RemkoNL: From what I read about the Roman army, the only difference between them and modern armies are the toys they get to play with.


treydog: Thank you treydog! I know I am going to do at least one more Vols chapter. I am also going to do a few other scenes in the future from the pov of characters other than Teresa as well. One of the nice things about writing third person is being able to shift like that and show things that the main protagonist cannot "see". So I decided to make the most of it.

And thank you for the catch. You could not let Acadian have all the editing fun could you!


I have gone back and made a few minor tweaks to 9a, changing one of the titles to one more appropriate, and removing the part about the senior clerk also being the legate's aide. Normally an officer would have an benificarius to act in the latter role. I left the benificarius out in order to be less confusing by keeping the number of characters and strange titles to a minimum. At this point I am just going to assume that Phillida's benificarius was out running an errand for him, and that is why he is not present in the chapter. It sort of matters because we will be seeing the beneficarius of another officer in a future chapter, and I want to retain continuity.


* * *

Chapter 9b - The Grass Crown

Volsinius stood and marched through the open doorway with his helmet tucked under this arm. The inner office of the legion's commanding officer was simply furnished, with a huge map of Cyrodiil on one wall, and a large desk across from the door that was surrounded by numerous chairs. A tapestry of an Imperial dragon loomed behind the desk, but what really drew Volsinius' eye was the standard of the legion rising beside it.

The polished ash wood of the standard was crowned by a solid gold dragon with wings outstretched and mouth open in challenge. Below it on the staff was affixed a silk windsock, now slack in the still air, but in his mind's eye Volsinius could see it billowing out like the body of a great serpent. A wide plaque of gold sat under that, with silver lettering proclaiming it as 'Legio V'.

Volsinius felt his heart stir with pride at the sight of the standard. His back instantly felt straighter, his head higher, and his shoulders squarer than normal. Somehow, he simply felt invincible, like there was nothing he could not accomplish. The dragon always did that to him, he thought, ever since he had first laid eyes upon it as a recruit.

Then his eye moved to the man who rose from behind the desk. He was an old Imperial, even older than the cornicularius in the outer office. His hair was solid white, and his face a road map of lines. He wore a senior officer's day uniform of gold and red velvet, the scarlet sash tied around his waist the mark of his status as commander of the legion.

"Legionary Volsinius reporting sir!" the one-eyed soldier snapped to precise attention, his right fist crashing to his chest in salute.

"Damn son, they told me you were big, but they never said how big," the general said with a sparkle in his eyes as he looked up at Volsinius, who towered over him as he did most other men. Unlike most other people however, Phillida stared at the burns that marred the legionary's face without flinching. "What did your mother feed you up in Skyrim, trolls?"

"Sir?" Volsinius asked, staring directly ahead and not daring to break his stance.

"Relax soldier, you aren't in trouble," the nobleman laughed and returned Volsinius' salute. Then Phillida walked back to his desk and sifted through the stacks of parchment on it.

"Do you have any idea why you are here legionary?" he said, lifting several papers in one hand and turning to look back at Volsinius.

"No sir," Volsinius answered honestly.

"Well, it seems that you are a hero son, only you never bothered to tell anyone," the legate smiled.

"Sir?" Volsinius could not stop his eyebrow from rising. What on Nirn was the legate talking about? the legionary wondered.

"I have sworn statements from three citizens describing your heroism during the attack on the Imperial City," the legate declared, holding the pieces of parchment up in front of Volsinius. "This one, by a wood elf named Teresa, states that she and nearly half a dozen other people were in Jensine's Good As New Merchandise when a Daedroth burst in. Before any of them could react, you came out of nowhere and took off its head with a single blow, saving them all from certain death. She goes on to describe how you again personally saved her from a Dremora maceman, and later how you took a Flame Atronach's firebolt in the head to protect a beggar named Simplicia, also called 'the Slow'. There's more too, Clannfears, Spider Daedra, and more Daedroth and Dremora."

"All three accounts say the same thing," the legate went on, laying the parchments down and walking back to Volsinius, "you continually put yourself in the face of the Daedra and saved all three of their lives, again and again in fact. Damn son, if we had you up at Bruma you could have held the line yourself while the rest of us had lunch in the castle!"

"I also have a report from the battlemage that attended your injuries that in addition to losing your eye and those burns on your head, you also suffered ruptured intestines, an arm broken in four places, and more cuts and bruises than he could count. From what he said it was only emergency potions given on the scene that prevented your death. He could not believe that you were even alive after them!"

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself soldier?" the legate asked.

"I was just doing my duty sir," Volsinius answered. This was all Teresa's fault, he thought. She did something, talked to someone. It was just like that wood elf to meddle?

