Old Habits Die Hard Part Five, New habits? Or just old ones recycled? Options

[haute ecole rider]

It's now time to start a new thread for Julian of Anvil. Now that she returns to her hometown, it's rather appropriate to start a new thread to celebrate!

Thanks to all who have read and posted input on Julian's story.

For those coming in late, if you've got the time, here are links to the previous threads:

Chapters One through Seven
Chapters Eight through Thirteen
Chapters Fourteen through Eighteen
Chapters Nineteen through Twenty-two

I hope you continue to enjoy this story as Julian works toward the inevitable conclusion!

[haute ecole rider]

@Olen: It’s funny, but Skingrad seemed like a good place to recall where Julian was and how far she’s traveled in the past two months of the story. I really enjoyed Sinderion, I’ve had college professors like him. Fortunately my faculty advisor was a lot more practical than Sinderion!

@SubRosa: The mulled wine was for Fortran, rather than Julian. Akatosh knows Fortran has earned it! I figured he was more the beer type, but this is Skingrad!

@Acadian: I would melt in the Kitchen Stadium against the likes of Cat Cora and Bobby Flay! I’m glad you were able to identify those unnamed inn patrons. And I didn’t have Else attack Julian (as she does in-game) because of something Olen said waaaay back in Chapter 13.

Anvil has been the toughest town to write. Julian has so much history here - after all, she was born and raised in that old farm overlooking Anvil and the Strid River. Here she will meet old friends from her childhood, and renew old acquaintances, not all of them good. And here, we finally begin to see the shape of her past, and the reasons she didn’t stay in Anvil when she was discharged from the Legion four years ago.

Chapter 23.1 Return to Anvil

“Thanks for your help, ma’am,” the Legion soldier slumped onto a nearby boulder. “I’ve never seen so many daedra in my life!”

“There were a lot of them,” I agreed. More than I usually see around a Gate. What’s so special about this one? “At least you can get a break.” I was as tired as he was. From where we stood on the Gold Road, I could see the tiled roofs of Anvil down the steep slopes past the now closed Gate. The bay beyond lay smooth as glass in the predawn twilight.

The foggy weather had cleared while I was in the Gate, and an overcast sky blocked most of the stars from view. The vegetation around us was soggy with recent rain, and mud coated the worn cobblestones of the road.

I turned and looked at the black horse, prostrate on its side in the middle of the road. According to the Legion soldier, it and its Black Horse Courier rider were ambushed by daedra before he arrived to take up his post a couple of days ago. Only the carcass of the horse, bloated in the early stages of decay, remained of the struggle. Of the rider there was no sign, and the soldier feared she had been taken into the Gate. I feared he was right, and that her soul screamed along with countless others in the sigil stone I carried in my belt purse.

One thing I noticed about these sigil stones - the longer the Gates stood open, the stronger these stones seemed to be. The stone from the first Skingrad Gate, one that conferred fortify magicka effects, thrummed with greater energy than the one I had recovered from the second Gate in the cemetery. As a matter of fact, of all the stones I had recovered, the cemetery one felt the weakest of them all. Could it be those stones are fed by the souls of people taken into the portals and tortured, as Menien Goneld had been? The longer they stand open, the more souls they suck into themselves and the stronger they become?

Thoughtfully I fingered the hilt of Daedra Slayer. The sword, enchanted by a sigil stone much like the one I had recovered at Kvatch, rested quietly at my side. Unlike the sigil stones, it did not send a sinister song into the bones of my body. The only time I felt its enchantment was when it came into contact with enemies. Does enchanting with these stones set those trapped souls free? I hope so!

“Well.” The Legion soldier clapped his hands on his plated knees and rose to his feet, sheathing his sword. I noticed his gaze was on the dead horse. “I suppose I’d better get that carcass out of the road, now that there are no more daedra.”

“I’ll give you a hand,” I said, putting my weapons down beside my pack. First we stripped the tack from the animal, then together we grasped the horse’s forelegs and pulled him to the side of the road, where we rolled him over the edge to drop down the slope. “That’ll keep the wolves and the lions happy for a while,” I added.

“Aye, that it will,” the soldier gazed after the disappearing body. “It’s a damn shame, though. That was a fine animal.” He returned to the piled tack and gathered them, slinging the headstall over one shoulder and carrying the saddle at his hip by the high pommel. “I’m headed to Brina Cross Inn. They’ll handle the tack there.”

“I’ll walk with you,” I picked up my gear.

We walked the few kilometers to the inn. There, I said farewell to the soldier, declining his invitation to come in for a drink. I wanted to reach Anvil before stopping for the night. A certain smith would gladly repair the Kvatch Wolf for me - I hope.

Except for that Gate, it had been a mostly quiet walk from Skingrad. I had spent the night in the refugee camp at Kvatch, where I noticed signs of winter preparations. Many of the tents had been fortified with stone walls. A new well had been dug to provide a source of fresh water. An old mine just south of the camp, called Belletor’s Folly by the locals, had been cleared of creatures and was being used as a secure storehouse for foodstuffs they had been able to gather. Still Boldon confided in me his concerns for getting the fifty or so refugees through the winter. I advised him of Count Hassildor’s offer of aid, and suggested that he prepare a list of necessary supplies and services for when I returned along the Gold Road. Matius was up in the ruined city itself, leading the clean up. I didn’t have a chance to see him before I had to resume my journey. On my way back, I will stop in and look for him.

The sky cleared as I trudged along the road toward the ocean. The sun was well overhead when the Gold Road finally turned south to drop down to the harbor city where I was born and where I grew up.

