@SubRosa- I have spent a fair amount of time underground, and my feelings have changed… A certain claustrophobia has grown upon me over the last 20 years. But it is hard to go into a cavern and not feel the life of the world around you.

Carnius definitely has agents in the colony- and he seems to know things instantaneously. Darn telegraph stations.

@Acadian- Yes, an earlier version of Athlain would have just seen the mine tunnels as dark and cool. The quest for the Standing Stones has changed him. And I am pleased that he has a personality that comes through. Julian is almost easy to write, because I have such a wonderful guide to follow.

@mALX- I wanted that line to have the impact of a slamming door… We will hear some of Athlain’s thoughts in the next episode. And you are correct- Julian will certainly note that slip and follow it.

Athynae poetry- I was not clear. I love the verse her fans provide- it’s just that I am going to refrain (pun alert!) from inflicting more of my own efforts on my long-suffering audience (for now).

@Destri- Carnius is bad enough in-game- I decided to make him even more overtly evil earlier on. Giving Athlain an opponent who could not simply be “removed” has forced him to use his head- and accept the assistance of others. But yes, if ever anyone was in need of a severe beating, it is Carnius Magius.

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

I left the office, believing that Carnius’ words were just more of his usual bluster, this time brought on by fear that he had been caught. His denial did not concern me; we had at last found a witness who could testify to the Company factor’s corruption and criminality. As for Oryn Maren, he had my sympathy; I knew all too well what sort of pressure Carnius could exert. But that was a worry for another day- I returned to the barracks with a light step. A few of the troopers looked at me oddly, and I realized that I was out of uniform. Technically, that meant I should not sleep in a Legion bunk, so I went to the Imperial Cult shrine, instead. My decision had nothing much to do with religion, and everything to do with the fact that the shrine was quiet and warm, with the comforting odors of incense and beeswax to aid in restful contemplation. In other words, if I fell asleep on one of the benches, no one would bother me.

When Jeleen’s recitation of the morning prayer woke me, I went straight to the dock. I was anxious to get to Raven Rock and discover what Falco had decided to do with his prisoner. We made a quick passage through calm waters, and I jumped to the dock without waiting for the gangway to be lowered. I had barely landed when the colony manager hailed me, indicating that I should walk with him. He remained silent until we were well away from the buildings, in a clearing where no one could approach unseen. Before I could ask anything, Falco said abruptly:

“Oryn Maren is dead. Murdered last night.” He gave a humorless laugh and added, “It appears that Carnius has ‘solved’ our theft problem for us. I’m sure he ordered the murder, but I don’t dare accuse him of it without proof. There’s not anything you can do for now, Athlain. And… it might be a good idea if you stayed away from here for a few days. People saw you escorting Maren out of the mine- and now he’s dead. It wouldn’t be hard for them to add two and two and come up with five, especially if Carnius puts his thumb on the scale.”

I understood what Falco meant, and stayed only long enough to retrieve my gear from the dead man’s house. It was odd, the way even that utilitarian structure seemed emptier, as if it somehow knew its lodger wasn’t going to be coming home anymore. That feeling grew upon me, turning into a strange mood, similar to the sort of “waking sleep” I had experienced while completing the Test of Loyalty. Perhaps it was a result of spending the night in the shrine, followed by the news that our best chance to stop Carnius had been foiled. Or perhaps something was drawing me north, even then.

Though I could not stay in Raven Rock, I also could not go back to Fort Frostmoth. Carnius was there, and if I got too close to the Company factor feeling as I did, I could not be responsible for my actions. When I had finished getting into my armor, I noticed Elberoth’s saber standing by itself. The sword gave me an idea of something worthwhile I could do while staying out of the way.

From what little I had heard, the dead captain had been an odd and difficult elf, but he had apparently also been courageous, for all his faults. I had spent enough time on Solstheim to know that the Nords believed a dead warrior rested easier with a weapon near to hand. And Elberoth had done me a service by letting me “borrow” his sword. So even though he was a Bosmer rather than a Nord, it was time I returned the blade to him, so that his final sleep would be more peaceful. Or more combative- whichever his shade preferred.

