Destri Melarg: Teresa does not make a play for every woman she meets. Really there have only been two so far, Nerussa and Ardaline, and those are her lifetime stats. Pappy probably has more H&D's than that in a week, let alone attempts... ^_^ She has an interest in Tadrose, but there are some issues there.

Thank you Destri. More of that family feeling in the next few chapters.


hauteecole rider: Thank you haute. There is more Pappy goodness coming up at the end of the chapter.

As you can see Pappy breaks rules for tenses as well as the other ones...


RemkoNL: Ahh, I have had the same Subway experience. I cannot understand why people want to put salad dressing on a sandwich. It gets all over everything, and makes it a complete mess to try to eat.


Acadian: Thank you A. That last post was one that was important to this chapter, in that it showed the level of professionalism that being in the guild is instilling within Teresa. Really, it was the main reason that she joined.


YvetteJeannine: Thank you Yvette! I am glad you are having fun with the TF!


All: I have been away for the last two days, as I am working on a http://www.daemongod.com/blog1/wp-content/uploads/2008/05/alienware.jpg I found in a closeout sale, and have been migrating parts from an old comp to it, and installing things. It should even be able to do SLI, if I can get my hands on the little adapter that goes between video cards.

* * *

Chapter 15c ?A Day In The Life


A long soak in the guild's massive cedar tub followed, and eased the stiffness of the morning's workout from the wood elf's body. She had to wait until the men had taken their turn, but it was well worth having the deep tub all to herself.

Unlike the portable metal baths that most inns possessed, where one sat with legs stretched out and the water only came up to the waist, this was a massive construction built into a room whose sole purpose was to house it. The basin was so deep that the water came right to her neck, and she had to climb steps alongside it to get in. It also had seats built into its walls, so she sat as if in a chair. Perhaps best of all however were the heat stones beneath the double-bottomed bronze floor, which made the water steam with heat.

Tadrose had told her that it was based on Akaviri design, she recalled, something the original Blades of Emperor Reman the First had brought with them to Cyrodiil. They must certainly love water in Akavir, she thought as she closed her eyes and floated away in the hot liquid.

The sound of the door brought the wood elf back to reality, and she opened her eyes to see Tadrose stripping off the thick tunic she wore beneath her armor. Teresa tried not to stare at the dark elf's naked body as she sponged herself clean with soap and rinsed herself off with water from a bucket, the dross falling into a grate in the floor beside the tub. Only then did Tadrose rise the steps to the top of bath and ease herself within alongside Teresa.

"Hi Tadrose," the wood elf smiled faintly. She could not help but to notice the bands of hard muscle that encased the other woman's frame, nor the white lines of old scars. The dark elf's body was far from the soft hourglass that women were supposed to possess. Yet Teresa could not get the sight of it from her mind. She was glad when she could only see the other woman's face after she had submerged herself in the tub beside her.

"Hello Teresa," the other woman closed her eyes for a moment, and Teresa imagined that she must be reveling in the heat of the water surrounding her body. "How do you feel after your first week in the guild, and your first contract?"

"I am so glad I joined," Teresa breathed honestly. Part of her wanted to say that she actually had two contracts now, but the first with Henantier was not something she could talk about. "It is worth it just for this tub!"

The dark elf chuckled then, and took a moment to duck her head below the water. Emerging a moment later, she pulled her wet hair from her face and laid her head back against the rim of the tub. "In Morrowind I had a bath made from a giant crabshell," she said, "but I have to admit I prefer this one. The smell of the cedar is almost as wonderful as the hot water."

"You used to live in Morrowind?" Teresa asked. After what Pappy had said earlier in the morning, she had started to think the Dunmer had lived in Bravil all of her life.

The other woman did not say anything for long moments. "That was a long time ago," she finally replied, her features darkening like the ashlands her homeland was known for.

"Oh," Teresa breathed. She wondered why the other woman left, but was not about to ask, given the sudden shift in her mood. Instead she tried to change the topic to something closer. "So how long have you been in Bravil? Everyone in the Imperial City says this place is awful, but I think it's beautiful."

"It has been almost a decade now," Tadrose sighed, her eyes fixed upon something far away in her mind. "The years certainly go by, faster than you expect them to."

"Have you been in the guild all that time?" Teresa wondered aloud, not sure if she should just leave the other woman to her thoughts. "Or were you a Fighter before you came?"

"I joined soon after coming here," the other woman said, turning her eyes to meet Teresa's. "Actually, we have something in common, because I joined so that I could learn to fight. I mean really fight. Not the nice, neat, sword lessons that spoiled children receive, where no one ever cheats, and no one gets hurt."

"Did Pappy teach you then?" Teresa asked, wondering about the Dunmer's last remark. What kind of children received swordsmanship lessons? she wondered. Rich ones, her mind instantly answered, noble ones.

"No, I was here before him," the other woman replied. "He was still in the Imperial Legion back then. He only came to Bravil a few years ago, after he wore out his welcome in the Imperial City chapter."

"He has a habit of doing that, from what I hear," Teresa said. "I heard he was run out of the legion too."

"Yes," the other woman breathed. "He is a good leader. The best one I have ever been under, to be honest. He knows more about fighting, and motivating people, than anyone in the guild. But his balls always seem to get in the way of his brain. A problem many men seem to have. He is getting better though, since Bruma."

Teresa stifled a giggle. She had not known that many men, but the latter part certainly described many, especially those from the Waterfront.

A loud rumble came from her stomach, reminding her of how long it had been since she had eaten. She felt her cheeks flush with more warmth than was provided by the water and looked sheepishly at Tadrose.

"You had better go eat lunch," the other woman replied, a smile as faint of one of Teresa's own playing across her dark features.

Teresa nodded and rose from the tub. She briefly found herself wondering if the other woman liked what she saw, at least as much as Teresa had when their positions had been reversed. Yet if the dark elf did, she gave no sign of it as Teresa dried herself and dashed her body with vanilla.

"Do not forget dinner," the Dunmer reminded Teresa after she reached for the door. "I reminded Pappy that you do not eat meat, so do not worry about it being awkward this time."

"Thank you Tadrose," Teresa smiled faintly, looking back to the armorer. The dark elf had remembered that she liked milk this morning as well, she thought. Did the Dunmer do these little things for everyone else in the guild as well? the forester wondered, or was she special?

* * *

Rather than putting her armor back on, Teresa changed into a sleeveless dress of dark green linen, layered over a brown chemise, in the same fashion she had learned from Ardaline. Normally she would head out into the woods surrounding the city at this time. She still had much to learn about her new surroundings, and every day she explored she found something new.

On her first foray she had found the old and very empty Ayleid ruins of Anutwyll north of the city. Then on the second she had found the small village of Silverbridge to the west, where the Larsius river split apart into three branches to run around and through the city of Bravil. She had heard of old forts across the bay to the south, and another Ayleid ruin. One of these days she needed to get out to see them, she thought.

But today she was only going to see the inside of the Mages Guild, she frowned as she strode through the streets. It was not such a bad thing however, she reminded herself, at least she might be able to talk Ardaline into having lunch with her again after all.

That is when she noticed Aia standing alone in the graveyard next to the main chapel. The shoeless beggar had her back to the street, and seemed to be staring down at the battered and chipped headstones.

"Hi Aia!" Teresa called out. The old woman nearly jumped, and Teresa bit her lip in self-reproach. People always said she had a habit of sneaking up on them with her quiet footsteps, she thought, so she had wanted to announce herself. Sometimes she just could not do anything right...

"Oh Teresa dearie!" the old woman breathed in a high, thin voice. She laid a hand over her heart as the wood elf walked over to her. "Quite a start you gave me. Lost in thought I guess I was."

Teresa glanced down at the markers lying scattered around their feet. Worn by wind and rain, and many playing host to creeping moss, she could not make out any of the names carved into their stone faces. For a moment she thought to ask if they were anyone that Aia knew, but after remembering Tadrose's reaction to her question about Morrowind, she changed her mind.

"I'm sorry," Teresa said, looking back up into the Imperial woman's dark eyes, "how about I buy you lunch to make up for it?"

