Have just recovered from ... well, am still recovering from...don't ask.

But prose like this helps greatly! Oh, and since recovery takes precedence over diet, I am reading this over a cup of hot chocolate, hur hur@Old Andy. quotes. com

Athynae would have been so proud of Athlain, seeing how he dealt with Carnius, and the evil temptations he had...oh aye!

Now we're in for a great tale...The stones! How Athlain will conquer all of them, described in your funny, brilliant treyish way

Oh what joy lies ahead of us all!

Nice touch bringing in the dubiousness of a light spell!

Penumbra... where is that from? I have a MtG card called Penumbra Worm and whenever I play it my friends hate me lol.

I believe there was a Club Penumbra in the old Pen and Paper RPG Shadowrun...

SubRosa- I have to admit being influenced by your own depictions of mysticism as I wrote that passage. It just seemed to me that undertaking a mythic quest should set the protagonist apart in some literal, as well as metaphysical way... In actual game terms, it was just a matter of running too fast for the critters to bother him. The light spell goes back at least as far as my paper and pencil D&D days- "Yes, a light source allows you to see. But it also allows you to be seen."

Captain Hammer- Thank you for reading- and especially for the thoughts about alchemy, which caused me to ruminate and eventually include the first paragraph.

haute- My thanks. Yes, just never could see the value of turning yourself into a beacon for every creature within range...

mALX- I was thinking of a certain Khajiit's own school experiences when I added that- and your descriptions of magic use were a major influence.

Acadian- Thank you so much, my friend. Yes, you caught me at it- keeping Athynae present in the story even when she is not... And that was the other purpose behind noting that the potion was from her, instead of Athlain's own creation.

D.Foxy- Welcome back, vulpine D! Prose we have in plenty here, lyrical and lovely or dark and brooding. Must stop now as I fear I am about to start channeling Corambis from the players scene from Hamlet.

minque- Indeed, Athlain is saved from himself by the reminder that there are more important things in life than revenge. I have an idea about... hmmm, no I will save that spoiler for a better time- assuming I can manage the bit of plotting I want... Some humor (I hope) below, in your honor.

Remko- "Halls of Penumbra" is, of course, in-game. However, I had to look up the definition. It actually does not mean "complete darkness," but rather a shadowed area, such as occurs during a partial eclipse. Rather like "penultimate," which I once discovered to my chagrin, DOES NOT mean "final," but rather "next to last." SubRosa (and Joseph Campbell) could tell you that there are many myths and legends surrounding eclipses.

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But my inability to cast the spell was not an issue, because I had a potion that would provide me with the ability to see in the darkness. When Athynae had come searching for me, she had brought along enough potions and ingredients to stock a respectable apothecary. However, I did not chafe her for being- perhaps excessively- well-prepared, since I had been the beneficiary of her alchemical generosity. In the past, before the skooma, I would have been more than happy to prepare my own potions. But I had spent several months distilling moon sugar with my alchemy apparatus, and I could not convince myself that it was free of all traces of the drug. Beyond that, what had once been a restful occupation had become an experience tainted by shame and regret. I would take up the practice of alchemy again one day- when I felt that I had once more earned the privilege.

Meanwhile, I quietly broke the seal on the vial Athynae had so lovingly filled and sipped the contents. The vision imparted by the potion was disorienting at first- colors were muted and almost indistinguishable- everything appeared in shades of gray. But the lack of color was compensated by the clarity- I could see every crack and curve in the icy walls and floor of the cavern. And it seemed to somehow enhance my hearing as well; I believed I could distinguish the shuffling steps and angry groaning of the undead Nord warriors who guarded this place.

I readied my shield and mace and moved to the left side of the passage, reminding myself that the draugr could sense my presence, too. It was said that the undead could not only smell the blood of the living, but could sense our warmth, as well- and that they hated what they could no longer have. Even as I recalled that bit of lore, movement further down the passage alerted me to my first opponent. The draugr slowly turned in place, head up and eyes glowing red, as if it sought confirmation of an elusive scent.

If I had possessed Father’s skill with a bow, I would have sent arrows out of the darkness to disable or kill the creature. While I might hesitate to attack man or elf from ambush, I felt no such moral nicety in regard to the undead. However I might dispatch one of these unnatural constructs, I was doing the world- and the creature- a favor. And besides, it would allow me to stay as far from the awful thing as possible. But, since I was barely competent at archery, such considerations were largely pointless. I began to run as silently as possible toward the reanimated guardian, and smiled as I heard Carbo’s admonition about battle-cries echo in my head.

