Rashelle At Lokken, WWOLM fanfic Options

[blockhead]

Around the end of February and the beginning of March I posted a short fan fiction on a small intimate forum and there were some positive responses. This story is being posted here on the chorrol forums as I am eager to see the responses from the larger fanfic-oriented crowd here. This seems to be where the "pros" of the Morrowind fanfic world congregate,

This will be posted this in sections, serialized as it was originally. It would be easy to just post the entire thing all at once but I thought it would be more fun not to.

This story is based on the main quest of Emma's "White Wolf Of Lokken Mountain" plugin. It contains spoilers.


Rashelle At Lokken
by Blockhead

1. Arrival, Tension

Snow. The ground covered with it. The trees white with it. The late afternoon sun reflecting off of it. The landscape was that of a magical wonderland. My adventures in Solstheim had not reduced my wonder at this phenomena. I had never seen snow where I grew up and there was certainly none in Vvardenfell.

Although I was the Nerevarine and an experienced adventurer, I arrived at Lokken gawking and gaping like a tourist at the Imperial City.

The Lokken leaflet had been in my pack for some time and I had finally decided to see what it was all about. I had no great desire to hunt animals merely for sport (as advertised) but I have always liked to explore new places.

My adamantium boots crunched on the snow as I stepped out from the boat.

"You had better talk to Ragnar Fire Hair before you do anything else, lass. Without his permission, you are not allowed to be here", admonished the boatman again.

Yeah, whatever.

I paused to look around some more. Ahead lay the village, the road ahead rising up towards the mountain. Up further, to the left, could be seen the castle, covered with snow and looking amazing, like a fairy land castle in some painting.

As I slowly walked up the road I tried to stop and chat with some people but they all seemed preoccupied ... no ... afraid. At first I thought it was me, all decked out in my ebony cuirass, dark brotherhood greaves, adamantium boots, and the sword Chrysamere on my back. That and my bare arms making me look more a barbarian than a spell-sword could perhaps be intimidating. I suppose also my coal-black eyes and coal-black hair (an odd color for a Breton) marking me as Not A Nord did not put anyone at ease.

Several people had white hair. It was not the usual blond that Nords tend to, nor a light gray. It was a bright white, like snow. I had only seen such a pure white on the fur of snow bears and other animals. Something in the water perhaps?

A woman who did not have white hair (it was brown) was little friendlier. When I approached her she said "Hello there. Your face doesn't look familiar to me. I'm Silja. Welcome to Lokken. Don't expect to find much here, though. This is a poor village. Since we are not allowed to hunt in the forests anymore, it's hard for us to get by. I assume you have been invited by our chieftain, Ragnar Fire Hair, and that you have his permission to hunt? If not, you had better stay away from the Lokken wildlife."

I thanked her and walked up the road a little further before a guard named Gudmund also told me that it was very important that I see Ragnar Fire Hair first.

"I will, but first could you direct me to a trader or general store? I may need some warmer clothing."

That generated a smile and some directions the Lokken Clothier. I actually did not need the clothing. Despite my origin in warmer climes, I have an unusual tolerance, actually an affinity, for cold weather. What I was wearing now was comfortable and the only concession to cold I had was a sleeping fur in my pack. Still I had broken the ice a little bit. That was progress. It also gave me an excuse to try to talk to at least one more person before heading for the castle.

I walked into the clothing shop. I briefly talked with the woman there, Anna. She was also nervous like the people outside but gave away some more information. The people here were in fear, but from one of their own, not from me. Apparently this Ragnar Fire Hair, their new chieftain, was not liked and was a not a nice person. He had some men loyal to him and a shaman. They were also feared.

Thanking her I left and continued to the castle, stopping only once more, at the brewery. I had been in many a bar and tavern but never in a brewery and I was curious. There were big metal vats and kettles. It was rather complicated looking and awe inspiring in the manner of certain Dwemer ruins. By that I mean I had no idea how it worked.

Some chitchat there with Borka, and his wife Gwenn, yielded more information: the people who actually lived in Lokken were not allowed to drink the mead, or at least not much of it. It was reserved for Ragnar Fire Hair and for his guests. What little they were allowed was at three times the price that guests paid. I was beginning to dislike this Ragnar and I had not even met him yet.

Thus forewarned, I approached and entered the castle.

I entered an anteroom of sorts. A guard was there. He said nothing but pointed to the door on the opposite side of the room. I nodded and went to the door.

I entered the throne room. There were animal pelts on the floor and tapestries on the walls to warm up the cold stone room and to provide an ambiance conducive to the hunting enthusiast. There was a bar on the left.

A bar in a throne room: that's not something I've seen before. Convenient I suppose if one were more concerned with entertaining than the usual duties of ruling. There were four guards; one on either side of the door I had just entered and two closer to the throne at the far end of the room.

The throne was on a raised section of the floor and on it sat a large mean-looking Nord with red hair who could only be Ragnar Fire Hair.

To his right stood a man in dark robes who had to be his shaman.

My boot steps were the only sound as I approached the throne. I presented the leaflet to Ragnar.

