall, feeling bones crunch within my grip. Its limp fall told me I had killed the creature. Limping over to the stunned rat, I stomped hard on its neck with my left foot, twisting my heel until I felt its neck snap.

A quick look around revealed no more live enemies. All the energy of the fight suddenly dropped out of my limbs, and I fell, rather than sat, onto my haunches next to one of the dead assassins. Shaking, I looked at my thigh, where the sacking cloth had torn from the second rat's attack. Blood seeped from the gash made by the creature's sharp teeth. Closing my eyes, I wished for a healing potion.

Crying, I ran to my mother, holding my right elbow in my left hand, blood seeping between my fingers. She turned in time to catch me, kneeling to bring her eyes level with mine. "What happened?" she asked softly.

"Cieran pushed me!" I exclaimed, holding my scraqed elbow up, blood running down my raised arm. "See what he did to me!"

My older brother ran up. "I didn't mean to push so hard, Mother," he panted, his tone defensive and scared. Our mother took my arm in her strong hands, wiping away the blood to see the wound better.

"It's only a scraqe, Julian," her warm voice soothed me. "Here, let me teach you how to heal it." She wiped the blood from her left hand, then cupped my face in her long fingers. "Close your eyes, honey. Feel the pain. Now wish it away."

"How?" I asked, nevertheless obeying her soft command.

"Take it in your hand, hold it tight, until you can't hold it any more, then let it go," she said.

As hard as my six-year-old fingers could grip, I clenched my left fist, until the joints in my fingers hurt. Pressure built up in the palm of my left hand, my mother's voice encouraging me, my brother's startled gasp. I gasped too, when I realized the pain in my right elbow was gone! Opening my eyes and my left fist at the same time, I caught a pure white glimmer rising from my left palm to swirl gently around me before disappearing.

"See?" my mother was smiling, sitting back on her heels. Looking down at my elbow, I saw new skin covering the area where an ugly scraqe had been bleeding just seconds ago. "That's how you can heal yourself. Next time an accident like that happens, just take the pain in your hand and hold onto it. The tighter you hold the pain, the more of it you can cast away," she raised her left hand above her head dramatically. I looked at Cieran, his stunned gaze still on my right elbow.

Somehow my left hand rose in the air, somehow I managed to hold on to the pain, until my fingers ached with it. When white light glowed between my clenched fingers, I felt the pain in my thigh disappear. Opening my hand, I let the healing spell free. It left me weaker than before, but the gash had closed, leaving a fresh pink scar. Leaning back, I gulped deep breaths until my shaking stopped.

Realizing that the debilitating wound in my left side felt better, as did my right knee, I tried again with the childhood spell. The pain faded further, warmth replacing it. This time, I felt even weaker than before, and did not try again. Looking at the body next to me, I fingered the red woolen robe thoughtfully. The gash in the front of the robe was small, testament to the deadly skill of the impassive Blade. This one is bigger than me. He won't miss this robe.

Undoing the belt holding the robe, I stripped the body, ignoring the bloodstains that were invisible in the red wool. Stripping to my undergarments, I slipped into the wool, folding the front of it to cover the gash. The sleeves reached my knuckles, and the hem dragged on the floor, but at least it was warm.

Rolling up the sleeves, I belted the robe, pulling it up so the leather strap held the hem off the floor. Feeling something in one of its pockets, I reached in to find a metal disk. Pulling it out, I considered the single septim thoughtfully. He won't be needing septims anymore. Replacing the coin in the pocket, I fruitlessly searched the other assassin, craving a weapon of some kind.

Puzzled, I searched the bare floor. Then it hit me. Bound weapons, bound armor. Conjuration. I shook my head. Give me something more permanent. Struggling to my feet, I moved to the other side of the room. Kneeling stiffly beside the remaining assassin, I found little more of value, only a belt pouch with another septim in it. Taking the belt pouch and adding it to my belt, I studied the dead Blades captain nearby.

Renault, the Emperor called her. She died in the line of duty. Eyeing her armor almost enviously, I briefly considered taking it. No, it won't fit me, and besides, that would be disrespectful. Finding a steel shortsword at her back, I took it, unsheathing it and hefting its weight in my right hand. Good quality, well balanced. Little used. She kept this as her backup weapon.

Re-sheathing the sword, I secured it at my belt. Glancing around one last time, my eye fell on Renault's longsword laying just a short distance from her out-flung right hand. Its blade rang softly when I picked it up. The long slender blade glimmered in the dim light, its balance exquisite, almost musical, in my hand. The finely wrought blue enamel and brass that formed the guard fitted seamlessly into the steel blade. The long grip, wrapped in butter-soft yellow leather interlaced around the shaft, easily kissed the old calluses in my right hand. The pommel, a small brass ball set into the end of the handle, provided the perfect balance to the long one-sided blade. An Akaviri katana!

No, I can't keep it. Shaking myself out of the trance, I found the sheath for the katana and removed it from the captain's belt. Take it with me, if I catch up to the others, they may know how best to honor her. With an apology the dead woman could not hear, I strapped the katana to my back and rose to my feet, my knee and left side hurting less than before, thanks to the healing spells I had already cast.

Now what? Looking around, I considered the passageway that ultimately led back to the cell. No, not that way. But the gate is locked. I looked at the collapsed section of the wall. The rats came from there. There's got to be more. Maybe it will lead me back to the others. I've got to return the captain's katana to them. After that, who knows?

*******

I will post the rest of this chapter later on today. Thanks in advance for reading this.

I am so glad to see this! Not only that you are joining us in the arena, as it were, but with an Oblivion-inspired story.
Let's see. . . we both love character-driven fiction, so I'm pretty sure that's what this will be. Hmm. . . I love stories based on Oblivion. And, oh yes - well-written ones. I can see I am going to be loving this!

Your writing is beautiful. You have captured the opening feel of the game, and delicately told me that your character seems to be a Redguard woman - not young, but pretty - with time in the Legion behind her.
I only identified one nit, so per your request for ruthlessness, it's the best I can do:
Shooting a glare over my shoulder, i {I} took in the barred door, the Dunmer in his cell across the way

Let's see. . . I love the first person. I love the very manageable length of this chapter.
I like that you addressed the fact that Redguards are among the most talented seafarers, and look forward to learning more about your character.

Did I tell you that I love this? Well done! :twirl:

Edit: Darn! You added your next installment as I was posting. This only applies to your first post. I shall savor the next one and comment later.

Edit Again: Ok, I read your next installment. Very nice as well! Ahah - Julian now has a name!

Definitely one of the stronger re-tells of the intro. Great job.

Congratulations on your fanfic! As Acadian said, it's nice to see you join us in this arena. :celebration:

Interesting start, your take on the healing spell was terrific. Your explanation for why Julian doesn't take Renault's armor was spot on. I would be careful with your descriptions at the beginning. Too many repetitions of 'foul', 'wan', and 'bony' weighs your story down.

A very small nitpick:


That would be 'I'

I thought you really hit your stride once the Blades and the Emperor show up. Julian comes across as a complex, experienced, world-weary ex-soldier just looking for a place to lay her head. I found myself rooting for her in the excellent fight against the rats. I must confess my own partiality for Redguards, it's nice to see one rendered so well.