At the last moment, the draugr sensed me and turned to face my charge. Rather than trying to check or swerve, I swung my shield in front of me and lowered my left shoulder behind it. I kept my legs moving, driving the creature into the wall. Flesh, even the sinewy flesh of a revenant, is not proof against being crushed between steel and ice. I let the impact push me back, then quickly set my feet and swung the ebony mace in a sidearm blow. The draugr dropped to the cavern floor without a sound, the red light of its eyes fading to darkness.

I dealt with another of the undead at the point where the passage curved to the south, then came to a cross-corridor. I considered the choices before me- I could go left or right, or straight ahead. No markings or tracks provided a clue as to which path was best, and I was about to let Fate decide when I remembered my purpose- to free the Sun. If I was facing south, as I believed, to my left was the east- the direction of the rising Sun.

After a brief straight stretch, the passage turned sharply south again, and I wondered if I had made the correct choice. But then I realized that a faint glow was coming from the walls of ice. It could not be a reflection, since I carried no light source, so I pressed onward, following the slowly brightening light west and finally north. At last, I saw that the light was coming from behind a wall of ice that blocked the end of the passage. And I saw something else.

A creature such as I had never before heard of stood before the ice wall, a nightmare assemblage of spikes, talons, and tusks. At first glance, it appeared to be a made of stone and ice, risen from the very bones of the cavern. It stood upright, like a man, but the skin looked like a mixture of ice and rock dust, almost as if the very essence of Solstheim had become animate. The light from behind was enough to show that it was overall a bluish-grey, except for the eyes, which glowed with a furnace heat- white-hot.

The Guardian

Just for a moment, I wondered why the final battle- or what I devoutly hoped would be the final battle- in these missions always seemed to involve a mobile mountain of teeth, claws, and muscle. Why couldn’t I enter an epic struggle against, say- a kwama forager or a scrib? The bards could always embellish events after the fact; and I would be more than happy to keep quiet about what really happened.... Or maybe, instead of fighting, we could have a pleasant conversation. I could tell the demon about Athynae- he could tell me what it was like to be an evil, cave-dwelling monster. And then he could hand over the light of the Sun and we could part on good terms. Or perhaps not. Even as these whimsical thoughts flitted through my mind, the creature raked the claws of one foot back across the floor, leaving deep gouges in the ice and stone.

The strange mood still held me, and I responded to the aggressive gesture with an elaborate bow, saying,

“Very well, Sir Beast; though we have not been introduced, you may begin the dance. If I don’t know the steps, I imagine I will pick them up quickly enough.”

The guardian made no sound in response, but shook its head from side to side and then charged. My hope that its size and seemingly clumsy physique would make it slow was immediately dispelled. In addition to being horrible to gaze upon, it was horribly fast. It swung its clawed arms wide, as if to embrace me, and thrust its head forward, seeking to impale me with a curving tusk. Almost, I despaired- every part of this beast seemed to be a weapon- and I had only the one shield with which to protect myself. But I ruthlessly stepped on those doubts, for I knew that I had much more; I had been trained by the finest soldier in the finest army Tamriel had ever known.

If your opponent is bigger, use your speed. If he’s faster, use your strength. If he’s bigger AND faster, use your brains. Don’t let him hit your shield straight on- turn the blow and let the force slide off. Strike where you can- even a light blow with a mace is going to hurt. Go for the elbows, the wrists, the knees. A sharp rap on the top of the shoulder can numb the arm, even if it doesn’t break the bone. Keep moving. Set your feet long enough to get power behind your blow, and then- MOVE. Never give him a stationary target.

I did not hear the actual words- I did not need to. Hour upon hour of grueling practice had converted words and concepts into automatic responses, movements executed without thought or hesitation. The beast was stone and ice, but I flowed like water. And water will wear away stone and ice. At times, I felt like a stonemason, chipping away at a great boulder, seeking to shape it to a more pleasing pattern. It did not all go my way- the monster was too strong and possessed too many weapons for me to avoid every attack. But there, too, training came to my aid.

