Old Habits Die Hard Part Six, some old habits never die Options

[haute ecole rider]

Hello all, and welcome to the final thread of Old Habits Die Hard. Those of you who are familiar with the Main Quest know that we are fast approaching the end game. Only three more artifacts to obtain, then we can recover the Amulet of Kings and light those Dragonfires and see Martin to the Dragon Throne at last. Right?

For those who are coming late to the party, here are the links to the other five threads:

Chapters 1 − 7: From the Prison to finding the Path of Dawn.
Chapters 8 − 13: From Dagon’s Shrine to Bravil.
Chapters 14 − 18: From Sheogorath’s Shrine to the start of the Grand Tour of Cyrodiil.
Chapters 19 − 22: From Leyawiin to Skingrad.
Chapters 23 − 25: From returning home to Anvil to the final Mages Guild recommendation.

Here in this last thread we will see the Main Quest through to its tragic conclusion. Some questions will be answered, including who is the man Julian loves? Other questions will be raised, including what’s next for Julian? Those of you who have suspected a second story in the making, you are correct.

After a year and a half of writing this story, I am happy to bring this to a close, yet I am sad to bid it adieu. Hopefully I won’t let any and all of you down as we wrap up.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Jun 26 2011, 01:10 AM

[haute ecole rider]

@Olen: For me Sancre Tor is about those four Blades. Believe me, on my first time through, after fighting the last one, I almost left the fort without the armor! I was heading for the exit when I had a facepalm moment - WAIT! I forgot something! The only reason I even went into this fort to begin with! So whenever I think of Sancre Tor, I think of those four guys. Everything else is just inconsequential. Of course, if I had left Sancre Tor without the armor, I’d be dealing with a very disappointed Emperor on my return! As for horses and cold, they are evolved for cold weather, so they’re very well-adapted. The modern horse appeared on the Siberian and Mongolian steppes, so cold, wind and snow are nothing to them. Desert sun and jungle humidity, not so good. They don’t stay as healthy in warmer climes as they do in colder. Blanco probably would have been fine without the blanket, but Julian would have felt guilty leaving him like that.

@SubRosa: You know, I’ve looked at a couple of dual wielding mods in the TES Nexus. I couldn’t find one I liked. Either they used the off hand weapon as a shield (no offensive actions with the left hand), or you had to purchase special weapons for the off hand - you couldn’t just use the vanilla weapons you already had. I did find one mod that does just that, but reading the comments I saw that it was very buggy and not recently updated to address those bugs, so Pass. Nit is fixed, though I went with ‘with’ instead of ‘and.’

@Acadian: Would you have stopped long enough to change greaves before getting on Blanco and heading south? Yes, what in Nirn indeed!

@Grits: So you were rooting for that skelly, huh? I don’t blame you - talented swordfighters are always cool. For you, it’s the scent of rank male sweat. For me, it’s the skillz with blades. Just too bad his lack of a boner makes him useless in other departments.

@Foxy: You’re absolutely right, they haven’t seen NUFFINK yet!

Once again, I couldn’t have written this without the invaluable input from Destri Melarg (his characters from Interregnum are the foundations for Rielus, Casnar, Valdemar and Alain in this one), and Dee Foxy for his combat expertise. Many, many thanks to both of you for your help and input here.

Chapter 26.3: The First Guardian

Unbidden, Jelin spoke in my ear again. “When going against a seasoned fighter, his very experience can be used against him. An old Blademaster, Black Fox, used to say ‘The weak fight as the strong, and the strong fight as the weak. The ignorant know what they do, and the experienced fight as bumbling fools.’ Veteran fighters usually evolve two distinct styles of fighting. The first is effective against the tironii, such as you, Julian.” He pointed his finger accusingly at me. “These use economical one-stroke kills. The second style is reserved for other veterans. Strategy, tactics, and fieldcraft become essential. If you were a veteran,” here Jelin paused, regarding me skeptically, a distinct bulge moving beneath his left cheek from his tongue, “if you were a veteran, you’d want to deceive the experienced fighter into thinking you’re just another tiro. Then, just maybe then, you’ll get him to take undue risks. If he does, you need to be ready to exploit them. But you’ll only pull it off once. Make it hurt!”

Thank you, Jelin, I whispered silently. I hope I can live up to your teachings today. I considered again what I had seen of the undead Blade’s tactics, and planned my choreography. Let’s hope I can make it hurt.

