Old Habits Die Hard Part Four, old habits really do die hard Options

[haute ecole rider]

In Thread Four we continue Julian’s adventures with Chapter 19. Brace yourself!

For those joining the party late, here are links to the previous three threads:

Chapters 1 through 7
Chapters 8 through 13
Chapters 14 through 18

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Chapter 19.1 Leyawiin Mages Guild

Jenseric would have found out by now that his name is cleared with the Watch. My mind returned to my interview with Hieronymus Lex. After I returned to the Imperial City with Seridur’s armor and claymore, I had reported the situation to Lex. He had agreed to send a messenger to Jenseric’s cabin to let the man know the outcome. Then I had sought healing from Jeelius in case I had contracted porphyric hemophilia.

That had been yesterday. I did not linger long, but instead returned to Paint and the Yellow Road south from the east coast of Lake Rumare. We had spent the night at the Imperial Bridge Inn before resuming our travel along the east side of the Niben Bay.

Paint threw his head up, his hooves clattering to a halt on the cobblestones. I looked down the twisting Yellow Road. The rain reduced visibility to less than a couple hundred meters. I dismounted when Paint remained tense, his ears flicking back and forth, his nostrils fluttering. What is it? Wolf? Troll? Spriggan? His reaction suggested it was something he had never seen before. I stepped forward, my katana ready.

A sizzling sound reached my ears, then a swirl of sparks coalesced in mid-air between me and Paint. The gelding tossed his head and stepped back as the will o’wisp solidified into its visible form. Cacat! Reflexively my katana leaped toward its glow, passing through it without any visible effect.

Paint whinnied and reared as a crackling bolt of orange lightning joined the will o’wisp to him. Flame-colored reflections sparked off the hilt of Daedra Slayer, attached to the cantle. I sheathed the katana and called on Domina Incendia to try and distract the insubstantial creature. As the will o’wisp slowly rotated in response to the flame atronach’s fireballs, I ran past it to Paint, who backed away, trembling violently. I laid a soothing hand on his shoulder and reached for my enchanted katana. Sliding it out of its scabbard, I turned around in time to see Domina Incendia dissolve from the will o’wisp’s counterattack.

Fortunately, Daedra Slayer proved as effective against the flame-shaped monster as it did against the vicious Dremora I had faced in the Deadlands. A few swings of its fiery blade dissipated the last energy of this foe, leaving behind softly glowing embers on the cobblestones.

A groan behind me spun me around. I watched horrified as Paint slowly crumpled to the slick surface of the road, his labored breaths loud in the pouring rain. “No!” As I ran to him, his head lowered to the stones, and his respiration slowed. Falling to my knees, I dropped Daedra Slayer at my side and laid my hands on his arched neck, tangling my fingers in his mane. I felt the overpowering weakness in his body as I called on my remaining magicka. The convalescence spell drained the last of my energy, and all I accomplished was a mild improvement in his stertorous breathing.

Frantically I searched in the saddle bags for the vials of magicka restoration I had purchased in the Imperial City. Finding them, I fumbled one out and hastily drank it down. Feeling the surge of energy in my core, I forced myself to calm, laying my hands on Paint’s still trembling form. I leaned my cheek on his smooth coat. “Paint, stay with me,” I whispered, concentrating on another convalescence spell. His breathing smoothed out, but the tremoring and weakness persisted.

It took all my willpower to fight back the terror I felt when I realized I might lose my traveling companion. Don’t die, Paint. You have to get up. You have to walk with me to Leyawiin. We can’t stay here in the wilderness. I drank another potion and cast another spell to help him recover.

Six vials, my entire supply of restore magicka potions, lay empty on the cobblestones, and I was shaking with the repeated spell-casting before Paint attempted to rise. His first attempt was unsuccessful, and left him blowing hard. The second try was better, and he swayed on his feet, muscles tremoring as if from a hard gallop over a long distance. Paint was too weak to lift his chiseled head, and his round brown eyes were half-closed and sunken into his skull. I rose to my feet, my hands on his shoulder as if trying to hold him up. When I was certain he wouldn’t collapse again, I gathered the empty vials, stowing them into the saddlebags. I strapped my plain katana to my back, and removed the scabbard for Daedra Slayer, attaching it to my belt at my left hip. My plain steel bow was traded for Akatosh’s Fury, which I strung and made ready in case of more of these dangerous creatures.