"You don't have to be doing that dearie," Aia said. "Out with your friends, a young thing like yourself ought to be."

"Absolutely," Teresa agreed with a faint smile. Taking the old woman's arm in her own, she led her away from the graveyard and into the streets of the city. "Now where should we go? Nilawen has wonderful Redguard sandwiches. Or maybe some Argonian noodles? I found a man down on the docks who makes them for the sailors and stevedores."

"Too good to me, you are Teresa," the Imperial woman said in a voice that may have cracked with more than age. Yet she allowed the wood elf to lead her through the streets. In the end it was the noodle vendor they settled upon, and the pair sat on the docks beside his stand slurping up cold somen noodles spiced with ginger.

"So do you know Tadrose Helas?" Teresa found herself asking when they were done.

"That dark elf she is, from the Fighters Guild?" the old woman nodded. They began to climb the long flights of wooden steps that rose from the river up to the rest of the city on the bank above. "Aye, a bit of her I know, why?"

"I was just curious about her is all," Teresa explained, biting her lip. "She told me she is not from Bravil, but she came here ten years ago."

"About right that is," Aia said, pausing on one of the landings between flights of steps to think. "Such a pretty young thing she was, just like you. Come to think of it, she was a stranger to a smile then too."

"I smile!" Teresa's eyes opened with surprise, and she could not contain the ghost of one as the old woman grinned at her through broken teeth. "See!"

"Sure girlie, and the Countess of Bravil I am too," the old woman made her way back up the stairs again. Teresa laid a gentle hand at her back, just in case the creaking legs of the beggar had trouble with the rise.

"So back to Tadrose," Teresa asked. "What does she do?"

"Spends all of her time in that guild house she does." The old woman leaned into Teresa as she made her way up the riverbank. "Workin' on armor, teachin' folks to fight. Has lunch by the Lucky Lady most days though. Sits and watches the kids play she does. Goes to the big chapel o' Mara every Sundas, sometimes other days too, hardly ever see the Dun-folk there."

Teresa nodded. The first part certainly sounded like the Tadrose she knew. It also explained where she disappeared to every day at noon. She never imagined the other woman for a chapel-goer though, Teresa thought. "So does she have any children of her own?" the Bosmer asked, "Or family here in Bravil?"

"Not a one," the old woman replied as they reached the top of the steps and stood in the main street running along the middle branch of the Larsius. "Not even a man, and more than few sniffed her skirt since she first got here, they did."

Teresa thanked the old woman for sharing lunch, and her observations, and made her way to the Mages Guild. Quite the mystery you are Tadrose, she thought along the way. What was it about Bravil the dark elf liked so much that she did not want to leave? she wondered, when there seemed to be nothing here for her? Why did she spend nearly all of her time alone, throwing herself into her work? What had happened in Morrowind, that made her leave?

Then she was standing on the front steps of the Mages Guild, and the fiery-eyed Dunmer slipped from her mind. She found herself hoping that Henantier was around to teach her that spell, because she doubted she could stand another cup of Delphine's tea!

Another sweet chapter!

I really enjoyed this one - the interactions between the women (Tadrose and Aia), as well as the mystery of Tadrose's earlier years. Now I'm as intrigued as Teresa about Tadrose! She sure sounds like a fascinating woman! :ninja:


I think the second 'o' snuck off into the river on ye.

I suppose I will have to wait for more Pappy (or Chance, by chance)! :liplick:

With characters this interesting and endearing, it is a pleasure simply to read of their days.

Lovely descriptions and natural interactions, again.

A tub with a Dunmeri view! So, the dance, or not dance, continues, to maybe. . . we shall see. Mysterious, indeed.

I'm glad to see Teresa is friends with Aia. I think sharing lunch together is a wonderful idea; poor Aia gets fed, and Teresa learns the local news from one who is well-informed. I bet in some ways, the older woman reminds the young elf of Simplicia. In fact, both older women seem to bring out the best in Teresa.

Nicely done again, SubRosa!

haha i like how aia talks like yoda. Shame this isn't all written down in a book id like to read it all sitting in my lazy boy. Very nice chapter

I'm surprised that Teresa didn't perk up her, er, ears? at that.

I adore how you manage to add so many NPCs, all important to your story and completely in a way that it makes sense.
You know, reading your story helps me a LOT in making Zerina more believable and not just as a sidekick who happens to be female.

hauteecole rider: Tadrose is a character I put some work into. There is definitely stuff going on under the surface with her, much to Teresa's confoundment. All they really tell us in the game is that she spends all her time working for her guild, and she never leaves the guild house (I believe none of the in-game Bravil FG ever leaves the house). So I took that and created the reason for why she is a work-a-holic.

Thank you for finding my escaped consonant.

More Pappy and Chance in this, the final post of the chapter.


Acadian: Teresa and Tadrose are quite an unknown. I hope it will be interesting to see it play out.

Aia is indeed an important person in Teresa's life, in no small part due to her similarity with Simplicia. But also for what you observed, Aia is a valuable source of information for Teresa.



whiteguy1x: Hi white! :wave: Glad you are having fun with Teresa! I have Not A Hero up on my http://home.comcast.net/~subrosa_florens/witch/fiction_not_a_hero.html. When I get around to it I am going to start putting the chapters from Moving Through Darkness up there as well. That would probably make it for easier reading.


MyCat: Hi Cat! There is so much mystery surrounding Tadrose right now, that everything in Teresa is perked up!


RemkoNL: Thank you Rem. I think you do Zerina very well! I am honored to know that I was able to provide some inspiration into such an interesting and exciting character.

* * *

Chapter 15d ?A Day In The Life


"Forgive me for saying so Teresa, but I believe your mind may be elsewhere."

Teresa blinked, and looked up at the slender Altmer before her. Clad in a plain blue mage's robe, his angular features were capped by a widow's peak of brown hair. His almond eyes stared back at the wood elf, and she wondered if that was impatience she saw within them, or perhaps a hint of humor?"

"I'm sorry Henantier." The forester bit her lip. "I just cannot wrap my brain around this shock symbol."

"Well, that does happen sometimes," the Altmer magician shrugged. "Some people are naturally aspected to certain forms of magic, and just as unsuited to others. Magic is as much about intuition and personal affinity as it is about study and practice."

"Maybe we should just try a fire spell instead," Teresa offered, suddenly thinking about the burning eyes of Tadrose Helas. "I already know a Flare spell, so that should be easier."

"Yes indeed," the high elf agreed. "I had hoped that by learning a shock spell it would nicely complement that. But that does not appear to be in your stars. On the other hand, when we are done you will be able to cook your meals with your fingers!"

That brought a faint smile to Teresa's lips, and Henantier took away the instruction pamphlet for the lightning spell and brought her one based on flame. The high elf stepped beside her, laying a soft hand on her back and using the other to point out the similarities between her Flare and this new spell, which he called Burning Hand.

Under his patient direction, she felt the spell quickly forming in her mind. Quick for her at least, she thought. She imagined that a wizard like Henantier would have been able to learn such a simple magic in a few minutes. Yet it was not until hours had passed that she had finally mastered the spell. She was never going to be a mage, she thought, not a real one like he was at least. Still, she was thankful that she could at least use some magic, unlike poor Ancondil.

After demonstrating her newfound ability for Ardaline, and spending some time in small talk with the other elf, Teresa made her way back to her own guild hall. The sun was well into the west by then, a red-gold crown gracing the mountains along the border of Elsweyr.

Teresa paused a moment to stare up at those forested peaks, and found herself wishing she could be there within the trees. The view must be lovely, she thought wistfully, with the Nibenay Basin spread out below. The wood elf sighed, and reached out to lay her fingers upon a cottonwood tree in the street, surrounded by an ankle-high barrier of stones to keep wagons and carts from blundering into it. The living wood against her skin was as soothing as the warm bath in the guild hall, and Teresa closed her eyes to relish the feeling of the firm bark under her fingers.

