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: Julian wants to leave Paint where she can visit him more often. That would mean Weye (close to her charming shack on the Waterfront) or Cloud Ruler Temple. She is opting for Merowald because the climate is kinder to aged horses, not to mention the lovely little paddock with the grand old oak tree next to his house.

@Foxy: I assume you are speaking of the magicka-depleting effect of the will o’wisp? I looked it up on wiki, and thought, a-ha! In shamanistic traditions, shamans heal the soul, while healers heal the body. I figured this was the same thing, or similiar.

@Acadian: You have the right of it: Paint’s days as Julian’s traveling companion on the roads of Cyrodiil are over. She will not risk his life more than she has to.

@SubRosa: Thanks!

@Remko: Long time no see! I’m glad to know that you’re still reading my fan fic. I hear you about Paint and Mazoga.

@treydog: I’ve always written what I can imagine, rather than what I know, but what I know has a tendency to creep into my writing from time to time.

@Destri: I think the people of Bravil do recognize the gem that graces the Chapel of Mara, it’s just that their appreciation runs quieter and deeper than mere singing of praises.

@Doommeister: Welcome to Chorrol! I’m glad to see that you have stopped reading long enough to tell me how much you like Julian’s story. I hope that you will continue to enjoy this as I continue with the Main Quest.

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Chapter 20.3 Count Terentius

Viera Lerus greeted me within the great hall. “Good morning Julian.” She looked closer at my face. “Didn’t you get much rest last night?”

I shook my head. “I did sleep well, but I was at the stables with Marz just now, learning how to cast a restore magicka spell on touch.”

“Ah, yes, your horse,” Lerus nodded her understanding. “Frederick told me the two of you had some bad luck on the road.” She turned and led me toward the dais at the rear of the hall. “I hope he gets better, Julian.”

I hope so too. This morning he had shown some interest in the apple I offered him, though he only lipped at the pieces. However Branck reported to Marz and me that Paint had eaten the bran mash last night after Marz had cast her spell on him. When I looked at him this morning, I thought his eye looked a little brighter, not quite so sunken. Still, the change was so subtle, I wasn’t certain if I was imagining things.

We waited behind a man, a Breton by his fair coloring and High Rock accent, while he complained of the lack of fishing in the bay. “The schools are getting smaller and scarcer,” he demonstrated shrinkage with his hands. “I ‘ave to go further and further away from the walls to find ‘ealthy fish. And just the other day, I was almost beset by pirates!”

Count Regulus Terentius, a bored expression on his face, shrugged. “Your fishing problems are not my concern. Your inability to pay your taxes are.”

“But Count!” the Breton spread his hands helplessly. “If I can’t fish, I can’t make enough to pay my taxes, let alone feed my family!”

The count waved him away impatiently. As the Breton stumped dejectedly away, Terentius’s jaded gaze fell on us, and a flicker of resentment mingled with recognition passed through his slack-featured face as we stepped forward. “What is it, Lerus?” His tone held overt contempt for the lean woman at my left side.

“This is Julian of Anvil,” Lerus kept her voice commendably calm. “She is the person responsible for closing the Oblivion Gate in the old Bravil Fort ruins.”

He regarded me with disinterested eyes. “I’m rather busy,” his breath huffed as he sipped at the goblet in his hand. I glanced around the great hall. It was empty of citizens. Fathis Aren, standing off to one side, arched a disdainful brow at me as he nodded in silent acknowledgment. “I doubt you have anything,” the count’s additional words drew my attention back to him, “to tell me that I’d want to hear.”

Lerus’s advice from last night fresh in my mind, I bowed to the Count. “Good morning, sir. I come with a message from Countess Narina Carvain of Bruma.”

Terentius’s brows rose. “Really?” His tone held less contempt and more interest. He set the wine on the small table next to his seat. “And how is the old girl these days?”

“Holding up, sir,” I kept my voice neutral. “These Oblivion Gates that are opening outside her walls are occupying much of her attention. There is evidence that the Mythic Dawn has selected Bruma as their next target for the Oblivion siege engine.”