Sure it hurts. That’s Nature’s way of telling you not to get too cocky or do anything stupid. But if it hurts, it means you aren’t dead- yet. If it hurts, it can be healed- as long as you don’t quit and don’t get yourself killed. Dead can’t be healed.

When the monster finally fell, I was almost surprised. It seemed like we had been spinning, smashing, and clawing for eternity. I felt no great sense of triumph- the creature had been magnificent in its own way. I looked at the carcass and noted that, even in death, the furnace glow of its eyes had not dimmed. And I recalled a passage from the Story of Aevar:

He plucked the flaming eye from one of the Unholy Beasts and threw it at the ice with all his might. A small crack appeared in the ice, then grew larger. Slowly, the light crept out between the cracks, widening them, splitting the ice wall into pieces. With a deafening crack, the wall crumbled, and the light rushed over Aevar and through the Halls.

So I did the same, plucking the glowing orb and throwing it at the ice wall as hard as I could. The ice shattered and the light burst forth, illuminating the cavern as if I stood in the open air under a clear blue sky. I knew that I must return to the Sun Stone to complete the ritual, but first I drew a quick sketch of the dead guardian in my journal. Perhaps Korst would be able to tell me what it was… and whether there were likely to be any more of them around.

For some reason Beowulf confronting Grendel in the halls of Hrothgar flashed through my mind. I wonder if that was exactly what he was thinking? (Before he realized the creature had no pintle, that is.)

I really liked the thoughts on the tactics of combat - they almost exactly echo mine, and do a great job of explaining why Athlain is so good at what he does.

Glad to do so, and to see what came as a result.

As always, I remain fully engrossed by the story and the style. Well done.

Nothing to nit-pick at, just eagerly awaiting what comes next.

Nice job of keeping Athynae in the story, as you remarked to Acadian about. The potion of hers, and the explanation of why Athlain was not making his own, both provided wonderful insights into his character.

I also liked your description of the draugr (I so love that name, Cyrodiil's generic undead lack the same style), and their ability to smell the blood of the living and feel their warmth. The sensory facilities of the undead in this game are left wholly to the imagination.

Good deduction on Athlain's part to go east to find the sun. I especially loved Athlain's musing about why there is always a boss-level monster at the end of every quest!

but I flowed like water
This was always my advice to people when using horse archers in the game Rome Total War. As Bruce Lee said:
Don't get set into one form, adapt it and build your own, and let it grow, be like water. Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless — like water. Now you put water in a cup, it becomes the cup; You put water into a bottle it becomes the bottle; You put it in a teapot it becomes the teapot. Now water can flow or it can crash. Be water, my friend.

Good part, I remember that quest and must say you caught the 'What on nirn?!' moment when you first see the grahl. A nice bit of humour with Athlain's thoughts too, so like him (and this story) to have a bizarre side thought at such a time.


Yay for the subtle approach!

Great stuff.

Keeping up with it, Sir Trey, worry not. Fantastical writing as ever, and getting better with each entry.

Athlain shoulda had a cup 'o tea with the beastie, but maybe heat is bad for it? That woulda worked too.

Fabulous as ever, Treydog.

Just for a moment, I wondered why the final battle- or what I devoutly hoped would be the final battle- in these missions always seemed to involve a mobile mountain of teeth, claws, and muscle. Why couldn’t I enter an epic struggle against, say- a kwama forager or a scrib? The bards could always embellish events after the fact; and I would be more than happy to keep quiet about what really happened.... Or maybe, instead of fighting, we could have a pleasant conversation. I could tell the demon about Athynae- he could tell me what it was like to be an evil, cave-dwelling monster. And then he could hand over the light of the Sun and we could part on good terms

AND

“Very well, Sir Beast; though we have not been introduced, you may begin the dance. If I don’t know the steps, I imagine I will pick them up quickly enough.”

AND ALSO


If your opponent is bigger, use your speed. If he’s faster, use your strength. If he’s bigger AND faster, use your brains. Don’t let him hit your shield straight on- turn the blow and let the force slide off. Strike where you can- even a light blow with a mace is going to hurt. Go for the elbows, the wrists, the knees. A sharp rap on the top of the shoulder can numb the arm, even if it doesn’t break the bone. Keep moving. Set your feet long enough to get power behind your blow, and then- MOVE. Never give him a stationary target.


WOO HOO!!! Deadpan humour, Courtly Clint Eastwood, and INTELLIGENT FIGHTING ... WHAT MORE COULD A READER WANT???