Tomorrow she would get out to the forest west of the city, the wood elf resolved, no matter what else Pappy might want her to do. The Imperial had already joked about her frolicking in the woods, but it was her afternoon sojourns into the wilderness around Bravil that were the best parts of her days, more peaceful even than her early morning runs.

Silently bidding the cottonwood goodbye, the wood elf scouted a path through the city streets to the looming edifice of the Fighters Guild. There she spent some time sitting with Ancondil, who was again clad in his usual finery. He was practicing with his lute, and Teresa was happy to just sit with her eyes closed and listen until it was finally time for Pappy's latest masterpiece.

The two of them made their way to the dining room and sat together at the round table. Teresa was oddly pleased when Tadrose entered next and sat beside her. The dark elf was clad in a simple brown bodice and white chemise, with a tan-colored skirt trailing down to cover her legs. Once again it was the blazing infernos of her eyes that caught Teresa however, and the wood elf wondered what it was about the other woman that drew her so?

"Everyone here yet?" Pappy entered the room from the door to the kitchen, buttoning up the white shirt he wore over his dark pants. Tavian scampered into the room behind him, moving to a cupboard and producing an armload of plates and utensils.

"We seem to be missing our newest member," Ancondil observed, rising to take some of the porter's cargo and lay it across the table.

"CHANCE!" Pappy's voice rang through Teresa's ears like a Minotaur's bellow, and she was certain that the wineglasses nearly cracked.

"If you keep doing that in the hall you are going to bring down the roof," Tadrose said dryly.

"Hey, it works," Pappy winked as the young Redguard strutted into the room, still wearing the same simple attire that he had in the morning.

"I'm not late am I?" Chance asked as he took a seat. "When we were at the chapel I met some of the chambermaids from the castle, and I sort of lost track of time?"

Teresa rolled her eyes, and found Tadrose doing the same beside her. Pappy just laughed as he walked back into the kitchen, only to return a few moments later with a platter laden with boiled crab, fried yellow perch, breaded shrimp, and rice that was mixed with sliced carrots, green onions, and bean sprouts. Teresa felt her stomach leap with anticipation as the Imperial laid the steaming meal down before her, and had to resist the urge to reach out and snatch a leg of the giant crab.

Tadrose herself stood and retrieved a bottle of Tamika's wine and another of Surilie Brothers brandy from a rack along one wall of the dining room. She poured glasses for everyone at the table while Pappy loaded their plates. Finally, when everyone was served, the commander and vice-commander sat themselves. Without further ceremony they both dug into their meals, and Teresa followed suit with the rest.

"This is marvelous!" Ancondil exclaimed after swallowing a bite. "What kind of crab is this?"

"Mudcrab," Tadrose answered, and Teresa fought to restrain a faint smile as the finely-clad Orismer blanched. Then he shrugged his shoulders and took another piece in his mouth. Teresa noted how he took his time to chew, savoring the taste of the meat, before finally swallowing.

"Well, they certainly taste better than they look!" the orc finally declared.

"We used to eat them all the time on the Waterfront," Teresa offered after taking a bite herself. "They were never as good as this though."

"It's all in the spices kid, I'm glad to see you like it," the Imperial explained, with a real smile lighting his features. "I use some Argonian seasonings that really bring out the flavor."

"How on Nirn did you learn to cook so well?" Ancondil asked the guild commander. "I never would have imagined a man from the army being a master chef."

"The Imperial Legion is what taught me," Pappy laughed, taking a sip of the brandy before continuing. "I spent almost my entire fourteen years in the service stuck in godsforsaken holes. You either learn to like hardtack that's hard as iron and filled with weevils, or you learn to make your own food. Me, I could never get used to weevils?"

"Weevils!" Teresa made a face, picturing the tiny vermin in her mind, "people eat that?"

"You'll eat anything when you're hungry enough kid." Pappy explained. "We used to eat it at night, so you didn't have to look at them. Some men got to like it, the weevils were a lot softer than the hardtack after all."

"So is someone else coming?" Chance asked, looking at the empty chair beside him, and the plate loaded with food in front of it.

The rest of the table fell silent, and Teresa looked down at her own plate as Tadrose cleared her throat.

"That is a guild tradition," the vice-commander explained. "It is how we remember our brothers and sisters who are no longer with us."

"Oh," the Redguard said, now lowering his own gaze to his plate. "I'm sorry, I had no idea?"

"Don't feel bad kid," Pappy said quietly from across the table. "We all made that mistake the first time."

"I have been writing something about that, in a certain regard," Ancondil said, dispelling the awkward silence that had begun to develop. "I have been working on it ever since Tadrose told me about the Battle of Bruma. I think it might be ready for hearing, at least the part I have finished."

Pappy bade him to continue with a nod and wave of his hand, and all eyes fell upon the elegant Orisimer, as he cleared his throat, then began to speak.

"Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved aetherius and nirn, that which we are, we are,--
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield"

"That was beautiful," Teresa laid a gentle hand upon the shoulder of the orc beside her, feeling her eyes begin to water. She could see the poem had a similar affect upon Tadrose to her other side. The men all remained stoic of course, but Pappy did lift his brandy snifter to Ancondil.

"Here is to our warrior-poet," he declared. "I never once regretted bringing you on board son."

Teresa raised her glass with the others and savored the fruity taste of the wine as it danced across her tongue. She saw that Ancondil was blushing, and the orc said nothing as he drank his brandy beside her.

"Speaking of bringing on board," Tadrose said, turning to look at both Teresa and Ancondil. "We have some good news for the both of you." After a nod from Pappy, the Dunmer continued. "Both of your background checks came though early. You are now full members of the Fighters Guild. Congratulations!"

Teresa could not suppress a real smile as the dark elf shook her hand, then clapped her on the back. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Pappy doing the same with Ancondil. Another toast followed, and Teresa delighted in the soft, but potent flavor of the wine as she sipped it from her glass.

"You never said you had so many friends in high places," Pappy said, looking at Teresa. "It turns out not only the grandmaster of the Blades has nothing but high praise for you, but the legate of the Fifth Imperial Legion as well. Even the prefect of the Fifth's training camp sent a glowing letter of recommendation about you."

"The Grandmaster of the Blades?" Chance asked with a raised brow, clearly incredulous. "You mean you know Baurus, the man who closed the great gate at Bruma?"

"Well, I only met him a few times really," Teresa felt herself squirm in her seat. "We were there when the Emperor died," she said, fighting through the lump she always felt in her throat at the mention of his name.

"You were there when the Emperor died?" now it was Ancondil's turn to stare with amazement.

"She was," Pappy said plainly. "I didn't believe it when she first told me either, but I have it all in writing from Baurus. She killed the Emperor's assassin in hand-to-hand combat, and carried the Amulet of Kings to Jauffre in Weynon Priory, alone, through the wilderness."

Chance whistled, while the others simply looked in with a mixture of amazement and admiration. None of which made Teresa feel much better, she just wished they would talk about something else, and stop staring at her.

"So what was he like?" Tavian asked eagerly, "the Emperor I mean?"

"Like no one else," Teresa breathed, seeing the old man's face in her memory. It was only with a supreme effort of will that she was able to keep her voice from cracking when she spoke. "When he talked to you, it was like there was no one else in the world. He made you feel like you were better than you really were, like there was nothing you couldn't do."

"Yeah," Pappy agreed quietly, "that was him. I met him once, when he gave me my grass crown. They say it's the dragonblood the Emperors have. It makes them different from other mortals."

That left the table in silence for long moments, until Ancondil finally broke the spell. "So how do you know the legate," he turned to Teresa, "if I might ask?"

"I send the inquiries to the cornicularius of the Fifth," Pappy explained as Teresa shrugged her shoulders. "Apparently he remembered her name from some other reports that came across his desk a little while ago, something to do with her pal Volsinius being awarded the grass crown? So he passed the background check along to them."

"It seems you are more famous than you give yourself credit for Teresa," Tadrose smiled beside her. "Apparently you helped the centurion at the end of the Crisis as well as assisting the Blades at the beginning of it."