I led Paint off the road down to the river bank. The mud crabs clattered away from us as I gathered wood. Paint drank from the Niben, then stood motionless, his head low, while I made a rough hearth and built a fire. I watched him anxiously as I added wood to the flames. I have some restore health potions in the pack, but how to get him to drink them? How many potions would be effective for a horse his size? I could feel my magicka slowly replenishing. As Paint did not seem to worsen, I decided to wait until my energy was fully returned and try another convalescence spell again.

The night passed with agonizing slowness as I sat with Paint. Every time my magicka replenished to its full strength, I would cast a convalescence spell on him. I dozed fitfully in between, torn between the need to reach Leyawiin as quickly as possible and my promise to the deceased Prior who had so generously given me such a wonderful traveling companion. The rain soaked me to the skin, but I paid it no mind.

By the time the overcast sky lightened with the dawn, Paint was no longer trembling, and was able to walk, albeit slowly. His head remained low, and his eyes did not sparkle with his usual humor. He showed little interest in the grass at his feet, and did not snatch at the edible forage as we slowly walked back to the road.

Though I cast convalescence on him whenever my magicka replenished, I could not restore Paint’s vigor or strength. To spare him, I walked down the Yellow Road, leading him behind me and stopping often to let him rest.

The shadows of Leyawiin appeared through the rain a few hours later as we trudged along the Yellow Road. The city, built on the west bank of the southern Niben, seemed to disappear within its surroundings of black oaks and bald cypresses draped with tillandsia - better known as hangman’s moss, according to the Guide to Cyrodiilic Flora. The stuff was everywhere, giving the trees a sinister appearance in the rain.

As I approached this newest city in Cyrodiil, I caught my breath in dismay to find - not one, but two - Oblivion Gates crackling ominously on the eastern banks of the Niben, across from Leyawiin. I was reluctant to bring my horse down to the eastern city gate, not with daedra swarming the road nearby.

After we backtracked up the river to a bridge, I brought Paint around to the far side of the city, where I found a stable. The Khajiit Atahba assured me that she would do the best she could for my weakened horse. She purred soothingly to the gelding as she led him within the shed. The knot of worry in my chest remained as I reluctantly put him out of my mind and focused on my mission.

When I entered the city, I decided to head to the Mages Guild first, and get a feel for the situation. I had never been to Leyawiin before, and knew next to nothing about its Count, Marius Caro.

Entering the Guild chapter house, I was glad to find it dry and not too warm. A young Nord, somewhat taller than me, turned around from the library table set in the center of the hall. After he laid the broadsheet down, he greeted me, putting his hands together and giving me a half-bow. “Greetings, ma’am. Kalthar, mage journeyman. How may I help you?”

I eyed him warily. Though his greeting seemed friendly enough, I thought I saw discontentment in his black eyes and beetling brows. “I’m Julian from Anvil,” speaking slowly, I watched him. This anger of his is not directed at me. “I’ve just joined the Guild, and am gathering recommendations to gain admission to the University.” Aha, there it is.

Kalthar’s gaze turned even darker as his brows drew together into a furry caterpillar. “Oh, boy, good luck getting that,” he muttered. “You’d need to talk to Dagail about that. Only thing is, do you even want to?”

Schooling my face to remain bland, I frowned inwardly at his attitude. What’s with this Mages Guild? Open hostility and overt disrespect for one’s superiors? This would never last ten seconds in the Legion! “Where can I find her, sir?”

He pointed up to a flying passage above the main floor, connecting the two wings at the second level. “She’s up there, pretending to read.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said to him, seeing the scowl ease on his face. Moving to the staircase at the back of the hall, I climbed slowly up the steps. When I reached the landing, I looked around. An aged Bosmer woman sat quietly, book open in her lap, her gaze on some distant horizon visible only to her.

