Old Habits Die Hard, Can an old dog learn new tricks? Options

[haute ecole rider]

This is the story I have been posting on the Unnamed Forum. I'm in the process of moving it over here for those who have not yet seen it. Enjoy!

Chapter 1.1a Escape

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

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

Shouting. Clashing of steel on steel. A dark room spinning around me. Pitchers breaking, fluid flying everywhere. The helmed face of the Legion rider before me, his gauntleted hand holding my shoulder in an implacable grip, shouting something at me. My empty hands between us, palms facing the rider, my voice drowned by the chaos around us. Then the cold night air, my bare feet cringing from the rough cobblestones. Falling through the paving into darkness.

“Ach, what happened?” I muttered softly to myself. In spite of my whisper, the smith’s hammer pounded hard for a couple of heartbeats before slowing down again. Struggling to a seated position, I ignored the familiar stabbing pain in my left side, the hard throbbing in my right knee. Scooting my rump along the cot, I reached the pitcher sitting on the rickety table at the foot of the cot. Looking into the mug next to it, I grimaced at the dirty fluid inside. Picking up the pitcher, I raised it to my lips. Trying to avoid tasting it, I gulped the stale water hurriedly. Taking another mouthful and setting the pitcher down, I rinsed my furry teeth with it. Rising to my feet and leaning my right hand on the wall, I limped to the privy at the rear of the cell, spitting the foul water out.

“Awake now, are you, pretty Redguard?” the sarcastic, biting voice sounded behind me. Shooting a glare over my shoulder, I took in the barred door, the Dunmer in his cell across the way. “How do you like your cell?” he continued, his voice still mocking. Pretty, am I? Disheveled, filthy, thin and weak - no, pretty would be the last word I’d use to describe myself.

Turning around, I took a limping step through the trickle of faint moonlight falling from a window too small to show stars. Another limp took me past the table, its pathetic candle shedding little additional light. One more step brought me to the cell door.

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

“What?” I returned to the barred door, squinting at the Dunmer across the way. “I won’t be here long?” my voice cracked, weak in my still-burning throat. My dry lips split as I spoke.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” The Dunmer’s voice turned bitter along with his faded red eyes. “They put you here to forget about you. They don’t care if you die, Redguard.” His sharp-edged voice grated on my already raw nerves. The sound of a bolt being drawn back, a heavy door creaking open somewhere down the passage reached us. “Hear that Redguard?” the Dunmer’s tone became strident. “They’re coming for you!” He drew back into the shadows of his cell as I heard voices.

“Tell me what happened to my sons,” an old man’s voice reached me, heavy with grief.

“Sire, all we know is that they were attacked,” a woman’s voice, clipped with authority and respect, responded as booted steps drew nearer the cells. “We must hurry, Sire, we need to get you to safety.” I heard the slightest undertone of anxiety in her voice.

A tall figure, clad in steel armor with blue enamel and brass trim marking him as one of the Blades, lifted his torch at me. He stopped outside my cell, his Redguard features scowling at me in the guttering light. The woman, a little shorter than I and clad in the same armor, paused at the sight of me. Her blue eyes sparked angrily beneath the helm. “This cell was supposed to be empty!” she exclaimed softly under her breath.

“I don’t know, Captain,” the tall Redguard shrugged, keeping his cold black eyes on me. “Some mix-up with the City Watch.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the captain responded. Beyond her, another armored figure and an old Imperial man in royal purple robes appeared. The third Blade matched my height, and like me, turned out to be Redguard as well.

“Prisoner!” the captain’s voice crackled between the stone walls. My back straightened involuntarily, painfully, at the unmistakable command in the woman’s voice. “Stand back beneath the window!”

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

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

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

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

The old man, his dark fur-lined robe a shadow in the shadows of the cell, stepped past the impassive soldier and peered at me, his sad eyes puzzled. “Come closer,” his voice smoothing from a grieved coarseness to a commanding tone.

Glancing at Glenroy, I hesitated, but he fell back to stand beside the old man, keeping his blade between me and the other. Acutely aware of the shimmering sword, I stepped forward into the light.

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

Licking my dry lips, I remembered how the captain had addressed him. “Pardon me, Sire?” He can’t be - no, not the Emperor, not here, not in my cell! My eye fell on the large red amulet on his brocaded chest. The Amulet of Kings? The Emperor! Stiffly against the pain in my left side, I bowed. “How may I serve you, Sire?” Old habits die hard, very hard, indeed. Looking up, I saw a faint smile touch Uriel Septim’s eyes.

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

“Blood and death are not new to me, Sire,” I spoke softly, surprised by the weariness I heard in my cracking voice.

The wall of my cell crumbled beneath the captain’s hands, falling away in a cloud of dry, choking dust. A passageway appeared beyond. “Sire,” her voice cut between us. “We must go now, there is little time.” She disappeared into the darkness beyond the jagged stone edges.