"Doing your duty?" the legate sounded incredulous. "From what I have read and the witnesses I have spoken to, an Oblivion gate opened directly in front of the shop, and you killed most of the Daedra that came out of it. At a very obvious personal cost I might add."

"Sir, the others in the shop pitched in and fought too," Volsinius tried to explain. "That wood elf, Teresa, she probably killed as many as I did with her arrows?"

"They aren't Legion son, you are," the legate said plainly. "As much as I would like to, I have no authority over civilian awards."

"Awards?" Volsinius said, feeling completely at a loss.

"You heard me son, awards," the legate said as he sat behind his desk and picked up the parchments once more. "Do you deny these statements?"

"No sir," Volsinius answered, wondering what was coming next, "but I-"

"Then shut up and accept the honors due you!" the legate barked. "Akatosh's wings! Hieronymus told me that you were a stiff-necked bastard, but you're even worse than he is! I didn't think that was possible! He also said that you were the meanest, toughest piece of work he had ever met. Coming from him that is quite a compliment."

Volsinius did not say a word, knowing that to contradict the legate would be the last mistake he ever made in the Imperial Legion.

"Do you know how many Grass Crowns have been awarded since the Oblivion Crisis?" the legate said calmly, staring Volsinius in the eye.

"No sir," the legionary said. Volsinius did not imagine there were that many. The Grass Crown was the highest honor any soldier could earn, he knew. Even officers like the legate were required to salute the winner of one. So needless to say, they hardly ever handed them out.

"Thirteen," the legate breathed, "and out of them only four were awarded to soldiers who were still breathing. Every one of them came through here, just like you have. I can tell you the rest of them were a damn sight more enthusiastic about it too."

"Sir?" Volsinius asked. He still had no idea what the legate was talking about,

"I am recommending you for the Grass Crown son," the legate explained, rising to his feet once more. "I cannot think of any man more deserving than you are. Normally the Emperor can only approve them, but under the circumstances the Elder Council has been taking over that responsibility. I do not see any reason for them to deny my recommendation though, they never have in the past."

"It would have come a lot sooner, except the report did not come through Legion channels. You can thank that wood elf Teresa it came at all. She must have friends in high places, because this came through the Blades."

It was just like Red to meddle, Volsinius thought. Damn wood elf could not keep her nose out of other people's lives?

"Well son, you don't look very impressed." Phillida walked up to Volsinius again. Even though the legate was a full head shorter, the weight of his position loomed behind him like a vast shadow in the legionary's mind.

"Permission to speak freely sir?" Volsinius said, his one eye fixed on the dragon tapestry behind the legate's desk.

"Go ahead son, let me hear it." The legate was walking around Volsinius now, as if the legionary was a horse he was sizing up.

"I joined the legion when I was just kid sir. All I could think about then was honor and glory." Volsinius could see himself at eighteen again. His blond hair was past his shoulders, and his two eyes had glowed with pride when he told his mother he was enlisting.

"But I learned quickly," Volsinius continued. Now he saw Simplicia, tied to her bed and covered with blood. The image gave way to that of the man who had done it to her, screaming as Volsinius took off one of his feet with a cleaver and threw it into the lake. "What we do is a dirty, ugly job. It's like shoveling horse manure in a stable, only blood doesn't wash off as easy."

"So then what are you doing in the Imperial Legion?" the legate asked, standing in front of Volsinius again.

"Because it has to be done." Volsinius pictured Simplicia again, older than her years and worn down by the horrors of the streets. He saw her cradling the Bosmer infant who had become more important to her than her own life. He remembered how every morning when she was gone, he had walked through the alley where she hid her few meager belongings and left her whatever coins he could spare.

"If we don't hold the line against the filth of this world, then there won't be nothing left worth a damn. We're the only chance these people have, but they're the ones who make life worth living." Volsinius now saw Brekke eating fried fish from the hot food stand as if there was no tomorrow. Then he pictured her smile when he told her he was 'the handsome legionary'. "It's looking in their eyes and seeing hope, that's the only honor, the only glory in life."

Phillida's eyes narrowed as he stared up at Volsinius. The legionary had no idea what the legate was thinking. He just hoped he had not ticked him off worse. The general walked back to his desk and drew forth another parchment.

"I looked over your record this morning son," he said. "Did you know that you are the only recruit to ever make it through training without a single demerit? Centurion Hirtius also tells me that in the five years you have been a decanus that your file has been the best in his century. How did you manage that?"

"I don't coddle fools or take excuses sir," Volsinius said plainly. "A soldier's duty is simple. If they are too lazy or stupid to do it right, then I see to it that they learn to."

The legate nodded, looking pleased for some reason which Volsinius could not fathom. He stalked from his desk to a chest across the room and pulled its lid open.

