A small, confusing nit...if Athynae is immobilized, how come she can reach her chain and touch her amulet?

Alien Hand Syndrome.

This is so true, it really is wonderful when friends support you and your efforts by reading something you have worked hard on.

In spite of the discrepancy Foxy caught already - I am really loving this new section featuring the Bloodmoon expansion. One reason is that I haven't seen it done in any of the other Morrowind fics before, haven't played it yet, but have been dying to know the storyline behind it. Another reason is Athynae being a part of it, going through it with Athlain.

Athynae's descriptions of what she is going through, the bloodlust and fear of what she may become capable of - she is bringing the reader right into the head of the character who is suffering from Lycanthropy, we are feeling the symptoms with her - Awesome Write !!! Absolutely loving this Bloodmoon storyline !!!

mALX


Dear kitsune and kitty, please read the next to last sentence of the next to last paragraph again.

Umm- I should warn you- Athynae has NOT had her hackle lo tea this morning.

Sounds like someone else needs it too! Lol.

Athynae, I apologize if I misunderstood that section, I only understood that she was getting sleepy, not that movement was returning - obviously Foxy and Black Hand saw it the same way. I am sorry if we misunderstood that.

Don't let it get your hackles up, my story gets misunderstood all the time, lol. I don't let it bother me because people see and understand things differently than we may mean them when we type them.

I enjoyed Korst’s ritual to find Athynae. It would be great if the effect was permanent, and he could turn the tables on Athynae once in a while. Oops, I mean always find her when she needs him.

Whew, Athynae finally gets some rest. That Wired-and-Tired Potion did give her time to reflect on events and find some strength, though.

Excellent couple of parts - its always a pleasure to come back to more BotM and as every the plot is moving at a good pace while being entirely driven by the characters. Athynae's introspection worked well against a background of temptation and the change, it made quite a powerful section and a good build up to the inevitable argument when they met.

I also liked how much Athlain has changed since they last parted. She noticed it but it was clear from the description of him, his confidence, how he moved and the shorter argument which ended as I'd anticipated but was satisfying in a strange way. The he is helping her and that she is helpless and needing him I think will mark a change in her character and their relationship, as well as drive the plot forward. The cure will be interesting I suspect, especially if the rituals are as well described as Korst's one which helped Athlain find Athynae.

SGM

BH- I am afraid Athynae has taken her early experiences to be a “promise” of quite a bit more than simply a “carefree existence.” I am NOT saying she is “spoiled”- nope, not saying that at all….

D.Foxy and Minxstress mALX- We apologize for the confusion about the potion; it perhaps mirrors ‘Thyna’s own feelings under the influence of the “rest but don’t sleep” concoction Athlain gave her. (And I do wonder where he got cold medicine on Solstheim.)

@mALX- Thank you so much for the wonderful words; simply describing the struggle with the lycanthropy was nearly as exhausting as the struggle itself! Do we identify with our characters? What makes you ask?

@Grits- The Finding ritual was one of those scenes that seemed to appear on the page without any help from the writer. My only contribution was relating it to the Skaal’s veneration of the hunt. “Wired-and-Tired!” Love it!

@Olen- It is so good to see you back! And your words are wonderfully encouraging as well. And no one will ever lose money betting that the A. and A. show will involve arguing…. Having a co-author to write Athynae’s experiences has allowed her to assume the role she should have in this story- a second main character. It is extremely gratifying that her distinct “voice” works for you. Watching Athynae struggle to reconcile herself to the changes in Athlain will be entertaining- from a safe distance. Since I will already be in trouble for my remarks to BH above, I will NOT mention anything involving the words “Athynae” and “stubborn” in the same sentence.

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Growing up around my father and Aunt Serene had perhaps given me an unrealistic view of what was possible when it came to healing. Books had spoken of “incurable” conditions or mortal injuries, and I had understood the terms intellectually. But on an emotional level, I had always believed- Father could have made a potion to fix that or Aunt Serene would have healed him. Even with all my time in the Legion, even with Garnas’ death- I still wanted to believe that the right potion, the right spell- driven by will and desire, could cure anything. The will and the desire I had, in abundance. What I lacked was guidance- a place to focus the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me.

