I loved this part, the kwama egg was inspired, far better than just another fight. The egg itself reminds me of a particular Tibetan delicacy I've been subjected to a couple of times where you boil eggs for about an hour then leave them hot for a morning, then deep fry them, then curry the resulting squashballs. In hindsight throwing them to the pigs would have been far more satisfying.

I loved this line, it says so much about him, and about Athynae. I think she might have spoken forcefully to him...


Having worked on a farm with pigs I can only agree with what others said. Feeding them was a rather frightening job... but their vicious tendancies made a brilliant plot device.


Sorry for the quote mountain but this line made me laugh. It fits with Athlain's character perfectly and suggests that maybe life on Solstheim is making him go a bit native. And it's a prime example of the dry humour I love in this piece.

Such cunning culinary tactics on the part of Athlain! This is much more interesting than the stock fantasy hero who simply wades into the forest of baddies with his sword and smites them all to dust with his mighty thews.

btw, on the subject of pigs, here in Michigan there was a double-murder case in Leelanau county where the killers fed the remains of the victims to their pigs. It took 18 years for a conviction, because there were literally no bodies left.

The scene with Brynjolfr was the real prize for me. It is a very sweet moment as Athlain realizes that Scord (Scot-Nord) has labored all through the night to not only repair his armor but improve it. Not for money, but rather from friendship. It makes my girly heart pitter-patter.

nits:
It is entirely a matter of personal taste, so more an observation than a nit, but in the first paragraph I think the numbers (1), (2), etc... might read better if they were spelled out as words (One), (Two) rather than using numerals.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Aug 28 2010, 09:57 PM

btw, on the subject of pigs, here in Michigan there was a double-murder case in Leelanau county where the killers fed the remains of the victims to their pigs. It took 18 years for a conviction, because there were literally no bodies left.


Shades of that Hannibal Lecter Sequel Story!!!

Ever seen Snatch?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4HAQ3pNHwj4

-Viewer Warning not intended for Children.....or people sensitive to graphic descriptions.

This post has been edited by Black Hand: Aug 29 2010, 04:48 PM

Er...this is Foxy you are talking to...right? GAAAAH!

Yes, I have seen -


DANG!!! My Red Riter beat me to the punchline!!!!


My dearest, most humourous, exciting, unpredictable, and prolific Red Riter, will you please stop stealing my punchlines...



...come to think of it, perhaps it's for the best.... I get to stay on this forum.

There was no way to leave that one alone, it hit my email and I spewed all over my keyboard and monitor - if he hadn't quoted you...I would have let it go, but...he did. ROFL !!!

Oh, and...

-Viewer Warning not intended for Children.....or people sensitive to (porno)graphic descriptions


Fixed.

@D.Foxy- Thank you. That is high praise indeed. As to experiences with swine- both “domestic” and feral- there have been a few. One of my earliest childhood memories is of a band of formerly domestic hogs that was abandoned and decided to run riot through our patch of woods. Then there are the European boars that a bunch of idiots decided to import to western North Carolina for hunting. Some naturally escaped and bred with the feral population. They are a plague to this day in the national park.

@Acadian- Brynjolfr is just one of those “take over the keyboard” characters. And he has that hammer- so I decided to leave things up to him.

That is very similar to the image I had in mind- along with a rugby scrum… It’s funny, when I first conceived the scene, I noted that the terrain would allow Athlain to simply jump down from the roof of the tomb and duck inside. But then I remembered the joy of going high into the Jeralls with a bunch of pumpkins or melons and “dropping” them in Oblivion.

@mALX- Thank you so much. I am so happy to have you and Maxical back.

@hazmick- Love the title!

@Black Hand- Yes, he very much has that sort of external personality- hiding a much softer interior. As for the bone wolf- see this installment…

@haute- Yup, pigs are scary, especially large sows. They may not have tusks, but they have very sharp teeth, sharp hooves, lots of weight, and the attitude and cunning to go with it. As to Athlain’s planning, the next part is revealed below.

@Olen- Remind me to avoid Tibetan- “delicacies.” Yes, Athynae tends to make a lasting impression. The line about philosophy and depression was a bit of Athlain channeling Kierkegaard, Camus, etc. I’m glad you appreciated the humor behind it.