Finally I screwed up my courage and clenched Daedra Slayer tighter in my cold-numbed right hand. When the Blade turned and resumed his endless patrol of the platform, I slid out from the column and moved behind him. As I thought it would, the slither of my mail gave me away before I could strike him. I darted my katana toward his knees, but he sprang away instead of turning into the strike. I skipped back before he turned fully around to remain far out of reach of his ancient weapon. My two swords rose before me in the classic en garde pose that took all the strength in my arms. While I didn’t need it with the distance separating us, I held the pose, knowing it made me appear untried in combat. Believe that I’m a tiro, not an old soldier. Believe.

We faced each other for a eternally short moment. Those empty eye sockets beneath the helm moved over my swords. Then he lunged explosively toward me, his weapon darting to my left with a shoulder-shrug feint to the right intended to distract me. Good move versus a novice. But not against me!

I parried the strike near the tip of his sword with the forte of my own katana and used the leverage I now possessed to deflect it away from me. At the same time I feinted with my right, spurring him to raise his shield reflexively. As Daedra Slayer flared against the blue and gold round, I spun toward him, bringing the plain katana in a backhanded slice across his right side. My cut slipped past his reach and chipped splinters from his hip bone. Then I danced back before he could shorten his sword-grip to retaliate. Advantage to me. Hope this slows him down a bit.

He stepped a full two paces back, his empty eye sockets somehow conveying a sense of reflection.

I did not expect what he did next.

With a controlled, deliberate motion he lowered the tip of his sword to the stone floor, then lifted it up. His wrist moved higher than his breastbone, until he stood at attention, hilt in front of his skeletal grin. My eyes widened at the Legion salute. My imagination provided the flicker of a ghost smile across the front of his skull. He knows what I did, and acknowledges it. No more risk-taking. This isn’t going to get any easier.

With his katana in high guard position, he moved forward with the same deliberate speed, then circled to my left with an eerily fluid grace. I matched him move for move, my two weapons loosely weaving in the rhythm of his stalk. Any moment now. Let’s see his opening move.

With explosive speed he darted forward. Rather than striking through my guard as I had expected, his katana flicked left then right, striking each of my two blades in quick succession. Before I could respond, he feinted left, sidestepped right and feinted left again before backpedaling, all with that same uncanny grace. His skull tilted to one side, then he raised his shield and tapped his left arm with his right.

Again I felt surprise. Akatosh, he’s damn good! Now he knows my strength and reflexes, and he just told me he knows I’m left-handed, even though I’m trained to fight dexter! The greatest swordsman I’ve ever met, all right. Better even than Jelin.

But now his rhythm and strength was familiar to me, thanks to his exploratory movements. I mentally reviewed the Sunbird Dance and selected the tempo to match his. With subconscious purpose I began circling widdershins. The undead Blade matched it with a slow spin to keep his face to me. I picked up the pace and began to move faster, forcing him into a whirl as he kept turning to face me. Do skeletons get dizzy? Only one way to find out.

Once I had him attuned to my rhythm, I launched a sudden attack to his left side, smacking his shield when he blocked my strike. I sprinted to my left again before he could recover and launched another attack, again against his left side, and again, and again. Daedra Slayer trailed blurred flames with each hit. I kept him turning to face me, turning and blocking in an even tempo. Is he settled into my dance now? Now.

I feinted forward, then slammed my feet to the floor in a dead stop. My thighs and calves protested briefly as I jerked myself backwards. For the briefest of moments this caught him out. Instead of facing his impenetrable shield, I faced his sword, just now coming up to guard.

I dropped to a crouch, my two blades blurring. My plain katana knocked his sword aside, while Daedra Slayer flashed toward his now exposed knee.

More splinters flew from the bone, and flames licked up and down his right leg, but he still launched a counterstrike. Before I could disengage, he brought the edge of his shield down on my right forearm. The steel struck sparks from my mailed sleeve as the rim skittered toward my wrist. Only the reflexes from long years of training and battle enabled me to ignore the pain for the moment, and his follow-up slash whistled past my temple with about a hand’s breath to spare.

My right arm bones throbbed madly, still intact thanks to the enchanted mail. I managed to hang on to Daedra Slayer and bring the katana in my left hand up in a slice across his right arm. The skeleton chittered angrily at me as he shoved me back with the shield. In the corner of my eye I caught the glimmer of a golden amulet at his neck, tangled in his upper ribs and collarbone. Is that enchanted? What will happen if I were to remove it? Better to finish this fast. The longer we fight, the more he’s learning about my skills, and the more he’s adapting to my style.

Once again I returned to the attack first. Daedra Slayer flashed in a low swing intended to slip beneath the other’s shield, and I wasn’t surprised when he dropped the cover to deflect my right attack. Before he could counter, I brought my left hand high before my face and swung the tip of the katana toward the other’s neck. The blade caught the chain of the amulet and snapped it into two. The pendant dropped within his rib cage until the broken links became snarled between the ribs and breastbone.