The child within me wanted to run to Aunt Serene, to beg her to fix this, as she had fixed so many hurts, with a cool touch and a quiet word. But Athynae was right- there was no time. And something else held me back as well. There was some tension between ‘Thyna and her mother, and it was not for me to resolve it. Especially not under the current circumstances. While I would admit to many foolhardy exploits, getting in between two strong-willed women would NOT be one of them.

When I reached the village, Korst was waiting for me outside his house. His face was shadowed in the westering sun and he did not speak, simply opened his door and ushered me inside. He handed me a mug of cider and said:

“So I take it you found her?”

“Yes, the finding ritual worked, for which I thank you.”

I stopped, staring blindly into the fire, unable to find words adequate to the enormity of what I needed to ask. His tone gentle, the shaman prompted me:

“And yet- she is not with you. Were she well- or dead- you would not have returned alone. So, I must wonder- what in all the worlds would compel you to leave her behind?”

I answered his question with one of my own:

“When the werewolves attacked the village, you asked if I had been bitten. What would have happened if I had not been immune- if I was infected and did not receive the cure immediately?”

His response was measured and grave:

“If you had not been cured before three days time, if you had succumbed to the disease, you would have been cast out. No member of the Skaal would give you shelter, or food, or words of comfort and greeting. You would be treated as a monstrous beast, a danger to all. You would have been harried and hunted until you were driven away- or killed. Such is the law of the Skaal.”

“And you know of no magic, no ritual, no petition to the gods- nothing- that can cure the disease after the three days?”

Korst was silent for a very long time and I began to wonder whether he was going to answer at all. At last, he stood and fetched a worn volume from his shelf. He held it on his knee without opening it and asked:

“What do you know of the Daedric Princes and their worshippers?”

That question was not what I had expected; I had thought he was about to give me the steps of some difficult ritual or the components of a potion. So my answer was perhaps somewhat abrupt.

“Little- only what I learned at school- their names and a bit about their… interests. In truth, I find the whole concept of gods and goddesses questionable- almost laughable. Immortal beings who influence our lives and our world? It just strains my credulity.”

He did not comment immediately, just shook his head and seemed to change the subject:

“So tell me- Athlain the Agnostic- how go your dreams?”

Confused I replied, “Dreams?”

“Yes. Dreams. The things you see when you close your eyes and go to sleep. Or perhaps you do not ‘believe’ in those either? Perhaps you think they are not any more ‘real’ than the gods and cannot ‘influence’ you?”

His tone was decidedly acerbic, and I responded in kind, the stress of Athynae’s situation lending an edge to my voice:

“I dream. Once, I dreamed of marrying ‘Thyna. And, since coming to this frozen waste, I have dreamed of being chased across the snow in the moons’ light, coursed by wolves and by a giant who wears antlers upon his head.”

My voice faltered and I shuddered as I recalled what I had glimpsed in the cave- what lurked in the dark recesses of my beloved’s mind:

“And Athynae… Athynae dreams of running with the pack and of tasting the living blood of the prey.”

Shocked that I had spoken the words aloud, that I had just condemned Athynae to be hunted unto death by the Skaal, I closed my mouth and covered my face with my hands.

Korst stood and put his hand on my shoulder, speaking quietly:

“I am sorry Athlain, but I had to know. And you had to see the contradiction within you. You profess to have no belief in the gods and then you ask me to intercede with them on your behalf? You cannot have it both ways.”

He sat again and glanced at the book in his hand, but still did not open it. His expression was one of- disgust, almost.

“Your belief and your strength will be tested by what is to come. You cannot give yourself up to doubt. If you do, you stand to lose more than I think you can bear.”

At last he opened the book and spoke slowly, as if he was struggling to utter the words:

“The hunters report that a large raven has been seen near the Altar of Thrond. That has not happened in living memory, and even I cannot be sure what it portends. Ravens are birds of omen, messengers of the spirit realm, harbingers of strife and upheaval. I do not think it is a coincidence that one has come to Solstheim during these dark days. It is one more sign that the Blood Moon is nigh.”