@SubRosa- With so many examples of clever solutions instead of brute force, I felt I had to step up my writing. Plus, Athlain actually is supposed to be intelligent, even though he forgets it a lot of the time.

There was also a Canadian serial killer who used his pigs to dispose of the evidence…

Naturally, Brynjolfr is another father-figure for our boy- who I hope is slowly realizing he actually has a father, and a good one.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The interior of the tomb took on the faded cast typical of a night-eye potion, as if I viewed the world through a piece of green glass. Still, it was enough to see that there were mage-fires burning in stone bowls set at intervals along the rough walls of rock and earth. There were also two draugr waiting just inside the entry, so I set myself to take their charge. As I had learned, they were terribly strong, but neither fast nor coordinated. And I was pleased to note that their claws barely made a mark on my refurbished armor. The sound of shuffling feet came from deeper inside the tomb, so I left the blackened bodies and moved to the left hand passage.

As I rounded the corner, I discovered the source of the strange howl that had greeted me when I first entered the barrow. It was one of the worst things I had ever seen. An apparition in the shape of a wolf confronted me with bared teeth- and bare bones where muscle and fur should have been. It was a parody of a wolf, a ragged, skeletal creation that appeared to have been assembled by someone with neither skill nor patience. Worst of all, whoever had committed this travesty had shown no respect for the noble predator thus represented. Disgust roiled my stomach as I prepared myself for a difficult battle.

As it transpired, the creator of the “bone wolf” had stinted on the animating force as well as the crafting of the beast. I brought down my mace upon its head and the entire construct flew apart, bones and scraps of fur scattering in a wide spray. That result had less to do with the power of my attack than with the tenuous nature of the magic that had held the creature together. As I shook my head, a word and a picture from that long-ago book came to mind- a scarecrow. It was simply a flimsy mockery of a real wolf, designed to scare intruders, but otherwise useless.

For the rest, there were a number of additional draugr and “scare-wolves,” which were more in the nature of an annoyance than a threat. Still, I was glad I had not fought the rieklings outside first. If I had been badly hurt, low on magic and restoratives, the story might have been quite different. But, thanks to Brynjolfr’s craftsmanship and Athynae’s potions, I reached the back of the inner burial chamber with only minor wounds.

In front of a wall niche at the western end of the tomb was a woven bag large enough to hold myself and a close friend or two. The top was knotted shut and I did not hesitate, but untied it and opened the mouth of the bag wide. A stiff wind buffeted me for a few moments, carrying with it the scents of the seasons- summer sun, dry leaves, swirling snow, and spring rain. Then all was still once more. However, something within the barrow had changed. I looked around and saw that the wind had scoured away all traces of the undead I had fought. That was well, for I had not looked forward to the prospect of trying to burn them in the close confines of the tomb.

My task in Glenschul’s Tomb accomplished, I followed the second part of my plan and spoke the words of a spell. Shaking off the momentary disorientation of teleport magic, I was pleased to find myself standing just outside the mead hall. Earlier, while I had been thinking instead of simply reacting, I had remembered watching Athynae disappear in a flash of magic- once from this very hall and once from beside the airship. And I had realized that I could do the same, more or less. So I had set my teleport locus here and then recalled to it when I was finished in the tomb. As far as I knew, the rieklings and bristlebacks were still fighting over the kwama egg, and I hoped the struggle would put paid to all of them. My only regret was that it had taken me so long to remember to use the amulets my father had left for me. Actually, as I contemplated the long, frozen walk back to the Wind Stone, I had an additional regret- that I had not done my thinking- and spell-casting- there instead of at Thirsk.

I could hear the sound of singing from inside the hall and the tapping of Brynjolfr’s hammer upon his anvil, but I did not seek the company of others. My feet were once more upon the path of the ritual, and I felt that I must hold myself apart until it was finished. With that thought, I turned north and west, returning to the Wind Stone. When I touched the curved lines, the Stone began to glow and the voice said,

You have done well. The Winds will allow the people to once again feel the spirit of the All-Maker in their souls.