"The Fifth Legion has been bled white in the fighting at Kvatch, Bruma, and here in the Imperial City. Because of that crime in the city is rampant and the countryside filled with bandits," the legate declared. Volsinius nodded, he had seen it all first hand. He only had four men left in his file, when he should have eight. Two months ago he would not have been doing gate detail alone, but with three other soldiers.

"I have been authorized by the Elder Council to bring the Fifth back up to strength," the legate said. He leaned down into the chest and drew forth a legionary helmet whose horse-hair crest ran from one side to the other, rather than from front to back as the regular ones did. Then he produced a long swagger stick of polished oak whose surface was carved with the likeness of twisting graqevines.

"The first recruits will be coming in two days." The legate walked back to Volsinius. "I need a stiff-necked bastard who does not coddle fools to whip them into shape and turn them into real soldiers. Soldiers I can count on to clean up this province and put it back in order. I need mean, hard fighters who eat fire and piss vinegar, and you are going to give them to me."

"Sir?" Volsinius' felt his eye widen. Was Phillida saying what he thought he was? he wondered. Then a moment later the legate was handing him the transverse crested helmet and vine staff, and he knew it was true. Neither weighed more than a few pounds, but for some reason Volsinius felt as if all of Nirn had fallen on his shoulders.

"I thought I was going to have to give it to Lex, but I need him to hold down the Waterfront." The legate walked back to his desk and sat down. "Now I see that you are exactly the man I need. The cornicularius will have your orders drawn up within the hour. Now go and rebuild my Legion, Centurion Volsinius."


* * *

Author's Note - The Grass Crown was a real Roman award, however in reality it was only given to generals by their own troops, and then only when through their leadership they had saved the army from disaster. It was the only medal awarded by the soldiers to the general. I have taken creative license in using it as the Empire's highest award, being given only by the Emperor.

I also got the idea for Vols making it through training without a single demerit from Robert E Lee, who graduated from West Point without ever having a demerit, something considered to be just as impossible.

Whew, this is odd, because I know Vols has some more parts in the story - so is it the recruits? Will one of them play a significant role? I looked through your pics from "Not A Hero" this morning and saw an Argonian, a Redguard, and two others leaving the Fighter's Guild - hmmm - Oh no, here comes the headache again!! And Nurussa's scalp massage won't help, lol !! - Awesome write!!! Your details regarding protocol are perfect, the emotions very in depth - just Awesome!!

:read: WOW! Vols' rumination between his spoken lines was magical. This was as good as it gets!

You know just where to lavish detail, and in this story, the description of the Legion standard was certainly a place to do that.



I quite simply loved this! The sentiment is perfect, and the gritty language is that of the wolves that guard the door. Magnificent!


Nearing the end, I was beginning to hope. . . . Then my hopes were fulfilled. Captain/Company Commander/Centurian Vols!
Recruits, may Azura have mercy on your souls!

By the nine this is good writing!!!!!

Look out famed and storied writers on this forum. SubRosa is coming through. :twirl:

The way you captured the personality of Vols and the legate was a delight. You breathed such life into them. Wow.
I take it that you have personal experience of military life. Either that or you are very well versed in the lore.

Beautiful. :clap:

I'm glad to here that Volsinius didn't get into trouble as I had feared he would,you no with chopping up Simplicias attacker.I am really enjoying reading this thanks for all the hard work you are putting into this.And you really seem to have a way with words,writting is something I've never been able to do,but you seem to be a natural at it.
Good work SubRosa.

Sub Rosa, have you read the 'Masters of Rome' series of six 1.000 + page novels by my favourite woman author, the extremely talented Dr. Coleen McCullough?

mALX1:Thank you mALX.

It is not the recruits. Not exactly at least. Those pics are all of members of the Bravil Fighter's Guild, btw. they have no connection to Vols at all.

I imagined him becoming a drill instructor when I finished writing Chapter 1. I just did not know how it would come about. Then when I was writing this chapter his promotion just came out naturally.

Perhaps Nerussa should massage a different part of your body then?


Acadian: Thank you Acadian. Those mental pictures of Vol's while he was explaining why he did not care about the medal was the high point of writing this chapter for me. It really encompasses him in a nutshell, showing the horrors that literally broke his heart and turned him into a man of hollow steel. A man who could not even give the woman he loves a coin to her face, let alone tell her how he feels about her. Yet at the same time a man who has gained the courage to love again, thanks to a stringy wood elf and a dirty-faced Breton.

On another level I wanted to portray the difference in the psychology of the young soldier and the old one, which you already know. The first is filled with dreams of being a hero, where the second is not fighting for personal glorification, but rather a commitment to something greater than themself.

And suddenly I am now imagining that Volsinius will be voiced by R Lee Ermey. Of course most of the dialogue will be in [censored] tags too...