His eyes were dark pits and the shadows cast by the firelight seemed to lean closer.

“I can put a name to the voice that seeks to tempt your Athynae, that calls to the infection in her blood. It is Hircine- and he has called the Wild Hunt. He is the Hunter who stalks your dreams.”

A shudder passed through me, and the words settled like a shroud over my heart. Despite my protestations of ignorance, I knew about the Wild Hunt. It was the time when Hircine manifested in his role as the Hunter and roamed the night with his “hounds,” seeking human prey. His pack was made of werewolves- men and mer who had fallen to previous Hunts- or who had willingly sought his “gift.” Wolves that had once been human and were now cursed forevermore with a taste for blood. Like ‘Thyna? My voice broke as I wrestled with those thoughts.

“But there is something more, isn’t there? There is a reason you mentioned this raven- a reason that goes beyond signs and prophecies.”

Korst nodded solemnly and asked: “What do you know of the Glenmoril Wyrd?”

“I have never heard of it…. I know that Glenmoril is in High Rock, in the Ilessan Hills.”

“Yes. And the Glenmoril Wyrd or Glenmoril Sisters are…. The more ignorant of our folk call them ‘witches,’ as if that term has any meaning. It is true that the sisters are mages of great skill and that they are known to worship some of the more… troublesome… Daedra Princes. The rumors about who they serve are dark- and the stories of their rituals are darker still. However, it cannot be denied that they possess knowledge that is as ancient as the branching of the races. Though they are of Cyrodiilic blood, they have resided long in High Rock, where magic infuses the very soil. If anyone can tell you of a cure, it is they. But be cautious- their purposes are their own. And they will exact payment for their assistance. Be very sure it is not more than you can afford.”

He put down his pipe and studied me from beneath lowered brows.

“Worse yet, it is clear that the eye of the Hunter is upon you- and upon Athynae. He will not be easily diverted, now that he has chosen his prey- and his newest Hound.”

Looks at Trey "Spoiled isn't the right term, I agree...sheltered would be much more accurate. It's why I insisted on the training all this time. You and I, we are who we are because of the adversity we faced. To rob the children of it, that would be a great disservice to they. I think that's why you let Athlain go when he did. And as much as it hurt Serene, why she eventually let her go. For we all found something far greater than riches or fame in our exploits, we found ourselves."

Korst isn't just some Shaman of a isolated Nord Village, is he?

Ah, so now we're leaving Solstheim, are we? I imagine it would be very, very difficult for Athlain to leave Thyna behind, especially in her condition.

The progression from the conclusion of the Beowulf saga to this point has been one of darkening storm clouds. It is frightening to think that Athlain would lose Thyna to something so dreadful - she would survive, but not as the delightfully frustrating young woman he knows and loves.

It was good to see the arguing between the two of them - it means she hasn't changed - yet.

Looking forward with great trepidation to more.

Wow... ...

Goosebumps...

Much impressed...

Really does have an epic feel already...And I will admit, I've only caught this last bit so far... ...

Nice one... ...

Athlain’s inner struggle seems to be coming to a breaking point. I can’t help but see similarities in the way he pulls away from Trey and Serene and the way he wants to deny the influence of immortals. It might come as a shock to him if the world doesn’t end when he changes his mind. I remember my own surprise at his age when it didn’t.

“Worse yet, it is clear that the eye of the Hunter is upon you- and upon Athynae. He will not be easily diverted, now that he has chosen his prey- and his newest Hound.”

The shadowy atmosphere inside Korst’s house led beautifully to this moment. Just wonderful!! And terrifying. Yikes.

You are at your absolute best when writing Korst and the Skaal traditions and laws !!! ... .... ..... GAAAAAH !!! Athynae is ... the hound ... and Athlain ... the prey ?????? URK !!! ARGH !!!!! Awesome Write !!

