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]

@SubRosa: I rather thought that segment would get your blood going! Damn! It felt good writing it!

@mALX: I hope you didn’t break your chair!

@Destri: That scene with the Countess passing out and no one coming to her aid just popped into my head. That bit of tongue in cheek was so genius I just had to write it in! And I wanted to point out that Draconis is not the epitome of a Legion officer that she apparently thinks she is.

@treydoggie: That entire scene in the Leyawiin Court was playing just like a movie as I was writing it. It was a lot of fun!

@Acadian: I think the Count was too shocked at Julian’s bluntness to think about arresting her. Besides, she’s there on behalf of the Countess of Bruma, a far more interesting character than the vapid lady at his side. He wouldn’t make a good impression on the Northern Countess if he did arrest her representative.

Julian does one last thing for Mazoga before resuming her Grand Circuit of Cyrodiil.

***************
Chapter 19.11 The Lodge

After lunch, we gathered our gear and headed out of Leyawiin. Paint greeted me quietly when I stopped by the stable to settle his account, but I was dismayed yet again at how much weight he had lost in a little over a week. Atahba, the Khajiit who worked in the stables, advised me that Paint still wasn’t eating well. Though I visited him every day, the news remained the same. Paint just wasn’t his old self. Again I made the decision to walk.

“What’s the use of a horse if you can’t ride him?” Mazoga asked as we trudged up the muddy road in the rain. I glanced at her. Orsimeri see horses mostly as dinner on the hoof. Especially when they’re as broken as Paint is.

“He was a loan from a friend,” I answered finally. “The prior - died, and I made a promise to Paint that he would be well cared for as long as he lives. He has been of tremendous help to me.” Paint flicked an ear at me as I ran my hand down his neck, feeling the dullness of his coat beneath my palm. “I don’t desert my friends, Mazoga. I’m certain you understand that.”

“A horse a friend?” Mazoga snorted. “All right, if you say so, Julian.” She eyed the gelding again. “But what happened to him?”

“Will o’wisp,” I shifted Daedra Slayer at my waist. As long as I remained in the swamps of the Southern Niben, I intended not to be caught off guard again. Both my plain katana and my unenchanted bow were secured to the saddle, and I carried Akatosh’s Fury at my back, strung and ready for use.

The rain had stopped and the sun raised steam from the river and the road by the time we reached our destination. The White Stallion Lodge turned out to be a shabby frame building perched on a small knoll next to the Green Road. A weathered dock sheltered the opposite side of the road. While I viewed the headquarters of our new order skeptically, Mazoga seemed delighted to have a roof she could call home. “Look! A cooking fire!” She pointed out the stone hearth just behind the building. “And a porch,” she sprang onto the creaky boards and spun to look back at me. Her eyes moved beyond. “With a river view!”

Laughter spilled from my throat. River view, indeed, I thought as I turned to look at the waters of the Niben just past the worn dock. Paint followed me to the rear of the building, where I unsaddled him and provided a bucket of water for him. Mazoga had already gone inside, leaving the door open, when I returned to the porch.

Mazoga had tossed her shields, both the Orcish round and the Leyawiin light iron oval onto the shabby wooden table in the common room. Her voice reached me from an adjacent room. “Look! There’s two beds! Plenty of room for both of us!” Dubiously I peered into the small sleeping room at the pair of disheveled cots. Motheaten blankets failed to hide the lumpiness of the thin mattresses, the transparency of the threadbare sheets, the flat pillows. Mazoga plopped herself prone on one of the beds, which creaked dangerously under her armored weight. A cloud of dust puffed up from beneath her bulky form, nearly obscuring her face. “Ahh, this feels so comfortable!”

She waved me to the other cot. “Check it out!” Warily I did so, and found spiderwebs and mouse droppings. I picked up one corner of the mattress and checked beneath it. The frayed ropes that provided support did not give me confidence. I glanced at Mazoga, her own mattress now nearly reaching the floor. If I didn’t believe she was born under a rock, I certainly do so now. Holding my breath, I gathered up the bedding and carried it outside.

“What’s wrong?” Mazoga followed me out. “Isn’t the bed comfortable for you?”

“It may be comfortable,” I muttered, crossing the road to the dock and dropping my bundle on the wooden boards, “but it’s certainly not healthy.”

An hour later, the blankets and sheets from both beds, after a prolonged bath in the Niben River, were spread out on the sunny roof to dry in the hot afternoon sun. The mattresses had been emptied of rotting rushes, thoroughly shaken out, and restuffed with dry grasses gathered on the slope behind the lodge. The cot frames had been restrung with fresh ropes we found in a chest. I had a hearty fire going in the disused fireplace in hopes of drying the last of the mold from the interior. Mazoga had opened all the windows to catch any stray breeze.

“Hello!” the voice drew my attention to the road. A Legion Rider had stopped in front of the lodge and was staring at the roof. I stepped out onto the rickety porch.

“Hello, yourself,” I stifled a grin at the bemused look beneath his helm. “I’m Julian of Anvil, and this,” I turned as Mazoga joined me on the porch, still impressive in her linen shirt and leather pants, “is Sir Mazoga. We’re Knights-Errant of the White Stallion.”

“Oh, really?” The Legion rider’s brows disappeared beneath the helm as he regarded us. “The Count found replacements?” He tapped his chest. “I’m Quintus Tibullus.”