Winter Wolf: Thank you Wolf! I was born on a military base. Portraying people like Vols and Phillida come natural to me. The only real problem was in toning down the dialogue to avoid the swear filter, as there really should have been several S and B words flying around.


night owl: Thank you Owl. (you would not happen to have a flying... thing you ride around in called Archie do you? )


D.Foxy: Yes I do know her. As you know the name of this chapter happens to be the name of one of her books, although that is purely by accident. I got a little over half way through The Masters of Rome. I stopped in the middle of the first one about Caesar, Fortune's Favorite? I got sick of hearing about his mother's life in the insula and tired of waiting for something to actually happen. It is pretty bad when a girl gets bored by chick stuff like that, and I love chick stuff. My favorite was the book about Marius, especially how she described the men who were at Arausio.

Edited to add: I think I actually skipped ahead in that one on Caesar, because I seem to remember reading something she wrote about the the death of his sister, the campaign in Gaul, and the Civil War too.

Nice job on this one. I love the change of perspective, with all of the military language and whatnot. Somebody did their research!

Anyway, I'm happy to see Vols getting rewarded for his heroism. He's grown on me, so I can't wait to see how this whole thing plays out.

Keep it up!

Nerussa would have to be able to write your next chapter to cure my headache, lol. The only thing that will cure this headache is "More, More, more, ...."

Oh yeah, my hero Vols gets to bully new recruits around.. Look forward reading it!

Wow. Another absolute gem of a chapter 9 (or part or whatever). I liked Vols' reaction to the Legion standard... it put me in mind of stories of Civil War units that would go through incredible, unimaginable danger to protect their unit colors...

The whole interaction between Vols and Philida rings true- your ear for dialogue (spoken and interior) is as good as ever.

No edits- I want to savor this one just as it is.

Broken-Scale: Thank you Scale. Vols does grow on people. Sort of like a fungus!


mALX1: The next two chapters are already written, so there is no way for Nerussa to sneak one in there. However, perhaps in the future she might write a tale about her relationship with the dashing young Darcy of Chorrol? :wub:


RemkoNL: Those poor recruits! I bet they will be wishing they had not joined! Thank you Remko!


treydog: Thank you dog. I was inspired by not only that reverence for the colors seen in the U.S. Civil War, but also the same devotion that the Romans gave their aquila. http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v90/subrosa_florens/gettysburgflag.gif is the flag of the 24th Michigan (Iron Brigade) after Gettysburg. Four men died and three were wounded carrying it on the first day.

In fact, I had the soundtrack of the movie Gettysburg playing when I wrote this chapter, to help me get in the mood. I mentioned theme music a while back, that soundtrack would be good for Vols.



Now for some killing:

* * *

Chapter 10a - On The Road

Teresa knelt down beside the worn cobbles of the road and drew a small knife from her belt. Before her in the dirt was a huge brown mushroom, with a dark cap and a paler stem. She recognized it as a summer bolete. If she combined it with one of several other mushrooms she could create a shield potion, she thought. It might just save her life someday. Or pay for a week's stay at a good inn.

The leaves rustled nearby as she bent closer to cut off the wide cap of the toadstool. That is when she realized that there was no wind. Looking up, she saw nothing but trees clustered across the rising hillside ahead of her, stretching away into the impenetrable green of the Great Forest. Glancing behind her she saw only open meadow and the glittering blue waves of Lake Rumare beyond.

The motion of a branch caught Teresa's eye, and she did not lower her gaze as she stood and sheathed the knife at her hip. Was that a shape she saw in those leaves ahead of her? she wondered. Pulling the bow from her back, she reached into the quiver at her hip and drew forth a steel-tipped arrow. It might be wolf, she thought, but wolves did not often stray so near the roads?

Her ears were filled by a shout as a black and white-furred Khajiit burst from the underbrush further down the road to her left. He wore a cuirass of brown animal hides crudely stitched together with rawhide. A long, slender sword was clenched in one of his clawed hands, and a wide-bladed dagger in the other.

Teresa felt her heart leap into her throat as she saw the mouth of the Khajiit open to reveal long, curved fangs. Without thinking, she laid her arrow on the nock then raised her bow in a smooth motion. Drawing back the string to her cheek, she took a moment to let out half of her breath. Aiming at the center of his chest, she loosed.

That is when it dawned upon her that the shout she had heard before the Khajiit broke cover had not been the voice of one of the cat-folk. Without pausing to see if her arrow struck home, she turned and sprinted down the road away from him. The sound of roaring flame erupted in her ears, and moment later she felt a wave of heat pass by behind her back.

They had a mage! she thought, and at least one other from the sound of the footsteps. Looking over her shoulder she saw the Khajiit down on one knee in the road, tugging at the arrow in his shoulder. Further upslope and closer to her stood a woman dressed in a hunter's garb of leather and hide. Her hands were free of weapons, so Teresa surmised she must be the magician who would have cooked her with the fire spell if she had not turned to run.

