I really enjoyed the ending to this latest installment. It was quite a long string of complex, powerful emotions. Athlain certainly does seem to be the target of much laughter lately; maybe he'll be glad to go back on Legion duty.

Very good story you have here treydog. I'm looking forward to reading more.

Mother did not explain her sudden burst of humor, simply patted me affectionately and said,

“Sometimes I forget what it is like to be so young. I will deal with your sisters in due time.”

Most of the rest of the night passed in a fog, and is quite hazy in my mind. I do know that at one point as I watched Serene making her graceful way through the press of people, Mother remarked in quiet voice, pitched so that only I could hear:

“It is hard for her, you know, being head of Redoran. Her innate kindness makes it difficult. But her sense of honor will not let her do less than her duty. Yes, that blasted Redoran honor…. Of course, she saved you father, saved him from himself and from his black despair. And she did it by reminding him of what it means to be Redoran…and to be human.”

Although I tried, I did not see Athynae again; somehow, the Sarethis managed to slip away without my noticing or having a chance to bid them good-bye. Even so, when I slept that night, I seemed to still taste Athynae’s lips and to smell her perfume.

The dawn came all too soon, the morning of the day that I must report back to Gnisis and my service with the Legion. Father had still not returned from Tel Fyr and I found myself saddened by his absence. It was Loredas, so Cai and Mae were free to linger over breakfast, during which they quizzed me intensely regarding Athynae. I knew better than to respond- anything I told them would be used against me. Mostly, I put them off by maintaining that they knew her better than I and had certainly spent more time with her during the party. Cai responded waspishly,

“Yes, but she wouldn’t tell us anything, either. And she said that we had to quit being so mean to you.” She added darkly, “I find that highly suspicious.”

Fortunately, Mother arrived in time to save me from the interrogation, and I breathed a sigh of relief. If ever the Emperor had need of inquisitors, I knew two excellent candidates for the job. On further reflection, though, I decided that even the Emperor would consider subjecting someone to my sisters excessively cruel. After she had poured her tea, Mother asked if I had everything I needed for my return trip. When I assured her that I did, she sighed a bit and then turned to another matter.

“Athynae forgot her shawl last night- why don’t you take it to Sarethi Manor before you leave? And I have some cuttings from the garden that Serene asked for; you can take those, as well.”

Those instructions set off a sudden spasm of fidgeting in my sisters; if they had had antennae, they would have been quivering. Mother raised an inquiring eyebrow and calmly asked,

“Are you two sitting on a scrib-nest, or did you need something?”

Her dry tone quelled their twitching, but not the avid pleading on their faces. Mother made an elaborate show of not quite understanding their unspoken question for some time, and then said,

“Oh, I suppose you two would like to go to Sarethi Manor, as well?”

My sisters’ triumphant smiles died as Mother shook her head and said,

“Unfortunately, I have need of you here today, so Athlain will just have to go alone. I imagine that he would be glad to carry any messages- if you asked him nicely.”

I decided that it would be easier to say good-bye to my family and then stop by Sarethi Manor, so I embraced my sisters and told them to try and avoid burning down the town while I was gone. Cai tried to remain stoic, but I saw a suspicious shine in her eyes. Mae was less restrained; she cried openly as she hugged me and admonished me to stay safe. Then she broke the mood by adding,

“And if you rescue a princess or something, be sure to have her write to me with all the details. Yon know you always leave out the best parts.”

Though they were often a trial, at that moment, I forgave them for all of their teasing. Mother said nothing, just held me for a long moment and then waved me away. I knew that she would spend the rest of the day in her studio, losing herself in her painting.

When I reached Sarethi Manor, Serene herself escorted me to the dining area and made sure I was seated comfortably. After providing me with a cup of tea, she took the plants I had brought and disappeared deeper into the dwelling, promising to send Athynae out. Even though I had been in this room hundreds of times, I felt more nervous than I had when I joined the Legion. My breathing was ragged and I kept having to dry my hands on my trousers. I seemed to hear my heart racing in my ears. Maybe it was some kind of disease- if so, I was in the right place; Serene could heal anything. And then Athynae walked into the room and my symptoms redoubled. I knew now what afflicted me and also knew that there was no cure.