"He says that during the battle for the Imperial City, a Daedroth was about to pop his head off like the cork of a wine bottle. But you made a point-blank shot right into its mouth." Pappy said around a mouthful of fish. "Put your arrow right through the back of its head and killed it like that!" the Imperial snapped his fingers for emphasis.

"Well, I just did what I had to?" Teresa wanted to sink in her chair, and imagined she must be redder than a lobster. "Vols is the real hero, he saved us all."

"Well, according to the centurion, you are the one who saved him," Tadrose said, still smiling. "Not just that time, but also by making a healing potion on the spot after the battle was over. He said he would have bled to death if it were not for you."

"Yep," Pappy continued, appearing to delight in her discomfort, "your friend Vols said - and I quote - 'Vitellus, you'd be a damn bigger fool than when I knew you on the Waterfront if you don't take that girl. She's a pain in the ass, but worth any ten legionaries in the Fifth.' As soon as he said pain the ass, I knew it was our Teresa he was talking about!"

That brought a chorus of laughs, and a welcoming hand from Tadrose on Teresa's shoulder. The latter almost made up for the embarrassment that she felt at her and Pappy heaping such praises upon her. The wood elf practically thanked the Nine when Ancondil came to her rescue.

"So you know this Centurion Volsinius then?" the orc asked the guild commander.

"Yeah, we served together when I first mustered in," Pappy explained, turning his gaze to Ancondil. "I was just a hastatus posterior back then, and he was in my century. Meaner than a Daedric Prince, and twice as big, that was him." the Imperial turned his gaze back to Teresa. "I don't know how you got on his good side kid. When I knew him he never had anything good to say about anyone."

"It's a long story," Teresa breathed, her tongue feeling the blank spot between her molars. In her mind's eye she pictured him lying bandaged in the watch tower, telling her about how he had murdered the man who maimed Simplicia. "Back from before I was even born, really."

"Hey, so you won the grass crown too right?" Chance spoke up, looking at Pappy "So you're a hero too."

"That was a long time ago kid," Pappy said, waving his hand, "ancient history."

"Except when he wants to get into a woman's skirt," Tadrose observed, "then it suddenly becomes much more current?"

That brought another chorus of laughs, including one from Pappy himself. "Well, a good fighter does whatever he has to in order to reach his objective," the Imperial smiled.

"C'mon, I'm serious," Chance continued with a far away look in his eyes, "you're a real hero, like Baurus and Emperor Martin. I wish I could be like that, but I never was very good at being noble, or true, or any of the other knightly virtues."

"Knightly virtues?" Pappy snorted. "You've been listening to too many bards son. Just name a hero, and I'll prove he's a bum."

"Oh come now, what about the Emperor?" Ancondil sputtered. "He is a veritable saint."

"What he means is that our society creates a false image of heroes," Tadrose explained before Pappy could reply, "overemphasizing their good qualities to the point of pure fiction, and erasing their negative sides. The people you hear about in bard's tales do not exist, they never could, because real people are not so perfect."

"Real heroes are ugly," Pappy continued after her. "They're fat, missing teeth, or losing their hair. They cheat on their wives, get in fights with their friends, drink too much, or drown themselves in skooma. They screw up everything they ever touch and act like idiots."

"But when the dreck starts, they stand in the line and deliver," Pappy went on. "That's all a hero is, someone you can count on to stand by you, no matter what the cost. If you kids want to see a hero, then look around you. The people sitting at this table are the real heroes, every damn one of you."

"You may not think so," Teresa could not help but to notice how the former centurion's eyes leveled upon her as he spoke those words, "but I know so. Between the legion and the guild I've been in this business for over twenty years. I know the blowhards from the genuine article. That's why you are all sitting here and no one else. You kids all have what it takes, and then some."

"Someone's been giving Pappy Surilie Brothers brandy again!"

Along with everyone else, Teresa turned her head to the door. There stood a young Breton. His wavy brown hair hung down to his shoulders, and his eyes glittered with mirth. He wore a simple green tunic with brown sleeves, with a wide belt around his waist, and brown hunter's pants beneath. An ornately-hilted broadsword was slung at one of his hips, and a kite-shaped shield was slung over his shoulder by its strap. He dropped a sack by his feet with a loud clatter of metal, and Teresa imagined it might contain the pieces of a suit of armor given the bulges from within.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v90/subrosa_florens/oblivion/Vincent02.jpg

"Vincent!" Tadrose was the first to exclaim. "We were not expecting you back for another week!"

"Yeah well, instead of taking the old shoe-leather all the way back, I hopped the ferry at Pell's Gate to the Waterfront," the young man said in that soft, almost musical tone that all Bretons seemed to possess. He unslung his shield and sword and laid them against one wall. "I hitched a ride on a ship for High Rock as soon I got there, didn't even have time for lunch at the Bloated Float. We just put in here for the night a few minutes ago."

"Well sit down kid and take a load off," Pappy said with a grin. "Say hello to your new guild mates. That shifty pirate over by you is named Chance, 'cause his mother took one." The Imperial winked before gesturing at Ancondil and Teresa. "This big green fella here is Ancondil, our resident poet and musician. Finally that stringy wood elf next to Tadrose there is none other than Teresa, a secret agent and preeminent Daedra-slayer from the Imperial City."

"This grinning meathead here is Vincent Galien," Pappy finally said, raising his brandy to the young Breton, "the prodigal son of the Bravil guild himself, returned from three weeks of drunken stupor in the fine city of Skingrad."

"Hey, I am so glad to meet you all!" the Breton clasped a welcoming hand on Chance's shoulder before sitting down beside the Redguard and making himself a plate. "This means I'm not the fetching new guy anymore!"

"Now there is knight, noble and true!" Ancondil chuckled before taking a sip of brandy.

"Hey, I heard this great joke in Skingrad!" the Breton's eyes lit up as he poured himself a glass of the same liquor. "Two ogres are eating a jester, one looks to the other and says 'does this taste funny to you?'"



Ancondil's poem is Ulysses, by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, modified to be appropriate to the Elder Scrolls.

Pappy's statement: "Just name a hero, and I'll prove he's a bum." is a quote of RL Gregory "Pappy" Boyington.

Just a nice guild-cooked meal - and even one our Teresa will eat! Yum. :liplick:

Ok, I really like the gentle, slow, wondering, discovery surrounding Tadrose - you have a wonderful touch with her (ok, no snarking about touching Tadrose -_- ). You are making Tadrose seem to be someone very special, albeit mysterious.

I could feel Teresa melting into her chair, and trying to hide under the table from all the incoming heroic praise. Fun for us to review some of her familiar past though.

The empty chair at the table - very familiar, very real.

What a deliciously expressed Bosmeri sentiment!

So. . . an Imperial and an Orc are eating a mudcrab. . . and heralding in a new member of Teresa's guild as well!

What a lovely and enjoyable end to a wonderful day in the life of Teresa!


One tiny nit, it seems -
That brought a faint smile to Teresa {'s} lips, and Henantier took away the instruction pamphlet for the lightning spell and brought her one based on flame.

From Chapter 15c:

The interaction between Teresa and Aia was great. To take the old woman to lunch and then grill her on Tadrose's habits is a very Thieves Guild thing to do. Like hautee I wonder what Tadrose did back in Morrowind, besides taking sword lessons in a manor. And I wonder what made her leave.

From Chapter 15d:

The sun was well into the west by then, a red gold crown gracing the mountains along the border of Elsweyr.

I thought this was an especially effective description.

"But when the dreck starts, they stand in the line and deliver," Pappy went on. "That's all a hero is, someone you can count on to stand by you, no matter what the cost."

Pappy stands for us all in looking towards Teresa. Like it or not, he knows whereof he speaks.

Mudcrab For Everyone!

hastatus posterior

Read it slowly.

Now tell us: how did it taste?

:rofl:

Dang, got that outta the system. Now for the writing.

The description of 'heroes' is, for the most part, true.
The dialogue is a gem, as ever.
I would suggest respectfully, however, that Vincente seems to be...I dunno..a bit of a caricacture, though. But it's early days yet. I'm sure he'll flesh out.