But what really caught the wood elf's eye, and now her ears as well with the clamor of metal, was the man racing from the trees even closer than the mage. He brandished a sword nearly as long as he was tall, and was clad from head to toe in steel. The armor on his arms seemed to be of a few large pieces, yet his legs were encased in many smaller ones, giving Teresa the impression that the parts were scrounged from more than one suit. But what really made her start was the cuirass that encased his torso. It was the standard armor of the Imperial Legion, as was the helm that covered his head.

That was no soldier, Teresa thought as she looked back to the road in front of her. He had killed a legionary to get that armor! Her heart, already pounding like mad, filled with something blazing and hard as she ran. Her limbs wanted to shake, but that rock-hard fury boiling up within her would not allow it. It craved blood, and she knew nothing else would sate it.

The road ahead of her curved gently to her left, around the rising slope of the hillside. There was no sign of bandits that way, nor in the open meadow to the other side of the road. Good, she forced herself to think through the rage building within her. That meant she had not walked into their trap and been surrounded. She must have just brushed by its edge.

With an effort, she reached into the pouch in the center of her belt and drew forth a small bottle. Popping its stopper with her thumb, she raised it to her lips and guzzled its contents. Some of the yellow liquid spilled across her chin, but she did not care. The brief flash of golden light erupting around her frame told her that she had drunk enough for the shield magic to take effect.

Tossing the empty bottle aside, she reached for another arrow from the quiver at her hip that rose and fell with every step that she took. Then she stopped and turned, setting the arrow to the nock without looking down. Instead her eyes stared along the road at the approaching bandits.

The woman was now in the lead, her right hand held out before her as she ran. A bolt of flame blossomed from her fingers and instantly shot down the road at Teresa. The wood elf felt a snarl come to her lips as she stepped to one side, allowing the magical fire to pass harmlessly by. It was just like her battle with the ghost in Fort Magia, she thought, only this time her target was flesh and blood.

Eyes still on the hedge wizard, Teresa raised her bow to full extension and loosed, aiming for the center of her chest. The bandit tried to duck as the arrow sped home, angling her head forward as she did so. She would have been quick enough to dodge a magical attack such as her own firebolt, but arrows flew much faster than sorcery. A flash of light that Teresa knew was a shield spell erupted around her body as the steel head of the arrow struck home. It was not enough however, and a feathered shaft blossomed from the bandit's inclined face.

The mage fell to the cracked pavestones in a heap of hide and leather, blood erupting from her head and pooling around her. She was not dead though, as Teresa could see her hands clawing at the downward-pointed arrow sprouting from her nose. The bandit did not make a sound however, and the wood elf imagined that she must be suffocating in her own blood.

The thought brought a faint smile to Teresa's lips as her right hand dropped to a small jar suspended from her belt. Wrapping her fingers around the stopper, she pulled it forth and let it fall to the ground. Then she reached for another arrow and dipped its point into the container, drawing it forth a moment later covered in a gooey black substance.

The Khajiit was next, springing down the road once more with a speed that emulated that of the felines to which his race was related. His left shoulder dripped blood, and he had dropped the dagger he had previously held in that hand. But his right hand still clutched his sword, and his eyes seemed to glow in the light of lowering sun.

Not far behind him Teresa could see the lumbering behemoth in his ill-gotten armor. She stared at him as she set another arrow to her nock. That bastard was going to pay, she thought, and she would collect.

But Teresa knew that the Khajiit would catch her if she fired on the armored man. As much as her blood boiled, it was not worth dying for, she thought. So she sighted in on the Khajiit and pulled her string back to her cheek. A moment later her arrow was in the air, and again the bandit was rolling to one side to avoid it.

He was not fast enough however, and once more her arrow clipped him, this time low in his side. He stumbled a moment, and Teresa thought he might fall, but he regained his footing and continued forward. His jaw was now set with what must be pain, and she could see the tips of his fangs protruding forth from his lips, dripping with saliva.

He was still coming fast, too fast. So Teresa turned and ran for her life down the road, the poison at her hip spilling from its jar and staining her leather greaves with every step. She could hear the outlaw's bare feet pounding on the stones behind her, the claws of his toes clicking with every step. The rasp of his breath came nearer and nearer as she ran. By the Nine he was quick! the wood elf thought. Even with two arrows in him he was still faster than she was!

She was going to have to face him or go down with his sword in her back, Teresa thought. There would be no time for her to string another arrow. He would be on her in seconds. With no other options, Teresa fixed the image of an erupting flame in her mind, and reached down for the magicka within her.

