Old Habits Die Hard Part Three, The old dog practices new habits Options

[haute ecole rider]

Here is the first of a third thread for Old Habits Die Hard. I appreciate all of you staying with Julian and I this far, and hope you stick with us to the end!

For those who want to go back to the beginning, here you go:
Old Habits Die Hard Chapters 1 - 7
Old Habits Die Hard Chapters 8 - 13

[haute ecole rider]

Now Julian has to confront her old nemesis.

******************
Chapter 14.1 Skooma Cravings

Neen-zun paused in his rowing to catch his breath. Slumped in the bow of the skiff, I glanced at the thin Argonian, then at the Bay surrounding us. Before we started out, he had cut the arrowheads out of my arm. The wounds still throbbed, but at least they didn’t grind when I moved my arm. I lowered my hand to the scabbard of my katana.

“I am ssorry,” the Argonian caught my wary movement. “I am tired today.” He shook his head, rubbing at his right shoulder. “Give me a moment.”

“How did you come to owe gro-Dragol so much?” I decided to learn a little more about him. It would help me decide if I trusted him or not.

“I wass addicted to skooma, yearss ago,” Neen-zun looked down at his hands, loosely clasped on the oars. “I sstarted borrowing from gro-Dragol to pay for it after I losst my job and ussed up my ssavingss.” Shipping the oars, he rubbed his thumbs into his palms. “I owed him a couple hundred drakess, and had become quite ill and usseless.”

I watched him as he fell silent, his eyes growing distant. “What happened, then?” I asked quietly when he didn’t speak for several seconds.

Neen-zun blinked dull eyes at me, his thumbs stilling in his palms. “My hatchling, my beautiful daughter -” his voice caught momentarily. “Sshe was ssupporting uss by gathering herbss for the Magess Guild. Banditss caught her while she wass outsside. They raped her, and killed her -”

I closed my eyes against the grief threading his tone. “I am sorry, Neen-zun.”

“I losst the will to live,” Neen-zun resumed after several moments. “I tried to kill mysself with sskooma. Ssilly me, Argonianss can’t overdosse on sskooma. Marz found me at the bottom of the bluff behind the Magess Guild.”

“She healed you?” I asked, thinking of what she had already done for me. “She’s very good at it.”

“Yess, sshe got rid of the cravingss,” Neen-zun nodded agreement. “But sshe couldn’t heal my heart. Nor could sshe make my debt to gro-Dragol go away. I had to go to work for him.” He picked up the oars, placing them back into the water with a soft plop. “I ferry people back and forth to Fort Grief to pay off my obligationss.”

We were silent as he rowed the rest of the way across the Bay. By the time we tied up at the Bravil city dock, the sun was already down. Neen-zun jumped onto the dock and turned to give me a hand out of the rowboat. With grateful acceptance of his help, I limped onto the weathered boards and turned to look at him. The thin Argonian, grey with ill health and malnutrition, returned my gaze steadily.

“Thank you,” I said to him. I fumbled the Khajiit’s drakes out of my wallet and gave them to him. He stared at the six heavy coins in his hand, then looked back at me. “Get yourself a good meal,” I said, “and some new clothes.”

“Thank you, Julian of Anvil,” he hissed gladly at me. He remained by the rowboat as I turned and began climbing the steep stairs back up to the top of the bluff overlooking the canal. The pounding headache caused vertigo, making me stop halfway up the steps to catch my breath. I fought down the craving for the wine in the makeshift sack I held in my right hand.

Finally at the top, I turned right, towards the Fighters Guild, instead of left, where the Chapel and the Mages Guild stood. I caught myself only when I reached the building housing the skooma den. The faint glow gleamed between the chinks in the shuttered window on the uppermost floor.

The flickering light of candles. The acrid taste of the skooma. The warmth cascading around me, enveloping me, shielding me from the world. The easing of the constant pain. The silencing of the smith’s hammer. The sensation of floating a meter above the malodorous bedroll I lay on. The stretching of time and space. Finally, limbo.

“Julian!” The voice broke into my fragmented memories and brought me back to the present, with the smith’s hammer, the bitter taste in my mouth, and the pain of my half-healed injuries. I turned my head to look west, towards the Mages Guild. A tall figure approached me, shrouded in shadows. I reached for my katana before the other stepped into a pool of flickering yellow cast by a nearby streetlamp. Carandial.

My hand moved away from the katana’s hilt and I turned to face him. The concern and worry on his face gave way to alarm when he took in my battered appearance. Halting before me, he reached for my shoulders, but I stepped back, avoiding his hands. “Julian?” he repeated, more hesitantly this time. “Are you all right?”

Slowly I shook my head, wincing at the pain the movement caused. “No, not at all,” I answered, my voice dry and crackling. He regarded me silently for several seconds, then his gaze moved upwards towards the skooma den above us.