The work party I had taken to the wreck had buried Elberoth near the shore but above the tide line- it seemed fitting that a ship’s captain should have a view of the sea. As I walked north, the air grew colder and a gusting wind blew snow into my face. I put my head down and hunched my shoulders, recalling the dry, dusty heat of Ald’ruhn with nostalgia. I wouldn’t even have minded a rain-storm, one that turned everything to mud.

Still, the weather kept the wolves and bears at bay, so my trek was uneventful. I discovered the wrecked supply ship by the simple expedient of nearly walking into its side where it lay canted upon the shore. Using the grounded bow as a guide, I walked inland until I reached the low mound of stones that marked Elberoth’s grave. I drove his saber point-down into ground at the head of the grave and muttered:

“May your sword serve you better in death than it did in life. I thank you for the use of it.”

Then, out of consideration for the fact that he was a Bosmer, I twisted a sprig of holly through the hilt of the saber, so that Elberoth would forever rest beneath a green bough.

My self-appointed mission had taken the better part of the day, and now I needed to find shelter if possible. I glanced at the hulk lying on the shore, but did not care for the way it shifted as the waves drove against it. My newfound enjoyment of sailing extended only to well-maintained ships with competent crews; I doubted that I would find any such pleasure on board a drifting, sinking wreck.

I had traversed the coast to the south several times by now, and knew that the only places to get out of the wind and snow were barrows. I might resort to using a tomb if I had to, but I doubted that I would be able to rest inside of one. Even apparently empty burial places seemed filled with whispers and darting shadows; perhaps the vestiges of spirits that had little love for the living and yet seemed to crave our warmth. I would destroy undead when I came upon them, but I was not a crusader who sought them out. That being so, I turned to the north once more, hoping to find an ice-cave or even an isolated dwelling such as Kolfinna’s.

The blowing snow hampered my efforts to locate a suitable shelter, but I still pressed onward, feeling something pulling me north. I had learned to trust those feelings, which may explain why I was not completely surprised to see a tall figure standing on a rocky promontory, staring out to sea. I approached carefully, not certain whether this was a mortal being or some sort of specter or other uncanny creature. When my boot scraped on stone the figure turned haunted eyes to look at me, and I knew it was a Nord- one who appeared to have gazed into the depths of Oblivion itself.

Despite his haggard appearance, the man greeted me in a friendly fashion, saying,

“Hail, stranger. Do you come here to behold the sea? Never will you meet a maiden so beautiful- or so unforgiving. If you would watch with me, I will be glad of the company. Not many folk come this way- the horkers and the cold keep them away. My name is Thormoor Gray-Wave and I once was the captain of the Havhingsten. But that was before… before that night.”

He fell silent and turned his gaze back to the waves that crashed upon the shore. When I had given him my name, he spoke again, quietly, almost as if to himself:

“A few months ago I was ferrying some settlers from Skyrim to Solstheim. I was tired...so tired.” He clenched his fists spasmodically, and then went on, “I admit my guilt. I fell asleep at the rudder. The ship drifted into a gale, and by the time I woke, it was too late. I couldn't regain control, and the ship capsized.”

He turned to me and searched my face with those haunted, hunted eyes, looking for… something. I had no words of absolution, and knew, in any event that it was not my forgiveness he sought. I silently indicated my understanding and he continued in a hoarse whisper:

“There were only two survivors -- me, and an old man whose entire family was lost in the wreck. He was bringing them here to Solstheim to live with him. We clung to a floating timber and drifted ashore near here. When we were safe, I told him of my terrible failure, and he used his power to punish me. For he was a seer and he cursed me. He said, ‘Your sleep took from me all that I loved, so I will take from you your ability to rest ever again.’ He cursed me with eternal wakefulness.”

Having had my own share of experiences with troubled sleep, I asked sympathetically,

“You mean- you have not slept- since the night of the wreck?”