*Looks from Trey to Sethyas*

"Yes it hurt me letting her go, but I had to, partly for reasons that were revealed to me not so long ago"

I am worried about those two! The Lycanthropy thingy scares the h*** out of me! treydoggie and Athynae...looking forward to see where this all leads to.


S.G.M This is VERY S.G.M-ish indeed it is!

Wow. So rather powerful forces are moving to set them against one another. The plot thickens (again) with that becoming totally clear. I suspect Athlain will be ignoring all Korst's warnings about the price being more than he is willing to pay (who wouldn't). This may come back to haunt him.

His lack of interest/ time for the gods coming against him dreaming of one and being surrounded by them is another slightly contrary aspect of his personailty which is going to come to a head. Whether he deems them to be worth the bother afterwards is another matter - Athynae isn't the only stubborn one.

I like the sections with Korst, the descriptions are so rich. There's something a little dark and just slightly sinister about him which blends so well with his omens and ancient tomes and shadowy house. This line:

Was particularly evocative.

Black Hand- You hit upon Serene’s- and Trey’s- dilemma precisely. They have gone to great lengths to ensure that their children are safe and- yes- sheltered. But Vvardenfell is still not a safe place, and Athynae and Athlain are products of a warrior House. And- no there is more to Korst than is first visible.

Haute- Fortunately, Athlain has no need to go to the mainland- at least not yet. However, your question allowed me to add a bit of flavor to the story, as he is not sure what happens next. And I am very pleased that the atmosphere I am trying to invoke comes across. Athlain’s fear is certainly palpable to me- for he KNOWS what will happen to Athynae if she cannot be cured. And their arguing is their “Aspect;” as is their affection.

McBadgere- So thrilled to have you reading- and enjoying this story.

Grits- Yes, one thing Athlain inherited in full measure from Trey is a questioning of all “higher powers,” whether parental or divine. And yet, he joined the Legion, an organization that runs on hierarchy and obedience to authority. Korst recognizes the fundamental conflict in Athlain’s personality- he simply did not have time to be gentle about it. And again, I am so pleased that the story has the “feel” I strive for.

mALX- Thank you, thank you. And yes- you are exactly right as to Korst’s metaphor regarding the hunter and the prey. And THAT is perhaps ‘Thyna’s greatest fear.

Minque- Serene has many reasons to have held her daughter close- and deserves as much credit for allowing her to go. And, since lycanthropy is central to Bloodmoon, I wanted to give as much “weight” to it as I possibly could. It is also new ground for me, as I never previously played out the “werewolf quests.”

Olen- I continue to depend upon your reading to tell me if I am “getting it right” or not. Athlain- stubborn? That is actually reflective of a line for near the end of the story- that scene I have had written since the beginning. And I want Korst to come across as a true shaman of a hunting society should- he stands between light and dark, life and death. One side of his face is limned by the fire and the other is in shadow.


Where we are- Athynae has been infected with lycanthropy and the "3 days grace" where cure disease magic might work has passed. She has barricaded herself in a cave and sent out a mental call for help to Athlain. With the assistance of the Skaal shaman, Korst Windeye, Athlain found her and vowed to find a cure. Upon Athlain's return, Korst has informed him that there is a possibility of a cure, but it involves dealing with the Glenmoril Wyrd.

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

The room was silent after Korst’s warning, save for the crackling of the fire. At last I tore my gaze from the flames and asked:

“Glenmoril? And what does the raven at the Altar of Thrond have to do with a group of Daedra worshippers in High Rock? Will it take me to them- or carry a message? Or…?”

The shaman was normally somewhat amused by my confusion, but he did not smile this time. Instead he put aside the book as if it were tainted and explained:

“Forgive me for being unclear, Athlain. I… do not LIKE to talk about these things and so said as little as possible. You will have no need to go to High Rock- the raven is a sign that the Glenmoril Wyrd have come to Solstheim. They are able to predict or sense the coming of the Blood Moon and the calling of the Wild Hunt. They are drawn to those events as moths to a candle. Or better to say, ‘as slaughterfish to blood,’ for they use the terror and strife to power their magic. Some Daedra delight in despair and conflict- the Glenmoril Sisters will use this time to feed their dark rituals.”