I let the grin surface as I shook my head. “How long has this place been closed up?”

His brown gaze grew thoughtful. “Since before I started patrolling here - about five years, I think.”

“Five years?” Mazoga exclaimed. “No wonder Black Brugo moved in here!”

“Yes,” Tibullus’s gaze narrowed at us.

“He’s dead,” I assured him. “Mazoga and I took care of him back in Telepe.”

“Did you?” I could see new respect in his eyes. “That’s mighty good news. Especially considering that Oblivion Gate up the road a ways.”

I frowned. “Where?”

“North of Water’s Edge,” Tibullus jerked his thumb northwards over his shoulder, as his bay pawed at the cobblestones, sparks flying from her shoe. “It’s set back from the road, and so far the people in the settlement haven’t been bothered by it. But I’ve already encountered a stray scamp or two, and a clannfear the last time I passed it.”

“Are you and your horse okay?” I asked.

Tibullus nodded. “Aye, that we are. That clannfear was a piece of work, though.”

“Watch out for flame atronaches,” I advised. “They’re worse.”

“Yes, they’re bad enough,” Mazoga agreed. “But if you can get close to one, she’s easy meat.”

Both Tibullus and I gave Mazoga a considering glance. “Meat?” the Legion rider repeated. “More like hot coals, I imagine.”

“Hot stuff, indeed,” I put a wry tone in my voice, lifting one brow suggestively. Mazoga missed my reference, but Tibullus didn’t. He guffawed heartily, then saluted the two of us.

“Good to meet you both,” he said. “Look forward to more encounters with you.”

“Oh, I won’t be staying here,” I ignored Mazoga’s quick glance at me. “Though I intend to stop by from time to time. But I have other tasks to perform.”

“Very well,” Tibullus nodded at me, picking up his rein and smooching at his horse. As she started her easy stroll down the road, he turned back. “But I hope you keep this stretch of road clear of bandits and monsters!”

*************
“Do you really have to go on?” Mazoga asked me the next morning. “I know it’s important that you get some aid for Bruma, but your horse doesn’t look very well at all.”

“I’ll keep walking,” I replied, my heart heavy at the thought of Paint’s persistent lack of energy. “If he doesn’t get better, there’s a friend in Weye who will take excellent care of him.” After all, Paint is seventeen years old. And the past few months have been hard on him, though he had taken it all in stride. Until that will o’wisp. What did that creature do? The convalescence spells no longer work on him. “I walked everywhere when I was in the Legion,” I continued. “I just have to rebuild my marching calluses again, that’s all.”

“Will you be back, Julian?” The wistfulness in her tone drew my gaze to Mazoga. “I liked having you with me at Fisherman’s Rock, and in Telepe.”

“You’re a damn fine fighter, Mazoga,” I secured my plain weapons to Paint’s saddle. “Just be careful.” I cast a glance at the dwarven blade at her hip. “Watch out for will o’wisps. Your weapon will be useless against them.”

“Aye, but I can’t afford an enchanted blade, yet.” Mazoga responded.

I recalled the sigil stones in my pack. Martin had shown me how to identify their effects, and I was lucky to get a shock damage stone. Mazoga watched with some befuddlement as I searched through the pack. Her eyes widened at the sight of the softly glowing stone I unwrapped.

“Draw your sword and give it to me,” I said, holding my right hand out for it.

“What?” Mazoga was understandably wary of surrendering her weapon. After a moment, she apparently decided she trusted me. The dwarven blade whispered as she drew it from its scabbard and handed it to me hilt first.

I tried to remember how I had enchanted the first Daedra Slayer. Martin had enchanted my present one, as well as Akatosh’s Fury, while I was laid up from the surgery on my knee. I simply dropped the stone on the blade. That is, I think that’s what I did. I looked up at Mazoga. “I’m not sure I know how to do this, so let’s give it the old Legion try.” Her eyes widened further as I held the buzzing stone over her precious blade.

I tapped the orb against the dwarven metal. The sword groaned, but the stone did not disappear. I closed my eyes and searched my memory again. This time, when I tried again, I let the full weight of the heavy globe drop onto the blade. Energy sizzled through the bones of my hand and wrist, and the weapon sang that discordant tone I remembered. I looked down to see my empty hand resting on the blade, which now glowed with a soft argent light.

I hefted the blade, getting a feel for its balance, then tested it on a nearby shrub. Lightning flared, and a small thunderclap followed, splitting the woody branches and throwing sparks. Paint threw his head up and snorted, and Mazoga stumbled backwards.

“Gods’ goolies!” she swore. “What in ‘blivion did you do?”

I took the blade in my still-tingling hand and extended its hilt to Mazoga. “You have an enchanted sword now.” I smiled as she stared at the weapon disbelievingly. “It should make quick work of any will o’wisps you find.” As her hand slowly grasped the hilt, I released the heavy sword into her grip. “Mind you, it needs recharging from time to time. If you find filled soul gems, use them. Otherwise, go see Agata at the Mages Guild in Leyawiin. Tell her I sent you, and she’ll take care of it for you. She’s expensive, though.”

The big Orsimer stared wordlessly at me. Finally she took a deep breath. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she exclaimed. “Thanks, Julian. You’re a real pal!”

I reached up and clapped her on one broad shoulder. “I’ll see you next time I come this way. In the meantime, remember to say please if you want something!”