“You need healing, not skooma,” he stated flatly. “Come, walk with me to the Chapel. I will get Marz for you.”

Again I shook my head. “It is late, and she is probably asleep. I do not want to wake her.”

Carandial was silent for another few seconds. “Can you make it through the night without going there?” he pointed at the top floor of the rickety building.

He is right, I won’t last the night. I hung my head, shamed by my weakness. Carandial laid one hand gently on my right shoulder. “Come on,” his voice turned quiet. “I’ll walk you to the Chapel.” He stepped to my right side and gently nudged me in that direction.

I didn’t argue, but limped west down the cobblestoned street. The tall Altmer matched his stride with mine, but did not speak again until we entered the Chapel. My eyes on the altar at the far end of the nave, I turned to him. “Wait, let me try something first,” I said. He nodded and waited near the stairs to the Chapel private quarters while I continued on.

Reaching the altar, I placed my right hand on the cold stone rim. Please, Akatosh, don’t turn your back on me now.

The smith’s hammer softened as the healing coiled from my belly over me, taking away the pain in my left arm and right knee. The horrid taste in my mouth dissipated, and my vision sharpened. I leaned forward onto my braced right arm in relief. Is it really so simple? Pray to Akatosh and trust in him?

“No, it iss not so ssimple,” Marz’s voice sounded behind me. Startled, I turned to look at her over my left shoulder. “But it helpss, doess it not?” she continued, joining me at the altar. My gaze slid past her to Carandial, where he remained near the stairs. I saw his shrug in the dimness. He didn’t get her. Marz came up on her own.

“Let me ssee you, Julian,” Marz held her hands up and touched my temples with her fingers. “You came sso closse tonight.” Her beautiful orange eyes closed, and I felt her warm healing pass into my skull, silencing the smith for good.

“Why is praying not so simple, Marz?” I whispered as she took her hands away.

“If praying iss automatic, and done without thinking,” she answered, holding my gaze with hers, “it iss meaninglesss. But when done from the heart,” she laid the palm of her right hand over my breastbone, “the Godss can only resspond.” Now Marz took my right hand in both of hers. “Tonight, you came closse to falling again. But you didn’t.”

“Carandial stopped me,” I began, but Marz shook her head.

“No, it was your own dessire,” she countered softly. “You knew what lay down that road, and you didn’t want to travel it again. Though your body may cry out for limbo, your heart would not let it go.” I looked down at her long-fingered hands, seeing the beautiful colors in her scaled skin. She gave me a gentle squeeze. “Carandial was there, yess, but ultimately you made your own choice to come here insstead.”

With a shake of my head, I stepped away from the altar and sat down. “I have no choice, really,” I murmured. “There is something I must do.”

“Yess,” Marz followed me, sitting beside me. “You have to tell Urssanne that her hussband iss dead.”

I glanced at Marz. “How did you know?”

“I knew you went to ssee the ussurer after Urssane sspoke to you,” Marz’s hissing voice was soft. “I knew you went with Neen-zun. He takess people to an island in the Bay. Ssometimess they come back, ssometimess they don’t. I guessed that Aleron had gone there when I found out he had dissappeared.” She shook her head, her eyes sad. “I didn’t think he would come back.”

I looked down at my hands. “Aleron is dead,” I confirmed Marz’s guess. “But that is not the only task before me.” For the first time that day, I let myself think about Martin and the daedric artifact I needed to obtain for him.

I realized that I hated the idea of going to a Daedric Lord, especially after seeing the sacrificial altar at Mehrunes Dagon’s shrine. The thought of Jeelius being killed for some tenuous being still made my blood run cold. With the recognition that I had been postponing this task as long as I could, I shivered.

Marz sat quietly, her eyes on me. Meeting her steady gaze, I stifled a sigh. “I must see Ursanne in the morning, give her the news,” I said. “Then I have to leave Bravil.”

“You need time to resst,” Marz protested. I shook my head.

“I’ve delayed this task long enough,” I answered, hearing the implacability in my voice. I tried to smile at the concerned Argonian. “Thank you, Marz, for your healing. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me tonight.”

Marz smiled, her pointed teeth gleaming in the dim light. She rose with me, and grasped my upper arms firmly. “Remember, if you are hurt and far from help, the Nine are alwayss near. They will hear you if you call them.”

“Even in the Deadlands?” I asked her. Her hands fell away.

“You would go into more Oblivion Gatess?” she asked. “Issn’t two enough?”

“If they’re opening outside cities all over Cyrodiil,” I answered, shrugging, “I don’t know what else I can do.”

“Call the Divines, even in the Deadlandss,” Marz said after a moment. “Who knowss, they may hear you and give you aid.”

“Who knows, indeed,” I answered. “I will remember.” Grasping her hands in mine, I smiled, more easily this time. “Good night, Marz.”

