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]

@SubRosa: If you think the Battle for Kvatch is hard, wait until you get to the Battle for Bruma! Talk about impossible tasks (keeping your friends alive)! I tried it once at Level Eleven and kept losing the darn Emperor! And I hate those Spider Daedra and their darned mini-me's!

@mALX1: I guess her manner with children comes from the fact that she has none of her own - she can always give them back!

@Destri: Thanks! - both for the critique and for the reminder of your confusion over the word polenta on the other board!

@D.Foxy: He he. I do know some Latin meself!

@Winter Wolf: Oh I agree - at higher levels shock and chameleon are the best friends you can have!

@Acadian: Thanks for sticking with this the second time around!

@Olen: I see you share Destri's distaste for polenta. Just remember, the Roman Empire conquered the world on polenta. Respect the polenta! As for the use of heinie, you're not the first to comment on that. I wanted something that would demonstrate Matius's self-awareness of his earlier behavior in a manner that shows his ability to be self-derogatory, and still get past the filter. There's not many one-syllable terms that do.

Back to some combat:

***********
Chapter 4.5 Securing the Chapel

My sword repaired, my shield functional, and my belt pouch restocked with Sigrid’s healing potions, I limped up the steep road yet again. Vonius paced at my side, silent. He’s thinking about the battle ahead. He had thanked me for finding Goneld, even though I could not rescue him after all. Behind us, a couple more young guardsmen, recovered from their wounds two, no, three - nights ago, trailed along.

Matius turned from the barricades as we approached. Jesan Rilian and Merandil stood next to him, and I returned their nods. Then all of us gathered around Matius at his signal. “All right, listen up!” he addressed all of us, raising his voice to be heard over the wind whipping the mesa. “This is Julian from Anvil,” he pointed at me. “She risked much to close that Oblivion Gate. Thanks to her, now we can take Kvatch back.” He looked from one soldier to another, assessing each man’s courage and determination.

“Merandil spent a good part of the day yesterday reconnoitering the lower town,” he continued, with a nod at the Altmer archer. “There are daedra swarming in there, and we’ve got to clear them out.”

Now he knelt in the mud, sketching out a rough circle. He’s mapping out the town for my benefit, I realized. “This is the chapel,” he marked it off within the circle, just north of the gates. “That’s our first goal. I believe there are some civilians and more of the Guard holed up in there. Once we get the gate plaza cleared, they can leave safely and head down to the encampment.”

Listening to Matius, I caught myself nodding. That’s what I would do. He glanced at me thoughtfully. While I silently returned his gaze, I waited for him to continue. He made a circle within the northwest arc of the larger oval representing the city walls. “This is the castle. Once we secure the chapel, we can run over here and retake the castle. The Count and some of the Castle Guard are probably still in there. Merandil was not able to get close enough to the castle to see.” Again, he looked at each of us, making sure we understood. He held my gaze longest. “With both the chapel and the castle in our hands, we’ll be able to mop up the rest of the daedra.” He rested his right forearm on his knee. “Any questions?”

“Julian,” Vonius turned to me. “We know scamps run out of magicka and switch to melee attacks. But are there other kinds of daedra we need to know about?”

“You haven’t encountered any other than scamps?” I looked around the huddle. Everyone shook their heads. “There’s a couple of other ones,” I thought back to my time in the Oblivion Gate. “Both dremora, you’ve heard of those, right?” This time I received nods. “The churls are really big, and heavily armored. They carry maces. The only way I’ve been able to bring them down is to get my weapon, sword or arrow,” I glanced at Merandil, who nodded his comprehension, “between the pieces of their plate armor.” Shaking my head against the remembered bruises and broken ribs, I looked at each soldier. “Much easier said than done. Try to cripple them first - hamstring them from behind.”

After a moment’s thought, I rocked back onto my heels. “There’s another kind of dremora - a mage. He won’t be wearing armor, but I think he’s worse than the big churls.”

“Mages are squishy,” one of the guardsmen commented. “What’s so bad about them?”

“Summons,” I replied. “Summons, and drain health spells. Shock spells, and burden.” I shook my head again and met the guardsman’s gaze. “The summons are the worst. If you see a lot of scamps coming from the same place, chances are there’s a mage hiding back there, calling them as fast as you can kill them.” With a glance at Matius, then at each man in turn, I continued, “If you see a mage, ignore the little guys. Go for him first. Otherwise he’ll wear you down.”

Matius looked around the huddle again. “Any other questions?” Silence. “All right!” he rose to his feet, drawing his sword and shaking his shield into his hand. “Let’s go!” We followed suit as he ran for the gates, yelling back, “For Kvatch!”

“For Kvatch!” the others shouted, hard on his heels. I brought up the rear, my bum knee holding me back. For once, I didn’t mind. These guys are younger, stronger than me. Let them be the heroes.

We filtered through the shattered gates, squeezing between the broken panels. On Merandil’s heels, I paused next to him to take in the carnage within. A large chapel stood at the far side of the plaza, its bell steeple laying in the street leading back into the city. Two large buildings, their wooden upper floors collapsed, lined the west side of the plaza. The east side consisted of an impassable mass of burning and charred rubble. Smoke drifted heavily across the scene, making it hard to see clearly.

At my side, Merandil’s bow twanged in a rapid rhythm. Below the wide steps to the plaza, several scamps engaged the guardsmen. Vonius and Matius ran toward the chapel, crossing half the plaza before they were swarmed. The two young guardsmen who had joined us ducked fireballs, trying to get near their assailants without much luck. To the left, Rilian struggled on his own to reach the large buildings on the west side.

