"...without the hero, there is no prophecy..."

@haute- Thank you for the wonderful endorsement. I wanted to set a creepy and mysterious atmosphere. Oddfrid will be revealed- and will have revelations of her own- below.

@mALX- I just cannot help but to throw those cliff-racer- um, cliff-hanger endings out every so often. Bethesda’s treatment of Solstheim makes me hope TESV is set in Skyrim… And I am thrilled that I can immerse such a brilliant storyteller as you in my vision of Bloodmoon.

@Acadian- It may be time for a wood fire here in Tennessee before I reach the end of this chapter! And another hint of Athlain’s connection to Skyrim appears below. Athlain is a more formidable fighter than even he quite realizes- Athynae’s Gift is a serious equalizer. But- Solstheim has a number of deadly opponents.

@D. Foxy- Precisely true.

@SubRosa- Geilir staggered in and took over, then fell asleep on the keyboard. But he has his reasons. Too bad Julian is not in a position (or the mood) to provide Athlain with something better than Legion rations… Of course, perhaps he should consider himself fortunate not to be on bread and water. Yep, good old canned bread from WWII (or the ES equivalent). No surprise that our resident Sage is so perceptive in re Oddfrid.

@Destri- Yes, Geilir also kind of missed out on “seeing” the whole “entire family wiped out by narcoleptic sea-captain” thing, as well. Poor Athlain, he keeps hoping to have that chance to rescue a damsel in distress… The closest he has managed was Mirissa the missionary.

@Black Hand- I hope to “flesh out” Oddfrid a bit in this episode. I only played through Bloodmoon once- and did not get into one of the major quest-lines at all… Undead bashed- with aplomb- or at least a mace. Your words regarding prophecy are… prophetic.

@All- This episode sees a return of Julian- and provides some cryptic clues about the future. Special thanks to haute ecole rider for a valuable assist on the closing scene.

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Although Geilir’s speech had been difficult to understand, I was certain he had said “Kolbjorn.” But there was no one there, except for me; and the dead- well, more completely dead- or perhaps no longer undead- draugr; and the skull, which grinned whitely at me, as if it knew something I did not. The skull- white- Oddfrid White-Lip… Surely not. On the other hand, there were stories of Nords who were famous for holding conversations with, or at least about, skulls. And Geilir might be unhinged, what with the loss of his family and the heavy drinking. I looked at the skull and the skull looked back, silently, mockingly. At last, I reached out an unwilling hand and picked up the grisly object, noticing that it seemed remarkably clean for something that was supposed to have been lying around a barrow for untold years. “Oddfrid?” I whispered. I admit I was greatly relieved when the skull made no answer.

If I was mistaken, I only hoped that Geilir would accept it with good grace and not turn me into anything… unnatural. The Nordish sense of humor could be- peculiar- so perhaps this was simply a jest. With a mental shrug, I cast the spell to teleport me back to the wrecked ship. Holding the skull as reverently as I could, even while wishing that I did not have to hold it at all, I returned to Geilir’s dwelling. His greeting caused me to feel a mixture of relief and concern.

“Friend! Ye have returned!”

He reached out to take the skull, with which I parted gratefully. He cradled it to his chest and beamed.

“And ye have brought Oddfrid wi’ ye.”

He must have read something of my reaction from my expression for he smiled gently and explained:

“Aye, of course I know she is a skull. She was a skull when I first found her, but she still speaks to me. I hear her voice inside me head. I didna tell ye the truth because I feared ye’d think I was touched.”

“Got it in one,” I thought; “perhaps he was a seer, after all.”

Unaware of or more likely unconcerned by my doubts, he continued:

“Now, shall I ask her about yer future- or should I first lift Thormoor’s curse?”

My future was a dark mystery, to be sure, and one that I was willing to have illuminated. But that was not what had brought me here, so I answered:

“If it please you, lift Thormoor’s curse. Though perhaps it is not for me to say, I believe he has suffered enough.”

Geilir placed the skull on the table and suddenly seemed more sober as he looked at me thoughtfully.

“I didn't think I would ever feel the need to relieve Thormoor Gray-Wave's misery, but ye did me a great service by returning Oddfrid White-Lip. As a show of thanks, I will now remove Thormoor's curse.”

The old Nord made a series of odd hand gestures, some of which seemed to involve his fingers passing through the palm of the opposite hand, and the tattoo on his face began to glow. This was accompanied by a stream of unintelligible words, muttered just at the threshold of hearing. He straightened suddenly, pushing both hands outward, and a wind seemed to spring up from nowhere, rushing out the entry of his dwelling.