“Good night, Julian,” she answered, as we walked to the stairway, where Carandial still waited. She murmured a greeting to the Altmer mage before descending the stairs. Carandial fell into step beside me as we headed for the doors.

“I’m glad to see you feeling much better, Julian,” he said quietly as he opened one of the heavy panels for me.

“Yes, I’m glad, too,” I answered. “Now I need to sleep.”

“Of course you do,” Carandial fell silent as we walked the short distance between the Chapel and the Mages Guild. He paused at the bottom of the steps as I moved to the door.

When I turned to look at him, I was startled by his expression, revealed by the double moonlight. Then he smiled that crooked smile, and the expression was gone. “Good night, Julian. Sleep well.” He turned and walked away.

“Good night, Carandial,” I murmured to his retreating back.

Locking the door behind me, I leaned against it, my breath shallow. That look Carandial gave me. Was that a trick of the moonlight? Or a figment of my imagination? It reminded me of how Jared looked at me all those years ago, when I was young and foolish. He had stolen my heart, then cruelly destroyed it. After that, I had joined the Legion, vowing never to be so vulnerable again. Since then I had not received that look from a man, not until recently. First that Redguard -no, Blackguard - from the Marie Elena, now Carandial. Why him? What does an Altmer see in me anyway?

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Aug 20 2010, 04:25 PM

[D.Foxy]

Strange that I had just watched, and liked, "I'm not afraid" by Eminem just before I read this new thread...

(Yes, I have both Eminem and Bing Crosby, R.Kelly and Edith Piaf in my CD collection. Make what you will out of that.)

Remember, Julian
A kiss has no age
A smile stands out of time
Like the remembered scent
Of Rosemary and Thyme -

If it is true that Hearts can sing
Past the wasteland that flesh brings
And also true that the mind does know
Secrets beyond the Winter's aching blow

Then smile as you take the gift of spring in the Winter
And laugh with the wrinkles in Flesh and in Fate
Old apples may be shriveled, but their taste's far from bitter
And Love is always welcome no matter how Late.

[hazmick]

Hurrah for Carandial. Hurrah for Marz. Hurrah for Neen-Zun! It's good to see more Argonains helping people out. Such a friendly race.

That skooma den is naught but trouble, good to see Julian resist the temptations.

Onward towards the next task, a daedric prince. *shudder* It should be fun.

[SubRosa]

So Carandial is sweet on Julian! *imagines all the slash possibilities* I thought you portrayed him, and his restrained, feelings for Julian quite well.


nits:
Neen-zun's story is heart-breaking. All the more so because of how often reality is that way. However, it all comes off as an infodump. I realize that taking the time to bring it all out gradually though dialogue might have taken an extra segment, and you are probably trying to avoid being long-winded when you have already spent a lot of story time in Bravil already, but you might want to look for a better way to bring that information out.


Finally, limbo.
This would feel more ES-like if it were Finally, Oblivion.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Aug 18 2010, 05:08 PM

[Acadian]

I'm glad that you displayed Neen-Zun as an example of the, no doubt, many tragedies in Kurdan's wake.

Wonderful that Carandial happened upon Julian that night and coaxed her towards the Chapel of Mara.

Marz is amazingly insightful! I can see that Buffy will have to spend more time getting to know her.

Her beautiful orange eyes closed,

Yes, the eyes and voices of Argonian women are so very beautiful. I'm delighted that Julian sees it too!

I'm also glad that Julian is beginning to realize that she certainly does have qualities that would attract a man. I think Carandial has excellent taste. Perhaps they will go riding together? He has a beautiful big bay. Ok, I'm just teasing - I know Julian has a very full plate right now.

Did I tell you that this story continues to be a joy to read?

This post has been edited by Acadian: Aug 18 2010, 06:09 PM

[treydog]

Another wonderful entry. And you capture the compulsive nature of addiction quite well-

Saved by Carandial! Good to see a non-snooty Altmer to go with the endearing Argonians.

Your ear and eye for detail are first-rate, and your characters are all beautifully 3-dimensional.

[Olen]

Good show on that chapter though I suspect that the cravings aren't done yet... and what's coming, if she accepts it, won't help. Certainly she's a rich character and that makes her fun to read because the slate isn't so blank and I can't imgine how her daedric quest will end up. With duty on one side and her morals on the other... well...

The mention of the races also has me thinking that you've handled tht very well. It's so subtle that I didn't really notice (barring the whole double s thing with the argonians which I not a huge fan of but that's entirely my preferance), but there are differences which fit with the game description but aren't nearly as glaring. Your Altmer are rather superior (even Carandail in his own strange way) but it makes sense the way you show it. The Argonian's are claerly different too, they seem to be generally quite stolid and trustworthy, no wonder Julian likes them.

As the others have said, a joy to read.