She could feel the energy tingling in her skin as she turned and leaped to one side. The Khajiit was nearly upon her as she threw her hand out in front of her, fire pouring from her fingertips. Once again he dodged, and somehow Teresa's Flare sped harmlessly past him. Then his sword was in the air and falling at her head, and the wood elf desperately pushed her body out of the way.

Teresa rolled along the pavement and heard the clang of steel on stone behind her. Springing back to her feet, she saw the Khajiit on his knees, clutching at his stomach. His sword fell to the pavement with a clatter, and even though his mouth moved, not a sound issued from his throat.

Say hello to my friend nightshade, Teresa thought as she reached for another arrow and smeared its head in the poison at her hip. The Khajiit was no longer a threat, she knew, the poison would finish him in minutes. But the last bandit was rapidly closing the distance upon her.

Stupid bandits should know better than to mess with a stringy, red-haired wood elf! Ah well, they have paid their tuition now, and will receive the lesson. Too bad they will not be able to benefit from it.

As ever, your vivid descriptions draw me in to the scene. I could envision that dusty road, and feel the cracked stones under my feet...

An excellent fight, just to add some spice to things. And we also have Teresa's strong feelings about the Legion, rather than just one legionary...

Favorite line:

"Say hello to my friend nightshade..."

Edits (just to keep Acadian from getting them first):

"...she had drank enough for the shield magic to take effect."

...had drunk (I think).

"...yet that over his legs were of many smaller ones,..."

"that...was"

Although I might go for a re-write there: "...yet his legs were encased in many smaller ones, giving..."

No strong opinion one way or the other- except about the writing, which is first-rate!

"Say hello to my 'leetle' friend! I love that line coming from Teresa!!! An awesome fight scene!

I think our stringy wood elf is learning that the world outside the safe confines of the Waterfront is a far more dangerous place. I love it !!

Most new people to the world of bows try them out and say, "Yuck, these bows are useless. I am going straight back to magic for ranged attack." Like Teresa they are hightailing their way down the road in a quick retreat. The archer character only comes into their own with the combined use of illusion magic and a drain speed / demoralize bow.

It breaks my heart to see Teresa run, spilling her poison on her greaves.
Still, it does make gritty reading. :toughninja:

:read: What's not to love here? As always, your writing is superb. The word that actually strikes me for this story is inspirational - this is the type of writing that sends me back to my editing, seeking better ways to do it. Your opening mushroom picking was wonderful, and belied the rapid build up of a perfectly paced story. Action and descriptions beyond compare. Yum!




My own bowgirl was sitting on my shoulder yelling, "Yay Teresa! You go girl!"




. . . of course, she also had to reluctantly realize the wisdom of this.




I love the 'paint with words' imagery this calls forth. This is not the kind of sentence that just pops from one's fingers - rather, I believe it is carefully crafted by a master.

After reading your amazing comments on Acadian's Buffy threads, I became curious about your own fan fic.

I just spent the day today (when not making ravioli for Mom and me) reading through all three threads. I am now officially caught up with Teresa's story. I have to admit that your writing is just amazing. You must have read the same writing books I have (one of my favorites emphasized spare, lean writing - yes, it refers to nonfiction writing, but I think it works well for fiction too).

I have loved getting to know Teresa, Simplicia, Nerussa, and Vols. Yeah, I loved Vols. I was surprised by your twist regarding Baurus after the Oblivion Crisis as the new Grandmaster. Your comment about him being the master spider at the center of the web after seeing two emperors and a Grandmaster dead left me breathless. Tell me you made that tongue in cheek and not seriously!

I find it very interesting to see how others interpret the same characters I see in the game. How very different were your and Buffy's interpretation of Jauffre! I think yours was closer to mine.

I tend to find the chick coming-of-age stories a little fluffy for my taste, though I'm a chick myself. My taste has always run to the blood and gore genre meself. Yet, I do come across one that is not too light, or too angsty (oh, get over yourself already, I always end up exclaiming). But Teresa and Buffy have been very believable and enchanting, and I find myself rooting for them.

The chapters started off well, but after the third one (as I know others have said), they have really bloomed, and I find myself fascinated by the TES world you have created out of the bare bones model Beth has given us. Truly imaginative, but very realistic.

I'm going to shut up now and go back to reading more of Teresa as you post them. :woot:

treydog: The bandits will not be the only ones being schooled, as will become evident in the next part of this chapter!

It is interesting that you mention Teresa's feelings for the Imperial Legion, as she will be considering them at the end of the chapter.

Thank you for the catches. I had thought it was "drank", as it was past tense, but you are right, as it is actually past participle. I swear English was invented by Sheogorath...



mALX1: Thank you mALX. Yes, I was channeling Tony Montoya there. Thankfully it was only for that line, otherwise ever other word would be [censored]! Hmmm, I have not seen that movie in at least a decade, I think I will add it to my Netflix queue...