I stopped and gazed west, at the ocean on my right. I could smell the salt on the westerly breeze that caused the tall grass to ripple like the waves on the water. Aloe vera plants lifted their heavy blossoms on tall spikes above the golden tufts, much like sailing ships on the ocean. White gulls hovered and swooped above the shoreline far below, mere splinters of argent against the western sky.

Slow hoofbeats alerted me to the approach of the Legion rider. He reined his horse beside me when I waved in greeting. “Hello, Hero of Kvatch!” His hearty greeting only served to emphasize my weariness. I didn’t even object to his salutation.

“How are things in Anvil?” I asked, shifting the pack at my shoulder.

“Not good,” the rider’s expression turned grim. “There is an Oblivion Gate open north of the city, west of the road, on top of Mara’s wayshrine. The guard’s been fighting the daedra for about a month or so.”

What, did all these Gates open on the same day? “I take it they haven’t gone in there to close it?”

“When they heard how the one at Kvatch was closed, they considered it. But daedra keep coming out of there, they haven’t had a chance to marshal their forces and send a few men inside.” The rider regarded me thoughtfully. “But if you’re headed that way, maybe you can help . . .” He turned his gaze eastward.

“The one by the road east of Brina Cross is closed,” I volunteered.

“Old Pollus managed to close it?” The rider’s gaze returned to me, and he studied my face closely. “Or did you?”

“We worked together on it,” I replied. He fulfilled the same purpose Mazoga did in Leyawiin. “He’s at the inn now, with the tack from that horse that was killed. We removed the carcass from the road before we left.”

“Good,” the rider slapped the neck of his bay. “Sticklegs here doesn’t like going by that dead horse. Damn shame about it and the rider, though. You didn’t see her, by any chance?”

I shook my head. “Nothing I could recognize as a Courier rider.”

“I’m Servius Veranius, by the way,” the rider offered. “I heard plenty about you from Berennus.” He grinned at me. “I’m certainly glad to see you at this end of the Gold Road!” Sticklegs pawed impatiently at the cobblestones. “Unfortunately I can’t chat long. Take care, Julian of Anvil!”

I watched the bay amble slowly away, then turned my face south. I couldn’t yet see the walls of Anvil yet, but there was a hint of Oblivion-generated thunderheads visible through the trees directly south, just to the right of where the road veered inland to run to Anvil’s Northgate. Ah well, here we go again.

The sunlight was slanting from the west when I reached the point in the road where the Horse Whisperer Stables first became visible, the walls of Anvil rising just beyond. To my right, I could hear the characteristic sound that indicated the Oblivion Gate. Beneath that crackling and hissing were shouts and clanging of metal. With a final glance at the town walls below, I turned and left the road, working my way around the immense boulders that rose out of the amber sea grass.

A smithy’s portable forge squatted at the base of one of the boulders, shielded by its bulk from the Gate. In its shade, I could see a Bosmer working the bellows. He looked up as I approached. At the sight of my white hair and Kvatch Wolf, his eyes widened. “Hail, Hero of Kvatch!” He straightened up, setting the hammer down on the nearby anvil. “Have you come to lend aid?”

“I have need of aid,” I answered softly. “I closed the Oblivion Gate up the mountain from here, near the Gold Road.”

“The one by Garlas Agaea?” he asked. “The Ayleid ruin just east of Brina Cross?”

“Yes, that one,” I answered. “I can repair my plain weapons, but my cuirass,” I tapped the Wolf, “is enchanted, and I’m not yet skilled enough.”

“And you’ll be needing resupply,” the handsome young Bosmer nodded. “I see you’re low on arrows, and likely you’ll need water, too.”

“Aye, you’re right,” I answered.

“Hand over that cuirass!” He gestured at me. I set my gear down and unbuckled the mailed armor. While I shrugged out of it, he gathered a handful of steel arrows and tucked them into my quiver. The padded tunic kept the breeze off my skin as I handed the cuirass over. “Name’s Enilroth, by the way,” the Bosmer laid the enchanted mail out, examining the links closely. “I’m apprentice to Varel Morvayn.”

My heart twinged at his words. If not for those goblins thirty years ago, the man standing before me repairing my cuirass would have been my brother. But if not for those goblins, I would never have joined the Legion. So my brother would not be repairing a cuirass for me. If not for the goblins, who would be following the path I have followed these past few months?

“Have a seat,” Enilroth waved me to a nearby stool. “Rest a spell. You must be exhausted. Once these guardsmen know you’re here, you’ll never get a moment’s peace!”

I took his advice and the seat gratefully, stretching out my legs. “How is Morvayn?” I asked. The Bosmer shot a glance at me.

“You know Morvayn?” At my nod, he continued, “He’s doing well. Still working hard these days. Matter of fact, you just missed him. We’ve been taking shifts out here, keeping the guardsmen in good repair.”

“And his wife Athesi Andala?” I wondered about the Dunmer woman who had been so kind to me following the deaths of my family.

Enilroth’s face fell. “She passed away ten years ago,” he said. “Varel still misses her, still mourns her.”

My heart sank. Is it true what they say? You can’t go home again? “She was a sweet woman,” I said softly. “Terribly kind.”

“Aye, that she was,” Enilroth nodded without pausing in his evaluation. Satisfied that his assessment was complete, he picked up the hammer and began working on the mail. “Listen, if you don’t mind the noise, take a nap under my shelter,” Enilroth jerked a thumb at a rough lean-to a few meters away. “This’ll take me a few hours, and I’ve got more weapons to repair as well, so I won’t be needing that bedroll for a while.”