This post has been edited by Olen: Aug 19 2010, 05:35 PM

[haute ecole rider]

@Foxy: Thanks for pointing out that even old women can feel frisky!

@hazmick: Do you happen to have a twin named hazmat? I didn’t realize until you pointed it out how many friendly Argonians are in that segment!

@SubRosa: I chose limbo over Oblivion to differentiate the bliss/oblivion of a drug-induced haze from the insanity that characterizes the plane of Oblivion in TES. I’m glad you liked the way I portrayed Carandial’s reaction at finding Julian so beat up. I’ll take your comment regarding Neen=Zun’s story under consideration, and revisit it at some time soon.

@Acadian: As someone who grew up on stories of Capone’s Chicago (not to mention a couple of cousins of my dad’s who actually ran bootleg for the guy), I know all too well the price such gangsters exact on their neighborhoods. As for Carandial and Julian going for a ride, well, maybe to the nearby Ayleid ruin . . .

@Auggie Doggie: Carandial is one of those NPC’s that just took over my keyboard and started telling me this is how it is. I had no choice but to go along with him. TBH, he is one of my favorite Altmer in TES IV.

@Olen: Julian will have to confront something even bigger than her skooma addiction or her loyalty to Martin. I’m glad you enjoy the way I’ve portrayed Altmer and Argonians so far, I hope to develop the other races as well as I have those two. As for the conflict between her duty to Martin and her innate nature - oh, well . . .

Julian wraps up a couple of loose ends.

****************
Chapter 14.2 Bearer of Bad News

Ardaline was shy until I showed her the strange plant. “Oh, this is what you were talking about the other night,” she remarked, turning the leaves in her long fingers. She stepped to the window, where the overcast light streamed in, and held it up. Sniffing it, she stroked the soft leaves thoughtfully. “Yes, I've seen them before. Don't really know much about them. I'm not a specialist in plant samples.”

After she handed the plant back to me, she considered the situation for a few moments. “I know someone who does. If you make your way to Skingrad, look up Sinderion. He's one of the foremost authorities on the alchemical properties of plants.” She smiled at me. “Let me know what you find out!”

“Thanks, I will,” I promised Ardaline.

************************
Ursanne Loche was walking towards the Chapel when she saw me. She stopped and waited for me to catch up to her. As I drew near, her face fell. “Oh no, something’s wrong, I can tell. Tell me what’s happened to Aleron?”

“I’m very sorry, ma’am, he’s dead,” I answered slowly, looking away from the pain in her face.

“When I saw the grave look on your face,” she said quietly, “I knew something bad had happened to him. And,” her voice hardened, pulling my eyes up to her angry expression, “what of that fetcher, Kurdan?”

“Gro-Dragol lives no longer,” I matched her tone. Ursanne took a deep breath, her face sagging into grief.

“Then Aleron’s death has been avenged,” she murmured. “I told him not to gamble, foolish man. But he wouldn’t listen.” She touched my right arm. “Come with me, please. There is something I must give you before you go.”

The old Breton woman led me to her home on the second floor of one of the ramshackle buildings along the north wall. Inside the humble but tidy dwelling, she moved to a chest at the back wall. I limped to the table, and took out the gold I had set aside. Quietly I placed the coins I had collected from Loche and gro-Dragol on the rough wooden surface, along with Loche’s ring and key. Ursanne returned to me with a large book in her hands. Her gaze fell on the coins and ring, then she looked back at me, pale.

“You know the ring,” I said softly to her. “I think your husband would want you to have it. The gold, too.”

“He never had that much gold,” Ursanne eyed the small stack. I shook my head.

“He only had a few drakes,” I told her. “The rest is a donation from gro-Dragol.” I shrugged. “Small consolation for losing your husband, I’m certain, but better than nothing.”

Ursanne looked down at the volume in her hands. The book, its leather cover worn, was nevertheless of good quality. She pushed the book into my hands. “Here, let me give you this,” she muttered. “Aleron told me to use this to bail him out of jail if he ever got into trouble. He - he won’t be needing this anymore,” she fought back the sob in her voice, raising teary eyes to meet mine bravely. “I want you to have it. I won’t take no for an answer. Thank you for all you’ve done.” As I accepted the book, she turned away, her left hand touching the brass pearl ring on the table. The sob escaped her control. “Now, please, I want to be alone.”

Unable to think of something to comfort her in her grief, I turned and limped to the door. Quietly, I let myself out, feeling quite depressed by the woman’s loss.

************************
Thirty minutes later, I found Captain Lerus in the barracks, preparing to head out on her rounds. She spotted me and waved me into her room. As we took the same seats we had used a couple of nights ago, I met her gaze.

“Aleron Loche is dead,” I told her bluntly. Her fine brows drew down in a scowl.

“Explain,” she said icily.