More please!

Yeah !!! Congrats and Welcome, and it's about time, and AWESOME !!!!! So glad you finally decided to start posting !!!

First of all, let me say welcome to the riding ring! :twirl:

A very strong beginning! As you said, a lot of people probably have started right here in the dungeons meeting the Emperor. In fact I did too! That can make it difficult to write, know that you are walking on ground already heavily trodden upon. However, you do it very well, truly breathing new life into this circumstance. There is an old saying that there are no new stories, which is quite true after tens of thousand years of homo-sapiens being around. But there are always new characters we story-tellers can plug into those tales, which make them new again. You have done exactly that. Bravo! :celebration:

I am especially pleased with your protagonist, who is not the standard young stripling of heroic fantasy (or heroic anything) fare, something I am guilty of myself. On the other hand your Redguard is old(er at least) and is nursing debilitating injuries. This is a fresh wind for our story, and a welcome one indeed!

I also must compliment you on your rich descriptions. I could feel the damp chill of the cell our heroine found herself within, and the aching in her limbs and pounding in her head. It was like I was right there in the cell beside her.

I also liked your description of our heroine learned her healing spell when she was a child. I always enjoy seeing how people describe magic and its use.

Julian though, seems like a rather odd name for a woman. Not Julia? Or Juliana? Did her parents give her a boys name to 'toughen' her up?

Some specific things I enjoyed:

I liked your Tamrielic variation on this phrase:
thick as molasses in a Skyrim winter,

I also appreciated this quite a bit:
or when the weather turned cold and damp, much like the air in my cell.
As someone who has blown out their knee, I know that feeling all too well...

I practically cheered when I saw this:
pilus prior
It is so nice to see that I am not the only one drawing upon the fact that the Cyrodiilic Legions are based on those of Rome, rather than the French Foreign Legion.


One note, you might want to spread out your posts to just one a day, or once every few days. It is a little nicer reading a bit every few days than a lot at once and then having nothing for long time afterward.



Some nitpicks (I did not read through all the comments yet, so I might be repeating things others have said):

In Chapter 1.1

Waking up vomiting nothing but a small amount of bile, i gagged on the burning in the back of my throat.
You will be wanting an uppercase "I" there.


Raising my aching wrists, I looked at the iron shackles encircling my bony wrists.
You use the word "wrists" twice here. How about just saying:
Raising my aching wrists, I found iron shackles encircling them.

Then the helmed face of the Legion Rider before me,
I am not sure you want either "Legion" or "Rider" capitalized here. When it comes to capitalizing the word "army" there is a matter of opinion on whether or not to capitalize it. Some people say only do so when the word is used as a proper noun. So one would join the army, but be a member of the Fifth Army. Other sources say capitalize it all the time. So go with your choice, just remember it for your style sheet. As far as Rider goes, that ought to be lowercase, as the names for types of units do not require capitalization unless they are part of a proper noun. So for example one might be an infantryman in the Tenth Infantry Division.


I ignored the old stabbing pain in my left side, my right knee.
I think you missed an "and" after the comma.
I ignored the old stabbing pain in my left side and right knee.


Seeing the pitcher sitting on the rickety table at the foot of the cot, I scooted my rump along the lumpy mattress until I could reach the table.
You have "table" twice in the same sentence here. How about removing the last instance like this:
Seeing a pitcher sitting on the rickety table at the foot of the cot, I scooted my rump along the lumpy mattress until I could reach it.


rising from my cot and moving to the necessary at the back of the cell, where I spit the foul water out.
I am assuming "the necessary" is a privy or a chamberpot? You might want to be more specific, as I am not exactly sure what you mean by it, and others probably will not be either.


Just an observation, you tend to use the word "wan" a lot. I count at least three times in the first half-dozen paragraphs. You might want to change it up with something like "bleached", or "colorless", etc...


"We must hurry, SIre, we need to get you to safety."
You accidentally capitalized the "I" in "Sire".


his voice coarse with grief, grief I knew was not for me.
You have "grief" twice here, I think you can lose the second instance like so, along with a comma:
his voice coarse with grief which I knew was not for me.


Chapter 1.2


The flame flickered when she started, then dropped it.
This seems a rather awkward sentence, perhaps something like this:
The flame guttered when she started and dropped the brand.


Her sword glimmered in the dying light as she drew it.
This might also work a little better with just an extra bit on the end:
Her sword glimmered in the dying light as she drew it forth.


The pain faded further, warmth replacing it.This time,
You missed a space after the period here.


Rolling up the sleeves, I belted the robe, pulling it up so the belt held the hem off the floor.
You have a variation of "belt" twice here. You might say:
Rolling up the sleeves, I belted the robe, pulling it up so the cord held the hem off the floor.


Take it with, if I catch up to the others, they may know how best to honor her.
This sounds a bit odd, I think perhaps you meant to say:
Take it with me, if I catch up to the others, they may know how best to honor her.

Thanks to all who have commented so far:

@Acadian: Thanks Paladin. I have admired not only Buffy, who has turned out to be quite a resilient young woman, but your wise comments on others' threads as well. Your warm welcome to the writing (riding?) arena is much appreciated.

This is my first try at writing an "old soldier." I am well aware that "old" is very relative in the military. Knowing your own history in the Eagle, Globe and Anchor (did I "pronounce" that correctly - I keep thinking the Old Ball and Chain - ?), I would appreciate any insights you (and any other "old soldiers" on this forum) may have on the military mindset and the adjustment to civilian life after years of service. It is one of the many things I want to show with Julian. When I was playing her character, she kept insisting to me "that's not how they do it in the Legion!" Feel free to point out any "errors" either on the open forum, or via PM. Such comments would be greatly appreciated (hint, hint). :cookie:

@Beniamus Revas: Thanks. I had hoped that my character would be memorable enough to keep people reading. I just hope I can do her justice and maintain that quality in subsequent chapters.

@Destri Melarg: I figured you might appreciate that Julian is a Redguard, just from your avatar. Julian is the first character I played, and she remains my favorite, though I have played a few other races as well. I'm glad you picked up on her reluctance to loot the captain's body - I felt that fit with her Legion ethic.

As for the healing spell, well, I have a lot of ideas about the Restoration skills, drawing on my own profession. You'll see that crop up from time to time. I probably will spend a lot of time on showing how Julian builds up her Restoration and Alchemy skills (the two go hand in hand, if you ask me), though I promise not to bore you!

Details, details, details. How much to put in? How much to leave out? How much do I want to emphasize things? Thanks for your input on that, I will watch it. At least it affects my word count!

I had a lot of fun writing Julian's interaction with the Blades, as well as the Legion in upcoming chapters. It makes sense that she is most comfortable with those characters, than she is with civilians and mages. :shrug:

@mALX1: Thanks for your encouragement! I really appreciate it. I hope you feel better soon! It's been a lousy week for you. :icecream:

@SubRosa: Do I know the old saying about no new stories! If you've ever read Joseph Campbell's book on the Star Wars trilogy, you will never look at those films, or any other story, quite the same way again.