Winter Wolf: I never used illusion magic or drain speed or any of that. Usually never even a magic bow at all, and when I did get one it was just a straight damage bow I picked up in a dungeon. Poison and sneak have been all I ever really needed.

In any case though, the TF is not the same as the game. No archer will be using more than novice level illusion spells, as they would not have the time to gain a higher level of mastery in any magic discipline. So do not expect anything fancy from Teresa.



Acadian: Thank you Acadian.



hauteecole rider: Wow, thank you High School Rider! You actually went through all three topics, that must have taken a long time!

I was just kidding about Baurus being the spider in the web. It was just something that struck me with all the Ocato Conspiracy Theorists floating around.

One of the things I like about reading the other fan fics is to see how differently other people portray the same character, like with Jauffre. Have you read any of Rachel the Breton's Edward fiction? Her Jauffre is completely different from both our versions and Acadian's as well.

ROFL !!! I was dying laughing at it when you wrote it, and thought of you saying that the whole time I did the sewers in my PC game I set up for screenshots! If that wasn't the quickest humor ever to pop out with that - I always knew which of us was the minx !! Lol.

* * *

Chapter 10b - On The Road


She stared at the armored man as she raised her bow. He was close enough that she could see that he had brown eyes. They burned through the slits of his helm with either anger or fear, perhaps both. She imagined her own green eyes looked the same as she drew the feathers of her arrow-shaft to her cheek and loosed.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v90/subrosa_florens/oblivion/Oblivion254.jpg

He did not even try to get out of the way. Instead he continued to rush forward as the arrow struck him directly in the chest. The steel tip punctured the outer shell of his armor, but stopped without going all of the way through. With one hand he brushed the shaft aside as if it were nothing more than a mosquito, and now Teresa could see he was grinning.

"Now it's my turn play Bosmer!" his voice came in a low growl. "I'm gonna have fun with you before you die!"

Teresa turned and ran once more. She had been at nearly point-blank range, and the arrow had not gone through his briastplate! Her heart raced with something that was not fury now, and as her blood pounded in her ears she wondered how she was going to stop such a monster?

Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw that she had gained distance from him once more. All of that armor slowed him down at least, Teresa thought, while her own steps were light and fast. Once again she was thankful for her years on the streets. A lifetime of running from the gangs and the Imperial Watch had made her fast, she thought. Fast enough to stay out of this ironclad behemoth's grip.

Just so long as he tired before she did, she thought. Glancing back over her shoulder again, she did not see any signs of fatigue on his metal-clad frame. All that armor must wear him down, she mused. Yet she remembered how effortlessly Volsinius was able to move in his own armor, which was even heavier than that of the bandit given that the legionary carried a shield as well. This man seemed to be cut from the same cloth, Teresa thought.

She reached for another arrow as she came to a stop and whirled to face her pursuer. Once again she dipped it in her poison before setting it to the nock. All the while the bandit closed the space between them with frightening speed. Yet Teresa's arms did not tremble as she raised her bow, nor did she hasten as she smoothly pulled it back to her cheek, breathed out half the air in her lungs, and took aim.

His armor was too strong for a direct hit, she thought. She would need a head shot, straight into the Y-shaped slit that ran down the center of his helm. If there was one thing Methredhel had taught her, it was to never go for the head, she remembered. But there was just no other way.

She loosed and held what remained of her breath. The marauder lowered his head just a bit, and the arrow that would have gone into his nose skittered harmlessly off the curved top of his helmet. Teresa could hear him laughing, and she gulped for air as she turned and fled.

So much for arrows, she thought. Well, she still had spells at least. Calling up the magicka within her, she concentrated on her Flare and turned to face her attacker once more. Pointing her hand at the marauder, she opened her fingers and hurled a ball of fire at him.

As with her first arrow, he did not even bother to dodge the oncoming flames. Instead he charged directly into them. The Flare burst upon the center of his briastplate, leaving a fist-sized black scorch mark where it had struck. The bandit grunted, but did not pause in his rush forward.

Teresa sent another Flare after it with no avail before turning to run once more. Again she heard him grunt in pain behind her, so she knew he was feeling it through his armor. But the magical fire was not doing anything serious either, she thought, as was evident by his continued charge.

Worse, he had closed the gap between them when she had taken the time to shoot. The clank of his armor and pounding of his feet were loud in her ears now, just a few steps behind. The wood elf willed her legs to pump faster as she sped down the road, knowing that to stumble or slow would be the end of her.

Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw him raise a clenched fist in the air. A moment later a white light burst from his opening fingers, and fell around him in a swirl of energy. Damn! Teresa thought, he knows restoration magic! He might even be using it to fortify his strength and stamina as well.