What is Teresa's reason for not eating meat? To be honest, it bothered* me, she didn't have any problem with eating crabmeat.
Another inspirational chapter. Great dialogues, a nice meal and and the return of a guildmate. Sweeeeet!

*bothered, as in that I noticed and couldn't help but wondering.

I actually read this when you first posted, but I was at work and logged in as a guest, so couldn't reply until I got home.

Loved the interactions between the different FG members.

The poem is very nice, and apropos of the context.


That's my blackguard!


And so's Pappy!

Thanks for the testosterone! :hubbahubba:

If I commented on my thoughts about getting into skirts, I would be banned instantly. Therefore to obtain DFoxy thoughts on above, please use telepathy.

All: I have not been able to do any writing in the last few weeks. Work has been crazy and I got/built a new comp, so there has not been much time. What time I did have I put towards creating a Dark Seducer/Golden Saint mod (with some help from gpstr). Looks like that is finally where I want it, so hopefully I will be able to start writing the next chapter soon. Maybe in a few weeks I will have something up.


Acadian: Thank you A. Special and mysterious, that is indeed what I am going for with Tadrose. I am glad it is working!

I am also glad that the empty chair resonated with you. I want the FG to have some traditions. Being essentially mercenaries, they would not be as deeply entrenched as those you would see in the Legion. But there should be something to remember the fallen, and I think that worked out well.

Do you have any more of those "An Imperial and an Orc were eating a mudcrab when..." jokes? PM them to me, I could use them.

Thank you for catching Teresa's 's.


Destri Melarg: Take her to lunch and grill her? do I smell a pun? Yes indeed, that is very much the kind of thing Teresa learned on the streets in the IC. Although in the past she would have been the one being taken to lunch by an enterprising thief. I expect that Aia will continue to be Teresa's #1 source of information for things happening in Bravil.

I am glad you are enjoying the mystery surrounding Tadrose, and that the line about the sun over Elsewyr worked for you. I put a lot of effort into that line!


D.Foxy: It tastes like mudcrab?

Not much I can do about Vincente however, as he is not one of the characters I am writing... The TF is a fang-free zone after all. Perhaps he will get more depth in the future though, when we have chance to see more of him.

I do not think you talking about your crossdressing will get you banned. Although granted this is probably not the forum to really being going on about how you like wearing skirts...



RemkoNL: Teresa becoming a vegetarian goes back to about the middle of Not A Hero, when she was out in the wilderness for the first time. She found that the animals were too beautiful to kill them, much less eat them. In Michigan terms, she is a bunny-hugger. Like some (but by no means all!) people she does not consider seafood to be meat. RL Vegetarians like to argue about it, and I have seen all sorts of different grades of vegetarians based on whether they eat seafood, cheese, eggs, etc... The bottom line for Teresa is that while deer and cows are cute and cuddly, mudcrabs and slaughterfish are anything but! so she definitely has the heart to eat them. Since making cheese and milk does not kill cows or goats, she has no problem with eating either as well.

Actually her vegetarianism is something that will probably change in the future, when she gains a better understanding of the cycle of life in the wilderness, and how important death is to the preservation of life.


hauteecole rider: Thank you haute. I am glad someone liked Ulysees. It has always been one of my favorites. I thought the ending worked particularly well for the post-Crisis FG (and Legion) in Cyrodiil.

Thank you for updating us on what to expect, when and why; that is very thoughtful of you. I hope things soon settle out for you and certainly wish you the best in that regard! Although we will be missing your lovely wood elf, we will be patiently waiting for you to grace us with more Teresa goodness whenever you are ready.

Chapter 16a – Starting Over

Volsinius looped the leather patch around his head, covering the gaping hole where his left eye had once shone. I may as well look pretty, he thought as he frowned into the mirror. Not that anyone would have ever called him that. Not even before half of his face had been burned off. Now only the blind did not flinch when they saw him.

"What is done is done," the centurion sighed as he pulled on his gauntlets, made of thick leather backed by pieces of steel. A moment later he grasped the long swagger stick that was propped in one corner of his small room. The twisted staff of oak was hard under his fingers, and the raised pattern of vines that wound along it gave him a solid grip, like the wire that wrapped the hilt of the longsword riding his armored hip.

Turning from the mirror, the middle-aged man stared at the simple room in which he stood. A plain rattan bed stood in one corner, beside an equally plain wardrobe. The arming rack where he hung his plate armor stood nearly empty on the other side of the room, with nothing but his transverse-crested helmet gracing its wooden frame. A table sat next to it, holding a neat stack of parchments, quill, and pot of ink to one side. A half-burned candle sat to the other, flanked by a small marble statuette of Akatosh. With wings outstretched and serpentine head reared back in a mighty roar, it was a match for the same statue that now dominated the Temple of the One. Hanging from a peg in the wall over it was a laurel wreath made of solid gold. Its leaves glittered like honeyed stars in the beam of sunlight that slanted through the single window.

This was it, the centurion thought. His entire life was cramped into this little room, and still it looked empty. Twenty years ago he had left Skyrim to follow in his father's footsteps. To win fame and glory in the service of the Empire. For a moment his hand reached out for the laurel. His Grass Crown. Laid upon his head by the High Chancellor himself.

He drew his hand away before touching it, and instead let his armored fingers fall along the smooth leather of his eye patch and the burned skin of his face around it. What was it Tiber Septim had once said? he thought. Glory only comes through sacrifice. Well, sacrifice was something he damn well understood.

Before his mind could wander any further, Volsinius stomped from his room and into the barracks beyond with a clatter of steel. His red cape swirled behind him as he marched with back stiff and head high. The golden scrollwork of a wreath gleamed across the center of his briastplate, announcing the Grass Crown he had been awarded to all.

Most of the bunks he passed were empty. The recruits that owned them were probably out whoring and drinking themselves silly, the centurion thought, as it was the first day he had given them off duty since the camp had gotten into full swing. The few that lingered behind played cards, read quietly in their bunks, or otherwise occupied themselves. More than a few stared as he marched past, but not one opened their mouth to speak to him. They had at least learned better than to address a superior out of turn! he thought with satisfaction.

Shoving his way through the door and out into the open air, the centurion stalked through the network of wooden barracks that filled his corner of the sprawling palace complex. Continuing through the parade ground that separated it from the rest of the compound, he could not restrain the ghost of a sneer as he strode past the shining, dragon-emblazoned praetorians who stood guard at the palace gates.

Nothing but a bunch of damn, frilly ponces, he nearly grumbled under his breath.

Then he was into the streets of the Market District. Even though it was Sundas, the streets were still crowded with wagons, horses, and people. Everywhere he looked with his single eye, he was greeted by a tide of mortals of all races and social status. Wealthy patricians in velvet, hard-working plebeians in linen, and lowly proles in sackcloth, all jostled and darted to and fro before him.

The mass of people parted before him like a wave, as they always did. His size and bulk insured that, if not the heavy legion armor which he wore. More than a few stared at the laurel on his briastplate, eyes widening in wonder, only to fall in horror at the sight of the mass of scars that covered the left side of his face.

Volsinius ignored them, as he always did. Let them stare, he thought. Let them see what a real hero looked like. He had more important things to do.

With that in mind, he turned into the first alley he came across. What he was looking for was not going to be found in the wide, sunlit streets, he knew. It would be here in the narrow lanes between the stone buildings, in the places where the light did not touch.

Where in Oblivion was she? he wondered as he hunted through the back alleys and side streets. The beggars and street urchins stared at him with the blank, hard stares they reserved for everyone who wore legion armor. Eyes as empty as those of a doll, he thought, or a slaughterfish. He did not waste his breath trying to speak to any of them. He already knew they had nothing to say to a soldier like himself.

The sun crawled across the azure sky as he prowled through the streets, until finally in a narrow alley piled with smashed barrels and crates he found what he sought. A pair of bare feet stuck out from under a small hill of wooden boards and fragments. They were small, the feet of a child, and Volsinius instantly knew who they belonged to.