I'm glad you liked Julian. She is old, by military standards, but I promise you will find out her true age in an upcoming chapter. :touched:

And Julian is suitable for a woman as well as a man. There was a Christian mystic named Julian of Norwich (1342 - 1416) who was one of the earliest Christian feminists. That name stuck with me. I wanted my character to have a name that wasn't "too" feminine. Since then, I've encountered a few other women in history/literature named Julian, so I figured it was a good one for my Redguard. Julia would have been just as fine, but it's hard to holler "Sergeant Julia!" in the middle of combat, in my humble opinion.

I researched the Roman era about eight years ago for another story I wrote, and have revisited it again. And yes, I do know the difference between 'legionary' and 'legionnaire.' I made sure of it! The Roman empire (and the Alexander the Great period) fascinate me, but there are other cultures and historical eras that are beginning to interest me. As time permits, I probably will study those as well.

As for your editorial comments, I have gone back and made the suggested changes. Thanks for spotting them, and helping me with one particularly tough sentence! And thanks to everyone who caught the 'i' at the beginning of the chapter! My eyes! My eyes! They're getting too old for this! I'll have to go back to my Palatino font for writing, since the sans serif makes it hard for me to see the difference between 'i', 'I', and 'l'! Argh! :brokencomputer:

I do plan to post every day or every couple of days as I rewrite the chapters I have written so far (and get the rest of the story written!). Thanks to all again for your criticism and support!

Others have commented, and commented well, too. Here are my own thoughts on your writing.

Is it only me, or does anyone else think that the second part of your dungeon chapter feel a lot more gritty, realistic, and .. yes... dramatic than the first? My impression of your writing was that you started out a bit stiff, but your literary muscles seemed to be more fluid and graceful as you went on.

Perhaps you should 'do a Malx1' and rewrite the first part later, when you are humming along comfortably in fifth gear?

One part of being an old soldier instantly rang home: the part of the body, particularly the hands, immediately finding familiarity in the touch of weapons and armour. That is very true.

A side note: while not Oblivion, if you want to know the true emotional state of mind of a soldier - especially a veteran soldier - and his view on life, love, and fighting, I cannot reccomend 'Memories' by my friend, Old Andy, over in the Fallout artwork and Fiction section, too highly. And if you are thinking of writing extended lines of dialogue, in my opinion Andy is a master.

*of course, I may be prejudiced, since he's given me a rather large-ish part in the story lately... *

Final note - MORE PLEASE. As Minxy - 00ps sorry, Sub Roaster - hee hee - said, the acid test of a story is whether the reader becomes an 'Oliver' and implores 'please, sir, I want some MORE!!!' EYE most certainly want Puh-LENTEEE- more!!!!

ARGH! Foxy! I am soooo mad at you!



I did what you said and trotted over to peek at that story. Just a few chapters in and - ARGH!

I've never played Fallout, so am totally unfamiliar with the environment. But that wasn't necessary with Old Andy's fiction - it told me just enough that I could be immersed in it. Besides, the differences are not enough to distract from what looks to be a powerful story. Did I ever mention that I love stories like this - gritty, hard-hitting, and fast moving! Geez, I grew up on Robert Ludlum, et. al!

I had to TEAR myself away to work on my own fan fic! But yes, I will be returning to it frequently and often. Thanks for the reference.

And you are not the only one to notice the unevenness in the pacing. I felt like I was dragging in the first part, but once the action started (when the Blades entered the cell), it just flowed so easily.

I'm about seventeen chapters along, out of potentially twenty-six chapters, and believe me, the tutorial dungeon was/is the hardest to write/rewrite!

Thanks for your comments and encouragement. It means a lot! :celebration:

Here is the next part of the first chapter. This was hard to write, because, as mALX1 has said before, this part of the game is so linear. I hope that everyone finds the flow is smoother, and that Julian continues to interest people.

Oh, and a special shout-out to Buffy the Bowgirl and Teresa of the Faint Smile - they have been especially inspiring in writing this part of the tutorial, as will be seen below. :foodndrink:

Chapter 1.2 - The Tunnels

Akatosh must be sitting on my shoulder. Almost immediately upon entering that dark space beyond the collapsed wall, I discovered shabby leather armor - a cuirass, greaves, boots, and best of all, a leather shield that was light enough for my weakened condition. A serviceable iron bow and a few arrows were nearby.

What followed was a maze of dark tunnels, musty chambers, and mostly rats. Soon I was lost. Still I crept along, my hands shaking and my heart in my mouth. Being alone in strange surroundings made me very jittery, as accustomed as I was to being part of a group for twenty-five years. My back became sore from the constant anticipation of a rear strike.

I had been tiptoeing along for some time, my smith friend tap-tap-tapping softly in my head, when I heard a creaking, groaning noise that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Zombie! I hate the things. Recalling the characteristic stench that made that cot back in my cell smell like roses, I found an alcove to hide in. Zombies were disgusting to fight. Their rotting flesh never quite seemed to feel the bite of a sharp blade. Worse, they left behind moldy, slimy fluid that was nearly impossible to remove from weapons and armor.

The undead being lumbered past my hiding place, after two rats that were trying to escape it. Stepping carefully in my oversized boots, I limped out of my hiding place behind the zombie and stabbed it, just to the right of the spinal groove, into where the kidney would be in a man or elf. Turning the blade sideways, I yanked it out of the creature's flank. A chunk of rotting flesh pulled out with a sickening moist sound. As part of the creature fell wetly at my feet, the zombie staggered around, its half-rotted arms raising to clobber me.

Swinging the sword sideways, I felt it thunk through soft meat into the spinal bones. Heavy blows landed on my shield, staggering me. Managing to recover my blade, I hobbled backwards as the undead being collapsed, falling in several pieces.

After that encounter, it took several minutes for my frayed nerves to knit back together. They almost unraveled again when I skirmished with goblins later in the maze. The first two were lightly armed peons, each alone, each easily taken down by sniping from the shadows. Still, the combat left me shaking badly. Here, I found a mortar and pestle, as I had wished for not so long ago as I picked cairn bolete and wisp stalks. This raised my spirits a little.

Approaching a stack of logs precariously balanced at the top of a slope, I peered around the corner to see two goblins, one a melee fighter, the other an archer. They stared back at me, starting when they obviously realized that I wasn't one of them. Hobbling for the logs, I kicked at them. Unfortunately I used my left leg, causing my right knee to scream in protest. Nearly falling to my bad knee, I looked up to see the logs tumbling down the slope, sweeping away the two goblins.

A more heavily armed goblin ran out a side passage at the bottom of the slope. His bulkier form made my eyes widen. A berserker! Remaining crouched behind the one log that didn't roll away, I drew two arrows, sticking one into the dirt by my boot. Restringing my bow, I nocked the other arrow and sighted on him. Akatosh, may my arrow fly true. The bow hadn't been my primary weapon during my service in the Legion, so my skills were very rusty.

Remember sis, don't draw it full," Cieran's voice whispered in my ear. Sighting down the arrow, I squinted at the silver-barked sapling ten meters down the hill. "Now take a breath, let half of it out," Cieran continued instructing me. Feeling his presence at my back, sighting over my shoulder, I did as he said. "Feel good?" he asked me.

"Hmm-hmm," I answered.