“There! Thormoor's curse has been lifted! He will now find the sleep I have denied him for so many months. I...I hope he finds peace. He'll sleep, but even I canna stop a guilty man's nightmares.”

His tattoo faded to its normal hue, and he slumped wearily in a chair.

“And now, what of ye, young fella? Ye have asked naught for yerself. Will ye have Oddfrid tell me of yer future?”

My natural skepticism warred with what I had just seen. Something had surely happened, and whatever it was had set my hair on end. There was power here; whether I understood it or not, it was nevertheless real. As for the future, all I knew for certain was that it was going to be difficult. Perhaps if I knew that someone waited for me at the end of my journey it would give me the strength I needed to go forward. So I sat opposite Geilir and said quietly,

“Please. Ask your friend what she sees.”

Geilir lit two candles, one black and one white, and placed them on either side of Oddfrid’s skull. They flickered and smoked and released an odd scent into the air. The seer contemplated the flames and the skull in silence for some time. At last, he lifted the skull and whispered words I could not hear. After another moment, he turned his head so that the grinning mouth was next to his ear. He nodded several times, then placed Oddfrid back on the table between the candles. His face was grave as he looked at me.

“Oddfrid gave three answers, where she usually gives only one. That means that she likes ye- and that yer actions will have great consequences. Two of her tellings have to do wi’ ye alone- the other…. Well, judge for yerself.”

Then his eyes took on a faraway look and his voice shifted to a higher, almost feminine, register.

“Athlain, son of Trey, distant child of Skyrim, listen well to my words. Hear now the three-fold telling of Oddfrid. The time for the hunt is near. You are both hunter and hunted. I see you surrounded by ice. Beware betrayal! I see... I see a giant. Yes! It is the horned huntsman! That is the first and strongest of my visions. That means it is near.”

“As to my second foretelling, the veil is thick; some power seeks to hide the truth, even from me. You must not give in to temptation lest you lose that which you love the most, even as you try to save it. Trust your heart and do not be led astray. Look for the hidden meaning, for the words which are not spoken. Though there must be fall of blood, have a care which you spill.”

“And the final foretelling is the strangest of all. Though you will perform great deeds here on Solstheim, though you may win your heart’s desire, the distant future is yet unclear. After, and far from here, there is something very cloudy, something that could affect all who now live. Ah! When the dragon dies, the Empire dies. Where is the lost dragon's blood, the Empire's sire? And from the womb of the void, who shall stem the blood tide? Who stands tall beneath the dragon’s wing? I...I do not know what this means. And I cannot tell if this concerns you deeply, or only in passing, just as it will affect all who draw breath. Yet, you are somehow involved. It is unclear....”

With that, Geilir’s head fell forward onto his breast and he spoke no more. Smoke swirled around the skull on the table, and almost I thought I saw the ivory bone overlaid by the features of an elderly Nordic woman, still strong and beautiful even in her late years. Her eyes pierced me to the heart and for a time my mind wandered in places I did not know.



"Sir?" For the first time since I had met her, Julian's voice held a hint of something other than cool reserve. It was - unease. The lamp between us guttered, setting flickering patterns of light and darkness dancing on the walls. The shadows of her pauldrons transformed into wings springing upwards from her shoulders. Her face seemed gaunt and drawn, her eyes haunted. Then the pilus prior trimmed the wick and a sense of normalcy returned to the stuffy room. Every hint of disquiet, real and imagined, departed as the shadows steadied into reality. Her green eyes were once more unreadable as she looked at me calmly and said, "We will stop there. For today."

ARGH! Hircine...and Oblivion forcast? ARGH !!! MORE !!!! MORE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh my! I've, as always, continued to read this with delight, but...

I sooo didn't see that coming

SGM!

Well, at least Geilir didn’t name the skull ‘Wilson’ (of course, I don’t know if it was him that named it at all)!

The prophecies were absolutely fascinating! The horned huntsman, betrayal, and even a tantalizing hint into the events of the Oblivion Crisis.

I’m on pins and needles here!

Me four! Fascinating! There is so much to ponder in those foretellings!

I'm a little too intimidated to try and guess what they mean, since I am poor at figuring plot stuff, but my head is swirling at the possibilities.

Beautifully rendered telling. Who else besides the Master Treydog could bring a skull to life?

Methinks Athlain needs one of those to travel with.

It is a neat twist that Oddfrid is the seer, rather than Geilir. Quite brilliant really, and very in keeping with Norse mythology. It conjures up images of Odin speaking with the head of Mimir.

Also, a exciting description of Geilir lifting the curse. The observation of his hands passing through one another was a good touch, as was the wind at the end. I could almost hear Conan whispering in my ear: "Crom!"