She was never going to stop him in a fight, she realized. Her only chance now was to outrun him. Why did she have to pick that one spot to come ashore after swimming across the lake? she thought. Of all the places to cross, she had to choose the one where bandits had an ambush!

That gave her an idea, and she turned to her right. Bounding off the road after just a few steps, she was into the tall grass of the meadows that bordered the lake. Directly in front of her was its deep blue waters. Let's just see how well he can swim in all that armor, she thought with a faint smile.

She could still hear his heavy steps behind her, even though they were now muffled by the soft earth and the pounding of blood in her ears. Her breath began to catch in her lungs, and a stitch of pain was growing in her side. She was growing tired, she thought. In the city she would have lost someone in the mazes of alleys and side-streets by now. She was not used to this flat-out, continual running.

Then she realized that she heard the pounding of something other than the marauder on the soft earth behind her. It was something that sounded like distant thunder. Glancing back over her shoulder, the ghost of a smirk crept to her lips as she saw the author of the noise.

It was an Imperial Legionary sitting astride a great white horse, galloping across the meadow directly for the bandit. He held his reins in the same hand that clutched his shield, and in the other he lowered a long spear, braced under the crook of his arm. The iron-clad marauder must have heard the sound of hooves as well, for even as Teresa looked he halted and turned to face the oncoming rider.

The wood elf stopped as well and gasped for breath. The bandit stood perhaps ten paces away, his back now to her as he faced the approaching cavalryman. She readied another Flare spell, scraping the bottom of her well of magicka to do so. She did not fire though, not yet, instead she waited as the rider closed the gap between him and the bandit.

The seconds seemed to crawl by like hours as the scene unfolded in front of Teresa's eyes. She could see clods of loose dirt and blades of grass being kicked up behind the horse's hooves, while droplets of spittle flew from its mouth. The lance point of the legionary's spear flashed silver in the light of the sun, as did the long blade of the outlaw. The marauder was moving now, stepping slightly to one side and raising his sword. The rider's lance moved with him, its point ever facing the bandit's heart.

Teresa moved now as well, closing in behind the marauder and raising her hand. The legionary was only moments from striking home with his lance, and the bandit was moving his sword up in a motion that would sweep it aside with the flat of his blade. Finally, Teresa unleashed the magic from her fingers. A moment later it struck the bandit in his armpit, which was only protected by mail rather than solid plate. He flinched as the heat seared through the weak point in his armor, and his blade faltered.

That left the cavalryman's lance free to drive home into the bandit's chest. There was a crunching noise as it pierced metal and bone. Then the rider was galloping past, drawing the lance tip out behind him as he broke away. Blood fountained from a great rent in the marauder's stolen briastplate, and he fell face-down into the grass.

:read: Wonderful once again! What a heart pounding pace of 'can't put it down' until finished reading.

Action, tactics, twists, turns and surprises. Superb pacing. GREAT portrayal of Teresa's grim thoughts as she faced her own mortality.

More than a faint smile crossed my own lips when I read this:

Silly me however - to presume that I could predict. . . not so fast. . . .


Once again, I confidently smiled when I realized a member of the Legion was approaching. Whew, even better than trying to drown the marauder.


And even once more, my assumptions would prove ill-founded - a lancer astride a white horse!
I find it quite delightful, that TF, BF, MF, etc all have such different views of Cyrodiil - each wonderfully rich for its own creative interpretations of characters, physics, magic and capabilities. Who is to say, within a fantasy world, what is real? Each author.

I am still catching my breath after this one. Your prose soars once more, providing all the description we need to live the events with Teresa. And, as you mentioned, she has learned something about the limitations of archery and Flare spells...

Now to get in my edits before Acadian swoops in and spots them

"...had not gone though his..." I see you have one of those keyboards that refuses to type "through" or "thorough," too!

"Yet she remembered how effortless Volsinius was able to move in his own armor..."

As is, "effortlessly". However, I might suggest:

"Yet she remembered how effortless Volsinius was in his own armor..." Which edit allows your usual economy of words.


Thank you so much for brightening the new year by sharing this story with your faithful (and addicted) readers.

Holy........

For a second I was a little worried for her...

I love when I'm losing a battle and a legionary just happens to show up.

Why am I always the MF'r in a crowd?


@ SubRosa - You have had my heart pounding since the first section of this fight! The only thing that could make it more exciting would be if the Legionnaire is either VOLS or some gorgeous dumer woman! ROFL! AWESOME writing!!

The irony in your story writing is driving me crazy.
This is the 2nd (or is that 3rd?) time that Teresa has had her leather clad backside saved by the Imperial Legion.

For a girl that heaped scorn on those harbringers of the law, they have certainly helped her out on numerous occasions. Lol. :toughninja:

This chapter was a great read. Very realistic portrayal of the fear in combat.
For a second there I thought she might have to swim to Bravil.