I paused then, letting the breeze blow over me. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but it seemed less chilly than before, with a promise of spring flowers. And I remembered the final words of the Athynae’s note- the one I still carried wrapped inside her scarf:

I will look for you in Ald’ruhn when the flowers bloom.

But Rain’s Hand and Second Seed were far off, and Mother’s garden seemed still farther, no matter how I yearned for the new flower I hoped to find blooming there.

My reverie lasted only a moment- if I did not complete this test and discover the whereabouts of Captain Carius, I would never leave Solstheim- not with my honor intact. Therefore, I studied the locations of the remaining Stones. The Beast Stone was relatively close, south of the Skaal village and east of Lake Fjalding, so I turned my steps in that direction.

This Stone had the most elaborate carving I had seen, a clear representation of the head of a wolf. When I touched the symbol, I was told:

“Travel south. Find the Good Beast and ease his suffering.”

So much had happened since I had read the Story of Aevar that I decided to review the relevant portion before wandering around the wilderness looking for a “suffering beast.” I might find any number of creatures that were suffering without stumbling across the right one- I might also accidentally kill the animal I was supposed to heal. Or perhaps a merciful death was what was intended. Despite what some soppy youngsters believed, nature magic was about a lot more than fluffy animals and unicorns. It recognized that death was a necessary end, a part of the great cycle. The only possible concession to delicate sensibilities was that a quick, clean death was better than suffering. However, that did not seem to be required in this case. According to the story:

Aevar traveled through the woods of the Isinfier for many hours until he heard the cries of a bear from over a hill. As he crested the hill, he saw the bear, a Falmer’s arrow piercing its neck. He checked the woods for the Falmer (for that is what they were, though some say they are not), and finding none, approached the beast. He spoke soothing words and came upon it slowly, saying, "Good Beast, I mean you no harm. The All-Maker has sent me to ease your suffering."

Hearing these words, the bear ceased his struggles, and laid his head at Aevar's feet. Aevar grasped the arrow and pulled it from the bear's neck. Using the little nature magic he knew, Aevar tended the wound, though it took the last bit of his strength. As the bear's wound closed, Aevar slept.

When he awoke, the bear stood over him, and the remains of a number of the Falmer were strewn about. He knew that the Good Beast had protected him during the night.

That helped a bit- I was supposed to look for a bear on an island that seemed to be overrun with bears. Better still, I was supposed to look for a bear with an arrow in its neck, a condition that would probably improve its mood no end. And finally, the arrow would belong to a Falmer- or a riekling, if it was true that they were one and the same.

As I grumbled to myself about obscure prophecies and foolish errands, a memory brought me up short. I seemed to almost hear my father’s voice inside my head, talking about the importance of state of mind when preparing potions:

One thing you will not find in the books or lists of ingredients, but that is equally important, is attitude. If your mind is disordered, your work will be disordered as well. At best, your potion will be weak- at worst, it will fail or else poison the person who uses it. So, at all times, remember why you are doing the work. If you cannot do that, better to leave it for another day.

The same admonition was true of the Ritual of the Gifts- I had to keep in mind why I was going to the Standing Stones and completing the tasks they required and I had to maintain a respectful attitude. Whether or not I carried the blood of Skyrim in my veins, whether I worshipped the Nord gods or no gods, there was some force at work here that had struck a chord deep within me. Each time I completed one of the rituals, it seemed that a part of me I had not even known was missing returned to its proper place. Korst’s words when he had sent me on this quest echoed in my mind:

“If you would heal yourself, you must heal the land.”

Wooo more Athlain A good part, showing him beginging to use his head again, and he seems to be doing better than ever before. Certainly he hasn't shown quite so much drive and direction without being directly ordered since arriving at the island.

On the subject of his growth as a character I hadn't noticed until the pointer that with each of the rituals he is improving a bit from the worst moments. That's a clever device there which I should have noticed much sooner (I'm going to blame the nature of reading a story over several years, certainly when it's finished I will go back and read over the whole thing at once). I suppose that also shows how subtle and naturally the growth is, and how strong the character is.


Kinky...