Past him, movement drew my eyes to the second floor of one of the ruined structures. Scamps appeared out of the same place. Moving sideways to stay out of Merandil’s field of fire, I hopped down the stairs and hobbled towards Rilian. Three scamps converged on him while two more hung back, firing flares at him.

My sword moved through the figures of the Sunbird Dance as I reached the young Imperial’s side. Two of the scamps lay twitching on the cobblestones, but we had no time to congratulate each other, for more were coming.

“In the Fighters Guild,” Rilian panted, stabbing his sword towards one of the large buildings. “I thought I saw a dremora mage in there.”

I moved away from him to take down another of the annoying creatures, then limped back to him. “There is a mage in there. Can you cover me?”

“Yes, I’ve got your back!” he shouted, falling behind me. “Let’s go!”

A beam, one end on the ground, the other still attached to the second floor, appeared out of the murk as I hobbled for the building. Rilian stayed close to me, his light iron shield easily blocking the fire spells from the scamps. The makeshift ramp gave me access to the second floor. I hopped onto the floorboards above to find a tall dremora mage at the far end of the building, his hand raised in a summons.

Without regard for the sulfurous swirls around me, I headed for the mage as swiftly as I could. He unlooped his mace and used it to block my sword. As he deflected my blade to the side, he swung his left hand against my cuirass. A bolt of energy slammed into me, more powerful than any punch, and flung me onto my back. My nerves tingling and my muscles numb, I looked up to see the - goblin shaman raise her totem staff, no - dremora mage raise his mace for the death blow.

A steel blade flashed brightly over me, stabbing the mage in the abdomen before he could bring the mace down. I rolled away, catching a glimpse of the dremora’s left hand glowing white with another spell.

“Don’t let him touch you!” I shouted at Rilian, but he pulled back, out of reach of the wounded mage. His shield protecting his body, the young Imperial sidestepped the flung spell and leaped to close with the spellcaster. Another flash of the steel blade, and the mage crumpled to the floor.

Out in the plaza, about half of the scamps melted into sulfur wisps. Rilian reached a hand down to me. Thanks to his strong grip, I scrambled to my feet, and we returned to the ground looking for more enemies. The remaining scamps fell quickly before the swordsmen and Merandil’s accurate archery.

At the foot of the chapel steps, Matius scanned the plaza. He saluted me with his sword before sheathing it. The other guardsmen joined him. As Rilian and I walked across the square, the young guardsman nearly sent me flying with a hearty clap on my shoulder.

“Good fighting, friend,” he commented, still a little out of breath. He looked tired, and there was blood on the side of his neck, but his hazel eyes smiled at me. “Let’s go see what Matius has to say.”

“Good work, everyone,” Matius greeted us, smiling grimly through a bloodied visage. “Let’s go in the chapel and see what we find.”

The other guardsmen and I followed him within the chapel. Matius paused, scanning the dark interior. A Redguard woman wearing the Kvatch Wolf came up to him.

“Thank Akatosh you’ve arrived!” she exclaimed, her voice rough with tension. “We weren’t sure how much longer we could hold out, sir.”

“Tierra, what’s the status?” Matius got to the point, the brusque soldier still evident.

Tierra straightened up. “Sir, there’s two of us, Berich Inian and I, and four civilians here.”

Matius’s face fell. “Everyone else is dead?” he sounded discouraged.

“Sir,” Tierra responded, “we’ve been cut off from the castle. I have no idea how many survivors remain there.”

“Very well,” Matius sighed. “What’s done is done. Inian, stand watch here. Tierra, take the civilians down to the camp, make sure they’re safe.”

“But sir, I want to fight!” Tierra burst out. Glancing at her, I was reminded of myself when I was her age, looking for blood and glory. Matius cut her off with a sharp gesture.

“You’ll get the chance soon enough,” he stated flatly. “It’s more important to get these civilians out of here. Kvatch isn’t yet safe for them. Get them to the camp, then return as quickly as possible. I need your blade here, and soon.”

I looked at the four refugees. They looked frightened, exhausted, and dirty. Is one of them Martin? Rilian leaned to me to whisper in my ear, “That brown-haired Imperial, in the blue robes, that’s Martin the priest.”

As Tierra gathered the refugees to her, I studied him thoughtfully. Before I could call his name, they filed out of the chapel, the priest supporting a limping Breton man.

Still twitchy after that shock spell, I hobbled down to the altar at the head of the nave. With my sword hand on the stone pedestal, I breathed deeply as the healing energy swirled around me. Matius joined me and took some of the healing for himself. Feeling more like myself, I waited for him to step back.

“Sir, do you still need me?” I asked him. His eyes grim, Matius wiped the blood off of his face.

“I can still use you,” he responded quietly. “There is still the castle to secure. We’ve got to recover the Count. Are you able to continue on?”

“Yes, sir, and I’m ready whenever you are.” I matched his tone.

“You are truly a friend, Julian,” he said, relief in his voice. “Not many would walk in off the road and help strangers.”

“If strangers don’t help each other,” I countered softly, “the world would be a cruel place, indeed.” He nodded agreement.

“Well, then,” Matius cast an assessing glance at the other guardsmen. “Inian, when Tierra comes back, both of you join us at the castle.” He strode for the northern doors. “The rest of you, follow me!”