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]

@SubRosa: I assure you, the knee will be a bum for some time yet. Oh, about four more chapters or so. That old soldier aspect of Julian’s nature caught me by surprise as she was reaming the young’uns a couple of new ones. But I have to admit, I relished writing that scene, especially since they irritated me so much the first time I played the game and encountered them.

@Acadian: You’re not the first one to wish that poor Martin would get lucky. Don’t worry, we’ll learn Julian’s exact age in a couple of chapters! In any case, I think the Septim line ends here. If you read the Lore, the Septims have been holding the Amulet only for the last 400 years or so; previous Emperors are not related to Tiber Septim, so blood relationships are not required to hold the Amulet. Unfortunately it gets destroyed at the end of the MQ, or things might get pretty interesting . . . As for figuring out who Julian falls in love with, I think she might be the last one to know. I had it figured out by Chapter 15, but then, I’m the writer!

A bit long this time, but I hope it's not noticeable. Enjoy Julian's day off!

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Chapter 11.2 A Day Off

The hike up the mountain to Cloud Ruler Temple took the rest of the morning. The pain in my right knee slowed me down, and the chill didn’t help at all. It felt colder this morning than it had yesterday, before I left the heights of the temple. By the time I limped up the stairs, I was shivering, and my jaw felt tight with the pain. Captain Steffan paused on his patrol of the walls to look at me in concern.

“Julian, are you all right?” he asked. “You look like you’re in a lot of pain.”

“Those two were spies,” I answered, more curtly than I intended. I met his gaze regretfully. “I’m sorry, sir. They attacked me, and I had no choice but to run.” I tapped my knee. “And this old thing doesn’t like running.”

“So how did you manage?” he left the question incomplete.

“The Guard is very well trained,” I said quietly. “And their aim very accurate.”

Steffan nodded in satisfaction. “Burd is a good commander,” he said simply. Jerking his head towards the temple, he ordered me inside, out of the cold. “Get some hot lunch, and some hot klah, put your foot up by the fire, and take it easy.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. As he walked away from me, I limped towards the Great Hall. Captain Steffan’s a good commander, himself.

As Jena opened the front door for me, Jauffre called to me from the west wing, “Hail, Julian!” He frowned at my face when I turned to look at him. “Are you hurt?” he demanded. Does it really show on my face? “Get inside this instant!” he ordered, striding towards me and nodding at Jena to hold the door open. At Jauffre’s unspoken command, I entered the Great Hall and limped past Martin to the chair beside the great fireplace.

Jauffre hooked a stool with his foot and nudged it towards me. Gratefully, I slumped back in the chair and put my right foot on the stool, stifling a groan as I straightened my knee. Quickly I cast three healing spells, while Jauffre poured a mug of klah. He pulled up another chair and handed me the steaming mug.

“Now, Julian,” he said, still in that commanding tone, “what have you learned about those spies?”

Martin joined us as I started telling Jauffre what I had learned in Bruma, what Burd had said about Jearl returning from a trip south, about the attack on me, and what I had found in her house. Handing Jauffre the scroll, I sat back and sipped at the hot klah while he read the damning evidence.

“She was at Chorrol?” he exclaimed when he began reading. “She stole the Amulet?” He continued reading, his face blanching as he proceeded to the end. Thoughtfully, he handed the scroll to Martin and regarded me for several seconds. I began shifting uncomfortably under his steady gaze. He sighed.

“Excellent work, Julian,” his tone was softer, quieter. “I knew we could count on you. The gods did not idly choose you as their agent, however you and Martin,” his eyes flickered at the Septim heir seated next to me, “may think.” His eyes turned hard. “It is clear that Mankar Camoran will soon bring all his power to bear against Bruma. I will need to notify the Countess of the danger.”

“I had to give Captain Burd a report,” I volunteered. “He has read that,” I nodded at the scroll in Martin’s hands. “I don’t doubt he will hesitate to make the Countess aware of it.”

Jauffre nodded approvingly. “Nevertheless, I must pay her a visit,” he persisted.

Martin met my gaze. “I was worried when you didn’t come back last night,” he said. “But Jauffre said you would be fine.”