After I set my pack on the floor some distance away, I walked quietly to the bench and sat down next to the old woman. “Dagail, ma’am?”

“Hmm?” she turned her head to me, her ancient gaze still remote. “You seek wisdom from me, child?”

“I’m Julian, from Anvil,” I began, uncomfortable with the way she seemed to stare through me. “I’m looking for the chapter head, Dagail.”

“No, you seek words,” the old mer spoke, her voice as faraway as her gaze. “Words are . . . difficult. I hear so many voices, so loud I can not hear the words they say.” Now her faded eyes seemed to focus on me. “Will you lift your hands to help another? Will you help me find the word?”

Puzzled, I considered my answer. A seer? “Yes, I’ll help,” I said finally.

She smiled at me. “Then speak to Agata, child. She will see the path, and set you upon it.”

“Hello?” a more grounded voice reached me. I looked up at a plain Nord woman, her worn face showing a concern that I felt was not for me. I introduced myself and explained my purpose. She waved for me to follow her into the north wing. After retrieving my pack, I followed her through a heavy paneled door. As she closed the door behind us, she gestured for me to proceed ahead of her into a small room containing two beds. “Put your things there for now,” she said. “I’m Agata,” she continued. “I help Dagail with the administrative tasks. You may have noticed that she’s -” her eyes shifted uneasily, “- not well.”

“She mentioned voices, and trouble finding the word,” I said. “She did tell me to talk to you about it.”

Agata sighed and sat on the other bed, motioning for me to do the same. “She has visions, you see,” she looked down at her roughened hands. “They’ve been helpful in the past, but now they have become problematic. She had an amulet,” her fingers touched her breast, where such a piece of jewelry would lie, “a family heirloom that helped her focus these visions. Without it, all she sees and hears is chaos.”

“And she has lost it?” I asked quietly, fingering the Jewel of the Rumare on my little finger. It had become such a part of me, I never thought to remove it. It allowed me to swim long distances underwater without surfacing, and had served me well in Cheydinhal. It also reminded me of my good friend, who loved Paint as much as I did. Sadness at the thought of his condition choked my throat, and I forced it away with a swallow. Looking up in time to see Agata’s nod, I considered the situation. “Have you spoken to the other mages about it?”

“I’ve tried to keep it from them, for fear they would be less - accepting of her.”

“Of Dagail, or of her authority?” I asked, thinking of Kalthar.

Agata considered my words. “Both,” she said finally. “Dagail had a good reputation within the guild, and was valuable to the Council of Mages. But as she became older, she became less coherent. The Council sent her here.” She rose and paced to the leaded window, looking out at the rainy day outside. “There are some here who resent her presence, and wish she’d disappear.” She shot me a fierce glance. “I do not. I am proud to help her with her daily tasks.”

“Well,” I said after a moment, “I promised Dagail that I would help her.” I rose to my feet and started pulling out my civilian clothing. Fortunately the bag had kept everything dry. “Let me change, and I can get started.” I glanced at Agata, already unbuckling the cuirass. “There are a couple of things I need to do in town,” I paused to shrug the armor off with a soft susurrus of mail. “But I keep my promises.”

“Talk to the other mages, see if they know anything about the Seer’s Stone,” Agata moved away from the window. “That’s what Dagail calls her amulet.”

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Oct 13 2010, 03:17 PM

[haute ecole rider]

@mALX: I think I have briefly mentioned the Sunbird Dance. It’s something original to OHDH - it is not found in the game nor is it found in the Lore. I felt that the world of Julian’s Nirn needed something along the lines of the martial arts disciplines found throughout Asian history, especially China, Korea and Japan.

@Acadian: I felt that Julian’s sojourn in Leyawiin was a perfect time to pause and take stock of how much she has learned to use magic in her combat. After years of fighting as part of a cohort, she has had to learn how to fight on her own, and it’s a whole different ball game.