Thormoor nodded and told me, “As punishment for my incompetence, the seer laid his curse upon me. I am exhausted, but can't sleep no matter what I try. Potions, magicka, nothing works. Athlain, I haven't slept at all in six months.”

He held out a trembling hand and begged me,

“If you go to the seer, maybe you can convince him to lift the curse? His name is Geilir the Mumbling, and he lives by himself in a dwelling here on Solstheim- an ice-cave. I believe it is nearby, south of here and not too far inland. Do this for me, and I will share with you the most valuable secret I learned when I was a ship captain.”

'Then, out of consideration for the fact that he was a Bosmer, I twisted a sprig of holly through the hilt of the saber, so that Elberoth would forever rest beneath a green bough.'

Ahh, what a touch. And it thrills the romantic soul in me.

I'm with Fox here - that line about twining a bough of holly in the hilt of the sword is especially touching.

And Grey-wave's curse is a wonderful introduction into a new quest. Yumm!

Again you have made Solstheim come alive for me, and I especially enjoy this foray into a land I've never been.

Wonderful, treydog!

I loved your cleverness here.

Let me pile on as number three in the queue to rave on your treatment of Elberoth's grave. I know a wood elf very well, and Athlain chose his tribute wisely.

Because the old sea captain was so forthcoming with his guilt, you very quickly made him a compelling character. Athlain's decision to help goes without saying.

This post has been edited by Acadian: Oct 9 2010, 03:53 PM

To me, more romantic than the sprig of holly (although that was really cool that he thought of what might be another's tradition) was the thought behind the act of returning the sword itself. Not an easy trip, not easy conditions - and how many would have just kept the sword for their own use. I haven't played that game, maybe it is a part of the game's given quest - but since I didn't know, I attributed the action to Athlain's character. He is steeped in tradition that is based in doing right by his fellow man, he is honorable. His character has grown with the story, subtle changes that come across to the reader - tremendous personal growth since the beginning of the story. He ROCKS!!! (as does his author!!!)

This post has been edited by mALX: Oct 9 2010, 04:38 PM

As the others said, the holly on Elberoth's sword was an excellent touch. Not only for the reason Athlain gave, but also because of the symbolism of holly in the duality of the Oak King and Holly King. The Oak King rules the summer, when the days are filled with light and the earth with life. The Holly King rules the winter, when night reigns and the land lies choked and dead under a shroud of snow and ice. As such the Holly King is one of many manifestations of the Shadow King, the force of death when in a male guise. Under him one can finally rest, reflect back upon life, and regenerate old wounds before being reborn once more with the coming spring.

Such a delightful curse upon Thormoor! Well, you know what I mean. Soltheim's very own Ancient Mariner. I am looking forward to seeing more of this.

I agree with mALX. The holly was the crowning touch, but the act of returning the sword was truly touching.

The rocky promontory that Thormoor stands on wouldn’t happen to be called Sirenum scopuli, would it? I half expect Peisinoe, Aglaope, and Thelxiepeia to be nearby, laying in wait. If only Thormoor had Orpheus in his crew all could have been averted. Or is it Athlain who needs Orpheus to keep him from succumbing to Thormoor’s song? I can't wait to find out.

Very touching in all aspects of these latest installments Trey. Thormoor's quest always did bring a weird factor that what very fresh to Morrowind. I think you should eventually move on to TR which expansions I've been playing lately, the quests are in the spirit of Morrowind and much less repetitive.

But all in all the small touches bring a depth and three-dimensionality to Trey and the Story that is much more for the Reader then "OMG! LOOK AT MY SIX FOOT NORD WITH A SWORD!!"

Dear Black Hand....try combining a six foot nord with a sword with a bawd, and...

Oh. lawd...

@D.Foxy- The holly was one of those “happy accidents” that simply occurred to me and immediately made sense.

@haute- Ah, thank you. If I can bring Solstheim to life for you, I am well-pleased. The quest was rather another accidental occurrence, but I decided to go with it as a break from the Company.