The undead Blade hissed and swung his weapon overhand at me. I deflected the strike with my plain katana, his blade sliding along mine with a screeching shower of sparks. Rather than bear down behind his sword as I expected, he backed off and struck again. It took all my skill to parry each and every blow without getting my fingers sliced off. Each time a strike landed, I felt the shock of the impact all the way into my shoulder joints. I’m slightly faster, but he’s much stronger, and he knows it!

The next few minutes were a flurry of strikes and parries that drove me back step by grueling step toward the iron railing that encircled the platform. Suddenly my heel struck an unyielding surface and I found myself falling backwards. Somehow I managed to cross both blades above me in time to block the descending weapon that flashed toward me.

I sat down hard on the old chest just as the Blade’s katana struck my pair. The impact sent fire flickering along his blade and thrummed through my arm bones, aggravating the pain in my right arm. I resisted the downward thrust momentarily, then brought both of my feet up and braced them against his pelvis. This shifted my center of balance, and I fell back suddenly. I took advantage of the situation and kicked upward with both of my feet, sending the skeleton up and over me and headfirst into the wall behind us. Something tinkled to the floor beside me as the bones scattered behind me, losing their cohesiveness along with the violet glow that signified the energy that had bound them together for unknown years.

Panting with nerves, I rolled sideways off the chest and staggered back, valiantly bringing my weapons up en garde. But the pile of shattered bones were immobile, the shield slowly spinning on its rim to a clattering stop. I took a few more steps back, then glanced around the chamber. At the opposite side of the platform, a bridge led to the only way out of the room, other than the way I had come in. No other pink glows manifested themselves.

But a whooshing sound behind me spun my katanas back to the remnants of the ancient Blade. A ghostly figure of a man crouched on one knee over the bones. I slipped the enchanted ring partly off my finger to eliminate the pink glow and readied for another attack, seeing the full Blades armor the other wore. Where in Oblivion did he come from? First a skeleton, now a ghost?

The phantom rose to its full height and turned toward me. The ephemeral sword he carried remained sheathed, and the shield rested at his left hip. I managed to stand my ground and hold my bladder tight as he stepped toward me.

“At long last,” his wispy voice held the subtle persuasion of the Imperials, “you have freed me.” He bowed his head to me. “I can now complete my lord’s last request.”

Cursed. He was cursed. But who is he? I glanced at the pile of bones and Blades armor behind him. “Who are you?”

“I am Rielus.” He raised his right fist in a salute to me. “Loyal Blade of the Emperor Tiber Septim. I do not know how long I have been here. It feels like an eternity.”

I did a rapid mental calculation. “The Emperor you served passed away about four hundred years ago,” I managed to regain my breath. “Long enough to feel like an eternity I suppose. Can you tell me what happened here?” What am I doing? I can’t believe I’m speaking to a ghost!

“My three companions and I were sent here by the Emperor Tiber Septim to discover what evil had defiled the holy catacombs of Sancre Tor.” The phantom shook his head. “We did not know that the Underking, who once was Zurin Arctus, had risen to take his first revenge upon his former lord. The Underking defeated us and ensnared us in evil enchantment. He bound us here to guard forever the desecrated Shrine of Tiber Septim.”

A thousand sextets of ants’ feet crawled up my back beneath the fur-lined tunic at his words. I glanced around uneasily. “Is the Underking still here?” If he is, I doubt I can defeat something so powerful.

Again the phantom shook his head, a gesture so strangely human in one so long undead. “No. He left us long ago.” He pointed toward the bridge. “But his evil will remains, blocking all who wish to pay homage at the Shrine of Tiber Septim.” His shoulders straightened in an expression of determination more real than flesh and blood. “Over the uncounted years of our slavery we have considered, no, studied our defeat. I now believe that the four of us can undo the evil Underking’s legacy. But in order to do that, I beg a favor of you, hero.”

“I’m no hero,” I answered automatically before I could stop myself. “But I am a Blade sister, and you have but to ask.” A sense of pride moved through me. Yes, I am a Blade sister, and yes, he can ask a favor of me.

“Free my brothers,” Rielus whispered. “Together we may be able to lift the Underking’s curse. Farewell! I go now to complete my duty. I shall wait for you to complete yours.”

I swung my katana vertically before my face in the Legion salute. “I shall not fail you, brother.”

He paused beside the old chest, looking down at something gleaming on the floor. “Take the amulet,” he gestured toward the golden pendant that had finally dropped from his bones at the end. “It was a gift from Casnar. Wear it if you like, or return it to Cloud Ruler Temple.”