"Brekke!" he exclaimed, picking up his pace as he approached, nearly breaking out into a run. "Where in the blazes have you been? I have not seen you in-"

The half-Nord, half-Imperial's words trailed away as he stared down into a small recess in the wood pile. Sitting within was a young girl clad in torn and muddy sack cloth. Her brown hair fell around her face, but could not conceal the large black and blue bruises that blossomed across her swollen features, nor the dried scabs that split her lower lip and graced one of her eyebrows.

"Leave me alone!" the young street urchin cried, turning her face away and thrusting out a slender hand to ward him off.

"Damn," the centurion muttered, falling to one knee to get a better look at the girl. "Let me guess, the other kids did this, because of me?"

"Go away!" was the only response from the youthful Breton. She crawled deeper into the shadows of the woodpile and curled into a fetal position.

"And the clothes I bought for you too?" he sighed, unable to prevent the slump in his shoulders. "Even your damn shoes?"

Akatosh's bloody wings! the centurion thought ruefully as he stared at the pavement. How on Nirn had he mucked up something as simple as helping an orphan?

The saddest thing was he was not really surprised. Half of him had been expecting something like this, he thought. Especially after what Teresa had told him about her friend from the Waterfront that had turned on her.

The thought of the Bosmer triggered another memory deep from the pits of his mind. He saw his hand clamping around her thin, child's wrist after she had stolen a sweet roll. A moment later the steel back of his gauntlet was crashing into her young face. In his mind's eye, he could still see the molar fly from the wood elf's mouth, riding a fountain of blood. Then Simplicia was screaming at him, calling him a monster, good for nothing but killing.

He still did not know what had driven him to slap Teresa across the face. Something in him had just snapped, and not for the first time. Was Simplicia right? he wondered, was he good for nothing but death?

Staring into the darkness that shrouded Brekke's torn and battered frame, he was struck by how similar they looked. They had the same brown hair, the same dirty clothing, the same haunted look in their eyes. It was almost as if time had rewound, and he stood once more in front of a young Teresa.

How might things have turned out if he had acted differently so many years ago? he wondered. Would her life have been different? Would his?

"Damnit kid," Volsinius growled, staring into the darkness before him. "Come out of there. You can't hide forever."

"Not until you go," came the thin voice of the Breton.

"If that's the way you want it, then I will," the centurion sighed. Rising to his feet, he planted his hands on his hips and stared down at the wood pile. "But you need to decide what you're going to do, right here, right now. You can spend the rest of your life being a victim, or you can learn how to fight. If you want to fight, step out here and I'll teach you how, just like my mother taught me."

The centurion waited, his heart racing as fast as it had in any battle. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he found himself wishing for a glass of ale. What was it going to be? he wondered. Would it all have been for nothing? Or was there a way to go back and change things?

Teresa had possessed the steel to change her life, he thought, he had seen that in more ways than one. Did Brekke have the same? Could she rise above a lifetime of learning that running and hiding was the only way to survive?

The sound of cloth scraping on stone was his answer, and the centurion had to fight to suppress a grin as the girl crawled from the wreckage. Rising to her feet, she stood before him in the dim light that filtered down between the high stone buildings around them. He could see the tears forming in her eyes, but he also saw how the fingers of her hands curled into fists. She had it! he knew, and he felt relief flood through his frame as she spoke.

"You'll teach me how to fight?" Her brown eyes stared back up at him without flinching, and the centurion noted the firm set to her jaw.

"Damn straight I will," Volsinius answered. "I got hundreds of meatheads back at the palace that aren't half as tough as you are kid. If I can turn them into legionaries there's no fetching reason I can't make you one too. But nothing in life is free kid. I'm gonna want something from you in return."

"What?" Now the Breton's eyes darted one way and another, and the centurion knew she was looking for places to run.

"As prefect of the Fifth's training camp, I'm entitled to name a benificarius," the soldier explained. "I want you to be it."

"A benif..." the young girl struggled with the word.

"Benificarius," the centurion explained. "It's just a fancy word for an aide. The legion loves big words like that, it makes the officers feel more important. It means you'll run errands for me, clean my armor, that sort of stuff. When you're not working for me, you'll be learning how to fight, and toughening up. Who knows, by the time you're grown you might be as tough as me."

"Really?" Brekke looked up with wide eyes, and Volsinius could see that she was trying to decide if she could take the chance that he was lying or not. He had caught enough people taking advantage of street kids to know that she had good reason to be cautious. He only hoped that he had earned enough of her trust for her to take that gamble on him.

"Really." The centurion held out his hand to the child.

Another wave of relief washed through him as Brekke placed her small fingers in his palm. Gently wrapping his hand around hers, he led the girl down the alley to the main street.

"Do they have girls in the legion?" the Breton suddenly asked.

"Bet your ass we do!" the centurion laughed. "Damn good fighters too. Got more sense than us men."

"Then I want to be in the legion!" the Breton declared. Staring down at the girl, Volsinius noted the same resolute look in her eyes that he saw in those of Teresa during the Crisis.

"See what I mean!" he laughed. Bending down, he reached an arm around the much smaller Breton and lifted her up onto his shoulder. "Now that's good sense! Now let's go get you fixed up. There's a little chapel of Arkay around here that has a healer who works cheap."

The Breton wrapped her arm around his head, her fingers splayed across his forehead to steady herself. Volsinius could not restrain a smile as he marched forward into the main street. Perhaps time had indeed unwound itself, he mused, giving him the chance to start over again.

I see you are one of the first to post on the new forums! I'm a little undecided about it myself, will reserve my opinion for now. But I'm glad to have the forums back, and oh! how happy I was to see Teresa's fiction updated!

Can you imagine how much happier I was to see it was about Vols? I was practically jumping up and down when I read that first sentence! Yay, Vols! :twirl:
I will admit that I have a teensy bit of a crush on the big guy.

I loved this chapter for so many reasons - a glimpse of the recruit training system, Vols's reflections on his life and lifestyle, his thoughts regarding his recruits, and especially the fancy-pants Palace Guards (something I share with him!), and his agony over the treatment little Brekke got from the other street urchins for being a Legion pet. His solution is good-hearted, but I wonder about the ramifications of that arrangement . . . It makes me want to wait and see what happens!


Yay! I've always felt that no matter what life hands you, it's how you handle it that matters. Vols just echoed my philosophy - you can choose to be a victim, or you can choose to be a victor. And his mother taught him to fight? Good for her!


From one woman to another, damn straight!

Nits:

I think the 'h' went AWOL - shouldn't it be his?


Another letter went AWOL - this time an 'a' - 'nothing to say to a soldier like himself.'


Julian understands this sentiment and agrees completely! Somehow she and I know that Vols won't waste this second chance!

DANG...


That was good. No, scratch that. MORE than good. It was POWERFUL. It was the sort of chapter which made me go HELL YEAH!!! I was literally on the edge of my seat reading it.

Why? Why does this chapter call out to me, more than many of your other chapters?

I can't explain - completely - why, yet I think I know part of the answer. I have long had a soft spot in my heart for the tough yet sensitve Sensei (Hah, there's an alliteration on the fly for you) teaching the vulnerable, frightened but plucky kid...and your chapter falls directly into that equation. Add of course my favourite tough guy in your imagination universe, vols, and BINGO the lights lit up in my brain...

...but formulas can only take you so far. What drives this chapter is the power of your writing, that burnish and polish the formula until it shines with the light of literary delight (there goes another rhyme). Congrats, kid. The Old man shakes ya hand. And gives you a (platonic) kiss on the cheek.

Very, very powerful. And touching. And wonderful.

As always, your descriptions, scene-setting and interactions are superb.

I was so hoping you would one day come back to Vols and his efforts to train recruits, and you did not disappoint. I well remember young Brekke and was touched to see their interaction. Finally, without even a glimpse or faint smile from our Teresa, she dominated the story in the thoughts of Vols and her similarities to Brekke.

If not my favorite, this is certainly as masterful as it gets, for the story touched an emotional chord - a rather strong one at that. Thank you SubRosa.

Hooray for Vols of the ghost sneer! I had no idea where you were taking me as I followed Vols through the streets of the Imperial City. When he found Brekke I thought to myself that this interaction was eerily similar to his interactions with the young Teresa, and then Vols echoed the thoughts in my head. Spooky.