“Indeed,” Count Terentius shook his head, his brown hair glimmering in the firelight from the braziers on either side of his high-backed throne. “Do send her my sympathy and my regards.”

“Countess Carvain would ask for more from you, sir,” I held his gaze steadily. Remember what Lerus said. He asked Carvain to marry him years ago, and she refused. But he still holds a torch for her. “She asks for reinforcements for her garrison. It is her hope to keep closing the Oblivion Gates as fast as they open. That would prevent a Great Gate, such as that which overpowered Kvatch, from opening on the plain in front of Bruma.”

The man’s brown gaze flickered from me to Viera Lerus. A small smile of triumph appeared on his face. “Do not think me ungrateful, Julian of Anvil,” he remarked casually. “Your selfless act of closing the Gate in the fort ruins outside our walls has not gone unremarked. Let me show my gratitude by sending my Captain of the Guard to Bruma.”

Beside me, Lerus stiffened. “Sir, I can’t leave -”

“Yes, you can,” Count Terentius nodded. “After all, you have a competent second in Thalberg, do you not? He is perfectly capable of managing the Guard in your absence.”

I narrowed my eyes at the count as Lerus inhaled slowly. “Are you sending Captain Lerus by herself, sir?” I asked.

His smile grew wider. “Ah, yes, indeed. Captain Lerus is a fine warrior and worth three of my Guard.” Now he grew serious. “And I can not take any chances at leaving the town undefended should another Gate open outside our walls.” His tone brooked no further argument.

“Many thanks,” I said, bowing to him again. Big help you are. If you want to impress Countess Carvain, this isn’t the way to do it.

“Have a safe trip!” Terentius waved us away, reaching for the wine goblet at his elbow. I caught Lerus’s angry glare and jerked my head toward the tall doors leading outside. Her jaw clenched, she took her frustrations out on the russet and gold carpet that led us to the portal. As the sentries hurried to open the doors for us, I turned to Lerus.

“There’s no reason for me to stay in Bravil any longer,” I said quietly. “How soon can you leave? Perhaps we can travel together as far as Weye.”

“I don’t have a horse, I’ll only slow you down,” Lerus shrugged. I shook my head.

“Paint isn’t well enough for me to ride him,” I met her gaze. “You won’t be the one slowing me down. I can appreciate some help keeping the predators away from him.” And I’d like time to speak freely with you, Lerus.

“All right, give me an hour, then,” Lerus agreed, her irritation at Count Terentius easing a little. “It’ll be good to get out of Bravil.”

***************
I was already at the stable with Branck and Bienne getting Paint ready for the long walk back to Weye when Lerus joined us. “You’d best break it up over a couple of days,” Bienne advised me. “Stop at the Faregyl Inn for the evening. It’s an easy walk from here,” she squinted up at the late morning sun, “and you should get there before dark barring any delays on the road. It’s off the road a bit, but the fare’s hearty, and Alix Lencolia, the blademaster there, knows his equines.” She pressed a couple of pieces of folded parchment into my hand. “One of these is for him, the other is for the person you’ll be leaving Paint with at Weye. They contain the recipes for the bran mash we’ve been giving him.” She smiled at me. “He had another meal of it after you left, and we were able to get a vial of restore magicka down him that way.”

“Thank you so much for all your help,” I could feel a further easing of that knot in the pit of my stomach. Paint did indeed look improved after the second spellcasting. He held his head up higher, and seemed curious about Viera Lerus. She opened the gate as I led Paint out, his saddle bristling with Thornblade, Daedra Slayer and both bows. “You’ve got quite the collection of weaponry there,” she remarked. I glanced at her after I waved good bye to Branck and Bienne.

“I’m leaving one of the blades at my house on the Waterfront,” I said after we reached the cobblestones that marked the Green Road. “It was a gift, and I’m told it’s a very valuable weapon. But it’s a bit heavy after these katanas, so I’ll put it aside for now.”