He fixed me with a piercing gaze and folded his hands before him.

“Because it is the only chance I know to save Athynae, I tell you this. Go to the Altar of Thrond and seek the raven. Beyond that, I cannot say. Only this- ‘ware treachery and dissembling words. The Sisters will appear to offer that which you seek, but take care that it is not a trap baited with your own desire.”

With that, he fell into a brooding silence.

The rising sun found me passing close to Graring’s house, working my way west and south. I could not help but think of the outcast Skaal and their decision to work with stahlrim. And then I thought of the woman who had come to kill them and found instead her own death- at my hands. Those melancholy memories made me wonder about my own choices. Which of my actions had caused this fate to befall Athynae? Would we have been happy if I had simply stayed home and not heeded the voice of the wind, the voice that urged me to wander? With an effort, I shook off those thoughts, even as I wiped the frozen tears from my face. The past was done; I could examine and agonize over every step, every choice that had brought me here, but it would profit me nothing. There was only one way to go- forward.

The Altar of Thrond was at the center of Sostheim, and I had seen it from a distance when I persuaded Sigvatr to pay weregild to Kolfinna. The memory caused a moment of grim humor- that mission had been simple compared to this. All I had to fear then was that Sigvatr might kill me and that a woman who did not even know my true name would not receive the payment she was owed for her husband’s death. Carbo had been fond of saying:

No one ever promised you things would get easier, recruit. And if they did- they lied.

Now I understood. With those gloomy thoughts, I climbed the rise that was topped by a circle of standing stones surrounding the Altar itself. Movement put me on my guard and I raised Athynae’s Gift partway, then stopped.

Perched upon the stone altar was a huge black bird, with a large beak and preternaturally intelligent eyes. Although we had no birds on Vvardenfell, I had seen ravens depicted in books from Father’s collection. And they were also represented in Nord artwork, especially on barrows and on backrests of Skoldr and Tharsten’s thrones. I could only hope that this bird appeared in its role as bringer of wisdom rather than that of guide for the dead. And still more, I hoped that the knowledge she brought would be happiness and not sorrow. Hope can be at once wonderful- and terrible. I felt the keen bite of that two-edged sword as I stared at the raven, waiting for a sign.

The wait was not long; she cocked her head to one side and then the other, surveying me with each shiny black eye in turn. She then shook her feathers and opened her beak- and spoke. Perhaps if I had not seen so much in the past months, a talking bird would have surprised me more. Or perhaps, since I had no firsthand knowledge of birds, I expected that they all talked. Why not? Was that any more fantastic than the fact that I could still hear the murmur of Athynae’s troubled thoughts in the back of my own mind?

Even so, this raven seemed to be a particularly chatty representative of the tribe, talking for several minutes without pausing or waiting for me to respond. She began thus, in a voice that was quite human in timbre:

Greetings, child of Cyrodiil, High Rock, and Skyrim. I am Etienne. Does my form surprise you? As a Sister of the Glenmoril Wyrd, I have the ability to change my shape as suits my needs. But then, shapechanging is already on your mind, is it not? That is why my Sisters and have come to Solstheim. We have been watching events unfold, and are well aware that lycanthropy is spreading. For some, the blood-gift is a blessing. For others, it is a curse. For those who desire it, we offer a cure, one that purifies the blood, that will forever stop the Change to wolf form. And might such a cure be of interest to you?

As she spoke, the bird moved her head rhythmically, also shifting slowly from one foot to the other. The motion was timed with her words- and seemed almost mesmerizing. In fact, I became so caught up in her actions it was almost difficult to hear what she was saying. Despite the movement she kept one black eye fixed upon me at all times- a dark pool into which I felt myself falling. But even so, the sense of her question became clear to me. I did not know whether I could trust her words, but I also knew that I had no choice.

“Yes, I seek a cure for lycanthropy.”

Very well. If you- or someone your care for- wants a cure, to forever end the call of the wolf within, we will aid you.

She fixed me with a stare and ceased her movements as she paused in her speech.