TEN THUMBS UP FOR TREY!!!

Oh I loved two things, he had the potions Athynae gave him and thought of her as he drank them, the other was remembering, then plucking the eye out and smashing the icy walls with it - I would love to have seen that! (is it in the game?)

Wonderful as always!
A favourite quote:


Just love it! You know I have a file on my comp, where I keep wonderful quotes from your stories....The file is named "Treyish quotes"

When I feel like I need to smile....I open that file....and smile!!

Oooh... loved that! Pain's good, lets you know you're still alive. QFT!

As I moved back through the Halls of Penumbra, I was pleased to see that the light I had released had incinerated the bodies of the draugr. I had not relished the prospect of trying to dispose of the corpses myself- still less, the idea of leaving them where they might be reanimated. Healing potions cured my injuries and the sun was warm on my face when I emerged and followed the path east, crossing the river and climbing the hill to stand before the Sun Stone once more. I reached out and touched the Sun symbol and the entire Stone began to glow with a comforting light. Within me, I felt a similar warmth, dispelling a cold I had not even realized was there.

I consulted my journal and the map of the remaining Standing Stones and decided to go back to Raven Rock to see Falco. And while I was there, I could repair my armor. Activating the Recall amulet brought me near to the colony, and I reported my “interview” with Carnius to Falco. He shook his head at the Company factor’s harsh words, but then switched to practical matters:

“It will still be several days before we can begin construction of the Trader’s shop. But it will go quickly once the supplies arrive; the Company designs all of its buildings to a standard plan.”

He placed a friendly hand on my shoulder and added, “I appreciate your restraint in dealing with Carnius. But we should be on guard more than ever, now. If he senses this opportunity slipping away, he might do something desperate.”

I thanked Falco and sought out a quiet place along the shore to make quick repairs to my equipment. What I really needed was a smithy, but I did not want to go back to the fort just then. Something had happened when I touched the Sun Stone, and I felt compelled to continue. Beyond that, the feeling of being somehow “apart” from the physical world also remained.

With the worst of the damage repaired, I considered where I should go next. The map of the Standing Stones showed that the Earth Stone was not very far to the northwest. With good fortune, I should be able to find it and complete that portion of the Skaal test within the day. With a wave to Falco, I left the colony and strode into the trees. I was barely out of sight of Raven Rock when I saw a familiar black spire rising from a low hill.

On the east face of the weathered stone was a simple rune, depicting a symmetrical curved line rising above another, horizontal, line. The symbol could be interpreted as either “mountain” or “land.” In this case, I knew it meant the more general “earth,” from the Nordic term for Nirn. When I touched the rune, the low voice in my head responded:

Travel northeast to the Cave of Hidden Music and learn the Song of the Earth.

I turned in that direction and saw a steep peak, with a Nordic barrow dug into the western slope. When I examined the burial however, the runes on the entry seemed to translate as “Bloodskaal,” so I realized that this barrow was not my goal. Although it was kind of the guiding voice to assist me, I would have appreciated it if said voice could have been a bit more specific. “Northeast” took in the greater part of the island of Solstheim, including Thirsk and the Skaal village itself. And I knew that the Cave of Hidden Music was not near either of those places. Nevertheless, I set out in the indicated direction, trusting that some sign or clue would present itself.

As I walked, my mind wandered. The word “music” reminded me of Athynae. Well, to be honest, everything reminded me of Athynae. But in this case, it was a particular memory. Her speaking voice was as attractive as her appearance- low and lyrical, with just a hint of the characteristic Dunmer rasp, which became more pronounced when she was tired. But, the odd thing was that she, who it seemed did all things well, could not sing. That did not prevent her from trying, however, and doing so with her usual energy and enthusiasm. The results were- painful… all the more so because she loved music passionately. Therefore, none of us could find the heart to tell her that her efforts were about as tuneful as a lovesick cliff-racer giving its unwanted amorous attentions to a reluctant guar. There was such joy on her face as she slaughtered innocent notes by the score that we simply waited quietly until her eyes were closed in the ecstasy of the music- at which point we stuffed cotton into our ears.