We were silent as we walked north toward the ridge that marked the upper end of the Niben Bay floodplain. The sun was warm on our backs, the breeze in our faces a cool harbinger of winter. The trees around us hid deer, the occasional wolf, and boar within their shadowy embrace. Paint’s hooves clopped slowly on the stones as he walked with his head between us. I was reminded of the time Martin and I walked to Weynon Priory from Kvatch. The slow easy pace of our walk had been a peaceful interlude between the chaos of Kvatch and the tragedy that struck Weynon Priory on our arrival.

The climb up the steep ridge was hard for Paint, but he followed us gamely. When we reached the top, he was blowing hard. As Marz had taught me, I laid my fingers against his jaw behind the bit, where I could feel his pulse. Though elevated from the exertion, his heart rate dropped quickly to a more normal pace. I made him stand still for a few minutes while I recalled the restore magicka spell the healer of Mara had taught me.

“Put your handss on Paint’ss ribss, jusst behind the shoulder. Feel hiss heart beat, and the air moving through hiss lungss.” Marz placed my hands in the appropriate place on Paint’s side. He swung his head around and bumped my shoulder gently with his nose. “Thiss iss hiss core, the ssource of hiss magicka. Let your heart beat match hiss, your breath match hiss.” I closed my eyes and concentrated on my hands. “Once both of you are in tune with each other, find hiss core. It can be a flame of white light, or a concentration of heat, or ssome other thing. But you will know it by the way it beatss in time with hiss heart and yourss.” Behind my eyelids, I saw a tiny white spark that flickered feebly. Though my hands still rested on Paint’s warm coat, I reached through him toward that faint flame. I could feel the merest hint of warmth beyond that of flesh and blood. “Touch hiss core with one hand, and find your own with the other. When you touch your own core, energy will flow from you to him. It will alwayss flow from sstrongesst to weakesst, as water will flow from high to low, and warmth will flow from the fire to the cold sstone.”

As Marz spoke in her singsong hiss, I became aware of my own white flame, a modest fire like the hearty crackle of a campfire. With my soul’s left hand cupping Paint’s spark, my other hand moved over my own core. As my palm touched my magicka, it surged high, arcing through my arm, through my body, and down to that feeble flare. Like a lava flow in the Deadlands, the argent energy flowed from me to Paint. Before long my own fire was diminished, and his had grown, until they were equal to each other, as our heart beats and our breaths matched. Paint shifted under my physical hands, and I opened my eyes, losing the contact. I found myself leaning on him, my forehead resting against his back.

“Do you feel ssuddenly weak?” Marz steadied me with her gentle hands.

“Like I’ve cast several healing spells in a row,” I murmured. “Is that what it is? I give Paint some of my own magicka?”

“Yess, that iss exactly what it iss,” Marz’s voice held encouragement. “As your magicka replenishess, you’ll be able to give him more. He will alsso begin to regenerate his own.”

As the memory of the lesson passed through my mind, I regarded Paint. His own hard breathing subsided to a quiet respiration. Lerus watched me as I glanced around at the forest. “Is he all right?” She caught my gaze.

“I’d like to repeat that magicka spell I learned,” I watched her expression. “But it takes all my concentration -”

“Say no more,” Lerus drew her steel sword, its blade catching the sunlight. “I’ll keep watch.” She backed away from us, stopping a few paces in front of Paint.

“Thanks,” I said. Slipping my hands beneath the saddle near the girth, I closed my eyes and concentrated on Marz’s lesson. Again I found Paint’s magicka, again I poured my own into his core until his flame grew a bit stronger, and mine was a bit weaker. This time, I was prepared for the weakness when I opened my eyes. Paint stood quietly, his head turned toward me, his dark eye watching me. When I felt strong enough to stand on my own two feet, I rubbed his neck. As I took his rein, he swung his muzzle against my cheek and blew softly onto my neck, making me shudder.

Lerus sheathed her sword as we approached, her eyes on me assessing. “I think it’s helping, for what it’s worth, Julian.”

“I hope so,” I answered as she fell into step at Paint’s right side.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Nov 4 2010, 03:40 PM