However, the road is a difficult one, for being rid of the blood curse is not so simple as sipping a potion. First, you must meet my Sisters, and together we shall tell you of the Rite of the Wolf Giver. Come with me, young soldier.

With that the raven hopped down from the altar and opened her wings wide, as if to embrace me. She then folded them once more, and I experienced the rush of air and the wrenching tumble through the Void that always accompanied teleportation magic.

The fog of the relocation spell cleared, but a different sort of confusion replaced it as I watched the raven’s transformation into a tall Imperial woman. Her age was hard to read from her features, which were ageless rather than youthful or elderly. Nor could I discern anything of her figure, which was concealed in dark robes that she settled about herself while pinning me with a dark-eyed gaze. Discomfited, I looked away and I saw that I was inside an ice cave, sparsely lit with scattered torches. A pair of the leaping shadows resolved themselves into two more Imperial women, with robes and faces similar to Etienne’s. Their piercing stares were also similar, sharing a look that seemed somehow… hungry. Just as that thought occurred to me I noticed a huge black cauldron and shuddered. I could have used the vessel for a bath easily enough- although climbing back out might prove difficult.

The two new Sisters were introduced as Isobel and Fallaise, although I could not be sure which was which. The constant movement of all three, who waved their hands, billowed their robes, and circled so that one or another was always where I could not see her- did nothing to improve my mood. I wanted to put my back against the icy wall or leave that place altogether- but I could not. So I gritted my teeth hard enough to hear my jaw creak and listened to their arcane chorus. Adding to the confusion was the way they passed their words from one to another with no discernable pattern- almost as if three mouths spoke with one voice, expressing the ideas of one consciousness.

The path to the cure begins here. The Rite is a complex piece of dark magicka, involving the sacrifice of both flesh and innocence. We will begin the preparations, but there are certain items that must be gathered. We will tell you what we need. When you have completed our errands, return to the Altar of Thrond.

One of the Sisters- perhaps Fallaise, certainly not Etienne- continued:

In order for the Rite of the Wolf Giver to proceed, my Sisters and I require the petals of a wolfsbane flower. Due to Hircine’s influence, the plant is rare, even on the mainland. But here on Solstheim, it only grows in one place. Go now to the southern end of the Moesring Mountains, to the top of Hvitkald Peak. There you will find a single wolfsbane flower in bloom. Retrieve the petals of this flower and return to the Altar, where you will be met.

The three women then fell silent, bowing their heads and folding their arms. Wrapping my own silence around me like a cloak, I left the cave.

Once again I am transported to the memories of old Celtic myths. That huge bubbling cauldron only reinforces the Celtic feel.

Transportation, eh? And the Sisters are now in Solstheim? I am waiting to see what the catch is - they always want a price for what they 'give'.

Now that really brought the Glenmoril Wyrd to life. Your description of their movements worked well to show their otherworldliness, they came across as almost birdlike at times and then their swirling together while taking up the lines from one another worked very well to show them as strange and a force not so easily understood. It somewhat put me in mind of the opening of MacBeth, though more morally ambiguous, Korst may not like them but they do offer a cure, and though they describe it as dark magic Athlain seems willing. Definitely morally grey, I look forward to this quest, it's already vastly enriched compared to the in game one.

I sense more changes in Athlain too, very subtly done but the line:

and the way he moved on suggests that he accepts that he had to leave and whatever mistakes he may have made that much was necessary. As well as maturing he seems to be becoming more settled in himself and free of his father's shadow. I think this quest with it's 'sacrifice of both flesh and innocence' may temper him and finalise the change. I wonder how much Athynae will find him changed when they eventually get back together, let alone those back on the mainland.

Finally:

This line was brilliant, evocative and really caught how I'd imagine him leaving. It sort of links to the above with the vague distaste verging on disgust with the Glenmoril Wyrd but also himself for dealing with them, while accepting he has no choice.

Excellent.. More... Please? *Puppy dog eyes*

Wow... ...

Again... ...

My grasp of superlatives knows no beginnings...

How is it that I can know the word superlative and yet have none?... ...

Aaamywho...Nice one!!... ...