"Now pull the string the rest of the way and release, smoothly," his whisper coached me.

The berserker saw my movement and started for me, raising his war axe. I released the arrow, which smacked him in the chest, embedding itself in the bone briastplate he wore. The impact only staggered him, and he recovered quickly. I forgot Cieran's lesson and released the second arrow in a panic. Naturally, the arrow flew wide, and now the berserker was almost on top of me.

Backpedaling as fast as I could with the cursed bum knee, I dropped the bow and drew my sword. Managing to raise my shield in time to deflect the blow from that axe, I fell to the ground under the impact. Rolling to clear my sword arm, I looked up to see the berserker raise his axe overhead for the killing blow. Somehow I managed to drive my shortsword into his belly, slipping it beneath the edge of his bone cuirass and angling the tip up into his rib cage. Black blood cascaded down the blade as I twisted it to create more internal damage before withdrawing it.

Scrambling back on my rump, I managed to avoid having the large goblin land on me like a felled tree. Damn, that was too close. I much preferred the longsword - I liked keeping my enemies at a distance from me. But using the captain's katana felt sacrilegious to me - I had not earned the honor of handling an Akaviri blade. Akatosh, I need a longsword, and fast!

Gasping for breath, I stared at the dead berserker. Fighting him had brought back far too many unwelcome memories.

Laying crumpled against the wall, stripped of my armor and weapons, I watched the goblins dancing around their gesticulating shaman. Every so often, one of them would approach me and hammer on my battered body with his fists. The shaman would lower her totem staff in my direction, and send debilitating bolts into my chest, my back, my belly. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to lie still. It hurt to move. My nose was broken for the third time. My right knee lay useless, ligaments severed by a wicked slash from an iron shortsword. Blood flowed slowly out of the gash in my left side. That wound would have killed me had it landed a finger's width higher, above the arc of my hipbone. A couple of broken ribs jabbed my back whenever I inhaled.

Though the fire was only a couple of meters away from me, I felt cold, my fingers and toes growing numb. Blood loss, I knew. Just a matter of time. Akatosh, don't let me die alone.

Voices, screeching, the sound of metal on metal. Goblins running towards the passage leading up to the surface. Only the shaman remained. She walked over to me, aiming that cursed totem staff at me. The sounds of combat drew nearer, then a shout I recognized. Florio! My optio! Though it hurt, I turned my gaze up at the shaman. "Today, you die," I whispered at her. The totem staff flared, and I fell away in a wash of blinding pain.

After what seemed like an interminable period of time, my shaking eased enough that I could focus a couple of healing spells on myself. When the pain and terror eased, I struggled slowly to my feet, recovered my bow, and limped cautiously down the slope, staying close to the wall.

Entering a large cavern, I grounded my good left knee in the shadows to one side of the entrance. Scanning the place, I picked out more goblins. A peon next to a cooking fire to my right. Another peon poking idly at penned rats in the central pit. A shaman pacing beside some chests at the far end of the cavern, over twenty meters away. Power flared around the wizened head of the goblin staff she carried, pounding its butt into the ground with every step.

Which one first? That shaman is probably the most deadly, with that totem staff. She can kill me ten times over before I even get within blade-range. I tested the bowstring. Loose. I tightened it, eyeing the goblins. Those two peons are fairly close to me. I'm in the shadows right here. Good place for sniping.

Slipping the shield straps onto my forearm, I sheathed the shortsword and pulled four arrows from my quiver. Not liking the pit goblin's idea of entertainment, I sent a single arrow into his unarmored chest. The impact flung him onto his back. Nocking another broadhead to my bowstring, I turned to the peon sitting by the cooking fire.

His back was to me as he sliced meat off the roasting rat spitted over the flames. Using Cieran's technique, I sighted on his hunched figure and released the arrow. Picking up a third shaft, I looked back to see the goblin stagger into the fire, screeching from the arrow in his left shoulder. Time seemed to stretch out as I forced myself to follow my brother's teachings, flowing through the half-drawing the bow, taking half a breath, then sighting, tautening the string and releasing with a soft exhalation. It took an eternity to cross the distance between me and the wounded goblin, but the arrow sank into his chest with satisfying results.

In the corner of my eye, I sensed the shaman pause in her pacing, looking over her shoulder at the cooking fire. I swept the last arrow into my hand and limped backwards, deeper yet into the shadows behind other boulders. Sighting on the shaman, I considered the distance. The range was great enough I worried that my arrows would drop before they reached the shaman. I had never shot an arrow so far before.

"If you ever have to shoot further, Julian, remember to raise your aim point higher," Cieran's voice reached me from the far side of the campfire. He lay stretched on his back, arms crossed behind his head. "The farther your target, the higher the arrow has to fly to drop into that sweet spot."

Raising my aim, I paused when the arrow tip hovered above the shaman's head, level with the top of her totem staff as she slammed it into the dirt, power flickering around that disembodied skull. As the goblin glared around the cavern, her voice crackling across the pit, I let the shaft fly. She bent forward abruptly as I pulled another arrow from my quiver, the one I had released protruding from her lower abdomen. Her free hand reached up to it as I repeated Cieran's technique, adjusting the aim point to compensate for her shortened silhouette. The shaman's head raised and her eyes met mine as the arrow sped across the pit, the totem staff beginning to drop its skull in my direction.

Shrugging the shield onto my wrist, I ran no, limped as quickly as I could around the pit, unsheathing my shortsword. My precaution was unnecessary, however, for the goblin fell, her totem staff clattering off to the side harmlessly. Her bleeding body did not move as I approached warily.

Now that the situation no longer called for it, panic swept over me. I sat shakily down beside the shaman, panting for air. Remembered pain rose up again, and the pounding in my head increased for a couple of breaths, then subsided. As quickly as the panic had overwhelmed me, it ebbed away, leaving me shaking and breathless.

Again, casting a couple of healing spells gave me strength and stilled the smith's hammer. A quick search of the chests netted me the one thing I had prayed for just moments ago, an iron longsword. Straight-edged and keen, it was of decent quality and snugged itself into my right palm as if it belonged there.

Did You hear me, Akatosh? I wondered. I had served Him for twenty-five years in the Legion, but had never given Him much thought. But now, every time I thought I needed something - If You're listening, Akatosh, thank You.

Aha! NOW I see you've moved up a gear!!! Much better m'dear!

Only one thing, though.

Perhaps it's just me, but one thing about the MALE PoV in battle is that we feel RAGE either under or over the fear of battle. Part of our souls may cringe and whimper and want to be in the next galaxy, but there is always a part of the male warrior soul that is roaring "Oh yeah? You want a piece of me? BRING IT ON, M-F-ker!!!"

The emotions you describe in battle - even for an old soldier who has lost the first edge of his foolish youth - feel more like a professional female warrior, who takes not the savage joy in killing that we, less civilized males, do.

Just my two cents. Perhaps I'm all wrong :shrug:

But... Julian IS a girl! (woman/female/she/fish/etc.)


@ Hauteecole Rider - Everyone has experienced that same cave, I have at least 22 times - and you really brought it to life as I have never seen it before - Awesome write!

AAAAARGH again!!! My mistake...

Grrr....