Go Brekke! You'll be wiping the Market District with those thugs before you know it!

One tiny nit:

He may as well look pretty, he thought as he frowned into the mirror.

People rarely refer to themselves in the third person during rumination. Perhaps 'I may as well look pretty' . . .

That was extremely touching. My eyes almost began watering... -ahem-

I hope we get to see more of little Brekke. She sounds like one tough cookie!

Yay, Vols is back!! I was starting to miss him, though I almost couldn't find this on the new forums. [Heavy sigh]

Anyway, great job showing us into the mind of a Legionnaire . . . oh, sorry, Legionary. Personally, I kind of want to see a run-in between the gritty Vols and the pompous, yet still totally awesome, Hieronomus Lex. That would be interesting. I really hope you include something like that.

I can't wait to see Brekke mature into someone who can beat any thug's butt, any day. Keep up the great work!!

For those of you struggling with the unreadability of the forms (everyone with eyes) I recommend you look http://www.gamesas.com/index.php?/topic/1081516-forum-style-alterations/ in order to learn how to overcome the horror and make this place possible to read again.

Also in the interest of making the TF readable again, I have finished putting all of it on my website. You can find it http://home.comcast.net/~subrosa_florens/witch/fiction.html, at the top of the Fiction index. I will update the first post of this page with the link, and links to individual chapters shortly.


hauteecole rider: I do have ideas for some more Vols in the distant future, and that will be something directly relating to his position as senior DI of the Fifth Legion. There will be some serious ramifications from Vols' decision in the last post, ones which he will not fully realize until the end of this one.

Vols' mother did teach him to fight. That was something that came out in Heart of Steel.

"Yeah, born and bred on top of the world," he said, "my father was away most of the time, so my mother raised me. She taught me everything I know about how to fight. She should have been a drill instructor in the Imperial Legion! She would have been a damn sight better than the ones that tried to train me when I came down here to join up."

Thank you for finding my AWOL letters. No characters go over the hill on Vols!


D.Foxy: Thank you fox. I was a little worried that Vols might come across as too sensitive. But at the same time I wanted to show the very natural psychological effects of being maimed as he was, along with the equally natural tendency of one to look back on life during the middle years.


Acadian: A long while back you said that you had expected Teresa to change because of Vols, but were pleasantly surprised to see that he was changing because of her as well. This chapter was all about that, and how having Teresa thrust into his life has brought him out of his shell, both for better and worse. Like you said, the ghost of her memory is never far here.


Destri Melarg: Indeed, since meeting Teresa again in the Crisis, and her reaching out to Vols, he has found her memory, and that of Simplicia, has been dredging up a lot of regret within him. He is meeting those regrets in typical Vols fashion however, by plowing into them head on with a sword!

Thank you for finding my misplaced perspective. Fixed.


Jacki Dice: Thank you Jacki. We will be seeing some more of her in the next Vols chapter, whenever that is. Perhaps someday I will start writing some fiction of when she is all grown up...


Broken-Scale: Thank you Scale. Actually Vols and Hieronomus Lex get along. Lex is probably the only tribune in the Fifth that he respects. Because as the legate said, they are both stiff-necked bastards. They both have the same unflinching, black and white views of right and wrong. Lex is just more idealistic about it. But Lex is an officer, so in Vols' mind that is his privilege. The funny thing is now that he is a centurion, Vols is an officer too. But he still does not think of himself that way. Lex did make a very minor cameo in The Grass Crown, and was the only tribune who acknowledged Vols' presence in the legate's outer office.

* * *

Chapter 16b ? Starting Over

"I thought we were going to the chapel?" Brekke asked as Volsinius set her down in a portico lined with shops. Above the pair swung a wooden sigh emblazoned with an eye, and the words 'Mystic Emporium' painted over it.

"I had a better idea," the centurion explained, and jerked a thumb toward the door before them. "I know the guy who runs this place. He's ex-legion. He fixed me up after the Daedra attacked."

"He's going to heal me?" the girl asked as Volsinius led her into the shop. The stone walls were decorated with silk tapestries, each adorned with one of the magical star signs. On one wall was the Mage, the figure of a wizened man holding a staff. On another was the Apprentice, this a young man also carrying a staff. The last was the Atronach, a humanoid creature made of rocks that floated around one another.

Between the tapestries, the walls were lined with bookshelves and display cases. Volsinius could see the crystal of magicka gems beneath the glass lids of many, and curled up scrolls in others. A long wooden counter ran half the length of the store, graced by a row softly glowing welkynd stones perched upon elaborate bases of silver. Hanging from the high ceiling above was a small metal chandelier that supported not candles, but glowing white crystals, bathing the room in their soft light.

"Welcome to the Mystic Emporium, I am Calindil." came the soft, slow voice of an Altmer towering behind the counter. His auburn hair was swept back from his forehead in a pronounced widow's peak, and he was dressed in ordinary russet and blue linens. "Please allow me to offer my personal congratulations on earning the Grass Crown centurion. It is quite a distinction."

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v90/subrosa_florens/oblivion/Oblivion328.jpg

Also behind the counter, and sitting by a small table while reading a book, was another Altmer. She had the same auburn hair as Calindil but with skin far smoother, and a frame even more delicate than the man's. Unlike him however, she did not even look up, much less acknowledge their presence. She could be anywhere between twenty and a hundred, Volsinius thought as he stared at her black-clad frame. With elves you never knew, especially the Altmer.

Turning his eye back to the man, Volsinius looked up to meet his gaze, something he was not used to doing. The Altmer did not blanch at the sight of his burns, something else he was not accustomed to, but found welcome nonetheless.

"Thank you sir. I saw you at the presentation ceremony, and I won't forget what you did for me after the Crisis." Without wasting time on more pleasantries, Volsinius gestured to the girl beside him. "Can you teach this kid a healing spell?"

"Well of course I can brother," Calindil said easily, walking around the counter to stand before Brekke. He had to bend a long way in order to lower his eyes to meet those of the Breton. "It looks like you have seen some trouble young lady. Perhaps I should take care of that first..."

The Altmer reached out a hand to Brekke, who flinched away, stepping behind the armored legs of the centurion.

"I think it's better if you just teach her how to do it." Volsinus said, laying light hand on Brekke's shoulder. "She's seen some hard times, and needs to learn how to take care of herself."

"Hmmm," the Altmer hummed, staring at the young girl for long moments. Then he rose to look at the other high elf behind the counter.

"Eltraena," he said, "please watch the door while I work with our young mage here."

The other Altmer closed her book with a sigh and rose to her feet. Volsinius had the distinct impression that the high elf would rather be somewhere else as she stepped up to the counter.

"My niece, from Cheydinhal," Calindil explained as he led the pair to the back of the shop, where a round table of polished mahogany sat with several chairs. He gestured for the two to sit, and once they had he squatted down beside the Breton.

"My name is Calindil," he said, "and this is my shop. And you are?"

The girl's eyes darted from the high elf to Volsinius, who nodded from where he sat beside her. "Brekke," she finally answered. "Is it true that you were in the legion too, like Vols?"

"Why yes indeed." The Altmer's voice rang with what could only be pride. "I gave forty good years to the Empire. Although not quite like our friend the centurion here. I was a battlemage you see."

The Breton's eyes widened in surprise, and the magician went on. "Now that we have been properly introduced, let us begin. Do you know any magic already?"

The Breton shook her head violently.

"Alright, I am not surprised," the Altmer continued. "Now, do you know what magic is?"

"Well, it's spells, and potions, and stuff!" the young girl blurted.

"Not exactly," the magician explained with a soft smile. "Those are just expressions of magic, but they are not what magic is. Magic, my young apprentice, is the ability to create change in accordance with will."

"That's it?" the street urchin said under crowded eyebrows.

"Yes indeed," the Altmer shopkeeper insisted, his eyes dancing with mirth. "It is that simple, and that powerful. Magic is the ability to reshape the world, and every one of us has it. Including you." The magician tapped a light finger on the street urchin's nose, the corners of his lips upturned in a smile. "In fact, your race has graced Tamriel with many of our greatest magicians, and I expect you will be no different."