Glenroy turned the top of the slender blade toward me as the Emperor started toward the opening. “What of the prisoner, Sire?”

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

Listening to the sound of their booted feet fading away, I glanced around the cell again. Something coiled in my belly, just below the breastbone. On my discharge from the Legion, I had once hoped to find peace and health after decades of blood and death. Peace and health had avoided me, and now a mere hint of blood and death had found me.

[haute ecole rider]

@all: thanks for the ongoing support!

A warning about the upcoming chapter: Do not read this immediately before, during or immediately after meals, especially if you have a weak stomach for gore. I ought to get one of those surgeon general's warning labels for this one. Those of you who have read this before will remember why.

Chapter 4.2 Taking the Sigil Stone

Re-entering the central well of the keep, with its roaring, screeching pillar of fire, I nearly bumped into a scamp. He saw me before I could duck into the shadows. Too close to use his usual fireball spell, the creature leaped for me. His claws raked across my cuirass, tearing through the tough leather before I could raise my shield to bear.

Swinging the shield as hard as I could, I brought its edge down hard on the scamp’s arm before he could come back with another swipe. I felt the bone snap, and the daedra screamed, reeling back. Raising my right leg, I shoved my heel into his belly. The scamp staggered back, then flipped over the low iron railing that lined the spiral ramp.

The thin stone vibrated under my feet, and I looked up to see a dremora charging at me, his mace raised high. Managing to duck under his swing, I hobbled around to swing the iron blade outward across the unprotected back of his knees. Buckling to one side, he somehow brought the mace back and clipped my left hip. Pain exploded out of the old wound, and I spun away, to nearly meet the same fate as that scamp. Only by grabbing one of the clawed struts with my shield hand did I keep myself from going over that railing.

“Damn you, keister!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. My panic and terror tore out in a string of curses that would have turned my old pilus prior’s hair as white as my own. Feeling the heat build up in my right hand, I threw the sword at the dremora as he limped towards me. He batted the blade away and moved to give me the fatal blow. He was so close, I couldn’t miss his face with the fireball if I wanted to, and I didn’t.

The flames melted the red flesh off his head as he reeled back. Pulling myself forward off the railing, I half ran, half stumbled toward my sword, laying beside the door through which I had entered. Skidding to my knees and bracing my left arm against the wall, I grabbed the hilt and whipped it around at the dremora. He was kneeling, screaming that odd, almost soundless screech that temporarily blocked out all other noise, his hands still over his face. I limped up to him, and taking the hilt in both hands, swung the sword at his neck with all my remaining strength.

The sturdy iron blade smashed into his neck and bit into his spine, then jammed. The force of the blow knocked his bulk over to his left, dragging the sword, and me, with him. His sheer mass forced me onto my right knee, sending even more daggers of pain shooting into my thigh. Cacat!

Sitting on my right hip, I twisted the sword loose from the neck bones and set it down close to hand. Reaching into my belt pouch, I fumbled out the last vial of healing potion. Leaning back onto my right elbow, I looked up the central well of the keep, my eyes tracing that pillar of fire. Still a long ways to go. Yet there was no walking on this bum knee right now. Uncorking the little bottle, I choked down the vile liquid.

Waiting for the full effect of the potion, which wouldn’t be enough to fully counteract these injuries, I hoped it would at least let me function again. Picking up the sword, I crawled over to the dead churl. A quick search of his gear netted me a couple of lockpicks, some septims, and a piece of amber.

“Honey, run down to Felen, see if he has that order of daedra heart for me.” My mother’s voice snaked through my memory. “I’m getting low on the Fire of Life potions.”

Gingerly putting some weight on my knee, I fell back down to the floor. Ach, damn. Fumbling at the churl’s cuirass, I struggled to lift the heavy plate off of his chest. Settling for pushing it to the side, I drew my dagger. With the hilt in my right hand, and my left hand over the pommel, I drove it into the breastbone with as much of my weight as I could bear behind it. My left palm stung with the impact, but I felt a satisfying crack! as the sternum split into two.

Feeling it give under my fingers, I wrestled the knife out and used it to slice the flesh over the broken bone. Then I shoved the tip of the dagger back into the fracture, picked up the sword, and jammed the the iron blade next to the knife. The longer weapon gave me the leverage I needed to wedge the rib cage apart. Leaning my right hand on the sword kept the incision open. I picked up the dagger, which had fallen away, and reached into the chest cavity with the blade cupped in my left palm.

Using my fingers on either side of the small weapon, I located the heart, then the great vessels coming off of it. The dagger made short work of them. Then I peeled the heart out of its membranous sac, and pulled it from the chest cavity. The rib cage snapped shut with a thud when I withdrew the sword.