WHY o WHY must you make a warrior woman with a name like JULIAN!!! Yes yes I read the explanation. Hmmmph, like we males can remember that ... grumble mutter mutter embarassed growl...grumble mutter...

Love it. Another excellent piece. I find the flashbacks and memories to be very well done and they give a great glimpse into the character without coming across as overdone.

Excellent! Your writing has really picked up in this third installment. You seem to be hitting your stride here. :read:

I very much liked the flashback to Julian in the Goblin cave. It added a very gritty, real depth to not only her injuries, but also cast an entirely new light on her battle with the Goblins in real time. Goblins are often treated as throw-away villains in ES, because in the game they pretty much are. But you make them genuinely scary. That is very welcome indeed! :thumbsup:


Some things that jumped out at me:

I was very impressed with your description of swordplay here. It looked like something straight from a Roman field manual.
I limped out of my hiding place behind the zombie and stabbed it, just to the right of the spinal groove, into where the kidney would be in a man or elf. Turning the blade sideways, I yanked it out the creature's flank.

A nice description of real world archery tactics here:
I drew two arrows, sticking one into the dirt by my boot.


Some nits:
Your use of the word "peon" for the goblin grunts stuck me as odd. Perhaps because of it being a Spanish word. Maybe something Latin like "prole" would be more appropriate for Julian to be thinking?


Soon lost, I crept along, shaking, my heart in my mouth.
This seems awkward. Perhaps you could break it up a bit:
Soon I was lost. Still I crept along, my hands shaking and my heart in my mouth.


Zombies were disgusting to fight, with rotting flesh that never quite seemed to feel the bite of a sharp blade, moldy, slimy fluid that never quite washed off weapons or armor.
This feels awkward as well. Maybe break it into multiple sentences as well:
Zombies were disgusting to fight. Their rotting flesh never quite seemed to feel the bite of a sharp blade. Worse, they were always filled with moldy, slimy fluid that was near impossible to wash off weapons or armor.


Turning the blade sideways, I yanked it out the creature's flank.
I believe you want to say:
I yanked it out of the creature's flank.


Hobbling for the logs, I kicked at the logs.
You use the word "logs" twice here, I think you can lose the second instance:
Hobbling for the logs, I kicked at them.


I released the arrow, which smacked him in the chest, embedding itself in the bone chestplate he wore.
You have one form or another of the word "chest" in here. I think you can fix it thusly:
I released the arrow, which smacked him in the chest, embedding itself in the bone cuirass he wore.


Though the fire was only a couple of meters away from me, I felt cold, my fingers and toes growing numb. Blood loss, I knew. Just a matter of time. Akatosh, don't let me die alone.
Should these two entire sentences have been italicized?


His back was to me, as he sliced meat off the roasting rat spitted over the flames.
I think you can lose the comma in this sentence.

ROFL !!! If I had room on my signature I would have to quote that, lol. You can even ROCK embarassment Foxy!!!

This is wonderful! WooHoo! My kinda story - character-driven and Oblivion-based. I found myself quite immersed into Julian's struggles - a good indicator of the strength of your writing. I liked how you handled her bowshooting - particularly since it wasn't her primary weapon while in service to the Legion. You are filling us in on Julian at a very natural feeling pace - and I enjoy your use of flashbacks to help. Hmm. . . not that women need to share their age of course, but it seems with 25 years in the Legion, and assuming the Legion does not accept children, I'm guessing Julian is about 42. Being a Redguard, 42 would feel about like, well. . . 42 - very neat! (Oh, to be 42 again!).



I really liked the image and feelings this efficiently evoked.

Keep going Julian, you can do it. Just think how good a bath is gonna feel if you ever get out of that dungeon!
Yep, I'm still loving this! :foodndrink:



I did note a few small things for your consideration. I believe I have not duplicated any items that SubRosa mentions above.

The first two were lightly armed peons, each alone, each easily taken down by sniping from the shadows.
I'm assuming you used the word each twice in close proximity for a specific effect? Just checking.

Here, finding a mortar and pestle, as I had wished for not so long ago as I picked cairn bolete and wisp stalks, raised my spirits a little.
I'm sorry, but this reads a little awkward to me. I might suggest breaking it into more than one sentence.

Akatosh, I need an {a?} longsword, and fast!

Now that the situation no longer called for it, panic swept over me.
Maybe I am misreading here, but it seems you missed your intent. You are saying now that the situation no longer called for panic, panic swept over me. Did you mean something closer to:
'Now that the situation no longer called for calm thinking, panic swept over me.'

I think it reads correctly as posted - EXAMPLE: My son (the one that came back from Iraq) - We had a fire at the house. He carried everyone out, then ran down the street to the neighbors and called the fire dept. He was in control till the firemen arrived, and then panic set in, and he passed out. That is a very real phenomena in crisis/trauma - you act while you have to, and when the need to act is gone, the panic you held in is released.

I think it is what shows the diff between a regular person and a hero. I freak out, and freeze up when I need to act in an emergency - my son saves everyone, then freaks out after the calvary arrives to take over.

I echo all of the above. Like everyone else here (I imagine), I have played through the tutorial countless times. Your take on it inspires me to start a new character and do it again. Any issues I may have had with this chapter have been ably raised by others, but I would like to give my impression of this sentence:

Now that the situation no longer called for it, panic swept over me

to me it seems that the intent was to impart that, given Julian's history with goblins (goblin shamans in particular), the natural reaction of any sane person would be to panic. The fact that she was able to hold that panic at bay until the situation no longer calls for it is, as mALX says, an act of heroism.

Thanks for the comments about the Tunnels - that was really the most boring part to write, and I'm glad I made it more interesting. That Goblin cavern was the hardest part for me during the tutorial - I did not feel confident in taking those creatures on toe-to-toe, especially since they were bigger and faster than Julian!

@D. Foxy - Yes, my Vulpine friend, Julian is a woman, and an older one at that. She just seemed to know how to size up situations too easily for a weak, first-level character, and the only way to explain her reactions to the situation she found herself in is that she's been around the block a few (too many?) times. For you, I only have this to say:

:shakehead:

@Beniamus Revas: Thanks - I don't want to overuse the flashbacks too much, but I found them a good way to reveal a little more of the character without being an infodump. As Julian moves through the TES universe outside of the tutorial, you'll likely see less and less of these flashbacks, but they will still be a part of her story. Julian is pretty taciturn about her past, so getting her to open up and talk about it is difficult and feels unnatural for her.

@SubRosa: Thanks for the nits - I have gone back and corrected the sentences you pointed out.

As for using 'peon,' I wanted to convey the idea that the generic goblins that have no armor and crappy weapons were the lowest ranking members of the Goblin society. 'Prole' would work in this situation, as it comes from proletariat, the lowest class in Roman society (and the "masses" in Communist thinking), but my feeling is that 'prole' applies more to civilians, and 'peons' are more appropriate of Goblin tribal organization. My take on them is a little different from Acadian's/Buffy's take - they have enough intelligence to organize themselves militarily, while they don't have any obvious culture or language or civilization in the TES universe, there's just enough mystery surrounding them . . . Still, I'm glad that you picked up on my wish to present them as being something more than cardboard cutouts.