"I will?" the street urchin said, her doubt clear by the continuing beetling of her eyebrows.

"Well, let us find out, shall we?" The Altmer rose and took a seat as well. "There are three important things which comprise all magical workings, be they spells, scrolls, potions, or enchantments."

"They are: magicka, a symbol, and the will of the magician." The high elf rose his hand and ticked off a finger as he named each. "Everything a mage does always comes down to these three things. Now, let's talk about each one."

"Magicka is the first. It is the energy that powers all magic, just as pieces of wood are the fuel for a fire." The high elf explained, and Brekke nodded as he spoke. "All beings with souls have magicka within them. It comes down to us from the Aetherius, through the sun and stars, and builds up in our bodies. Our spirits attract magicka, just like you have probably seen flies attracted to garbage. And just as the bigger pile of trash attracts more flies, the more powerful magician learns to store more magicka within them."

Brekke barely stifled a giggle at the elf's comment about the flies, and the magician smiled as he went on. Volsinius could not believe how easy a manner the elf had with children. His soft voice, they way he looked in Brekke's eye, the down-to-nirn anologies of his. He could see how they combined to make her warm up to him. Suddenly the centurion found himself wondering if the former battlemage had any children of his own, or if he was just naturally good with people?

"Now let us start by learning to feel the magicka within ourselves," the high elf went on. "I want you to rub your hands together like this," the Altmer slid his open palms back and forth in a quick motion, as if he were trying to rub the cold out of them. "Now you do it."

Volsinius watched as the Breton rubbed her hands together as the elf had. "Now what?" she asked earnestly.

"Do you feel that tingling in your skin?" the high elf asked, and when the street urchin nodded, he went on. "That is magicka. In time you will learn to feel it within you with only a thought. But for now just rub your hands together like you just did."

"Next is a symbol," the magician explained. "This is very important, as the symbol tells your magicka what to do. The only difference between a spell that summons a zombie and another that makes you invisible is this symbol. So learning a spell is really a matter of learning the proper symbol. As you probably guessed, the more powerful the spell, the more complicated the symbol is."

"Now there are all kinds of symbols for spells." The magician edged closer in his chair. "In fact, there are often many different ones to make the same spell. That is because magic is as much about your own personal inclinations as it is about universal rules. What works for one person does not always work for the next."

"For beginner spells, the symbols are usually very straightforward," he said. "Simply imagine the result you desire in your mind, and channel your magicka into making that occur. So for the healing spell we are going to learn today, I want you to picture yourself healthy and whole. No bumps, no bruises, no cuts, just a whole, happy Breton. Now picture that in your mind."

Volsinius saw the street urchin close her eyes tightly and nod.

"Alright, now let's try," the high elf said. "Rub your hands together to feel the magicka, and send it into that picture in your head."

The Breton did as ordered, furiously rubbing her palms. She sat there for long moments, until finally she opened her eyes with a frown.

"It doesn't work!" she cried. "I'm no good at this!"

"Oh you just wait and see my apprentice!" the Altmer's eyes sparkled with mirth, "No one gets it right the first time. That is because there is one final ingredient we must speak of. Will. You must make the change happen. It is not enough just to want it, or hope for it, or even believe in it. You must know it. Just as you know the sun will rise tomorrow, you must know your magic will work. If your will is not this absolute, then you will cause your own spell to fail. Now let's try again, and this time focus your will."

The Breton rubbed her hands together once more, and this time Volsinius could see her features scrunched together in concentration.

"That is right," came the soft voice of the Altmer. "You can do it. You have the power within you. You can do anything. You can make it happen. You will do it."

Brekke opened her hands, and a white light burst from her palms. It rode up her arms and then washed across the rest of her body. After it had completely bathed her in its glow, it faded away to a memory.

"Akatosh's bloody balls!" Volsinius breathed in amazement. The cuts on her face had completely vanished, without even a scar to mark their passage. The bruises still remained however, like black and blue birthmarks, but it was certainly a start, the soldier thought.

"You did it!" He clapped a light hand on the street urchin's back, and she stared up at him with a mixture of surprise and triumph. Before the centurion knew what was happening, she had climbed into his lap and threw her arms around him, pressing her cheek into the cool metal of his gilded briastplate.

"Well done apprentice!" The Altmer slapped a hand on the table with a grin. "Very well indeed. Few people learn a spell, any spell, so quickly, let alone their first!"

"I really did it!" the Breton gushed from Volsinius' lap, now looking back to Calindil. "I could feel it inside me, just like you said!"

"Indeed, you have the makings of a great magician Brekke. But only if you study and practice." The Altmer shopkeeper rose to his feet and walked to a bookshelf. Tracing a slender finger across a row of leather spines, he drew one volume forth and returned to the table.

"I want you to take this book and read it my young apprentice," he said, handing the tome to the Breton. "This will go into more of the basics of magic, and give you a bit of the history of our craft. When you are finished I want you come back and we will talk about it. If you have learned well, I will teach you another spell."

"I want to learn a Fireball!" the Breton exclaimed, leaping from the centurion's lap with the book cradled in her arms.

Volsinius could not restrain a smile as the girl darted to the door of the shop, drawing a raised eyebrow from Calindil's niece. "I think a Shield spell instead," he said loudly, rising to his feet himself. Turning to face the Altmer mage, he reached into the coin pouch at his hip. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing at all," Calindil insisted, holding his open hand up to stop the centurion. The elf's gaze traveled to the street urchin by the door, who was now thumbing through the pages of the book with a look of wonder on her face. "It breaks my heart to see them, with no parents, and no one to look after them. I think it is very commendable, you helping her like this. I would be glad to do anything I can. She really does have quite a bit of talent."

"You really think so?" Volsinius asked, looking from the high elf to the Breton. All he had hoped for was for Brekke to learn a simple spell, he thought, so that she could take care of her herself. Now Calindil was intimating that she could be a real magician someday, and a damn good one at that?

Indeed," the Altmer responded. "I have rarely seen a student learn to cast a spell so quickly. It took me nearly half a day my first time! I will wager she was born under the sign of the Mage, or the Apprentice."

Volsinus nodded, his mind whirling with the possibilities, and walked to the door with Calindil beside him.

"Now keep casting your spell my young apprentice, even after you are all better," the Altmer said to the Breton. "You will probably have to wait a while between each time, to let your magicka rebuild. But practice is important!"

"Thank you Calindil!" the Breton exclaimed, a smile beaming through the bruises that marred her features. She lifted one hand in the air, in the same pose Volsinius had seen so many mages use. A white light burst from within her fist, and fell about her as she uncurled her fingers. The centurion stared in amazement as half the bruises on her face vanished in the wake of the brilliant glow. "I will!"

"Alright kid," Volsinus grumbled and led her out of the shop, "let's leave the man to his work. Besides, we need to get you some new clothes if you are going to be working in the palace with me."

"I want to be a battlemage!" the young girl declared as they walked along the arcade outside.

"Damn right you will be kid," Volsinius said, laying a hand on her shoulder. Inside he groaned however, how on Nirn was he going to pay for the Arcane University on a centurion's salary?

Wow...

That powerful prose takes me back nearly forty years ago...when I was a skinny, gangly teenager scared of my own shadow, and trying to hide that behind a completely false tough swagger, and my first sensei...showing me the first, magic moves of Akido...


...thanks SubRosa. You have resurrected the sleeping memory of the wide eyed child in this old man's heart.


...and, of course, no one could do that without superlative writing skills. Like yours.

I'm always happy to be Vols's beneficarius when it comes to missing letters!


Ah, the nightmare of every overachieving student's parent (including mine)! To that my dad (were he still alive) would say, "Join the club, Vols!"

This is wonderful in so many ways, not just the explanation of magic and spellcasting (mind if I borrow some of that in my fan fiction?), but also your interpretation of Calindil and Vols's feeling of "what-in-bloody-Oblivion-have-I-gotten-myself-into?" And little Brekke is amazing!

Well done!