@SubRosa: Thanks, Sage! I tried to bring up a little more of Julian’s training, both conventional and unconventional, here in this segment. It’s a challenge picking and choosing what to show and what to tell, especially with so many Oblivion Gates and dungeons. It all gets boring after the first couple or so . . .

@Destri: I wasn’t about to let Kalthar go down without a good fight, so I gave him the knowledge of the thu’um. As for Daedra Slayer, well, that’s further proof of what I call the umbrella theory!

@trey: Thanks! I’m glad you enjoyed the little extra power I gave Kalthar. It scared the crap out of Julian when she realized what he was trying to do. Imagine the power of that Voice in such cramped quarters!

Julian meets the wiliest Count evah. A shout out to our Paladin for crystallizing a certain female character for me. Forgive me, I borrowed heavily from your version because it fit my impression so well. And we also meet my favorite Orc.

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Chapter 19.4 The Master Negotiator

The next morning, I walked into the County Hall, dressed in my newly repaired armor. Tun-Zeeus had restored the luster to Matius’s mailed cuirass and the keen edge to my katana. No longer grumpy, I strode between the young guards in the antechamber, down to the main floor. The sight of more stairs rising to lead back into the County Hall proper did not strike dismay into my heart, as once they would have.

A tall female Orc turned from her study of the white horse emblem on the tapestries at the side of the hall to regard me. Clad in Orcish armor, she struck an imposing figure with her dark bronze round shield and her intimidating gaze. She watched me, her expression unreadable, as I followed the long green strip leading from the exterior to the steps at the rear of the entry hall.

The guards were easy to read, however, as they eyed my progress toward the throne room at the rear of the main Castle. Mostly young Imperial men, they regarded me with a mixture of scorn and contempt. Here my white hair and the Kvatch Wolf on my breast means nothing to them. I didn’t know whether to be relieved at their apparent ignorance of my status as the Hero of Kvatch, or be insulted by their overt disrespect. Oh well, we’ll see.

In the County Hall proper, I paused just within the entrance. Before me, clusters of dignitaries and officiates moved around the large chamber. Conversations murmured in hushed whispers. Something’s not right here - I studied the occupants intently. Mostly Imperials and Altmer. My gaze drifted upward to the balcony, where I spotted a female Argonian clad in plain linens watching the activity below. She caught my gaze and started for the stairs leading down to the main floor.

As I watched her glide down the steps, it struck me what had felt so wrong about the County Hall. No Khajiits or Argonians here. But Leyawiin is mostly Khajiits and Argonians! And no Dunmer, Bosmer, or Redguard here, either. And that Orsimer out in the entry hall -

“Welcome to County Leyawiin,” the Argonian greeted me when she reached my place near the door. “I am On-Sstaya Ssundew, Ssteward of Casstle Leyawiin.” She bowed low to me. “And Chief Advissor to Count Caro - in theory.” Her tone took on a slight edge of bitterness.

“In theory?” I repeated, meeting her orange gaze and lowering my tone to keep below the soft susurrus of conversation among the occupants.

On-Staya shrugged her slender shoulders. “Leyawiin hass alwayss been a melting pot of racess and culturess,” she answered softly. She moved to the side, leading me to a quiet corner away from everyone else, including the guards. “Of course, racial and cultural differencess produce inefficienciess and confussion.”

“Of course,” I responded. It’s the same in the Legion, until we learn to put the Legion first. “I need to speak with Count Caro,” I continued. “It’s a matter of urgency.”

“I fear Countess Leyawiin and Hlidara Mothril plan to push the minoritiess asside and establish a bland, Imperial-dominated culture here in Leyawiin,” On-Staya spoke solemnly. “For that reason, I warn you, be cautiouss when sspeaking to the Count.” Her eyes drifted toward the two thrones, where two Imperials sat, a tall brunette Altmer standing before them. “Milady has banned the beast folk from the County Hall. I am an exception only becausse I have sserved the Count’ss father before him.” She met my gaze again. “And she needss little excuse to ban otherss that don’t meet her white-bread sstandardss as well.”

I felt my jaw clench at the Argonian’s words. “Who is Hlidara Mothril?” I asked. The Argonian indicated the Altmer woman I had noticed standing near the Countess.