“Oh, I joined the Mages Guild,” I answered. Jauffre stared at me. “One of the shopkeepers told me if I joined a Guild, I would get a free bed in any city in Cyrodiil.” Puzzled by his reaction, I met his gaze. He laughed suddenly, drawing the attention of everyone to him.

“Except for the Imperial City,” Jauffre advised, smiling. “But that was a good move, joining the Mages Guild. It would give you a good cover and an excuse to travel around. Don’t you have to get a recommendation from each chapter head to gain access to the Arcane University?”

“Yes, I do,” I was surprised by the implication of Jauffre’s statement.

“And it will provide an excuse for your traveling all over Cyrodiil,” Jauffre continued. “It seems Emperor Martin has made some progress with the Mysterium Xarxes.”

“Ah, yes, I have,” Martin handed the scroll to Jauffre. I looked closely at him. His eyes were brighter, not so red, and the dark circles beneath them had disappeared. Good, he’s got some sleep.

“I’ve deciphered part of the ritual needed to open a portal to Camoran’s Paradise. The Xarxes mentions four elements needed for the ritual.” Martin tilted his head at me. “So far, I have only translated one of them, the ‘blood of a Daedra Lord.’” He held my gaze. “In fact, daedric artifacts are known to be formed from the essence of a Daedric Lord, from whence they derive their great power. Not an easy thing to come by, obviously, but we will need a daedric artifact. I’d like you to find one and bring it to me.”

Nearly spilling my half-drunk klah, I started at Martin’s words. “F- find you a daed- daedric artifact?” I stammered. “Now where in Oblivion am I supposed to find one?” Catching my breath, I remembered my place. “Sire.”

Martin smiled dryly at my incredulous tone. “The only way to obtain a daedric artifact is through the cults devoted to each of the Daedric Lords. The book Modern Heretics is the best introduction to them. The library here has a copy of it.” His eyes twinkled sardonically as I groaned silently at the thought of more reading. “Remember,” he continued, “the Mysterium Xarxes ritual will consume the physical form of the artifact in order to release its physical power.” He handed me the book he had mentioned.

“Are you sure that’s what the Xarxes means?” I asked. Martin nodded, more somberly this time.

“I’ve learned that the Mysterium Xarxes is both the gate and the key to Camoran’s Paradise,” he explained. “In fact, the book is Camoran’s Paradise. Mankar Camoran bound himself to the Xarxes when he created his Paradise, using dark rituals which I will not speak of further.” His eyes grew dark at some long-lost memory.

“A gate can be opened from the outside, however. It will be very difficult, as I will have to temporarily bind myself to the book.” Now Martin smiled encouragingly. “But I believe it can be done. I will continue working to decipher the arcane items needed for the binding ritual.” He clasped my right shoulder. “I know I lay a heavy task on you, Julian,” he finished. “But you need to rest, and,” he nodded at the book in my lap, “time to get some reading done.”

I turned to Jauffre for help. He shook his head. “I’ll make sure the klah pot stays full and hot,” he offered. “It’ll help with the reading, I know.” He rose to his feet. “Besides, you need to get that knee better before you can travel again. And don’t forget to practice those healing spells!” He walked away from me.

Looking back at Martin, I considered begging off from this latest task, but I saw the weariness still carved into the lines of his face, the care that weighed his shoulders down. “All right, Martin, Sire,” I said quietly. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” Martin rose to his feet and took the now-empty mug from my hand. “You have been truly a friend in need,” he said, moving to the fireplace and refilling my mug. He nodded at Baurus, who brought over a small table and set it at my elbow. “If you need anything, just let Baurus or myself know.”

“I will,” I answered, opening the book Martin had given me. After a few minutes, I took the plunge. I was interrupted when Baurus brought me a plate of bread and cheese for lunch, but soon returned to it after he reminded me to cast a couple of healing spells on myself.

The aching in my knee subsided as I continued puzzling out the words on the crisp parchment. I learned how to identify Daedric shrines, how to learn their locations, and about the Azura shrine high in the Jeralls northeast of Cheydinhal. I’d have to make an offering of glow dust?

Finishing the book, I set it down and mused over what I had learned. I don’t think I want to go will-o-wisp hunting. I have enough problems with goblins and imps. Maybe one of the other shrines will be easier. I wonder which one would accept my offering.