Finally the prophecies. Well the first is obvious, the second quite unintelligible (other than it has something to do with Athynae), and the third, well that was the real prize. The combination of it and the description of Julian in the final paragraph was simply brilliant!

Only one word can suffice this. Wow.

The imagery was as effective as the one scene when the old Nordic Warrior was telling his story about the werewolves.

Speaking of which, where are those buggers??!!

Apologies to the Brits, I just found out what 'bugger' really means.

Let's see if I can add some pictures to entertain you while you wait for the next episode:

Fort Frostmoth after the attack:



This post has been edited by treydog: Oct 22 2010, 01:48 PM

The desk where Julian interviews Athlain:

I love the screenies! The Fort really looks like a military base too! I pictured the desk being much larger and courtroom style! It has to be nerve-wracking for Athlain to be sitting this close to someone who could determine his future and is grilling him.

Julian would never interview (interrogate?) a fellow Legionary in a courtroom! This is morel like the "box" from Homicide: Life on the Streets. The lack of windows and the candle as the sole light source only adds to the atmosphere!

This is definitely the sort of place where Julian would be in charge of an investigation.

Thanks for the screenies! Having never been to Solstheim, this helps a great deal.

Wow, those werewolves have really good siege engines to knock such gigantic holes in the stone walls of the fort (I wonder why there are no castles in the ES Universe?). I guess they have a Lycanthropic Siege Crawler!

The interrogation room looks very inviting. Comfortable chairs, a wall-hanging. All it needs is a fluffy pillow and the Spanish Inquisition will be in business!

...Pillow talk between Julian and Athlain? ROFL !!!

@mALX and D. Foxy- More is on the way. Glad this last one got such a positive reaction- thank you. But there is another cliff…

@Burnt Sierra- Glad to bring you back from lurkerdom… And thank you for the SGM.

@Destri- Two of the prophecies (the first and third) are straight from the game- I only made minor wording tweaks. With so many Oblivion aficionados here- and especially with Julian’s extended cameo, the last one was just too good to pass by. Normally the player only gets one of the two, depending on whether you have completed the Bloodmoon MQ or not.

@Acadian- Glad to provide some excitement. Prophecies, by their nature, are only understood after the fact. That way, afterwards, the victim—um, subject—can slap his forehead and say, “Of course!” So glad you endorsed my concept of Oddfrid- that part was my own creation- prophecies go better with hocus pocus, after all.

@SubRosa- With a resident shaman reading this, I feel some pressure to “get things right.” And that mostly means atmosphere… Again, I am very pleased that you liked the description I gave to the curse being lifted- I felt something so substantial needed appropriate sensory effects. And I figured (with haute’s generous assist) that the last prophecy would definitely cause a twitch from the normally imperturbable Julian.

@Black Hand- There are moments in Bloodmoon that Bethsoft really got everything exactly right. The prophecies are one of those- I just added a bit of my own description to make it fit this particular story. Werewolves are oddly hard to find, even on Solstheim, but I think I hear something scuffling in the forest….

@All- The pictures are pretty much vanilla and taken with my integrated graphics in the refurbished PC. Still, they came out quite nicely. Haute has already addressed the sort of “interview room” Julian would prefer- they are so close together that Athlain cannot hide. The interesting thing about the structural damage is that the werewolves supposedly did it with nothing more than claws and muscle…. Either they are really strong or Julian’s next investigation needs to be into who provided the mortar for Fort Frostmoth! I doubt Julian would provide a pillow- she might give Athlain some other small object to fidget with, though. There are a lot of “tells” that can be read from such things. This next part gave me some trouble, because I wanted Julian to take a more direct part in asking questions. The result is a rather longer than usual “introduction” taking up most of the episode. The only other way I could do it seemed to jump around in time so much as to confuse even me.

Finally, another tip of the (floppy-eared) hat to haute for her continued input.

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Neither Julian nor I spoke directly of the prophecies the next morning, but they hung in the air like smoke as I resumed my story. The days in that stuffy office were beginning to wear upon me, although Julian still looked like she had just stepped out of a crate marked “Model Legionnaire.” Although she had to listen to my words, I had to choose them- carefully. Therefore, I tried to unobtrusively move things along.

When my senses returned and I found myself in Geilir’s home, I doused the candles and left the old Nord sleeping in his chair. Dawn had arrived, so with slow steps and an aching head, I went to the western shore and climbed the promontory where Thormoor stood. The former captain turned a tired smile upon me and grasped my shoulders in his big hands.