So is night eye green in Morrowind? I never played enough to find out. Or did you decided to give a nod to modern night-vision with the emerald cast?

The undead vanishing from the tomb after opening the bag was a good touch.

“If you would heal yourself, you must heal the land.”
Once again, I like the Arthurian overtones of Athlain's quest. Here we see him bound to the land, as he suffers, so does it. To heal one, one must heal the other. So Athlain pursues his grail, perhaps to find that it is not the cup that will heal him, but rather the journey itself?

I was wondering how Athlain was going to deal with his little blue boar-riding foes when it came time for departure - very, very clever, Athlain!


Beautiful, with several meanings - all of them relevant here. Brilliant passage.


Quoted for its simple truth.


As ever, I so enjoy seeing Athlain's world through his eyes.

Trey may not be in the story but he's still there.

another enjoyably enjoyable chapter. I recently read the story of 'Aevar the stone singer' when playing Oblivion so my lore of Solstheim is a bit better. Can't wait to see what happens next.

This must explain why Maxical failed alchemy!

Treydog you are covering quests I have not read about in anyone else's story (that I know of - I haven't played any but TES IV) I am so intrigued that I went over this three times before commenting! Your story is filling me with a deep desire to play these quests! Awesome Write, but I knew it would be!!!!!

Damn!

Bestest Friend Acadian beat me to the punch - so I'll just add a 'what he said' to the list of accolades!!!

I have a feeling flower is a metaphore in this sentence.
Loved it Trey.

This post has been edited by Remko: Sep 2 2010, 11:25 AM

@Olen- At times, I think I have gone too far in making Athlain seem a bit… foolish. Fortunately, if you are seeing growth in him, perhaps I have not gone completely overboard. About the Bag of Winds- that was just too good an image to pass by.

@SubRosa- Actually, Night-Eye may just be a kind of washed out, pale effect. I was going from memory rather than game-play at that point.

It seemed to me that part of restoring balance and natural order should include the unnatural undead… I am glad that bit of creativity seemed appropriate. A lot of his healing is certainly more mental and emotional than physical- he must find his own center, even as he tries to get to the heart of the mystery.

@Acadian- As noted before, I wanted to “rehabilitate” Athlain a bit, and show that he is starting to do more than simply react. And I have always preferred games, stories, etc. that provide more possible solutions than just- “Shoot everything until it stops moving and then grab the loot.” (Although that is sometimes exactly the right answer!)

Thank you for acknowledging that image- I admit to being rather proud of it. All those years of studying literature finally pay off! And the other passage you quote seems to me a central theme of Bloodmoon- one I had not considered until I started writing this story.

@Black Hand- Yup. Whether Athlain will admit it or not, the other gigantic figure that looms in the background is his own father.

@hazmick- Thank you. I always appreciated the effort Bethesda put into the in-game books, going back at least as far as Daggerfall.

@mALX- If I can impress and intrigue the most clever and creative of story-tellers with my offerings, I am well-pleased. Yes, I think that concept may explain Maxical’s difficulties with alchemy- and maybe her erratic aim. (D.Foxy- look at the “e-word” there closely- it has 2 “r’s” and an “a.” I make no comments about Maxical’s other possible “e-word” aim, despite her interest in Gils- umm, reading material.)

@D.Foxy- Thank you so much for your continued reading and commenting. Your support means a great deal to me.

@Remko- Oh yeah. If I couldn’t throw in some imagery and symbolism now and then, I would have to turn in my Professional Order of English Majors membership card.

And now, the end of Chapter 12.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Freighted with the burden of hope and memory, and the sober realization that this was not simply a game, I turned my face south and walked through the blowing snow, listening for the sound of a bear in distress. What I heard instead were the fell cries of rieklings carried on the wind. I drew my mace and crept through the scattered trees, hoping to see what the blue-skinned gnomes were about, and to avoid them if I could. That last was not going to be possible, as I soon discovered.

Five rieklings were circling a white bear, darting in and out from all sides and dodging away as it vainly swatted at them. They did not seem to be interested in killing the bear immediately, but instead tormented it with shallow jabs and cuts. It was an ugly scene and provoked a terrible fury within me. Without a thought as to what the bear might do, I let loose an inarticulate cry and rushed to its side, using my shield to block a lance even as I swung my mace at a second attacker.

