Old Habits Die Hard Part Two, An old dog learns new tricks Options

[haute ecole rider]

Hi all,

To continue my story, I decided to break it up in more manageable chunks. The 200 post limit seems to be a reasonable number.

You can see Chapters 1-7 here:

Now begins Chapter 8.

Back on the road again, Julian catches up with a friend, and makes another, among the Legion riders. Riding along the Blue Road under the full moons is special. I hope I’ve managed to convey that feeling to all my readers.

This post is a little longer than my self-imposed limit, but it was hard to edit a much longer interlude down into something that was more manageable for the forums and still had the important stuff.

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Chapter 8.1 Bandits and Riders

Paint was eager to go. He chose to gallop around the Red Ring Road, only slowing down when we caught up to Marc Atellus between Sercen and Red Roxey Inn. Blowing and bouncing as he slowed down to match the Legion horse’s slow amble, Paint whickered at the other horse.

“Hello, Julian!” Atellus greeted me heartily. He slapped his left thigh. “Thanks to you, all healed now!”

“Good,” I mirrored his grin as I tried to catch my breath. “I’m glad to see you again, Atellus.”

“In these dark times, friends are more valuable than treasure,” the Legion rider commented as the two horses continued down the road at an easy pace. “Your horse looks well-rested this afternoon.”

“He should be, sir,” I responded, slapping the brown-and-white neck fondly. “He’s been loafing for the past two days, since I saw you last. He just galloped all the way from Weye.”

Atellus’s brows lifted beneath his helm. “All that way?” he whistled. “Paint must be feeling really good today!” He laughed as Paint tossed his head and bounced twice, as if in agreement. The Legion bay pinned his ears briefly at Paint, who subsided and became sedate again. “Shush, Bucky,” Atellus chided his mount quietly, with amusement in his voice. “Our horses may seem lazy,” he admitted to me, “but it’s because they go all day and all night, with little time for rest. They’re smart enough to conserve their energy.”

“I’ve noticed, sir,” I responded. “It’s a good thing when you have to ride long hours.”

“So, Julian, where are you and Paint headed on this fine afternoon?” Atellus asked.

“Cheydinhal, sir,” I answered. Ahead, in the shadows thrown by the westering sun, I saw a shabby little inn off to the north of the road, tucked beneath high mountains.

“That’s Roxey Inn,” Atellus pointed at it. “And we’re near the end of my patrol. You’ll run into Marius Tarquinius between here and Wellspring Cave, just past the Blue Road. Caelius Drusus patrols the Blue Road. He’s the youngest of us, and has never served in the provinces.”

“Is he the least experienced, sir?” I asked.

“Humph,” Atellus shook his head. “Actually, Drusus has done nothing but patrol,” he responded. “Started out as a forester, so he’s a pretty tough character.” He looked hard at me. “I mention him because he’s likely the least prejudiced of all of us riders.”

“Against Redguards, you mean, sir?” I asked, thinking of Adrian Remus, the rider I had encountered east of Skingrad. He had been cool, even suspicious, toward me, though he had maintained a professional demeanor. Atellus nodded, a little ruefully.

“And Dunmer,” he added. “That’s why he’s assigned to the Cheydinhal patrol route. That city’s half Dunmer as it is. He gets along very well with everyone there.” Atellus halted Bucky and threw me a half salute before turning the bay back westward. “Farewell, Julian!”

“Thanks for the company, sir,” I said. “Stay safe,” I called to his departing back. “And watch out for marauder archers!” His guffaw trailed behind him. Paint resumed his slow walk. Patting his neck again, I found it cool. “Out of energy, Paint?” I asked him. He tossed his head and bounced once, but resumed his walk immediately.

The night settled around as we turned onto the cobblestones of the Blue Road. The highway climbed steeply to the top of a ridge, and Paint marched resolutely up the slope. Near the top of the hill, I spotted the ruins of an old farmstead to the right of the road. When I saw movement within the ruins, I stopped Paint near an oak tree about twenty meters away. After I dismounted, I limped forward, the Kvatch Wolf in my left hand, my right hand near the hilt of my katana.

Two shadows detached themselves from the ruin, one carrying a hammer, the other a shortsword. They separated as they drew near. I recognized the tactic from my years in the service. They intended to attack me from opposite sides. I hobbled toward the swordsman, barely recognizable as a Redguard in the darkness, and ducked his blade, circling to get him between me and the hammer-wielding Khajiit. My katana picked up the starlight along its slender blade. My buckler blocked the sword strike from the Redguard, and I shoved him back into the Khajiit, sending both of them staggering.

Before the swordsman could recover, I brought the edge of my shield down on his sword arm, feeling the bones snap beneath the metal disc. With a groan, he hunched over his broken arm. In spite of his greater weight, I managed to knock him aside in time to backhand my katana against the man-feline. The tip of my blade sliced through the other’s upraised right arm.

The Khajiit spat as my blade caught on the edge of his leather cuirass. He pulled back, freeing my katana, and raised his hammer again with more difficulty. My sword slipped beneath his chin, twisting through his throat and tearing it out sideways.

As he fell back, a shout reminded me of the Redguard with the broken arm. As I hopped to my right and spun around to face him, I saw that a Legion rider had already engaged the bandit. Awkward with the sword in his left hand, the Redguard was no match for a fresh fighter, and a heavily armored one at that.

Kneeling stiffly to wipe my bloodied blade on the Khajiit’s sackcloth pants, I sheathed it as the rider strode up to me, his own weapon put away. “Caelius Drusus?” I asked, aware of his assessing gaze and the way his eyes lingered on the Kvatch Wolf in my left hand.

“Yes,” he answered, “and you must be Julian.”

“I see you’ve heard about me already,” I muttered. “Thanks for your help, sir.”

“Yes, I have heard about you,” Drusus remarked, amused. “Are you unhurt, I hope?”

“I’m fine, sir,” I answered. “Tired of battling bandits and marauders, though.”

“Well, if you’re going to Cheydinhal,” Drusus remarked, lighting the torch, “you’ll probably run into another bandit ambush about half a kilometer west of the city gates.” The torchlight illuminated the youth in the other’s face, as well as the experience in his level gaze. He shrugged. “They are never around when I ride by, but travelers have come to grief there. They’ve been particularly -” he paused, “bothersome lately.”

“Well, I’ll see when I get there, sir,” I commented. I turned back to look for Paint. “I left my horse back a ways.”

“I did, too,” Drusus admitted. “Tell you what, I’m weary of hearing about those invisible bandits. They’ll likely ambush you - with that white hair of yours they’ll think you’re easy game. I’ve got to ride on down to Fort Urasek,” he indicated the ruined fort on the lakeshore, past the end of the Blue Road, “then come back toward Cheydinhal. If you wait for me, maybe we can take care of those bandits once and for all.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll travel slow until you catch up to me.”

“Travel real slow,” his tone was dry. I couldn’t help smiling at his irony.

Masser and Secunda were just rising over the eastern horizon when Paint and I passed the ruined farmstead. He was all too happy to remain at a slow amble for now. The road floated along the shoulder of the foothills to the north, the lofty Jeralls just visible beyond. To the south, on my right, the land dropped away into an expansive plain, dotted with groves, small lakes, and a single Ayleid ruin.

I spotted an overgrown gateway and a faint dirt path heading north into the foothills just past the farmstead. Briefly I wondered what lay at the end of that path.

Deer spooked at us and ran off, quick shadows highlighted by the white undersides of their tails. A grey ghost paced us from the side of the road, but veered off when Paint turned his head and looked directly at him without faltering in his stride. That wolf’s not hungry tonight. Bet those bandits up ahead are. I followed the wraithlike form with my gaze as the canine ran up a bank to the shore of a highland lake, just north of the road, its waterfall argent in the growing moonlight.

Ahead, the trees became thicker as the road began to rise into the foothills of the Valus Mountains to the east. A crenellated silhouette of a wall nearly blended into the treetops, only the right angles along the top of the barrier giving away its manmade origins. I slowed Paint even more and waited until I could hear the clopping of Drusus’s mount behind us. At the bottom of the slope, I stopped and dismounted from Paint. As I limped forward, I strained my eyes into the shadows on either side of the road, where thick trees and boulders crowded close.

Perfect place for an ambush. No wonder Drusus never saw anyone here - plenty of places to hide close to the road. Shaking my shield into my left hand, I drew my katana. A bird whistle - birdcalls in the middle of the night? - prompted me to raise my buckler as the thwap! of a snapping bowstring followed. The broadhead arrow smacked into the light iron, staggering me to the right. Booted footsteps on my right drew my head and katana around in time to catch the wrist of a mace-wielding woman. I kept my shield to the north side of the road, where I knew the bowman hid, and elbowed the female Redguard hard, freeing my blade from the bones of her wrist and kicking her legs from beneath her.

Drusus’s footfalls and clanking armor reached me. Still focused on the Redguard woman at my feet, I shouted at him, “Archer, in the trees on the left!” Drusus changed direction, and his footfalls went silent as he left the cobblestones of the road.

The woman regained her feet with an agility that surprised even me. She proved to be ambidextrous, just as adept with the mace in her left hand as in her right. She charged me, and before I could back away, she was inside my guard and swinging that mace low. The heavy iron head smashed into my right hip. With a groan, I danced left, chopping downwards with my katana to catch her left elbow. The blade bit into bone before skittering away, tearing muscle and tendon with it.

Effectively neutralized, the bandit dropped back, her mace striking sparks as it landed on the cobblestones and rolled away. Shouts in the trees across the road told me that Drusus had found the archer. Lifting the tip of my blade, I pointed it at the Redguard’s throat. “Are there more of you?” I demanded.

Her jaw clenched in defiance, the bandit used her right forearm to knock my katana away. Her left foot came up and slammed me in my belly, knocking the wind out of me. I managed to recover before she could follow through, and stabbed the katana into her lower abdomen. As I sliced the tip of my blade sideways, I heard her gasp, and stepped back as she shuddered to the cobblestones, blood appearing black beneath her body in the moonlight.

Short of breath, I looked around as the shouting fell into immense silence. Turning towards the trees where Drusus had disappeared, I limped across the road, my right hip stabbing with each step. The Legion rider reappeared out of the forest, sheathing his sword. A couple of arrows protruded from his chest plate, a couple more in his shield.

“There,” he said, catching his breath, and walking up to me. He yanked the two arrows out of his armor and looked at me, “That went rather well, I may say so.” His gaze sharpened on my face. “Are you hurt, Julian?”

“Ach,” I groaned as my hip twinged. “She managed to hit me once or twice, sir.” Together, we pulled the bandit’s body off the road, placing the corpse behind a clump of azaleas. I turned down the slope and started limping back to the horses. “It’ll heal,” I added, casting my healing as I spoke.

“I see Atellus is right,” Drusus said, an approving note in his voice. “You do know how to fight.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think I’m as good as I used to be, sir,” I answered. “It’s been a while.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll come back,” Drusus assured me as we reached the horses. My hip protested at the thought of mounting up, so I picked up Paint’s rein and started trudging for Cheydinhal. Drusus fell into step beside me, his bay trailing behind.

“I do hope I get it back, sir,” I muttered. “It would seem my work is far from done.”

“There are days when it seems like it never ends, huh?” Drusus commented. I nodded at the wisdom of his words. He may be young, as Atellus said, but experienced beyond his years. At the top of the slope, the closed gates of Cheydinhal visible less than a hundred meters away, Drusus stopped and mounted his mare.

“Thanks for your help, Julian.” He pointed out the stables to the left of the road. “There’s Black Waterside Stables. If you leave your horse in the corral, they’ll take care of him. You can pay them later.” He considered me a moment longer. “Get a bed at the Newlands Lodge. The innkeeper is a Dunmer, but it’s warm, cheap and comfortable. You’ll do well to stay there. There is the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn, but it’s more expensive.”

“All right, Drusus, thanks,” I said, leading Paint towards the stable corral. “I’ll see you again, sir.”

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: May 26 2010, 11:37 PM

[haute ecole rider]

@ D.Foxy: Nudity is, as always, purely optional.

@mALX: You are much too easy! Fainting at Foxy's innocuous comments?

@SubRosa: I have the exact same problem as you - I always forget about those once-a-day powers. My Dunmer has never used her Ancestor Guardian, my Imperial has never used her Voice, and my Nord has never used - what the heck is it Nords have??

@Destri: Your comments are almost as much fun to read as my chapter was to write (the last draft of it anyway). I'm glad you enjoyed this chapter!

@Acadian: Thank you, Paladin. Julian and I aim to please! (aside to Foxy: quiet!)

@Olen: It takes me several run-throughs and multiple saves to get Jeelius out alive. I like his reward when I catch up to him again in the Temple of the One later in the quest. Though Jeelius will not adventure again with Julian like that, he will be a friend in much the same manner as Aelwyn. There will come a time when Julian will need such friends. As for the slowing of the heartbeat at the moment of discovery, I wanted to convey how much Jelin's teachings have affected Julian's combat style. Think of Jelin as a kind of Zen warrior monk, and you'll see that in Julian's mindset at scary moments like this.

After much fanfare, this marks the first post of entirely new material (i.e. never before seen on any forum). Enjoy, everybody!

After the chaos of the Dagon Shrine, Julian is looking forward to a peaceful night’s sleep. Will she get it? We’ll see.

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Chapter 8.5 The Newlands Lodge

The snow had changed to rain by the time we reached the city gates. Bone-tired and weary, we trudged up to the guard, who looked as miserable as we felt.

He grinned at me in greeting, but his welcome faded as his eye fell on Jeelius, soaked woolen robes unmistakably red in the darkness. “This is Jeelius,” I said, anxious to avoid trouble. “He saved my hide more than once today. That in spite of the fact that he was the intended sacrifice for a Daedric cult.” Catching the guard’s stare at the red robe, I realized the source of his unease. “I gave him that robe to stay warm,” I finished, putting firmness in my tired voice.

“Any of those worshippers still alive?” the guard turned his gaze back to me. “Can we expect any more trouble from there?”

“A lot of them are dead,” I shrugged. “As for the rest, who knows?”

“Perhapss they will ssee the error of their wayss and leave the cult,” Jeelius volunteered, his voice carefully neutral. He gestured at me. “If not for Julian, I would have been dead, mysself. It iss I who owe my life.”

I shifted my feet as the guard grinned at me, rapping the gate at the same time in the signal to open. Again, the gate was unbarred and opened from within. Again, the guard inside greeted me as the Hero of Kvatch.

“It’s late,” I said to Jeelius, leading him to the Newlands Lodge, “and I’m tired. Let’s get inside and get some food and sleep.”

“Ssoundss good,” he answered. “It hass been a very long day.” The right corner of my mouth twitched at his ironic tone as I opened the door and waved him inside.

Within, we encountered the Orsimeri again. They gave me a quick glance, and stared at Jeelius with open hostility. I paused beside their table and waited until they looked away from Jeelius, carefully avoiding my gaze. As we moved to the back room where Romalen waited, I heard the Orcs muttering behind me, but could not make out their words.

“Hello, muthsera,” I greeted Romalen, remembering the Dunmer honorific. “I’d like supper for two,” I indicated Jeelius and myself, “and another bed for the night.”

“Of course,” Romalen had already begun filling two plates with hot, hearty stew. “Any friend of Julian’s,” she set a plate in front of Jeelius, “is always welcome here,” she smiled at the Argonian as she set the second plate in front of me. Easing the small bag from my shoulder to the floor, I picked up my fork and started in on the grub.

“It sseemss Julian is well known here,” Jeelius replied, following suit with his own utensil. “I am grateful to you, muthsera.”

Romalen glanced at me. “How was the fishing?” she asked. I looked blankly at her before recalling our conversation earlier in the morning.

“Ah, they didn’t bite,” I answered, pointing at Jeelius with my fork, “but I caught something better - a new friend.” In the corner of my eye I saw Jeelius’s fork falter on its way to his mouth.

“Maybe next time,” Romalen said with a smile.

“Why?” I asked. “Would you like some?”

“It’d be a nice change from the usual, wouldn’t it?” she countered. Her eyes flickered beyond me scornfully. “Not that they’ll appreciate it, though.”

I shrugged. “Most Orsimeri are appreciative of good cooking,” I remarked. “At least the ones I’ve known. They tend to have generous hearts and good spirits, for all that they’re so brusque and curt.” I couldn’t help smiling at the disbelieving glances from both Romalen and Jeelius. “After all,” I slapped my cuirass pointedly, “it was an incredibly skilled Orc smith who took this cuirass from something ordinary and made it into my second skin, and wouldn’t accept fair recompense for the work.”

“I had wondered about that,” Romalen spoke slowly, uncertainty in her red eyes. “I hear that you’re the Hero of Kvatch. Is it true?”

I looked down at my plate, concentrating on my meal. Beside me, Jeelius finished the last bite and set his fork down with a soft clink on the clay dish. “Aye, I believe sso,” he said softly. “I had heard the rumorss in the Imperial City, before I wass kidnapped.” He cast a sidelong glance at me. “A sskinny Redguard woman, with white hair, carrying the shield of Kvatch, iss the ssame woman who went into the Oblivion Gate outsside the city and clossed it by hersself.”

I sighed. So that’s how they recognized me. Heard the same rumors, likely. “I won’t deny it,” I said finally, finishing my food. “But I’ won't talk about it, either.”

“But your story is the best news we’ve had in a while,” Romalen exclaimed softly. Beside me, Jeelius nodded. “All right, I won’t speak more of it,” the Dunmer shook her finger at me warningly. “But get used to it. People will seize any shred of hope, any bit of good news, in dark times.”

“And we need it, thesse dayss,” Jeelius agreed quietly.

Romalen cleared away the plates. “Julian,” she turned back to me. “I can see that both of you are tired. I’ve held the room you took last night, but I have a customer in the other room. There’s only a bed out on the landing just outside the two rooms.”

“That’s fine,” I answered. “We’ll take that bed, too. How much for it, ten drakes?”

“Of course not!” Romalen exclaimed in mock offense. “What do you take me for, a scalper? That one bed’s half-price because it has no privacy.”

With a smile I handed her the gold. “Here you are, then. Thanks, muthsera.” I rose to my feet, picking up the bag. “Good night, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, friends,” Romalen returned, returning the smile. “Sleep well.”

Jeelius followed me back to the common room, where the Orsimeri still nursed their brews. This time, they did not look up as we passed, but their murmurs took on an ominous tone as we headed up the stairs. They sound like trouble. At the top of the stairs, I surveyed the landing, spotting the bed off to one side near the doors. Though I didn’t like how exposed it was to the stairs, I liked the sound of the Orcs below even less.

“Jeelius,” I led him into the room I had used the night before. My pack still sat on the bed where I had left it, undisturbed. The Kvatch shield rested against the wall, the bow and Daedra Slayer still laid on top of the dresser.

Placing the pack on the floor next to the dresser, I picked up Daedra Slayer and turned to the Argonian. “Sleep here,” I gestured toward the bed. “I’ll take that one out there.”

“You’re paying for the room,” Jeelius matched my quiet tone. “You sshould have the privacy.”

“I’ve slept in barracks for years,” I countered softly. “I’m used to the lack of it. Besides,” I hefted Daedra Slayer, “I’m better armed than you.” His eyes widened at my words.

“You expect trouble?” he hissed. “Very well, I sshall trusst in your judgment.”

“And lock the door,” I said as I stepped out. A second later, I heard the lock click, and moved quietly to the cot. Carefully, soundlessly, I drew my katana and laid it along the edge of the cot, Daedra Slayer on the floor within easy reach. After I turned the lamp beside the bed down, I lay on my left side, the katana’s hilt beneath my right hand.

It wasn’t long before a soft scuffle on the stairs roused me from a deep slumber. My right hand tightened involuntarily on the katana as my eyes searched out the source of the noise. The bulk of an Orsimer creeping up the stairs greeted my gaze, surprisingly quiet in spite of his bulk. As he moved towards my location, I caught the glimmer of a dagger blade in one large fist.

By his groping movements, I knew his night vision hadn’t returned after the relatively bright light downstairs. Once he was within blade-range, I sat up, whipping the katana forward to rest the tip against his bare throat. The Orsimer froze, not breathing.

“Did you expect an unarmed guest?” I whispered, for I could hear the snores of the guests in the rooms behind me. While I wanted to avoid making a scene, I wanted to make my intent clear - make the wrong move and you will be dead.