@Acadian- That bit about “2 and 2 and coming up with 5” was a saying of my Dad’s I thought of Buffy as I placed the holly- hoping she would approve. And I am glad in the instance of Thormoor that Athlain is predictable.

@mALX- There is no compelling need to return the sword (in game terms). Once the PC has scared Egnatius, the sword is just one more thing to deal with. But Athlain has lots of issues with swords and has assimilated a lot of Nordish ways of thinking. Thank you so much for your kind words about my character. I intended to start him out as being a bit spoiled and arrogant- he has changed a great deal since he “ran away from home.”

@SubRosa- Athlain did not fully realize the significance of the holly; his lore is mostly related to martial skills and alchemy. But your description of its significance perfectly encapsulates what I was seeking with that unplanned addition. And the curse has a very “Old World” mythos feel to it. “Let the punishment fit the crime.”

@Destri- The return of the sword, like the holly, was an accidental inspiration. The game forces the PC to “do something else” for several days before the next Company quest, so I decided to actually have Athlain “do something.” The location is named “Thormoor’s Watch”- but I do wonder if his sleep was completely natural…

@Blackhand- I will definitely have to add TR- until I can afford a video card, no Oblivion for me. Thank you for commenting on the depth- I have tried hard with this story to do more than simply follow the quests.

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Thormoor’s secret meant little to me; but I would still help him if I could. I was reminded of what Korst had told me about the true meaning of exile for the Skaal- and that death was a more merciful alternative. This seer- Geilir- had obviously followed the same principles when he exiled the captain from the land of dreams. It was certainly true that Thormoor’s inattentiveness was a crime, and a horrible one at that, leading to loss of life. But how long did punishment have to last before it became vengeance rather than justice? I could not promise Thormoor a release from the curse, but I did give him my word that I would try.

With the approach of darkness, the winds had died down, and I retraced my steps to the wrecked supply ship. From there I moved inland, eyes scanning the snowy landscape for any sign of a dwelling. But it was my sense of smell that aided me, as I picked up the odor of wood smoke. I followed the scent as best I could to a clearing, noting the axe-marked trees near a low mound. A hide-covered doorway was set into the south slope, from which escaped wisps of smoke, along with occasional bursts of garbled speech. Someone made their home here, and I needed shelter as well as information- so I clapped my hands together sharply and called out,

“Hello. I am a traveler who comes in peace. I humbly request lodging for the night.”

There was a long silence, broken at last by a querulous and oddly muffled voice, which responded:

“I do not care for visitors, but I will grant ye guest-right, so long as ye are peaceful. Come inside where I can see ye.”

Untying the hide that closed the entry, I stepped into an ice-cave, blinking at the smoke and flickering fire-light. After I had secured the lacings once more, I stooped and made my way down the tunnel to the single chamber that served as living quarters. There were furnishings and rugs strewn in haphazard fashion around the room- along with a great many empty bottles. The lone inhabitant was an older Nord dressed in a blue wool shirt and brown trousers. His hair was tinged with gray and the left side of his face bore a large tattoo. As I looked at it, I realized that it represented some sort of bird. The Nord did not speak, but looked at me with eyes that were red from drink- and from weeping. He seemed unaware of my presence, for he raised a bottle to his lips and took a long swallow. Tossing the empty vessel aside, he spoke in a low monotone,

“They have taken Oddfrid, my dear sweet Oddfrid. My only friend.”

Having no answer to that, I said instead, “I am Athlain. I thank you for granting me shelter from the cold. Might you know of a seer named Geilir?”

The Nord slumped onto a chair and drew idle shapes on the surface of the table with his fingers, not raising his eyes to look at me as he admitted:

“Aye. I am Geilir. And I know who sent ye.”

Thinking that would make things easier, I said, “Good. Why don’t you tell me what you would like to do?”

“Do?” he repeated. “I canna do anything, now that Oddfrid is gone. They took her…”

He trailed off and began rummaging on the floor, seeking a bottle that had not been emptied. Failing to find one, he resumed his seat and rested his head in his hands.