She sat at the table and took a quick look around before saying,

“We don’t have much time. Mama is not terribly happy with me. In fact, she has been in full “Arch-Mistress” mode ever since she found out I was taking sword lessons. I don’t see the problem- I paid for it with my own money. And the sword master said I was a ‘natural.’ That annoyed Mama even more.”

I could well believe that Athynae had impressed a sword master- she had usually won the mock battles we staged growing up. She muttered something that I didn’t quite catch, and, from the look on her face, I decided I was just as glad. But her expression cleared and she reached up and unknotted her scarf, saying,

“Anyway, I am so glad you came to see me; you must write to me and promise to please be careful.”

She then thrust the scarf at me and said,

“And… here. I read about this in one of those silly books Mae is always mooning over. It’s called a ‘favor’. You keep it with you all the time and think of me when you look at it.”

A brief frown of anxiety returned and she added,

“If you want to think of me, I mean….”

I quickly folded the scarf and placed it inside my cuirass, promising that I would certainly think of her. Then I removed one of my bracers and slipped it onto her arm.

“And now you have something of mine, as well. Of course, Carbo will probably make me run to the eggmine and back about 50 times for ‘losing’ it, but I won’t mind.”

I had just taken her hand in mine when Serene returned and we guiltily broke our clasp and began to studiously look anywhere but at one another.

Serene said nothing for a moment, but a faint smile came to her face as she looked at us. Then she seated herself and spoke to me with great seriousness.

“I expect that you will take care of yourself. I am quite fond of your mother, and I will be most annoyed if you do anything else to upset her. I think I understand your reasons for leaving home, though I cannot say that your manner of leaving was the best.”

I stood to go and Serene unexpectedly gave me a fierce hug.

“I say again- take care of yourself. Come home to Baria and Trey- and to us. I imagine Athynae will be glad to walk with you to the silt strider.”

I found nothing to say as we made the short journey to the platform, but Athynae seemed content to just walk beside me. I shouldered my pack and turned to say good-bye, but she stopped the words with a kiss. As I climbed the ramp, she waved and called,

“Promise you will write to me!”

As the great insect moved across the hills, I looked back to see her slender figure growing ever smaller until it was lost in the distance. It was the first time I had really felt as though I was leaving home.

This post has been edited by treydog: Apr 29 2008, 10:53 PM

Very good update, this story seems to be getting better and better. Looking forward to more.

"Those instructions set off a sudden spasm of fidgeting in my sisters; if they had had antennae, they would have been quivering." like that line.

By the by, I have been following your updates trey-baby! Nothing to worry about! And this piece is far exceeding your last, IMHO.

You've been building a wonderful sense of emotion and characterization, trey. It is simply a treat to be able to read this stuff.

At last! I should be ashamed of myself, so many times being around and not commenting on this one! Then again I'm sure Treydog knows how I feel about it....the wonderful interpretation of "my" girls! Somehow Serene is more impressive and powerful when she appears in other stories!

Athlain is also very sympathetic and his interaction with his two annoying sisters is so amusing to read.

So now what will happen next?????

Well, since you ask... here is a brief teaser



From the records of the Imperial Legion, Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim, Captain Falx Carius commanding.

Transferred from Fort Darius, Vvardenfell- Agent Athlain Treyson.

Contents of a letter posted from Fort Darius (a portion):

Athynae:

I have been transferred to Solstheim. I do not yet know how long my assignment will be. It was pleasant to visit with you, and I appreciate your courtesy and kindness. I shall certainly write again when I have news. Until then, I

Wish you all health,

Athlain

Contents of an undelivered letter drafted at Sarethi Manor, Ald’ruhn (fragmentary):

Athlain:

You “wish me all health?” Really? And what exactly does that mean? You’re off to Solstheim to have more adventures, and probably meet a bunch of those blonde-haired, blue-eyed Nord hussies, and all you can say is you wish me all health? I… ohhhh… you just….

Athynae

P.S.- I begin to see why Cai and Mae called you “Max”.