I told her about gro-Dragol’s operation on Fort Grief Island, and how he had lured first Loche, then me out there, for clients to kill. The muscles in her jaw clenched visibly as I described finding Loche there, his request that I go into the Hunter’s Run to find the key. Skimming over my time in the dungeon, I told her how gro-Dragol killed Loche before I could stop him, and that he tried to kill me, as well. I also explained how Neen-zun had become bound to gro-Dragol. When I finished, she leaned back in her chair and regarded me intently.

“Some of my guards report that you came back in very bad shape, Julian,” she said quietly. “Metternach said you were standing outside the skooma den before Carandial found you.”

I closed my eyes and turned my face away. “I was concussed,” I murmured. “The headaches that drove me to skooma in the first place came back.”

“And now?” her voice was just a whisper. I met her gaze.

“They’re gone, thanks to Marz,” I answered. “And to Akatosh. I’m much better now.” Lerus held my gaze, as if judging the truth of my words.

“gro-Dragol did that to you?”

Shaking my head, I held her eyes. “No, gro-Dragol fights like a street bully. Two of the hunters weren’t hard, I just sicced a summoned skeleton on them. Old Bones wore them down for me. But the last one -” I trailed off, seeing again how the big Orc carried his weapon, how he circled me. “He fought like a Legion soldier,” I said finally. “I think he was trained in the Legion, at least.”

Lerus scowled. “A deserter?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I didn’t look that closely at him.”

Lerus made her decision. “All right, I’ll send a squad of the Guard over there to collect the bodies. Think Neen-zun will ferry them over?”

“If you pay him better than gro-Dragol did, I’m sure he will,” I answered. “But tell your men to stay out of the Hunter’s Run. There’s a lot of bad traps in there. Not worth dragging bodies of vermin out.”

“We need to identify them, if we can,” Lerus responded, her voice hard. “I’ll warn them to be careful.” She drew a blank parchment and picked up her quill. “What kind of traps are we talking about?”

I held my left hand out for the quill. Surprised, she handed it to me. My left arm on the desk, I sketched out a rough map of the Hunter’s Run, marking the locations of the hunters and the traps. As I drew, Lerus rose and moved to look over my shoulder. Explaining each trap as I marked them, I told her about the hole in the floor with the spikes beneath.

“They can bring boards for that,” she commented. “And healing potions for the gas. But the darts worry me.”

“I got by them by sticking close to the wall,” I said. “And waiting until they stopped to reset. Your men can use the bodies as shields on the way out.”

“Yes, but if that Orc is as big as you say, it will be tough to carry him out past them.”

“No, just take the short cut and drop him over the edge onto the bridge.” I answered, indicating the route on the rough map I had created.

When I put the quill down, she took the parchment from me and studied it. “This is good, Julian. You’ve got a head for mazes.”

“I’m not sure how accurate that is, Captain,” I responded warily. “Remember, I was concussed on the way back, my memory could be off.”

“Thanks, Julian,” Lerus held her right hand out to me. Startled by the unexpected courtesy, I clasped it firmly, matching her pressure.

[SubRosa]

Poor Ursanne, going back to face her is always so heartbreaking. I think you did a good job of conveying that hearbreak.

[haute ecole rider]

Thanks, SubRosa.

I just wanted to let everyone know that I rewrote the opening paragraphs of Chapter 14 (post #2) to better convey Neen-zun's story.

[SubRosa]

That comes out much more organically. The added details like Marz finding him behind the Mages Guild make the story feel more real as well.

[hazmick]

No, I don't have a twin. Why do you ask? All of the best stories have at least one friendly Argonian

Poor Ursanne You did a good job showing her grief.

I agree with SubRosa, the extra details of our boatman are brilliant.

[Acadian]

I went back and read the revision of Neen-Zun. Yummo!

Three scenes.

I. Yay, it sounds like Julian will get to meet Sinderion at some point!

II. Oh my. Your whole scene with Ursanne was masterful. Not only did it convey your intent, but I was quite struck at your brilliant use of dialogue and speech tags and the like to bring it to life. In fact, I read it twice - the second time to learn from you.

III. Respect slowly earned seems somehow more valuable. It seems the two ladies have a better understanding of each other. I very much liked thier interaction - especially the unspoken parts.

Julian has quite the full dance card in the Niben Bay area it seems. Lucky me!

This post has been edited by Acadian: Aug 20 2010, 05:06 PM

[treydog]

A sad but necessary task, telling Ursanne that what she already feared has come to pass. But, when the worst has happened, you at least know it is the worst.... And we have another living, breathing individual to populate your rich and detailed world.

And Julian takes an important step on the road to self-respect (and respect from a certain guard captain, whether she wants it or not) by admitting her temptation.

This installment has the feel of some doors closing and others opening... A breath taken between bouts.

Julian is so real to me, that I can feel her aching head and bum knee. More important, I can feel her determination. All of that is a credit to your brilliant writing.

[mALX]

Well I for one always thought Julian was beautiful. But that is one chapter back. I always like the way you personalize the quests, no matter how many times I've done these quests you have found a new way to tell the story that keeps it intriguing !!

This post has been edited by mALX: Aug 20 2010, 05:56 PM

[Destri Melarg]

Chapter 14.1 Skooma Cravings

Neen-zun’s story is heartbreaking. Once again you have crafted an Argonian with whom it is impossible not to sympathize. I think when you finish Julian’s story your next character should be from Black Marsh (maybe in the Shivering Isles, or as the Divine Crusader ).

The flickering light of candles. The acrid taste of the skooma. The warmth cascading around me, enveloping me, shielding me from the world. The easing of the constant pain. The silencing of the smith’s hammer. The sensation of floating a meter above the malodorous bedroll I lay on. The stretching of time and space. Finally, limbo.

This was a perfect description of the lure that leads one to addiction. I like the fact that you chose limbo over Oblivion. An addict is never seeking Hell, an addict is seeking escape.

Chapter 14.2 Bearer of Bad News

I am beginning to agree with ‘Rosa from a few chapters ago. I find it maddening that Captain Lerus knows so much about the goings on in her city, yet had no idea people were being ferried out to Fort Grief. Even Marz knew about that! Okay Marz might be a bad example, given her perceptive nature, but you get the point I am making. Her guards are giving all these reports, yet she does nothing about them. It sounds more and more like Lerus is all talk and gruff posturing while she waits for someone else to do her job. Even her grudging respect at the end rubbed me the wrong way. Julian closes the Oblivion Gate outside the city and stops gro-Dragol’s murderous Hunter’s Run while Lerus sits scowling in her office, and Lerus finally deigns to shake Julian’s hand? It is not in her nature, but I would have cheered if Julian had spit on the offered appendage!

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: I’m glad you liked the rewrite of the opening paragraphs in 14.1 better.

@hazmick: Every time I see your name, I think of hazmat, which around here is an abbreviation of Hazardous Materials. In my line of work, we deal with OSHA, and have to place hazmat labels on everything, which borders on the ridiculous. That's why I asked about your twin!

@Acadian: I always found the nirnroot quest to be the best excuse for exploring Cyrodiil! Aww, you liked how I handled the dialogue with Ursanne? :Blush: Thanks for enjoying the interaction with Lerus.

@treydog: Your summation is much, much appreciated!

@mALX: I’m glad you are enjoying familiar quests! I hope to keep you entertained!

@Destri: I really don’t know why I treat the Argonians in my story the way I do! I guess it may be because I’m sensitive to discrimination, and every time I hear one being called pondscum in the game, I just want to leap to their defense! An Argonian as the Divine Crusader? Hmm. As for Lerus, I hope to explain her situation to both you and SubRosa’s satisfaction in just a few more posts (Chapter 14.7).

Julian has another unsavory task to perform.

***************
Chapter 14.3 The Shrine of Sheogorath

Paint stopped beside the Wayshrine. I looked around, noting the worn stone steps in the road that led down to the waterside, the bridge across the Niben River and the ruins of the old fort on the opposite bank. All the landmarks were as Gwinas had said.

“When you reach the Wayshrine of Stendarr, the Green Road will turn east, towards the river, and drop down to the riverbank over a series of old stone steps. Be careful if you ride your horse down those steps, they can be slippery. On the bank, the Green Road turns back south to follow the river, but there is a path that continues east across a small bridge. You’ll see Fort Redman on the other bank there. Beware at the bridge, bandits like to ambush travelers there.”

Dismounting from Paint, I limped up to the Wayshrine. We had met a couple of bandits on the road south of Bravil, where it followed the southern shore of Niben Bay, and again where the road passed between a cave on the riverbank and a fort perched high on the hill to the west. Apparently they thought me fair game, since they attacked me. However my Legion training and Jelin’s Sunblade Dance educated them otherwise.

I prayed to Stendarr, and felt his healing response. My face turned west, I looked past Paint’s profile towards the high ridge beyond. Here, the Elsweyr border pressed close to the road, roughly paralleling the high ridge of hills that led to mountains beyond. Again, Gwinas’s voice echoed in my mind:

“From the Wayshrine, turn west and hike up into the hills. Sheogorath is almost due west from the Wayshrine, but you may need to detour a little bit to get around the steep slopes in between. It’s only about a kilometer or so.”

Do I leave Paint here by the Wayshrine? I looked east at the bridge. I could just make out a couple of figures standing there. Under cover of the shrubs and boulders between the Wayshrine and the road, I moved to where I could see them more clearly. A Khajiit and a Dunmer, both in leather armor, stood watching the Green Road. The Dunmer was armed with a bow, the Khajiit with a mace. They had the scruffy appearance of bandits, but I wanted to be sure. I would be leaving Paint alone for an unknown period of time, and bandits were known to abscond with unattended horses.