Shortswords are great for close-quarters fighting - they're short enough that you can stab with them, but with a little longer reach than longswords. I remember reading that they were standard equipment for the Roman legions - they used spears to keep the enemy at a distance, but when they went toe-to-toe they would switch to short swords. The long sword is more a slashing weapon, as I recall, but needs more room to swing it.

All my descriptions of archery come from Teresa of the Faint Smile and Buffy the Bowgirl. Before they came along, those passages in the story were very sketchy. Thanks again to two very talented young ladies! :trophy:

@Acadian: I'm glad you continue to enjoy reading about this old soldier. As for Julian's age, well, umm, it seems you have underestimated her age just a teeny bit. It will become evident, later I think, that she has been out of the Legion for four years. I'll let you do the math.


Yes, I was using 'each' twice so close together for effect. I try to avoid doing this too often, but I felt it had good impact here, so I didn't edit it.


Fixed.


I had intended to show that panic was a more appropriate reaction for Julian's encounter with the shaman. Goblin peons don't faze her much, but the shamans really scare the bejeesus out of her, both as adversaries and because of her past with them. As mALX1 and Destri Melarg have pointed out, she should have panicked when that shaman started pointing that staff at her. But I wanted to show what years of drill, training, drill, training have done - delayed the panic reaction until after the combat was over. I apologize for not making that clearer in the story. :shrug:

@mALX1: I'm glad you are continuing to feel like this is your first time, as well, going through something you've gone through 22 times. Thanks for your support and encouragement. :celebrate:

@Destri Melarg: Fellow Redguard, it warms my heart to see that you continue to enjoy Julian's story. I continue to enjoy yours! :goodjob:

This is getting to be longer than I intended, so I will be posting the assassination (in two parts) separately. Again, thanks to all of you who have read this, and to those who have commented on this. :dance:

The last part of the tutorial begins here. I found it very hard to write, because of the entire tutorial, I felt it was the most linear and constrictive. I had to break away from the game dialogue to find Julian's voice here. I hope readers don't mind.

Chapter 1.3a - The Assassination

Slipping through yet another door, I found myself surrounded by familiar architecture - the dressed stone and columns of the buried city. Does this mean I'm back on their trail? Looking down at the thick dust covering the stones, I found it undisturbed. Not yet. I moved forward, finding the smoother floor easier to navigate.

Voices reached me around a bend in the corridor, voices that I recognized. Glenroy's tones rang strained, angry. The other Blade sounded as impassive as my memory of his visage. The Emperor's voice was absent. Is he still with them? My heart beat faster for a moment. Is he dead? Did the Blades fail? But they wouldn't still be alive, then, I reassured myself unconvincingly.

They moved away from me, compelling me to hurry down the hallway. Rounding the corner, I found myself on a ledge overlooking a large chamber, its interior crisscrossed by shadows and deeper shadows. My night vision remained good enough for me to see the footprints in the fine powder below. Three sets. Good, the Emperor is still alive! My heart sank, however, when the prints diverged to the deep shadows on the opposite sides of the room, where swirled traces in the thick dust indicated skirmishes.

Carefully letting myself down from the ledge, I kept close to the near wall, the dark blade of my new-found longsword nearly invisible in the shadows. Nearly tripping over a red-robed corpse, I found the body still warm. Good, I'm not far behind them. I paused long enough to search the assassin's purse, collecting the two septims I found there, before progressing on.

Before much longer, I heard again the clash of weapons on armor. Knowing my condition was still weak, even with repeated applications of that old healing spell, I resisted the impulse to run pell mell towards the sounds of combat. Instead, I settled for hobbling a little faster, while scanning the shadows for ambushes.

Reaching the far side of the chamber, their trail entered another narrow corridor. Judging by the sound of the skirmish ahead, they were just around the corner a couple of meters in front of me. Close quarters - no, really close quarters. That means one on one fighting.

Rounding the corner, I nearly bumped into the purple robes of Uriel Septim. He stood well back of the ruckus up ahead, his own shortsword drawn.

"Excuse me, Sire," I said quietly to avoid alarm. I didn't like the way that sword flickered in the guttering torchlight. The last thing I needed was for my own Emperor to stab me just because he was as jumpy as I was.

Uriel Septim did start a little, but only looked at me over his shoulder. Because of the way the shadows fell, I could not read his expression, but I could feel tension emanating off his form. Without a word, he stepped against the wall so I could move past him. Ahead, the broad shoulders of the impassive Blade blocked my view of the skirmish in front of him. Catching only fragments of the frenzied activity another meter away, I could make out the end of the corridor, the floating dust stirred up by Glenroy and the attacking assassin, and the heavy breathing of the two opponents.

Glenroy's better training gained the upper hand, however, and he moved out quickly into the chamber beyond, advancing right on a diagonal from the archway. The implacable Redguard stepped over the slumped assassin and glided to the left. I stopped at the end of the corridor and waited, the Emperor behind me.

The two Blades scanned the room, then sheathed their katanas. Taking it as a signal that the room was clear, I stepped aside to let the Emperor by, and knelt to search the dead assassin's purse.

"Dammit!" Glenroy's explosion brought my head up in time to see him stalking towards me, his katana drawn. My pathetic attempt to rise to my feet resulted in my tripping over the dead assassin and falling backwards against the wall. "That prisoner's one of them!"

A swirl of purple robes and an upraised hand stopped Glenroy in his tracks, his black gaze glaring at me. "Stop," the Emperor's voice again held that unmistakable authority. "She is helping us." Standing next to Glenroy, Uriel Septim turned to look at me, where I lay shaking against the wall. "She must continue helping us."

"As you command, Sire," Glenroy muttered, still glowering at me. The Emperor moved forward into the room, where the stern Blade waited near another doorway at the far side. Under Glenroy's hostile stare, I struggled to my feet, my knee complaining, the pain in my left side pulling me off balance. Straightening my back to meet the Blade's angry look took every ounce of courage I had. "Don't try anything funny," he warned me.

"Sir," I spoke quietly, fighting to keep my voice even, "I'm too old and sick right now. The Emperor could kill me easily if he wanted to."

Glenroy's eyes narrowed at me under the ornate helm. Moving his katana to the side, he stepped up until we stood toe to toe, Glenroy stooping slightly so we were nose to nose. "You made it this far, prisoner," he growled, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "And you've managed to arm yourself. If that doesn't make you one of them -" he spat the word, "then I was born yesterday!"

"Glenroy!" the Emperor's voice, still smooth as velvet, somehow had the effect of a cracking whip. "Let the prisoner come to me."

Still glaring at me, the tall Blade stepped aside, gesturing with that fine blade for me to move, and move quickly. Uriel Septim showed more patience as I limped towards him, towards the pool of cold light he stood in. My shoulder blades tensed as Glenroy shadowed me, his katana throwing flickers of light from its blade around the room.

"Baurus," Glenroy said when I stopped in front of the Emperor, "keep an eye on the prisoner. I'm going to check the room again." Beyond the Emperor's shoulder, I saw the impassive Blade nod in acknowledgement. He remained standing at ease, his katana still sheathed. Even so, I found his implacable gaze even more unsettling than Glenroy's overt hostility.