The heavy organ dripped clotted blood as I cradled it in my lap. Using the dagger, I sliced the muscular walls into thin sections, much like slicing a sweet bell pepper as my mother used to do. Closing my eyes, I popped one of the sections into my mouth and started chewing.

Almost immediately, I started gagging. Gods, this is awful! The meat was tough, gristly, and foul tasting. Part of the metallic taste was from the blood still coating the heart, but the meat itself was almost as vile. But the pain in my knee drove me to continue chewing. Finally I choked it down, fighting the increasing urge to vomit.

Waiting for a few moments, I regarded the remaining sections. Do I have to eat the whole thing? Wishing for my mortar and pestle, I took another piece and chewed it into submission. Fortunately, the pain subsided enough after it that I could stand up. Wrapping the remaining pieces of the heart into parchment, I slid the whole gory mess into my belt pouch and picked up my weapons. Sheathing the dagger, I limped up the ramp towards the top.

*******************
I reached the blood well with some relief. Extending my shaking right hand into its red fountain, I felt the healing surge through me. My strength restored, the pain in my left hip, right shoulder, and right knee damped down to more tolerable levels.

Limping to the double doorways that led into the central chamber, I realized I had finally reached my goal. Through the red dome that formed the floor of the immense room, the sigil fire punched upwards to something that hovered at its tip. That something glowed, throwing off sparks and red lightning bolts, and howling with the barely audible sound of tortured souls. The sigil stone!

Two ramps, formed of bloodstained talons, rose on either side of the chamber, meeting at a mezzanine that ringed the room. Another balcony, this a round one, jutted out above it, at the level of the sigil stone.

Assessing the room, noting the long sightlines from one side to the other, I sheathed my sword. A little archery would be good here. Tightening the string on my bow, I made it ready. Notching one of the steel-tipped arrows to the string, I moved to the ramp on my right. Slowly, feeling my way up the ramp step by step, I climbed until I could just see above the edge of the ring balcony.

Two more ramps, these made of a leathery material, connected the mezzanine with the round platform above. Two scamps patrolled the circular floor, dwarfed by the immense scale of the chamber. Neither seemed aware of my presence as I paused to watch their movements. Their patrol seemed confined to the base of the leather ramps, across the room from me.

Picking the scamp on the right to be the first, I sighted on him with the bow. I raised my aim point quite a few degrees above his head to allow for the greater distance and the slightly upward angle of my trajectory. He paused in his patrolling, and I loosed the arrow. Pulling another shaft out of my quiver, I watched the scamp stagger and turn in my direction. By the time he started forming his fireball, the second missile was already winging its way across the chamber into his abdomen.

The second scamp had moved behind the ramp, out of my sight. Limping quickly onto the balcony, I continued widdershins around the room, hugging the wall. He appeared past the base of the far ramp, pacing back towards his partner. He stopped at the sight of the corpse, and started scanning the chamber. Arrow already nocked to my string, I aimed and loosed it in a smooth movement. The bodkin tip slammed through the scamp’s bony chest, the shaft disappearing until only the fletching could be visible. The scamp stared down at the missile, then turned his face in my direction before falling backwards.

Drawing my sword, I hobbled to the first scamp. Dead as the Deadlands. Moving to the second, I found him in similar condition. Crouching at the base of the ramp, I looked up at the sigil stone. A shadow moved on the platform just past it. It seemed bigger. Dremora. Cacat! Those beings were more than I could handle. I had been lucky so far, but I knew I wasn’t strong enough for those oversized war machines.

Working my way up the ramp, crouching to keep my silhouette low, I nocked another arrow to the bow. The dremora was pacing restlessly from one side of the sigil platform to the other. He’s missing his minions. He stopped at the far side of the platform from me. Take him. Now.

In a smooth motion, I sighted on him. Calm came over me as my arms steadied, and my aim settled on that small space at the back of his left knee, where the armored greaves left a gap as large as my hand. Letting the arrow fly, I nocked a second arrow before checking to see if the first had flown true. The churl staggered as the bodkin point stabbed through his knee, felling him to a half-kneeling stance. He spun around, trying to stagger back to his feet, and my second arrow thunked home in his side. He went down instead of up, and stayed down. Drawing my sword as a precaution, I approached him cautiously, but the churl was dead.

Turning to the sigil fire, I walked up to it, to the very edge of the platform. The heat of the fire scorched my face and left hand as I reached for the stone. Taking a lung-searing breath, I cupped my fingers around the round thing and pulled it out of the fire. The stone pulsated in my hand, a high-pitched screeching emanating from it, yet it was comfortably warm to the touch. The unexpected sensations nearly caused me to drop it. I pulled it instead to my chest, behind my shield.

Fire exploded outward, flames swirling first red and orange, then turning through yellow to blinding white. The platform shifted beneath my feet, and I dropped into a crouch. Abruptly I could no longer feel solid ground under my soles.