Back on the road, I walked openly down the worn stone steps, still wet from recent rain, toward the pair. The Dunmer unshouldered her bow, stepping back towards the bridge. The Khajiit ran at me with mace upraised. A sidestep put him between me and the female Dunmer while I drew my katana and braced for the blow. As I expected, the Khajiit dropped the mace in an overhanded strike. With another step to the right, I deflected the mace with the Wolf and spun into him, hooking my left foot behind his right knee and kicking his right leg out from under him.

He fell towards me, and I backed up, just in time to avoid an arrow which whizzed past in front of my chest. The Wolf lifted high, I brought the edge of the shield down hard on the Khajiit’s back. While the bandit lay howling in the mud, I whirled the buckler up towards the archer. The arrow smacking into the Wolf staggered me, but I kept my feet and darted towards the Dunmer.

She lowered her bow and turned, running for the bridge. Once she gained a little distance on me, she nocked another arrow to her bow and turned back to me. I risked exposure and tossed a flare at her, more to distract her than to do her harm, and ran after the spell.

The bridge, constructed of boards laid on a rope suspension, trembled under our feet as I closed on the archer, katana ready to stab forward. She released her arrow a little early, and I ducked, simultaneously raising my shield. When I lowered the buckler, she had dropped her bow and drawn her dagger, ready for melee. As I closed with her, I knocked her dagger hand aside with the back of the katana blade and slashed the tip across her chest. The fine blade left a deep gash in her tough leather, and blood seeped through it.

The Dunmer looked down at her chest, and I took advantage of her distraction to stab the katana into her abdomen, just below the edge of her cuirass. The tip of my blade struck the bone of her spine, and I lowered the handle of the katana, driving the tip upwards within her body to do as much damage as I could before withdrawing the blade. She cried out, and fell away, blood and foul fluid oozing from the wound.

I felt pounding footsteps on the shivering bridge and spun to my left in time to deflect the Khajiit’s mace. His enraged eyes glared at me as I knocked his right arm aside with the Wolf and brought the katana down on his right shoulder. The blade bit through his tough leather into the flesh of his upper arm. The mace dropped from his fingers, and he snarled, his left hand coming up to claw at my face. I ducked back to avoid this onslaught and brought the tip of the katana against the Khajiit’s throat to give him a new breathing hole, blood splashing back at me.

Breathlessly I crouched down on the bridge between the two newly dead bandits, and looked back east at the Fort ruins across the river. It would make a logical Bandit hideout, I knew, but I saw no one, heard no outcry.

After a pause long enough to gather drakes, lockpicks, and healing potions from the dead, I stepped over the Khajiit and limped back to the Wayshrine. Leaning against a boulder next to Paint, I cast Carandial’s cleansing spell on myself to remove the blood.

Paint watched me intently, then turned his head and looked southwards. I glanced over my shoulder in that direction, but saw nor heard nothing. After a moment, I took the pack from the cantle and slung it over one shoulder. The bow and quiver were both attached to the saddle; I would leave them with Paint. I had Daedra Slayer at my back, and my katana at my hip.

“You stay here,” I whispered to Paint. He blinked a round brown eye at me before he dropped his head and rubbed his nose on the inside of his foreleg. He shook his head, the motion traveling down his neck into his body, until even his legs shuddered. Then he blew at me. I smiled at his antics and turned west, finding a path that wound uphill among boulders and twisted trees.

As Gwinas had said, I hiked about a kilometer before I spotted a tall statue on the steep slope above me. From my lower altitude, I could only see the top half of the statue. It was of a sharply-dressed dandy, with a neatly trimmed beard and an elaborate waistcoat. I paused, and looked around, for boulders separated me from the shrine. A rough path sought out a relatively gentler slope between large rocks, curving first north before bending back to the shelf in the side of the ridge where the statue stood.

A few minutes later I stared, shocked, at the four half-nude worshippers walking around the shrine. The nearest, a Nord wearing only a shirt with suspenders dangling below its hem, turned and looked at me. “I wish there were children here,” he said to me. A smile warmed his face, but did not touch the madness in his eyes. “Scrumptious, darling children. I haven’t eaten in so long.” He licked his lips. “Ravel will tell me what to do. You, too.”

With a barely suppressed shudder at his words, I avoided looking below the hem of his shirt and moved forward, stepping onto the shelf of rock. An Argonian woman, clad only in a leather helmet and worn, frayed quilted shoes, walked up to me. “I ussed to be a dog,” she hissed at me. “Then I got better. Not a better dog, though. I’m a terrible dog now,” her eyes shifted away. “Tomorrow - who knowss? Ravel may know. Talk to him.”