Hey, Treydog, this is really good. I just started reading it recently, and it's very professional-looking. Keep it up, man.

My return to Fort Darius was troubled by questions. Had I made a mistake joining the Legion? Would Athynae forget about me, now that I was gone? Why had Father gone to Tel Fyr? Was he ill? I comforted myself with the thought that Gnisis was not that far from Ald’ruhn- once I achieved sufficient rank, I could spend more time at home. But, as it turned out, the Legion had other ideas.

Senior Trooper Carbo was waiting for me at the strider landing; he returned my salute perfunctorily and said,

“Just drop your gear right here. The General wants to see you immediately.”

He answered all of my questions with a single word: “Orders.”

When I entered General Darius’ office, he for once did not pretend to be occupied with other work. Instead, he stared at me speculatively for quite some time as I stood braced at attention. At last, he waved me to a chair with a gruff,

“Oh, at ease, already. Sit down.”

Then he picked up a paper from his desk and looked at it with marked distaste.

“Athlain, you’re a good soldier and I will be sorry to lose you. But they’ve got themselves a situation at Fort Frostmoth and orders are orders. That goes for generals just as much as for troopers.”

With those cryptic remarks, he fell silent once more. Despite my usual reserve in front of Darius, questions tumbled out in an unstoppable flood.

“Sir, I don’t understand. ‘Lose me?’ ‘Frostmoth?’ ‘Orders?’ Sir, what does this all mean?”

“It means that your reward for doing a good job here is to get handed a nastier job somewhere else. You have heard of Solstheim?” At my nod, he continued, “Well, you probably haven’t heard enough; it’s a bad spot, a little speck of misery between here and Skyrim. However, the East Empire Company is trying to open a mine, which means that we have to protect them. The Legion established a fort- Fort Frostmoth. Usually, assignment there is punishment duty- it means the officer or trooper screwed up. Personally, I question the wisdom of putting all the screw-ups and shirkers in one place, but the higher ups didn’t ask for my opinion. In any event, the result has been what I expected- trouble. Captain Carius has asked for help, and you are it. Find out what’s happening and fix it. I’m counting on you to use your judgment more than your weapons. The good news is that the job does come with a promotion; congratulations, Agent Treyson. If you do well, there’s a knighthood in it for you. Good luck. Dismissed.”

I left the tradehouse to find that the ever-efficient Carbo had already packed up my few remaining possessions and moved them to the silt-strider landing. He was as blunt as always, telling me,

“Be careful up there on Solstheim. I’ve heard stories…. Don’t forget everything I’ve tried to teach you- and don’t let that promotion go to your head.” He grumbled, “I still say ‘Agent’ is a stupid rank for a soldier. Anyway, you have an hour or so before the next strider for Khuul. If you want to write some letters, I’ll post them for you.”

He stopped talking and turned his back to me as he stumped off a few paces. After noisily clearing his throat, he continued,

“You’re a good troop- try not to get yourself killed.”

With that, he disappeared into the tradehouse, leaving me with my thoughts.

I followed his advice to the extent that I could- writing letters home. However, given Mother’s probable reaction to my new assignment, I wasn’t sure I could heed the part about not getting myself killed. In a display of bravery, I committed pen to paper and told her the truth, knowing that she probably would not follow me all the way to Solstheim. The letter to Athynae was even harder to write; it wasn’t as if we really had an understanding. I pulled out the scarf she had given me and inhaled the scent of her perfume, the same as she had worn that night in Mother’s garden. All that did was further disorganize my already chaotic thoughts. In the end, I fell back on my training in rhetoric and composition and wrote a formal letter, explaining that I was being stationed further from home. I sealed the letters and gave them to a passing trooper, who promised to see that they got to Carbo. And then the strider was at the landing, and I climbed aboard. The giant creature carried me north, toward Khuul. From there, I would take a boat to Solstheim. That was the name that had started me on this path, the place Louis Beauchamp wanted me to go, the place the Legion was sending me, the place I had believed that I wanted to go. So why did it feel now as though every step was carrying me away from all that I loved?