"Please excuse my Blades," Uriel Septim's voice drew me back to him. He smiled, his eyes remaining sad. "It has been an - ah, eventful night for all of us, with many twists and surprises. If I hadn't seen what I have seen, I would be suspicious of you as well. It can be so hard to tell friend from foe under these circumstances."

"Sire," I responded, "These Blades are sworn to you, and it is obvious to me that they take their duty more seriously than their own lives. I understand why they do not trust me." Seeing the merest flicker in Baurus's shadowed gaze, I knew I had struck a nerve. "Believe me, were I in their place, I wouldn't trust me either."

Glenroy's booted footsteps returned to my back, and my shoulder blades tensed up again, until I heard the sound of his katana being sheathed. The Emperor was nodding at my words, now his gaze sharpened on me.

"You've served Akatosh for some years, have you not?" This time the smile touched his eyes at what he saw on my face. "Think you that I didn't notice the Red Dragon on your left arm, back there in the cell?"

Unconsciously, I rubbed the shield straps on my left forearm, covering the place where the old tattoo resided. It had faded almost into invisibility, more a mere bloodstain on my dark skin. How could he have noticed that, as dim as the light was in that cell? A shiver ran up my spine.

"Do you worship the Nine?" Uriel Septim asked.

Do I? "I never really thought much about it, Sire," I answered truthfully.

"Like you, I've served the Nine for many, many years," Uriel Septim observed quietly. "I've always listened to Them, found my guidance, even during the darkest of times, in Them. It seems to me that at least One is now trying to speak to you. Listen to your heart, your gut, and you will hear the Divine Voice."

I shook my head. "I'm not sure I understand what you're talking about." I looked down at the dusty floor between us. "I'm sorry, Sire."

"You've been caught up in the mortal world," the Emperor responded. "The Voices of the Nine can be very quiet, and hard to hear. You have to learn to listen to the silence that is within you."

"How do I do that, Sire?" I asked.

"You could always go to the priests in the Chapels," Uriel Septim's tone lightened slightly. Looking up, I was surprised to see a crooked smile on his face, giving me the impression of irony. "But I think, for you, just finding a quiet place to be will be sufficient." Now the smile faded. "For me, I've listened to Them all my life, I have been trained to it from birth. And now, they are telling me I go to my grave this night."

I inhaled sharply, sensing the Blades' unease at the Emperor's statement. "But Sire," I began, but he raised his hand.

"Ah, but the Blades can not change my fate," he said sadly. "As much as they will try, as much as you will try, no mortal is able to change what is set in the stars."

Feeling the blood drain from my face, I considered the old man in front of me. Why is he affecting me like this? Because he is the Emperor?

"Our father is a loser!" Cieran shouted at me. "He is nothing!" he spat at the ground.

I clenched my fists. "No, our father is like the Emperor!" I matched his tone. "He is wise, kind, and just!"

"If he were like the Emperor," Cieran snapped back, "he would never have left Mother and me before you were even born! Only freaks abandon their families without a word!"

I leaped into Cieran, knocking his skinny, seven-year-old body off his feet. Landing on him, I started kicking and pummeling him with my fists. "Our father is not a freak!" I was screaming. "He is a hero -!" My words soon became unintelligible.

"Stop it, children!" my mother's voice cracked between us as she hauled me off my older brother. "What are you two fighting about?" Her black gaze, normally full of love, quelled us with its fierceness.

"You be quiet, Julian!" Cieran hissed at me. "Don't you dare say it!"

"Our father is not a freak!" I shouted at my brother, wanting to get the last word. My mother's gasp brought my attention to her face, gone pale in spite of her dark complexion. Tears sprang in her eyes, then she was pulling me up to my feet with a painful grip on my shoulder. "Julian," her voice was cold, "go to your bed, immediately. And do not speak of your father ever again."

"But Mother -!" I protested, for the sun still stood high in the western sky. Her hand cracked across my cheek, hard. Gasping, I stared at my gentle mother, the woman who had never struck either of us in the entire six years of my life.

"While I can see my fate," the Emperor's voice brought me back to the present, "yours is not visible to me. But in your face, I behold the Sun's Companion."

I stared at him. What did I just miss? Sun's Companion?

"The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may yet banish the darkness to come," Uriel Septim continued. "With such hope, and with the promise of your help, I must be content." He smiled sadly again. "Our paths may run together for a while yet, but soon you must go your own way." He held up one hand to me. "I must know your name, Sun's Companion."

"J- Julian," I stammered, trying to make sense of his words.

"Sire, we must go on," Glenroy broke into the silence that followed the Emperor's words. The tall Blade passed me and headed for the door at the opposite end of the chamber. Uriel Septim turned and followed him.

And now the assassination itself:

Chapter 1.3b Assassination

Still stunned, I stared at Baurus. He looked me up and down, then shoved the torch in his hand to me. "Take this," he said curtly. "Make yourself useful. My job is to make sure the Emperor gets out of here alive, and I intend to do it." His tone clearly implied he doubted my ability to be of any considerable assistance, especially in combat. The old pilus prior I used to be agreed with his assessment.

We moved on through corridors and deserted chambers, stirring dust that had long lay undisturbed on every horizontal surface. Every now and then, a single assassin would waylay us, but none of them apparently had the kind of training necessary to withstand a single Blade.

Before long, we reached a huge chamber with a brass gate at the far end. Glenroy had us wait in the corridor while he went forward and surveyed the room for assassins. Finding the area empty, he waved us forward and moved to the gate.

The rattling sound it made was ominous in the immensity of the silent chamber. Immediately the two Blades drew their katanas and started scanning the shadows around us.

"The gate's barred from the other side," Glenroy told us angrily. "I smell a trap!"

Looking around the room, I had to agree. Too many shadows, too many blind corners, too many places for ambushing enemies to hide.

"What about that room back there?" Baurus asked, gesturing towards an archway opening into a small space, off to the side.

"Let's check it out," Glenroy suited actions to words, moving towards the doorway. "It's clear," he said. The Emperor and I followed his signal to enter the room.

Booted footfalls sounded outside the room once we entered. "They're behind us!" Baurus shouted, whirling around and dashing back the way we had come, Glenroy hot on his heels.

Catching my breath at the suddenness of events, I blinked in the relatively bright light of the small side chamber. The Emperor caught my elbow as I reached for the hilt of my longsword.

"Listen!" his voice took on new urgency. "This is it, the end is here." Shooting him a startled glance, I saw the determination in his gaze. "You must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants!" He removed the Amulet of Kings from around his neck and pressed it into my right hand, squeezing my fingers around it until I winced from the pain. "Close shut the jaws of Oblivion. He must not have the Amulet of Kings!" Uriel Septim released my hands, stepping back.

Outside the room, the sounds of combat distracted me momentarily. Without thinking, I shoved the jewel beneath my cuirass, under my briast. Need to free my sword hand. My mind was already on the skirmish unfolding in the great chamber, ignoring the coiling in my gut.

"Julian," the Emperor's voice, quiet and commanding, drew my gaze back to him. "Take the Amulet. Give it to Jauffre. He alone knows where my last son yet lives."

He trusts me that far? I started at him, momentarily speechless. My heart started when the stone niche behind the Emperor opened to reveal a towering assassin in Daedric armor, his horned mace raised high over his head.