“You did it! You convinced Geilir to remove the curse. I can feel it. And now, I am ready to sleep. I promised you a reward and I always pay my debts. Find me at Thirsk, and I will give you your due- after I have had a chance to rest….”

Thormoor’s promise meant little to me; I was pleased that he intended to honor it, but I had more pressing concerns on my mind. Geilir’s- or more properly, Oddfrid’s- prophecies were consistent with everything I had ever heard of foretelling. They were most likely correct in every particular, terribly important for my future- and completely unintelligible. With a mental shrug, I pushed the strange visions to the back of my mind and concentrated on my work for Falco. I hoped that the passage of several days had been sufficient to quiet any rumors that I was involved in Oryn Maren’s death. The guilt I felt over it was another matter. When I returned to Raven Rock, I performed a couple of tasks for Falco; after that he wanted me to deliver a status report to Carnius. That was when Athynae’s advice…

Julian stopped me and asked, “Sir, could you elaborate a bit about those tasks you performed for Falco?”

So much for being unobtrusive.

“One of the miners was disrupting work by picking fights in the bar. I stopped him from doing that and ….”

“Just a moment, sir. How did you stop him?”

This was an aspect of the pilus prior I had not seen before. Until now, she had mostly been content to let me narrate events in my own way. She had asked a few questions, but had mostly remained watchfully silent. Now she was taking a more active role, keeping me off balance and preventing me from falling into the comforting rhythm of the story. It was as if she sensed that we were moving away from the events I would rather not discuss. And she had no intention of letting me guide our “conversation” along safe paths. I shifted uncomfortably under her steady scrutiny and explained:

“Seler Favelnim was unhappy being a miner. His health was bad, and the cold and damp of the mine didn’t help. He was depressed- suicidal, even. Falco sent me to calm him down.”

I rubbed my jaw in memory and admitted, “He hit pretty hard, in spite of his age. Fortunately, he didn’t have the endurance to hit me more than a few times. When I refused to fight back, he asked me to just kill him so that his wife could collect his pension. I convinced him to try something else.”

“How did you manage that?”

I looked at my hands and muttered, “I gave him 2000 septims and a letter of introduction to my mother, with my recommendation she hire him as a gardener. He’s a Dunmer and I thought he would be happier on Vvardenfell. And I hope Serene might be able to heal him- or at least make his final years more comfortable.”

Julian made a note in her cryptic shorthand and then said, “What else?”

“While that was going on, the miners found an old Nordic burial chamber in the mine. The body was coated with some sort of blue-white ice; ‘stahlrim’ is the Nords’ name for it. I’ve seen it a few other times, but didn’t know much about it.” Somewhat defensively, I added, “I try not to disturb the dead.”

Julian’s nod could have meant anything or nothing, approval or simple acknowledgement; I took it as a sign to continue, and went on:

“This stahlrim is so hard that none of the miner’s tools could even chip the surface. Falco sent me up north to find a man named Graring, who was supposed to know something about the material.”


Graring’s house was near the Wind Stone, where the Harstrad and Isild Rivers come together. It was going to be a long walk, so I stopped by the fort to rest for the night, then put a pack together. The moons were close to full, so I headed out before dawn. When I was well into the Hirstaang, I saw a Nord up ahead of me, acting peculiar. Well, more peculiar than the Nords usually act. First, he was completely naked- and then there was the fact that he was rolling around on the ground, making odd noises.

I thought he had been attacked by reavers or some such; it wasn’t until afterwards that I remembered Einar’s story. And by then it was too late. I approached the man carefully, fearful that whatever afflicted him might cause him to lash out accidentally. He must have heard my footfalls, for he suddenly stopped, then rose onto his hands and knees and turned to face me. His eyes… his eyes were yellow, and they glowed in the moonlight.

They were most likely correct in every particular, terribly important for my future- and completely unintelligible.
As all prophecies are supposed to be!

First, he was completely naked- and then there was the fact that he was rolling around on the ground, making odd noises.
Singing a song by the Backstreet Boys perhaps? Or maybe it was Wham!?

By Julianos I think we have our first werewolf! I am trying to remember, does Athlain's mace have silver spikes on the ebony ball? Or was it all ebony?

Nope. Silver Spikes. Wolfys going down. Also. WOOOOT!

Yes, I love werewolves, probably from when I was about six or seven I could watch this show:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDO2g9O_DvM...feature=related

I remember Werewolf! Wasn't Lance LeGault the bounty hunter chasing the hero? I only ever saw the pilot, but still have it somewhere on vhs.

Treydog maaaaaaate

This story is riveting. I love it. More please?

And what does s.g.m stand for? I'm new on these forums