“First, I lost my family at sea, and then those foul creatures stole Oddfrid away.”

Then he roused himself and added in a stronger voice, “But she has sent ye to help me, to bring her back. She was taken by the draugr who infest the Kolbjorn Barrow. Oddfrid White-Lip. If ye bring her back to me, I will ask her to tell yer future.”

I had no idea who Oddfrid was, but it did not seem wise to admit it. Besides, it was my duty to save anyone who had been kidnapped by the undead. And, since Geilir had asked me to perform a service, I could seek one in return.

“What about Thormoor Gray-Wave? If I rescue Oddfrid, will you release him from your curse?”

He slammed a fist down on the table and glared at me. “I cursed Thormoor Gray-Wave with eternal wakefulness. He couldn't stay awake and carry out his duties, and now my entire family is dead as a result! So I made sure Thormoor would never fall asleep again. Fitting punishment, don't ye think?”

Just as quickly, his anger dissipated and tears welled from his eyes. “But if you were to return my only friend, I would be most grateful...grateful enough even to lift Thormoor's curse....”

I reached out to take the seer’s hand and said, “It is a bargain. I will bring Oddfrid back, and you will end the curse.”

Geilir returned the hand clasp and replied, “Excellent. Of course, I knew ye would help. I am a seer after all. Now, Kolbjorn Barrow lies to the southeast of here, near the coast. I need ye to enter the barrow, find Oddfrid, and return her to me. Do be careful, young man. The draugr are fast, vicious and entirely without remorse. Sleep now and go at first light. It will be good to have Oddfrid’s company again.”

With that, he laid his head down on his arms and soon began to snore. I found a relatively clean spot on the floor and rolled myself in some furs. I lay awake for some time, thinking of Thormoor and his six months of sleepless nights.

When the weak light of morning gilded the edges of the door-covering, I rose and made a quick meal of biscuit and dried meat, not bothering to wake Geilir from his sodden slumber. As it happened I knew where Kolbjorn Barrow was. And while it was true that it lay southeast of Geilir’s dwelling, it was quite some distance away, more or less on a line between Fort Frostmoth and Raven Rock. And that meant that magic would serve me well in this circumstance.

Leaving the ice-cave, I found a spot near the shipwreck and cast the spell to place a teleport locus. Following that, I used my Intervention amulet to carry me to the Imperial Cult shrine at the fort. Every time I entered the fort, I felt Captain Carius’ absence. But there was nothing I could do without Tharsten Heart-Fang’s cooperation. And getting that cooperation meant finishing my business with the Company. So I left the fort quickly, going in the direction of Raven Rock, looking for the barrow entrance my map showed was on the western slope of a steep hill. As I walked, I felt the exhilaration of performing a task worthy of a Legion officer. Rescuing women, or strictly speaking, a woman from the clutches of the evil undead was exactly the sort of mission I had imagined myself undertaking. Many of my illusions had been shattered in the bitter cold of Solstheim, but that one remained.

Even so, when I reached the entrance to Kolbjorn, I hesitated, for the stone-covered opening bore an uncanny resemblance to a mouth waiting to swallow me. But I had faced draugr before, and was sure I could prevail again. Just the same, I tightened the straps on my armor and adjusted my shield before pushing aside the entry stone. Confidence was fine; complacency could get me killed.

The barrow was much like the others I had examined- a short entry hall, with corridors branching left and right, leading to the main burial chamber. Mage-fires flickered on stone pedestals, and I caught the distinctive scent of the draugr- a combination of an open grave and rotted ice. One of the foul creatures leapt from the shadows and I raised my shield to deflect the raking claws. When it recoiled, I swung my mace at the blackened head, feeling the familiar shock of contact as the blow landed. After that, it was almost like the endless drills Carbo had put me through- block, step, swing, recover. A few steps further, a second undead joined its fellow on the floor of the barrow and I at last had leisure to look for Oddfrid.