"No -!" I screamed, reaching for Uriel Septim with my shield hand, fumbling for the sword hilt with my right hand. Too slow, too far, my mind screamed at me, as I watched in horror while the mace began its shockingly slow, yet so fast, descent straight for the Emperor's head.

The impact made a sickening crunch, and the Emperor's face went slack, his eyes rolling up into his head. He crumpled to the ground at my feet. Still groping for the sword hilt, I crouched toward him, hoping against hope. The huge hole in the back of his head, blood and gore draining from it told me the Emperor was dead.

"You picked a bad day to take up the cause of the Septims!" the assassin screamed in a voice like thunder, lifting the terrible mace again. Warm fluid and matter splattered my face as I scrambled back, grasping the hilt and trying to gain enough room to draw it.

My right knee chose that moment to buckle under me, throwing me down. Somehow my sword came unsheathed, and I reflexively raised it towards the assassin as he came at me. The tip of the sword caught in the cuirass, the force of the assailant's charge wrenching the hilt out of my grip and twisting my right wrist.

Fighting down the sudden wave of terror at being so abruptly disarmed, I raised my shield in time to deflect the mace, redirecting its momentum to fly past my left shoulder. As the assassin bent over me, momentarily off-balance, I swung my left boot as hard as I could, as high as I could, into the inside of his thigh. "Bastard!" I yelled, I rolling to my right. Grabbing for the sword, I cried out at the pain in my wrist as my hand took the blade's weight.

The assassin staggered, groaning from the pain I had just inflicted on him. Behind him, Baurus raced into the room, his bloodstained katana already moving to slice below the assassin's cuirass. He did something with the blade, I wasn't sure what, and the attacker tried to turn around.

Clambering onto my knees, I swung the longsword at the back of his calves, unprotected by his greaves. Effectively hamstrung, the assassin was easy prey for Baurus's flickering katana and finally went down.

Baurus whipped the katana at me, but lowered it as soon as he saw my face. He cast his gaze around the room, stopping when he saw the Emperor's crumpled body against the wall. All the fight went out of him then, as he stumbled to kneel beside Uriel Septim.

"Talos save us, no -" the raw emotion in his voice made me breathless. Panting, I lay back on my right side, squeezing my eyes against the tears that threatened to spill down my sweating face. The iron longsword clattered as it slipped out of my grip.

I failed. I failed the Emperor. I failed, again. I can't fight any more. I'm too far gone. Akatosh, I'm sorry.

Booted footsteps interrupted my self-recrimination. Gauntleted hands grabbed my shoulders. "Julian!" Baurus was speaking. "Julian! Are you all right?"

Opening my eyes, I shook my head at him. He started passing his hands over my arms, searching for injuries. Reflexively, I pushed him off. "I failed the Emperor!" I snapped, struggling to sit up. Baurus grew very still, and I turned my gaze away from him. "I'm sorry, sir," I muttered.

"No, you're right," Baurus said bitterly. "We've failed. I've failed. Glenroy is dead. The Emperor is dead." He sat back on his heels as I slumped forward, still trying to steady my breathing. "Julian, the Amulet is missing. Do you know where it is?"

Nodding, I touched my cuirass. "Here," I answered. "The Emperor gave it to me. He told to me to take it to J- Jauffre."

Baurus frowned at me. "Grandmaster Jauffre?" His black eyes squinted at me. "Why?"

"There is another son." A bastard child, must be. Baurus's thick brows disappeared under his helm.

"Another son?" he repeated. "Nothing I ever heard of." He considered me for another moment. "But Jauffre would know. He and Uriel Septim go back a long ways." He shook his head in wonderment.

"Here, I'll give it to you, sir," I reached into my cuirass, but Baurus stopped me.

"No, I need to stay with the Emperor's body until reinforcements arrive," he answered. "You need to get that Amulet to Jauffre as quickly as you can travel."

"By myself?" my voice was almost a squeak. "I don't know where Jauffre is -"

"You were Legion, right?" Baurus locked eyes with me. "Not a deserter?"

"No!" I shot back reflexively. "I've never deserted my duty!"

Baurus nodded. "I thought so." He reached into his cuirass, drew out a folded parchment and a graphite stylus. "Then you know how to read a map." He marked a small 'x' on the parchment, then handed both items to me. "He's at Weynon Priory, just southeast of Chorrol. Take the Black Road west from the Red Ring Road." He handed me a key. "Take this, this will get you into the sewers and out of here."

Rising to his feet, Baurus held his hand down to me. Grasping his wrist, I stood with his assistance. Rather, he pulled me effortlessly up off the floor. Bending down, he scooped the sword off the floor and handed it to me, hilt first.

"Don't worry, Julian," he said while I sheathed the blade. "You made it this far, I trust you can make it the rest of the way on your own."

I remembered the captain's katana, still at my back. Unbuckling it from my shoulder, I handed it to Baurus. His gaze moved over it in surprise. "You'll honor the captain, won't you, sir?" I asked. "She did die in the line of duty."

"Thanks," Baurus regarded me with new respect. "I'll make sure it gets a place of honor in the Hall of the Blades." He clapped his hand on my shoulder, the gauntlet pressing through the rough leather of my cuirass. "Travel fast, and stay safe, friend."

_______________

That's it for a while. I'll be working over the weekend, and will need to rewrite the next chapter. Hope all of you have a great weekend!

Awesome take on it, you ROCKED the story here and made it your own!!! I love it!

Firstly, this was wonderful!

*
Now let me lightly mention my comment on a previous story:

Now that the situation no longer called for it, panic swept over me.
Please allow me to comfort you that Julian's emotion/reaction, from context was crystal clear and realistic. I never meant to raise a concern about that. I simply questioned your choice of wording. Sometimes things strike us that do not strike others; clearly that was the case here. Given that the talented eyes of mALX and Destri, followed by your own review saw no problems, I must conclude that I am alone in my concern. Given that, I certainly agree you are wise to leave it. Thank you for giving it your consideration.
*

Your writing is quite immersive and it is easy to become endeared to Julian. The critical moments of the Emperor's death and Baurus' despair (shared by Julian) were magically effective. I very much enjoy the subtle changes you have incorporated that make all the sense in the world, given Julian's time in the Legion - she is not 'just another prisoner' and the Blades can clearly see that.



I very much like how you so effectively and clearly inserted the speech tag right where it belongs - in this case, smack in the middle of the sentence. It makes the reading come alive.



What a brilliant way to bring Julian out of a flashback. If she was in a flashback or day dreaming, of course she might miss some of what the Emperor said - you did this wonderfully. Very impressive!



Above, you repeat the same word several times in close proximity - intentionally and with good effect.
You might review the below examples however and see if the repetition is intentional?

Still, my night vision was still good enough for me to see the footprints in the fine powder below. Three sets. Good, the Emperor is still alive!

I kept close to the near wall, the dark blade of my new-found longsword nearly invisible in the darkness. Nearly tripping over a red-robed corpse,

Judging by the sound of the skirmish ahead, they were just around the corner a couple of meters ahead.



My goodness, this is getting such fun to read! Go Julian! :dance: