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]

@Remko: Julian shares your opinion about Frasoric! As for enjoying this, well . . .

@SubRosa: I had my fair share of those airheads in my high school as well! I guess there's about ten or twenty in every high school across this country, though they may be overrepresented in So. Cal. I'm really glad that you enjoyed my portrayal of Frasoric.

@Olen: Julian has had wayyy too many incompetent officers in the Legion to enjoy yet another incompetent superior. She has the experience to handle them, though, like any old USMC sergeant. I'm sure Acadian will agree!

@Destri: Yet again you prove to have uncanny insight into Julian's character. She can't let go of the sword long enough to rely on magic (much like myself when playing these games). She'll find magic useful in conjunction, but will take the spell efficacy hit in lieu of being weaponless and unarmored. I do hope you enjoy meeting J'skar in this next segment.

@Acadian: You are right as well in your assessment of Julian's attitude toward magic. She will come to respect the Legion battlemages even more than she already has, but she won't aspire to be as good as they are, let alone take on the MG questline. I have no plans for her to tangle with the necromancers at this point.

@all guessing at Julian's love: this is starting to sound like a pool here! Luther Broad, Brother Piner (kudos to Olen for creativity!), Grandmaster Jauffre, and Merowald. Hmm. Y'all are wrong so far! More guesses are always welcome, but I'm not going to say yea or nay until it is revealed in the story!

A little late today, since I spent the day having lunch with friends, then running errands all afternoon. But here is the conclusion of the quest for J'skar. You get to see a little more of Julian's old habits coming out.

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Chapter 10.7 J’skar

Limping out into the hall, I saw Orania conferring with Frasoric. Is she telling Frasoric about Volanaro’s prank? “Julian seems nice enough,” Orania was saying, “and I think she’ll fit in well with us. I think she’s capable of keeping the younger ones in line.”

“Who, me?” I asked. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing.”

“Oh, not at all,” Frasoric assured me, rising and falling on her toes. “Selena was just telling me that another member of her maturity would be most welcome.” I saw the pained look in Orania’s face, and knew my own expression mirrored hers. Frasoric seemed oblivious to the effect on us of her choice of words and pranced away toward the dining room.

“Look,” Orania whispered to me, “I suppose I like Jeanne well enough. It’s a shame she doesn’t know more about her craft, though. Still, I don’t think she deserves the hard time the others give her.”

A glance behind me told me we were the only ones in the hallway. “I agree with you, Orania,” I whispered back. “But for now, I’m going to play along. I really need to find J’skar to get my recommendation from Frasoric.” I lowered my voice even more. “But be certain, I’ll make sure Volanaro and J’skar will regret this practical joke before I’m finished.”

“If you can do that,” Orania responded, “you’ll make me very happy.”

Turning from her, I headed to the south end of the hall. I found my way to the second level above the lobby, where Frasoric’s private quarters lay. The door was unlocked, and I let myself through. Within, I found an ornate desk that took up nearly half the floor space. Most of the drawers were full of parchment and quills, but one was locked. Pulling out a couple of lockpicks, I stroked the first one in the lock. The simple one-tumbler lock was easily picked, even with my rusty skills.

Inside, I found the volume Volanaro wanted, Manual of Spellcraft. It was well-thumbed, the pages worn, the spine cracked. Frasoric must have spent a lot of time studying. It’s too bad she hasn’t benefited as well as she should have. I hated to remove it, but the idea of going to the Arcane University and crafting my own spells held too much appeal to me at the moment. I’ll make sure it gets replaced, I promised myself. Re-locking the drawer, I turned for the stairs.

I found Volanaro in one of the sleeping rooms. “Have you pulled that little prank yet?” he asked me.

“Little prank?” I repeated, handing him the volume. “More like a prank too big for your britches.”

He ignored my comment, looking at the worn volume. “I see you got Jeanne’s book, all right. Meet me here just after ten tonight.”

“Ten bells,” I said. “What time is it now?”

“Oh, you’ve got an hour or so yet, before Jeanne goes upstairs to bed,” Volanaro responded. “I’ll show you J’skar then.”

I spent the intervening hour upstairs in the main hall, looking over the books on the shelves, reading their titles. Several copies of The Fundaments of Alchemy caught my attention. Taking one copy from the shelf, I sat down in a comfortable chair near one of the tall candlestands.

Before it was time to meet Volanaro again, I had progressed through the introduction. I decided to study it along with The Amulet of Kings, Piner’s book, and Sigrid’s little volume. Returning downstairs, I found Volanaro waiting impatiently for me. “Ready to find J’skar?” he asked. I nodded silently. “Just watch, then,” he said. “You’ll see!”

He turned to one side and threw a purple glow from his left hand at a space next to me. Startled at the near miss, I stepped back as a Khajiit appeared at my side. The man-feline turned to me, his amber eyes bright with glee.

“Hello,” he purred. “I hearr you’rre looking forr me.” I narrowed my eyes at him, not saying anything. His eyes rounded, and his ears went down. “Please, don’t be angrry. We werre just having some fun.” Now he scowled. “We just get tirred of Jeanne lorrding herr position overr us, when she barrely knows anything about magic. Everry now and then, we like to trrick herr.” He smiled. “We figurred it was time to move on to a new prrank. This one was getting borring, anyway. So you can tell Jeanne you’ve found me!”

“Do you think so?” I said skeptically.

“Finding ways to confuse herr just neverr gets old forr me. It’s good prractice of ourr skills, too, but mostly it’s just forr fun.” J’skar smile faltered, and the tip of his long, thick tail twitched.

“You’ve got nothing better to do here?” I asked him.

“Therre’s not much to do in the Brruma chapterr,” J’skar responded. “If you can get to the Arrcane Univerrsity, though, they let you make yourr own spells therre.”

“It was a good idea, wasn’t it?” Volanaro chuckled, moving to sling his arm across J’skar’s shoulders, leaning on the shorter Khajiit. “I wonder how long she’ll spend trying to figure out where she put that book down!” he slapped his free hand against J'skar's. The two young mages exchanged chuckles and mirthful glances. “She won’t be able to figure it out for weeks!” Volanaro crowed. “Oh, it’s times like this I enjoy what I do.”

I eyed both of them, feeling my jaw tense. Limping to the door, I closed it softly, then turned back to face the two pranksters.

“If you think all I’m going to tell Frasoric is that I’ve found J’skar,” I spoke as icily as I could, watching the glee fade from the young men’s faces, “you are sadly mistaken. What you are doing is disrespectful,” I chopped my hand forcefully down between us when Volanaro opened his mouth to protest. “I know she’s not very competent,” I met his gaze with my fiercest glare, “but she is your chapter head. She deserves your support, more so with her own lack of skills.”

I moved my gaze to J’skar. “Every time you prank her, you undermine her authority, not only in your own eyes, but in the eyes of all of Bruma.” I took a deep breath, realizing that I now stood ramrod straight, as if I stood on the drill field in front of the Ninth Cohort. “And each time you do that, you degrade the reputation of the Mages Guild.” I pointed at the Khajiit, his ears abject. “You want to gain entrance to the Arcane University?” Now I pointed at Volanaro, who straightened up and dropped his arm from J’skar’s shoulders at my glare. “You want to get out of Bruma?” I shook my head. “The only way you’re going to accomplish that is to suck it up with Frasoric. She alone has the power to send you along to better posts, and the only way she’s going to do that is if she feels you deserve it.” I paused to give them a chance to think. “Am I clear?”

The two mages shifted their feet, glancing sidelong at each other. I only glared at them. Finally, J’skar hung his leonine head. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured.

“I can’t hear you!” I snapped, my tone cracking across the room. Both young mages stiffened, and J’skar’s tail lashed violently from side to side in alarm.

“Yes ma’am!” J’skar’s voice hissed. I turned my glare to Volanaro.

“Clear as a bell!” he spoke crisply, just as surprised as J’skar at the sudden change in my demeanor.

“Now, about that book,” I held Volanaro’s gaze. “I have no problem telling Frasoric about my part in this particular prank,” I kept the ice in my tone. “I’ll take my consequences. The question is, are you prepared to take yours?”

“Uh, I’ll return it,” Volanaro promised, his tone abject. “In the morning, when she’s up and downstairs.”

“See to it,” I growled at him, “and she won’t hear of it from me. Delay, and you’d better be prepared.” Now I scowled at him. “I don’t accept any excuses.”

Turning to the door, I opened it and stepped out, closing the panel behind me. As I did so, Orania stepped out of the shadows between the sconces.

“Is there a problem ma’am?” she asked me. On a deep breath, I shook my head.

“No, no problem at all, Journeyman,” I answered, secretly satisfied at the bland tone in my voice. Orania eyed me thoughtfully.

“For a moment there, I thought I overheard a dressing-down,” she said quietly.

“Maybe you did,” I replied.

“The Legion shows,” she said pointedly. Startled by her perception, I shot a glance at her. Finally I shrugged.

“I had a couple of very tough pili,” I remarked. Orania shook her head.

“Sounds to me like you were a very tough pilus,” her tone was firm and decisive. Recognizing the futility of hiding that aspect of my history from her, I said nothing for several moments.

“Between experience and attrition in the ranks,” I remarked, “it’s almost inevitable, if you stay in long enough, to get into a position where you’re going to get killed because of a stupid recruit mistake.”

“But you didn’t,” Orania responded, waving for me to follow her down the hall to the sleeping room next door. Feeling suddenly weary in my old bones, I limped after her.

“I was nearly killed by a stupid recruit mistake,” I commented. Orania eyed my limp thoughtfully, closing the room door behind us. She waved me to the bed on the right hand side.

“You can sleep there,” she said. “But first let me see that knee.”

Setting my pack down beside the indicated bed, I glanced sharply at Orania. “I’ve been to several healers,” I began, but she shook her head.

“Ever been to a Mages Guild healer?” she asked. “Or an alchemist?” Her gesture was imperative. I sat down and raised my skirts above my right knee. The scar was livid with inflammation, the joint swollen from the pounding it had taken earlier.

Orania knelt beside me to take a closer look. Though her touch was feather light, I still sucked my breath between my teeth as she gently felt the swelling. “This is an old wound,” she said softly. “It never healed right?”

“It festered,” I said breathlessly. Something made me show her the wound on my left side. “Same with this one. It’s not bothering me any more, thank Akatosh.”

“Well, the infection is gone from both of them,” Orania said after she finished examining the wounds. “But the tissues,” she indicated my knee, “knitted wrong.” She looked up at me, sitting back on her heels. “It would be difficult to heal it without cutting.”

“No,” I said flatly. “I’m not taking a risk like that again.” Orania frowned at me.

“Who did the original surgery?”

“Someone in the Legion,” I answered, reluctant to remember his name. “These wounds got me kicked out of the service.”

“Not your fault,” Orania countered. “Look, let me speak to Cirroc, the chapel healer. He’s very good. Maybe he can help you.”

I shrugged. “I can’t stop you,” I said. “But I’m not agreeing to anything.”

“Neither am I,” Orania replied. “But for now, get some sleep.”

I didn’t argue with her. Removing the quilted doublet and the skirt, I cast my nightly healing spells, then crawled beneath the brocaded coverlet.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Jun 24 2010, 03:04 AM