Though the battle madness was upon me, I never lost my concentration. My shout seemed to have frozen the rieklings in place for a moment, but surely that was only my imagination. Fortunately, these gnomes were not mounted on boars, which meant I faced fewer threats. Even on foot they were small and quick, but I was stronger and faster. I danced through that clearing like the very embodiment of Talos; none could stand before me. When it was done, I stood over the battered bodies, chest heaving, and looked to myself for any wounds. To my amazement, I was unharmed. Beyond a few scrapes on the face of my shield, the rieklings had apparently not landed a single blow. Though I was not religious, I felt as if I had just been granted a miracle.

A soft groan brought my eyes back to the white bear, which stood patiently only a few yards away, bleeding from numerous wounds. I put down my mace and shield and approached the bear with my hands open and near my sides. In a quiet voice I said,

“I hope you are the Good Beast, because if you aren’t, I’m going to be very sorry in a few seconds.”

The bear made no sound, but also made no attempt to move away. I uncapped a healing potion and poured it slowly over the wounds, watching as they closed, leaving patches of red blood on the white fur.

Thinking about the words of the story, I reached a careful hand to the thick roll of fur and flesh at the bear’s neck. My probing fingers found the shaft of an arrow buried almost to the fletching. When I touched it, the bear turned its head toward me, and I fought the impulse to jump clear. But the creature simply nudged my hand and then looked at me, its eyes clear and trusting. I muttered,

“This is going to hurt- I only hope they don’t know how to make hunting arrows.”

With that, I knelt in the snow and grasped the shaft of the arrow with my right hand, bracing my left against the muscular shoulder. As I pulled on the arrow, I spoke the words of a healing spell, trying to repair any damage my clumsy surgery might cause. When the wooden projectile finally slid free, I was pleased to note that it had a fire-hardened wooden point, with no indication that a stone or metal head had been attached. Through it all, the bear stood silently, except for a sigh when the arrow was at last removed and the glow of healing magic closed the wound.

Contrary to the original story, I did not feel any desire to rest, regardless of whether the bear would guard me or not. Instead, I gathered my mace and shield, planning to return to the Beast Stone. After I had gone only a few steps, I noticed that the bear was following me. Again, I could only hope that the creature’s actions were because of the prophecy, rather than an interest in the food I carried- or in determining whether I was myself edible.

Together, we followed the east shore of the frozen lake, and it was rather pleasant to have a companion whose silence matched my own. When we reached the Stone, it began to glow and I heard these words inside my mind:

You have returned the Gift of the Beasts. Once again, the Good Beasts will feed the Skaal when they are hungry, clothe them when they are cold, and protect them in times of need.

With those words came a greater understanding of what Skjoldr had said about the split between the village Skaal and those who stayed at Thirsk. It was the difference between those who hunted for the sheer joy of it and those who saw it as a ceremonial obligation. In a strange way it comforted me as I considered the men I had been forced to kill. It was not so simple as good and evil, although I hoped that I had always been on the right side of that equation, as well. It was a matter of balance- if no one did anything about the smugglers and reavers and criminals, the world would descend into anarchy, with the only rule being- “the strongest make the rules.” And that made some of what Carbo had tried to teach me about being in the Legion much clearer, too.

There was only one more ritual to perform; I must find the Tree Stone near the center of the island. If I could complete whatever task it required, perhaps Tharsten Heart-Fang would tell me what he knew of the attack on Fort Frostmoth. And then I would be one step closer to learning Captain Carius’ fate- which would also bring me one step closer to returning to Vvardenfell- and Athynae.

From the markings on the deer-skin drawing, the Tree Stone appeared to be near the headwaters of the Harstrad River. Therefore, I turned west and south, leaving the white bear beside the standing stone. I had entertained a brief hope that the creature might stay with me, but was actually relieved that he did not. If a companion had traveled with me, I would have constantly been worrying and watching lest she come to harm. “She?” It was not difficult for me to deduce from whence that pronoun had come. But I could relax my vigilance on that account- Athynae was safe at Indarys Manor.