A hand touched my shoulder, spun me around to face a Breton man. Like the others, he wore little, only a cuirass much like mine, but worn and dirty. “Bugs!” he shouted in my face, spittle spraying from his lips. “Bugs everywhere! All over! Wonderful, tasty bugs!” He released my shoulder, stepping back and shaking his head dismissively. “No time for you. Talk to Ravel. He doesn’t like the bugs. Not even with mead.”

I kept my eyes on his face as I backed away from the raving Breton until I nearly bumped into a female Altmer. Like the Argonian, she was nude except for a helmet, gauntlets and boots. “Have you seen it?” she exclaimed excitedly to me. “Have you seen the light? The bright shining light?” She tapped her naked breast. “I know it. It waits for you. Speak with Ravel,” she pointed at a Dunmer, the only fully clad worshipper in the bunch. “He knows the way.” She wandered away from me.

Uncomfortable with my struggle to keep my eyes on their faces, I limped towards the Dunmer. His white mage’s robe, turned dingy from living in the wilderness, somehow lent him the air of a high priest. The fur helmet he wore did not diminish that sense. “Hello, Ravel,” I said to him.

He turned his head to look at me. “Place?” he answered. I frowned, puzzled by his question, but he continued without waiting for an answer. “Not place? Here. Not here? Welcome to the Grove of Madness, stranger. Or go away. Who knows? Time will tell.”

“I’m looking for the Shrine of Sheogorath,” I said. “I assume I’ve found it?”

“Killed and ate a Bosmer here,” Ravel said to me. “But it made me sick. Saw Lord Sheogorath in the vomitus, so that’s all right. Here to sacrifice? A limb would be nice.”

“How do I summon Lord Sheogorath?” I asked, gathering my courage. I need to get that artifact for Martin. Gods help me if I have to kill someone.

“Then approach the shrine,” Ravel said. He sniffed the air. “Of course, he won’t appear. Because it’s not raining. He loves the rain.” He grinned at me, insanity flickering in his red eyes. “And you’ll need an offering.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “I think a lesser soul gem, a head of lettuce, and some yarn will do the trick.” Giving a decisive nod, he smiled. “Yes. That’s what Sheogorath wants.”

Nonexistent ants crawled up my spine as I approached the statue. I swung the pack off my shoulder and knelt down to rummage in it. You were right, Gwinas. Thank you. I drew out the lettuce and the yarn I had gathered in Bravil, and the lesser soul gem from Calindil’s shop, placing them on the statue’s plinth.

“Another mortal dares to summon me, and already I am bored,” a light tenor spoke, causing me to jump. I stepped back and looked up at the statue, but it remained motionless. “But enough about me. Let’s talk about you.” The voice paused, then continued, “I could turn you into a goat. Or a puddle. Or a bad idea. I could make you eat your own fingers. Or fall in love with a cloud. Perhaps I could make you into something useful. Let’s find out.” Silence fell for several seconds. A glance behind me revealed that the worshippers had continued with their senseless behavior, ignoring me, with the exception of Ravel, who watched me intently.

“There’s a little settlement called Border Watch,” the disembodied voice drew my attention back to the Shrine. “It’s a nice, peaceful place - and dull, dull dull. You’re going to make their lives interesting. They’re a superstitious bunch. Everything is an omen or a portent. Let’s make one come true. Find their shaman and ask about the K’Sharra prophecy. You are to find a way to make the first two parts come true. I’ll take care of the rest, because it’s the most fun. Now run along.” Again the voice fell silent. I waited, but it did not speak again.

Turning around, I nearly bumped into Ravel. “You’ve spoken to the Madgod. Joy of joys! Are you elated? Excited? Aroused? Blessed are you. Blessed is he!”

Are you nuts? Yes, you are, indeed. With a stifled sigh, I started off to find this settlement.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Aug 23 2010, 04:46 PM

[treydog]

I wondered how the cool, rational Julian would fare with the Mad God... Rather well, actually. The addition of Gwinas' directions and his useful advice add some continuity and remind us of one of your many supporting characters.

Something about the bandit fight bothers me, but I cannot quite put my paw on what it is. Perhaps it is the fact that Julian's reason for deciding to take them out is missing? Although it can also be a danger to over-explain. Perhaps it is as simple as: ex-Legion NCO sees outlaws in position to threaten travelers and deals with it. Or, in broader terms-"old habits die hard."

Excellent descriptions again, in a fun (but disturbing) installment.

And the last few lines capture Julian perfectly.

This post has been edited by treydog: Aug 22 2010, 07:29 PM

[hazmick]

would that be the occupational safety and health administration?

YAY SHEOGORATH!! The worshippers are crazier than the residents of the shivering isles, which is strange.

Another Argonian: Beewos and her reference to monty python an the holy grail.

If Julian thought they were crazy, just wait for the K'Sharra prophecy