This post has been edited by treydog: May 2 2008, 07:21 PM

I am going to be really mean here: no matter how much I like the way you write you are not Nerevar reborn, I am Nerevar Reborn - Azura Told Me So. therefore at the moment your young character declared that his father was Trey, Nerevar Reborn I knew him for a liar, and therefor insane Maybe he is a follower of sheogorrath?

However ooc - this is a story based on an autobiography whichj is therefore not fiction. And if you have played this in-game it is also an autobiography ...

This post has been edited by raggidman: May 3 2008, 09:20 AM

Solstheim, right? So be it then.... . Athynae will be.....well if not sad, angry....very angry indeed. She will most certain take some measures, maybe not the expected ones.

As usual we learn how sweet Athlain feels about what happens to him....awww poor boy! Yet there is a hint of adventurous mind in him (inherited from his dad, no doubt) So we'll see.....he'll probably get in some kind of trouble!

Autobiography? Somewhat- to the extent that Athlain (and Trey) are somewhat based on my values and philosophy. More accurate to say "first-person" perhaps.... Which is the type of story I prefer to read and also the easiest for me to write....

Minque- thanks for allowing me to "borrow" your characters. On a previous comment- Serene may "seem" more powerful and mysterious as viewed through young Athlain's eyes; she knows herself to be mortal.... Thanks for all the nice comments and encouragement.

What are you going on about? For the sake of my sanity, please try to keep comments actually about the stories...

Umm.....of course it's fiction. Even if this was an 'autobiography' of sorts, it is one of a 'fake' character, meaning 'not' real. I'm pretty sure that sums up to being fiction.

This post has been edited by redsrock: May 6 2008, 11:49 AM

Great job here Trey, there's alot of emotion going on in deeper levels if you look closely. I also liked the dialogue in the last post especially, the part where they're rewarding him for doing a good job by handing him a job in solstheim...amazing work as usual.

I cannot say whether it was because of my dark mood when I arrived or because the place really was that dull, but I was unimpressed with Khuul. Like many of Vvardenfell’s fishing villages, it was mainly a dock and a collection of shacks that seemed to avoid collapse only by the vigorous application of ropes and fish glue. The odor was mitigated only by the fact that the wind seemed to blow constantly, which had the effect of causing all the houses to lean tiredly in the same direction. House Redoran had gone so far as to establish a crab-shell trading post, which architectural anomaly actually gave the appearance of a giant crustacean that had heaved itself onto the shore in order to devour the wood plank hovels that huddled together for protection. “Join the Legion and see the world!” Right, as in “see the most poverty-stricken, vermin-infested, mud-covered parts of the world. Generally populated by people who want to kill you.” Of course, my sour musings didn’t really mean anything- it wasn’t as if I was planning on settling there. My goal was simply to book passage on the next boat for Solstheim, to which end I aimed myself in the direction of the docks. Before I could reach them, however, I was intercepted by a Redoran guardsman. He was not one of the House retainers I knew; I wondered if his exile to this forsaken place was due to incompetence or some other misfeasance. He apparently did not recognize me, either- for which fact I was profoundly grateful.

“You there, you are in the Legion, yes?”

I looked at my uniform with some bemusement, checking to ensure that it had not somehow been transformed to Telvanni robes, and agreed that I was, in fact, an Imperial Legionnaire.

“That’s good, good. You can do something about the infernal Daedra worshippers that have taken over the Ashalmawia shrine. I would do it myself, but I’m the only guard here in Khuul. Anyway, stopping Daedra worship is the Legion’s job, so go right ahead. It’s southwest of here, near Ald Velothi.”

His peremptory request put me in a difficult position. On the one hand, he was right- it was part of the Legion’s mandate to suppress Daedra worship, or at least worship of the more…difficult Daedra princes, such as Sheogorath, Molag Bal, and so forth. But on the other hand, I had my orders to report to Fort Frostmoth “forthwith,” which was Legion-speak for “don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” What finally decided the issue for me was pride- pride in my uniform, in my decision to join the Legion, in myself.