But no one called from the shadows, nor came forward to thank me for my efforts. In fact, no living creature was visible anywhere in the barrow. And that was strange, because there weren’t any hiding places. The wall-niches were empty, as was the plinth in the center of the chamber, except for a skull. I considered what I knew of undead and their habits, and felt a shiver of concern. A pile of bones lay near one wall and I stirred them with my toe, my unspoken fear growing. But the bones were old and dusty; more to the point, they did not bear any marks of teeth or claws. I looked for any sign of a concealed door or some other place where a person might be hidden, but saw nothing. Growing frustrated, I called out, “Oddfrid,” and listened to the echoes running away in the darkness, trailing off into silence. Beyond that, there was no reply.

This post has been edited by treydog: Oct 13 2010, 11:55 PM

Oooh, a Stephen King mystery!

So where is Oddfrid White-Lip? This has the feel of those creepy folk tales of the otherworld, of faerie (and I'm not talking about Tinkerbell here), and of the old stories about things not what they appear to be.

I hope Athlain gets to the bottom of this mystery!

A cliffhanger !!! Oh, something tells me that Oddfrid is no more - or a skull (bleah). Riveting write, what really makes this story so immersible is that one feels they know the Ska'al personally after reading - you have held back nothing in making the culture of the Nord a living, breathing, visual part of the reader's knowledge base !!!!

Wonderful, treydog! As mALX noted, you have really made the Nord culture come alive - I admire it enough to be pleased that it has infused, to some extent, into Athlain.

Feels like old times curled up reading Athlain by a crackling fire. I had to grab my furs to keep warm, and now they are full of smoke from that ice lodge. Magnificent. Even the biscuit and dried meat seemed to hit the spot.

Quoted for truth. Are you paying attention here to the wise Athlain, Buffy?

Without spoiling anything...let's just say that OddFrid is indeed Odd, and does have a white lip.

I liked how you portrayed Geilir. His every action, his every word, clearly illustrates that he is a man overwhelmed by his emotions.

Many of my illusions had been shattered in the bitter cold of Solstheim
This is a particularly vivid turn of phrase.

Athlain is eating hardtack and beef jerky? Ick! Hopefully he did not break any teeth on the biscuit (if it is legion stores, it is probably left over from Alessia's war of liberation...) He should go to the JF for his meals, haute serves the best food in all of Chorrol... Kidding aside, it is a good touch. That is exactly what trail rations are, or iron rations as we called them in my D&D days.

Why do I get the feeling that Oddfrid is Geilir's pet dog or cat? Except that of course undead are not known for taking prisoners. So perhaps Oddfrid is some favorite item of his, like a helmet? Or maybe that skull in the plinth? "Alas poor Oddfrid. I knew him..." The fact that you mention it separately from the dusty bones hints that it is more than just a random piece of detritus.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Oct 14 2010, 03:28 AM

Typical Elder Scrolls, to gain a favor you must do a favor . . . or two.

Funny that he didn’t foresee Oddfrid’s kidnapping. Maybe he was too worse for drink!

I wish I had written this line!

I would caution Athlain against the assumption that Oddfrid is a woman. These things never go the way one would hope.

Oddfrid is neither he nor she, yet has a full set of teeth. Oddfrid has no eyes, yet can stare for eternity. So forth and so on...

Sigh, this takes me back to '05-'07 when I would just lay back and play MW on the old X-Brick, and enjoyed playing it. Now that I have it on PC and a plethora of mods to choose from, and a limited ability to mod myself, Im lucky if I actually get to the main quest with any character.

C'est la vie.

And uh yeah, Go Athy! Bash some undead!...in a eloquent and gentlemanly manner....

This post has been edited by Black Hand: Oct 14 2010, 10:41 PM

...a cranium, but no brain?

He may have seen it. That does not mean he would be able to stop it. Ever since Cassandra the classic curse of the seer has been to be unable to change what they see.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Oct 15 2010, 03:41 AM