A sudden thought spurred a sharp inhalation. Gwinas! What was it he said? “I’ve visited the Shrine of Sheogorath during the Festival of the Mad! I’ve spoken with Hermaeus Mora beneath the full moons!” Yes, he’d help me, especially after I rescued him from a sticky situation. I had to stifle a chuckle at the thought of the prissy Bosmer shouting “For Lord Dagon!”

I’ll see if I can find him at the Imperial City. Maybe Phintias will know where to find him. Deciding to start my search there, I cast a couple more healing spells, then stood up. My knee no longer stabbed to stand on it, and I took an experimental step. It hurt, but only with a dull twinge. Encouraged, I picked the book up and limped over to Martin’s table, setting the book back on the stack at Martin’s elbow. He looked up at me quizzically.

“I think I have an idea of where to begin,” I said to him.

“You will go to the Shrine of Azura, then?” he asked me. I shook my head.

“I’m not ready to face will-o-wisps,” I answered. Martin smiled and nodded agreement. “I think I know someone in the Imperial City who may be able to help me,” I continued.

“Good, then,” Martin said. “And is your knee better?”

“Better,” I agreed. “I’ll start out in the morning.” I shrugged. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, though.”

“I understand,” Martin responded. “I think you know how urgent things are right now, but like you said, one has to take time to eat, drink, and sleep.” He set the book in his hand firmly on the table. “Speaking of which, I believe it is supper time. Let’s go in the dining hall, and we’ll speak as friends.”

Jauffre joined us in the dining hall, helping himself to the platters in the middle of the table as he sat across from me and Martin. “I see you are walking better, Julian,” he said to me. My mouth too full to answer, I nodded. “Hmph,” he grunted, his own mouth rapidly filling up with food.

“Why is it,” I finally said, watching the others eat with equally ravenous appetites, “that we eat more at higher altitudes?”

Jauffre paused in his eating to consider my question. “I never thought of that,” he said finally. “But it must be the cold. We burn more fuel staying warm in this cold, thin air. That stimulates our appetites in turn.” He pointed his fork at me. “You must observe your own appetite as you go hunting for shrines, and report to me.” He wasted no further time in resuming his eating.

“Yes, Grandmaster,” I replied, smiling. “I will.” I glanced at Martin. “Would I need to do something I wouldn’t otherwise do, Sire?”

Martin considered my question for a few moments. “Yes, you might,” he said finally. “I believe some of the Daedra Lords, like Mehrunes Dagon, are inherently evil, while some of the others just - are.” He looked at me. “Azura is one of the more benign Lords,” he continued. “That’s why I recommended her Shrine. But I understand your reluctance to take on a will-o-wisp at this time.”

Martin leaned back in his chair, twirling the tumbler of wine in his hand. “If you speak with a Daedric Lord, and the task he sets for you is not to your liking, you can always refuse. Sure, you may gain the contempt of that Lord and his coven, but you can’t please everybody.”

After a few more moments, Jauffre rose and stacked his plate and fork on the nearby scratch pile. He turned to us and bowed. “It’s late, Sire, and I’m off to bed,” he said quietly.

“Good night, Grandmaster,” Martin and I murmured together. As Jauffre left, Martin turned to me. “I will study a while longer,” he said. “Perhaps you will, too?”

I thought of the books I had collected so far - The Warp in the West, The Pocket Guide to Cyrodiilic Flora, The Amulet of Kings, Mages Guild Charter, and The Fundaments of Alchemy. “There’s one or two books I’d like to finish,” I answered. “But I should be packing for the trip tomorrow. I’d like to leave at first light.”

“Very well,” Martin rose from the table as well. “If I don’t see you again before you leave, safe travels. May Akatosh guide you and watch over your path.”

“Thank you, Martin,” I stood, facing him. He surprised me by embracing me, then turned away and left the kitchen, Baurus on his heels. With a deep breath, I limped down to the armory, where I had left all my weapons and gear.

It was quite late when I finished my packing. Martin had already gone to bed by the time I returned to the Great Hall. I looked around the vaulted ceiling, seeing again the katanas of fallen Blades hung from the rafters. After a few moments, and three healing spells, I too, went to bed.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Jun 29 2010, 04:38 PM