I knew that, as the warrior house, Redoran had more respect for the Legion than did most Dunmer, but even their acceptance of the Imperial soldiery was grudging, at best. Carbo and Darius had reminded me time and again that I was a representative of the Empire. If I simply ignored this guard’s request and took the boat to Solstheim, the story would be all over the island in a day or two. A story told in mocking, raspy Dunmer voices about how a Legionnaire had turned and run, rather than face Daedra worshippers. So it was that I told the guard,

“Let me drop off my extra equipment at the dock and check the schedule. Time permitting, I will be glad to deal with your minor problem.”

My words expressed more confidence than I felt- Daedra cultists tended to summon fairly formidable creatures from Oblivion, both to serve as guardians and as part of their rituals. Still worse, a great many of those summoned creatures were immune to weapons of iron or steel. Fortunately, I had not been completely idle during my time at home; I had put one of my childhood memories to good use….

Every child has spent a great deal of time exploring his or her parents’ house, looking for secret doors, hidden treasures, places to get away from annoying siblings….

I was five and had just “discovered” a storeroom behind a musty tapestry in the basement. The door was not locked, so I took a lamp and went in. There were barrels and boxes, looking as if they had been there since the beginning of time. Some held armor, looking like shells sloughed off by strange sea creatures that went about on two legs instead of swimming in the sea. Others contained swords and daggers, which I left strictly alone; Mother and Father had both warned me about playing with edged weapons. But in one barrel was an object that fascinated me; it was made of a brownish-yellow metal and felt heavy enough to be gold. But it did not have the deep, rich glow of gold, and felt much harder. In shape, it was rather like a torch or perhaps a scepter; I spent some time pretending to be the Emperor, waving my “badge of office” around and issuing orders to my imaginary subjects. When I tired of that game, I took my new toy outside, where I discovered that it was wonderful for cracking iron-wood nuts and smashing comberries into a paste. Thus I was able to engage in two of the favorite activities of small boys: smashing things and making a mess. Father discovered me at this pastime and asked me what I was doing. I replied,

“I borrowed the nut-cracker from the basement. Is that all right?”

He saw what I held and burst out laughing, and then picked me up, saying,

“Yes, son, it’s all right.”

From then on, the object became known as “Athlain’s Nut-Cracker.”

Of course, when I became older and began to spend some time in other houses and to visit museums, I realized that the device was actually a mace crafted by the Dwemer and probably worth more than its weight in gold. When my Legion training shifted from swords to blunt weapons, I remembered my “nut-cracker.” Thus, when I made ready to return from my leave, I asked Mother if I could have it. She gave it to me with some reluctance; not because she did not wish to give it up, but because she would have rather that I had no need of any weapon at all. I enhanced the mace’s properties still further by bespelling it with a minor enchantment to absorb health when it struck an opponent. It was a comforting weight on my belt as I headed for Ashalmawia. I believed I was prepared for anything I might meet. In that, as in so many other things, I was quite mistaken.

This post has been edited by treydog: May 11 2008, 07:47 PM

Hehehe.



BWAHAHAHAH!!

I'm sorry for any immature chucklings. This update is quite good, and seems as though our boy Athlain has another misadventure ahead of him, as well as a chance to perform some chivalry perhaps?

Blackie! You quoted exactly what I was going to quote! Hahaha that's hilarious....In fact I have a file where I've saved all the funny stuff I've laughed about during my explorations of trey's stories, and I laugh every time I look at it.

So sweet treydog now we see that the pear doesn't fall very far from the apple-tree! (old swedish proverb, ) Athlain so resembles his father and I guess he'll get himself in a lot of trouble.....that's more or less expected huh?