“Sshe is Milady’s advisor,” On-Staya answered, her tone becoming hard again.

Turning to face the Argonian, I held her orange gaze. “Will you announce me, please?”

“Of coursse,” On-Staya inclined her head gracefully. “How shall I announce you, ma’am?”

“I am Julian of Anvil,” I responded. “On a mission of some urgency.”

She regarded me a moment longer, then bowed. “Very well,” she said finally. “Follow me, and I shall do the besst I can.” Turning from me, she weaved her way through the Imperials and Altmer crowding the hall, leading me to the dais. They looked at her with gazes ranging from neutral curiosity to hostility. My spine straightened further under their assessing looks as I followed the graceful Argonian.

“My lord Count,” she paused at the foot of the dais. “Here iss Julian of Anvil, with an urgent message.” The murmuring voices fell into silence at her clear words. The Countess, a young Imperial with a haughty demeanor, looked at her with thinly veiled irritation, her nostrils flaring.

At her side, the balding Count laid a beringed hand on her arm, not taking his eyes from Sundew. His brown gaze moved from the Argonian to me. Marius Caro regarded me silently for several moments, taking in my appearance with calculation in his expression.

Will he listen to me? The atmosphere in the County Hall was chilly, with a cold that did not come from the damp stones. “My lord Count,” I began, searching for the words that would convince him of the urgency of my mission. “Oblivion Gates have been opening up across Cyrodiil. A Great Gate has led to the destruction of Kvatch, and there is evidence that the next Great Gate will be opened at Bruma.” A murmuring of voices drifted around the Hall, and the Count’s eyes dropped to the Wolf on my breast. Again silence fell when Caro raised his hand.

“A Great Gate?” he murmured, his voice falling like silken spider threads into the hush. “And the Gates that stand open outside our walls are not such?”

“You may want to thank Zenithar that they are not, sir,” I answered. “They are frightening, and dangerous enough on their own, but they are too small to let their siege engines through. They would need to open three such Gates in order to bring up a Great Gate.”

“There are two!” someone exclaimed behind me. “One more and we will be next, not Bruma!”

“No,” I shook my head, not looking for the speaker. Keeping my eyes on Caro, I continued, “No, sir, Leyawiin will not be next. However, Leyawiin will fall eventually, if we do not stop the Oblivion assault at Bruma.”

“Then we will pray to the Nine that Bruma will stand against the daedra,” Caro’s gaze shifted beyond me, and I knew he was meeting eye contact with the other. “And we will hold fast here.”

“The Bruma Watch has learned how to close the Gates, and will do so as each gate opens.” I resumed speaking when the hall fell quiet again. “Yet there will be casualties, and eventually Bruma will fall. And when Bruma falls, so will the other cities, sir.” I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “Bruma asks the other cities for help reinforcing their garrison, sir. The longer they can hold out, the better the chances for beating the daedra in the end.”

The plain-faced Countess leaned sharply to Caro’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. Though I could not catch what she said, I could hear the venom in her tone. Mothril turned to me, looking down at me from her greater height.

“Pardon me, Julian of Anvil,” she said quietly, her voice and expression neutral. “Tell me, what experience do you have of closing Oblivion Gates?” My mind blanked. How many have I closed now? Eight? Nine?

“I taught the Bruma Watch how to close them,” I answered finally. The Altmer’s gaze dropped to the Wolf emblazoned on my surcoat.

“And you closed the Great Gate at Kvatch,” she added simply. With a nod to herself, she turned back to the thrones, where the Countess still whispered in Caro’s ear. His eyes were downcast, but his expression bore weary patience. “My lord Count,” Mothril’s soft voice ended the Countess’s whispered tirade. “I believe that Julian of Anvil knows too well what she speaks of.”

“And that is precisely what I am afraid of,” Caro responded, his eyes sharpening on me. “We have two Gates standing outside our east walls. If a third one opens, Leyawiin is lost.” He shook his head. “I simply can not spare the men at the moment.” Now those deceptively mild brown eyes hardened on me. “If we did not have those Gates, I would not hesitate to send aid to Bruma.”