The Tree Stone bore a symbol that was a clear representation of one of the straight-trunked, needle-leaved trees that grew upon the island. When I touched the inscription, I heard:

The First Trees are gone. Travel east and find the one who has stolen the Seeds. Beware--he who has the seeds, controls the trees. Plant the First anew.

As I followed the directions, I wondered at the warning- so far, the trees of Solstheim had been the only living things that had NOT seemed intent upon killing me. With a shrug, I loosened my mace and pressed onward. The riddle would no doubt be answered when I found the seed thief.

It came as no surprise when one mystery was replaced by another. Not far from the Stone, I found a group of strange creatures in a grove of trees. They were taller than most men, and seemed to be almost- dancing- around a single riekling. The creatures appeared to be animate trees. Their bodies were clearly feminine, but they were covered with bark- which seemed a part of their skin, rather than raiment. Where their flesh was visible, it was the pale green of new leaves, and their fingers and toes were long and branch-like. I also noted that the “fingers” ended in very sharply pointed claws. I concealed myself behind a tree and watched the scene for a time, wondering if there was a way to avoid fighting with the five tree-creatures.

As they seemed to sway and bow to the lone riekling in their midst, I recalled the words from the Stone- “…he who has the seeds, controls the trees.” Therefore, it seemed that if I could get the seeds away from the riekling, I could convince the enthralled wood-spirits to leave me in peace. I hoped.

Moving as quietly as I could while wearing 60 pounds of armor, I slipped from tree to tree, approaching as near to the riekling as I could. When I was only a few yards away, one of the wood-spirits detected my presence and sounded a shrill scream that alerted the others. There was nothing for it but to draw my mace and charge into the group, trying to reach the blue gnome in the middle.

I soon discovered that my concerns about those sharp claws had been correct; they latched onto my armor and seemed to almost grow into the gaps and seams. But I ignored them as best I could, targeting the riekling who controlled them. It’s just like fighting a Conjurer, I reminded myself. Don’t wear yourself out against the summonings; kill the caster.

It seemed to take an interminable time, but at last I knocked the blue-skinned thief to the ground, and a leather bag fell from his hands. I scooped up the prize and the tree-spirits immediately released me, standing silently by and staring mesmerized at the bag. A quick glance inside confirmed that it contained a single large seed, which seemed to glow with magic.

When I returned to the Tree Stone, it remained dormant, even when I placed the seed at its base. Checking my journal, I realized that I was supposed to plant the seed. The soil where I stood was too rocky; there must be a better place. I cast about and saw a low rise not far away where the ground was clear of stones and a good distance from any trees or bushes. I used my silver dagger to make a deep hole and carefully placed the seed inside, then covered it over. As soon as I did so, the Tree Stone began to glow. The final ritual was done; I had completed the Test of Loyalty. It was time to return to Tharsten Heart-Fang in the Skaal village.

Here Ends Chapter 12

The first sentence was beautiful, it's hard to describe why but I love it

Another good chapter which brings this quest to a close. Athlain still thinks about Athynae but he isn't being crippled by their separation like in previous chapters-a brilliant development of characters.

(unrelated to chapter)-I played on morrowind for the first time yesterday and I now understand what morrowind writers are talking about with Kwamas e.t.c- I am in the process of tracking down the GOTY edition for xbox so I can get into Bloodmoon and get more lore

keep up the good work!!

As ever, such beautiful writing and a joy to read, trey. Thank you.

As a non-MW player, it was great to have what are obviously MW quests described and brought to life in such rich detail.

As is so often the case, I was pleased to see Athlain's thoughts somehow turn, even briefly, to Athynae. It seems he has a constant presence that travels with him. We have some experience with that, and it is a good thing.

Despite the fighting, this was almost a reverently peaceful story. Part of it is perhaps because of the land covered in sound-absorbing snow you conjured. And I think too, because Athlain seems to have some inner peace and confidence that is new, or perhaps always was there. Regardless, quite magical to read.

Oooh! I'll give that another QFT!