True to my word, I went to the dock, where I discovered that the next boat for Solstheim would not depart for several hours. I left my books and a few other non-essential items under the watchful eye of the Redoran guard, and set out for the Ashalmawia shrine. The walk was uneventful until the eye-watering shape of the Daedric edifice appeared on the horizon. It would perhaps have been wise to attempt to scout the area first, to go slowly and stealthily, but I had no talent for silent movement. Then too, my steel boots were not really designed for sneaking up on anything, except perhaps a deaf mudcrab trapped inside a Dwemer factory. Therefore, I simply walked up to the shrine, seeking the entry. Even so, I saw the first obstacle before it noticed me. The creature was large, vaguely human in shape and its hide was the tone of a stormy sky. I knew from my studies that this was an elemental or atronach, one of the servants commonly summoned by mages to act as a guardian. In fact, I knew more, knew that this particular summoning was a storm atronach, a Daedric creature that was not only quite strong physically, but also capable of casting lightning bolts. Armed with that information, a well-prepared adventurer would have imbibed a potion or activated an item that protected against electrical attacks. Since I was not well-prepared, I simply tightened the straps on my shield, drew my mace, and with a cry of, “For Cyrodiil and the Emperor,” charged the elemental creature.

That tactic succeeded in drawing the atronach’s attention, and it launched a crackling stream of magicka toward me. I dodged to the right and raised my shield high, protecting my eyes. Although the face of the shield was steel, the backing was of stout strips of wood. That meant that most of the electricity dissipated harmlessly- but only most. One bolt contacted my left arm, which instantly went numb. However, even as my shield dropped slightly, I had come within striking distance. The creature was much larger than I, and I knew I could not allow it to grapple me. Not only might it crush me with its greater strength, but it might also be able to transmit severe shocks directly to my armor. Therefore, I dropped to the ground and whipped my mace in a sidearm blow against the outside of its left knee. Despite its cloud-like appearance, the beast was quite solid, and the attack had the desired effect. The atronach fell and I scrambled to my feet and leaped over top of the sprawled monster. Carbo had often commented on my quickness, and I was grateful for the endless hours he had forced me to run while wearing full equipment. Before the creature could rise, I sent a series of blows crashing down upon its head. At the final strike, the summoning disappeared in a puff of vapor and dust, leaving only a scattering of salts in its place. I took a moment to heal my injuries and to quietly celebrate my victory. My self-congratulations, though, were premature. There was worse to come.

Weapon and shield at the ready, I continued to circle the ruin, looking for the entry. Instead, I found a bearded Breton, clothed in Conjurer’s robes. Before I could even begin to form a question, he cast a spell at me and shouted,

“I’m not giving up that easily!”

I was unable to dodge the spell and immediately felt as though the weight of my equipment had doubled. The effect was to root me to the spot, although I was still able to move my arms. And then the conjurer made a mistake, one that we would both regret. Rather than cast more spells at me or summon creatures to finish me off, the Breton raised his fists and ran close enough to begin throwing punches. Of course, that also brought him into range of my mace, which I swung to good effect. As should have been apparent even to a mage, a mace against regular clothing is far more effective than fists against steel. But I had no time for such thoughts at that moment; I was under attack and my training snapped into place. I took the punches on my shield and, when the mage recoiled in pain, I struck back. Even though I was unable to get my full weight behind the mace, the strength of my arm, combined with the mass of the Dwemer weapon, was enough. After only a few blows, the Breton dropped to the ground and did not move. The spell of burden he had cast upon me dissipated, and I fell to my knees, not due to a renewed attack, but in horror at what I had done.

I stared at the corpse, the shell that had, a few seconds before, been a man. And now he lay dead at my feet- a fellow human being, slain by my hand. A great void of despair opened inside of me as I wondered if this was the ultimate goal to which I had aspired. Intellectually, I had known that soldiers fought other men or elves. And I had believed I understood that they frequently fought to the death. Still more, I knew that I had been responsible for some of the deaths in Ashinabi. But I had mercifully had no actual memory of those events, no knowledge of the pathetic way a body sprawled in death; no longer angry, no longer moving, no longer- anything. Tears streamed down my face and I knelt by the body of the Conjurer who had just tried to murder me. I took him in my arms and whispered,

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

But that was a lie. Of course I had meant to kill him. That was what my Legion training had been for- to make me a more effective killer. Because the object of the exercise was to be the one who was still breathing when it was over. I stood and straightened my equipment, absently wiping the dead man’s blood from my hands. I wanted desperately to go home to my father, to run back to Fort Darius and Carbo, to be anywhere but where I was, standing over this body, this proof of my guilt.