My heart sank. In that moment, I knew what I had to do. Close two more Gates. The sigh stifled in my throat, I raised my right fist to my breast in the traditional Legion salute. “I understand, my lord Count,” I spoke quietly into the hush. “Farewell, sir, milady,” I nodded at the young Imperial. Turning sharply on my heel, I walked out of the Hall, the crowd parting before me.

As I entered the short passage connecting the County Hall with the entry hall, I heard the Count’s voice behind me. “I hope to see you again, Julian of Anvil!” My step faltered as I glanced back. He met my gaze across the Hall, still seated on his throne, the Countess staring at him. His bald pate shimmered as he inclined his head at me.

When I turned back to the entry hall, I saw the armored bulk of the Orsimer standing in the doorway, barred from further progress by the crossed halberds of the guards posted there. Her black eyes were on me, and I realized she had heard everything from the County Hall. She stepped back as I drew near, and the guards uncrossed their weapons to let me by.

“You’re the Hero of Kvatch, aren’t you?” the Orsimer said as I passed her. A sharp glance revealed that I didn’t need to answer. She fell into step beside me, her Orcish armor clattering as she matched my long stride. “You’re going to close those two Gates?”

“Looks that way,” I murmured. Her next words caught me off guard.

“If I help you close those Gates, will you help me?”

At the bottom of the steps leading out of the entry hall, I faced the green mer, tipping my head back to meet her gaze. “What is your name, ma’am?” I asked.

“Sir Mazoga,” she responded, becoming defensive. My brows rose at her as I considered the lack of a patronymic. “Yes, I’m Mazoga. I was born under a rock and have no parents, so I don’t need a last name,” she added, scowling. “I’m a knight, so that means you have to address me as such.”

“A knight, Sir Mazoga?” I repeated. “A knight of Leyawiin?”

“No!” Mazoga’s scowl blackened further. “I’m a free knight. I don’t have a lord. You got a problem with that?”

“What do you need my help with, Sir Mazoga?” I decided to humor her, at least for the time being. I needed all my strength for two Oblivion Gates.

“You got in to see the Count,” she said, her scowl lightening a little. “I’ve been standing here waiting for three days, and they won’t let me in!”

With manners like that, I’m not surprised. What may work in the Wrothgarians likely won’t get her far here. “And you need to speak to the Count?” I asked.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “So if I help you close those Gates, will you help me see the Count?”

This time, I did not stifle the sigh in my throat. “Can you sneak quietly?” I asked her.

“I can fight!” she drew herself up to her fullest, most formidable height. I had to admit that she looked very menacing just then. “I don’t need to sneak around!” She slapped the tall hilt of the Dwarven longsword at her hip.

“I don’t doubt you can fight well,” I countered, turning and heading up the steps. As I expected, she fell into step beside me. “But running into the Deadlands swinging and slashing that big blade of yours will only end badly.” As I pushed the right hand door open, I waved for Mazoga to exit ahead of me.

“I can fight with the best of them!” Mazoga was nothing if not stubborn.

“I’m sure you can,” I replied, glancing up at the drizzle falling around us. “But the best have tried that, and have paid the ultimate price for that.” I lowered my eyes to meet Mazoga’s gaze levelly. “I closed that Great Gate at Kvatch by sneaking around,” I continued quietly, stepping down the stairs. “I’ve only gotten better in my stealth skills since then. It’s the only way to get through the daedra.”

“But I want to help!” the big Orsimer would not give up. “I need your help!”

“Well, it’ll take me about a day for each Gate,” I mused, heading for the East Gate. “I can’t be certain daedra aren’t coming out of the Gates while I’m in the Deadlands. You can help me clear the area around each Gate, then watch for any daedra coming through while I’m in there.”

“I can do that!” Mazoga slammed her right fist into her left palm for emphasis, her gauntlets clashing loudly. Eyeing her gear, I met her gaze.

“Your equipment in good repair, Sir Mazoga?” I already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it.

“Yes!”

“Then let’s go.”