But the memory, like the pleasant days from whence it came, could not last. I was no longer at home, and I had greater worries than trying to find a way to tell my friend that her singing scared the livestock. Soon, I had gone far enough to the north that I reached the edge of the snow cover that blanketed the island year-round. I paused to rest beside a tree and stared at the icy precipitation that still fascinated me. And as I watched, I noticed something even odder than the snow itself.

Periodically, the grains or “flakes” of snow would vibrate briefly upon the ground. I had inherited Father’s interest in natural phenomena, so I watched closely. It appeared that the snow would move slightly four times and then cease. A few minutes later, it would happen again. If there had been herds of large animals on Solstheim, I would have deduced that the passage of one such was causing the ground to shake. But the cycle of the vibrations and the fact that they neither grew nor faded in intensity indicated that the source was fixed. I looked up to see if there was any other sign of the cause, but saw nothing except trees and snow and distant mountains. And the sight of the mountains reminded me of the Earth rune, which brought back the words “…the Song of the Earth.”

I shook my head in frustration at my obtuseness. Would the Song of the Earth be heard in the Air? Of course not- it would come from the ground. Now that I knew how to sense the muffled “song,” I could follow it like a lodestone. Before long, I beheld what appeared to be the entry to a Nordic barrow set on the northwest flank of a hill. The runic inscription identified it as the place which I had sought- the Cave of Hidden Music. When I placed a hand on the stone slab that served as a door, I could feel the low vibrations from within, even though I could still not hear any sound.

Inside, the cave still resembled a barrow more than anything else, walled with large slabs of unmortared stone, laid so as to leave niches at about waist height. The distinctive opened grave odor of draugr reinforced the impression that this was a burial site- or at least the home to some number of undead. I only hoped there was nothing like the guardian from the Halls of Penumbra- I was not sure I could survive another fight like that.

The entry hall was mercifully empty, but a gap in the south wall showed what appeared to be a much older, perhaps naturally-formed, cavern. Occasional stones were marked by runes that had eroded beyond translation. Although the low notes were a constant presence, there was no obvious hint as to what direction I should take. Therefore I wandered the tunnels for what seemed like hours, frequently fighting the draugr that seemed to rise from the very floor. At last, with my armor scored and smeared from numerous nasty fights, I found a door inscribed “Chamber of Song.”

I passed through the door and was able to hear more clearly a low series of notes. It could not really be called music- it sounded more like a giant who was snoring- or perhaps suffering from digestive troubles of a socially-embarrassing sort. Regardless of the peculiar quality of the “song,” I was certain my goal was near. Turning west, I followed the sounds until I reached a high chamber. At the far end, I beheld a series of rock formations that perfectly fit a passage from the Story of Aevar:

He found himself in a large cavern, where the rocks hung from the ceiling and grew from the ground itself. He listened there, and heard the Song of the Earth, but it was faint. Grabbing up his mace, he struck the rocks of the floor in time with the Song, and the Song grew louder, until it filled the cavern and his heart.

Even as I remembered that section of the story, I saw the stone columns briefly emit vapors in a series of four flatulent notes, the very sounds I had been hearing for some time. The nature of the sounds was such that, instead of immediately following Aevar’s example, I found myself overwhelmed by a bout of helpless laughter. Song of the Earth, indeed! It was not a song, but a play- and a particular type of comedy at that!

Athlain's feeling of being partly divorced from the mundane world was a good touch. It reinforced the feeling that he is on a visionquest, with one foot in the spirit world, and one in the physical.

Earth is the Nordic word for Nirn? Is that from the game? Or something you did on your own?

The description of Athynae's musical predilections, and qualifications, was simply hilarious! Especially the part about the cotton!

Yay update. The quality was top notch as ever.


There's a lot of this piece that I could quote but I'll restrict myself. I love the dry humour your work has, that line made me laugh particularly.

"Earth" as the Nordic word- Since "Earth Stone" and "Song of the Earth" are used in game, I had to give a reason that the Nords used a different term than the Cyrodiilic "Nirn."

To my delight, the etymology of "Earth" is Proto-Germanic, Old English, and Old Norse. (er[th]o, eor[th]e, jorfi) Brackets [th] used in place of thorns, since I don't know if one of our forum fonts has those.

Well, I just figured that the Beth writers were too lazy to use the word Nirn, and the editors (do they even have editors?) just as bad. It is a good reason for fantasy writers to call their world Earth, as it avoids problems with things like earthenware jugs, falling to earth, good green earth, etc...