He tossed the leaflet aside and spoke: "Who the oblivion are you? You have no business being here uninvited and I'm sure I didn't invite you."

He paused and studied me. I stared back at him. I'm sure my eyes now had the hardness of obsidian as well as the color. I adjusted the angle of the sheath on my back.

He looked tough. And huge. A great bull of a man, and Nords are already kind of big. I wouldn't want to fight him, at least not alone.

"Well, you look like you can handle yourself in the wild. There is one way that perhaps you can be allowed in the forests."

I raised an eyebrow.

"I want you to hunt and kill a certain wolf. This is no ordinary wolf. It's larger than the regular snow wolves, though it is white like they are. It has unnatural blue eyes. My men and I have pursued it on numerous occasions and it has always gotten away."

"That's not something you see every day," I quipped. Oh Rashelle, you must stop this business of talking without thinking!

"Exactly. it is obviously not natural, not of the All-Maker. It is a daedra-spawn, an abomination, a menace that must be killed for the safety of my people," he said, not picking up on my sarcasm.

I nodded, not trusting myself to not again say something wrong, and to also buy myself a second or two of time to think of an appropriate response.

This man mentioning the All Maker rubbed me the wrong way: after my adventures amongst the Skaal I had some respect for their beliefs. I somehow knew that Ragnar had no right to call on their All Maker.

"So, oh chieftain of Lokken, so long as I Quest for this White Wolf, I am permitted in the forests of your island?"

"Aye, with my blessing. Bring me his head there will be a reward."

"I shall begin at once. First I will question the guards and villagers as to sightings."

"Excellent" he said, waving me away, obviously tired of talking to me now that I had agreed to his business.

I definitely did not like this man.

As I turned away I got a better look at his shaman and I liked him even less. My magical sensitivity picked up on an evil from him that I had previously only sensed from Sixth House minions. I tried not to display my feelings: a shaman is very sensitive and notices many things. Around him it would be best to appear to be a simple non-magical warrior and not a spellsword.

I strode away from the the throne. Before I took more than a few paces I could see that the woman at the bar was trying to get my attention with her eyes.

I sauntered over to the bar. Might not be a bad idea to get a mazte anyway. I cannot not stand mead. I love snow, but the Nords can keep their mead.

"I'm Kielreen"

"Rashelle. Got any mazte?"

"Yup".

"Please".

She poured me a mazte and started to speak very quietly. Not a whisper. That would have attracted attention, but she obviously wanted only me to hear.

"he's asked you about the big white wolf, wants you to kill it, right?"

I paid and took a sip before replying.

"Yes."

"Don't. There is something strange about the creature."

I took another sip.

"Things are not as they seem in Lokken."

That much was already obvious.

"Talk to my aunt Gwenn at the brewery."

I had just been there. Maybe mentioning Kielreen would get Gwenn to say more than she had the first time. I nodded ever so slightly. Picking up my drink, I walked to one of the one of Ragnars guards.

He at first did not want to speak but I can be charming when I want to be. I asked him about the white wolf and any sightings of it. This did not yield any new information but would go back to Ragnar and would keep him complacent about my activities. I had already decided that I was not going to kill this mysterious white wolf.

After talking to the the other guards I finished my mazte, left the mug on the bar and exited the castle. It had begun to snow. I caught some flakes in the palm of my hand and watched them melt.

This post has been edited by blockhead: Mar 30 2007, 11:41 PM

[blockhead]

Based on the critiques so far, I have made changes to chapter 1. These corrected bits seem to flow better. It is entirely in first person now. Thanks guys. this is why I posted it here: for the quality and detailed feedback.

Better still, in a properly ruthless editing mode, I've gone through the chapters that have not yet been posted and fixed some things. I suppose it is silly to refer to sections of a short story as chapters but I find it convenient to do so.

Once more I should note here that this story is a spoiler for Emma's most excellent White Wolf Of Lokken Mountain plugin. If you have not yet played that plugin but think that you may at some point, you might want to put off reading this story.

That said, here we go ...


--
3. Commitment

After entering the brewery I again approached Gwenn.

"Kielreen at the castle said I should speak to you concerning the white wolf".

That's me, subtle as an atronach.

This time Gwenn was much more talkative. I'm not not sure if it was my mention of Kielreen, my honest face (stop laughing, you) or simple desperation.

Much of what she told me I had already heard in one form or another but as I listened I had the suspicion that I was somehow getting a more direct and accurate version.

The white wolf was not a regular snow wolf. It was larger and behaved unlike a wolf, seeming to be trying to help people rather than harm them. The blue eyes were not a fiction on Ragnar's part. This last part was interesting because it brought a nagging half memory to my mind, something from my magical studies. I would have to think on this later and dredge that memory up because I suspected it was important.

The wolf had first been sighted in the mountains a year ago, shortly after the death of Wulfgar The White. Some believed that the wolf had been sent by the gods to protect them from Ragnar Fire Hair, but a week ago the wolf seemed to have disappeared. Two of Ragnar's men claimed to have injured the wolf with poisoned arrows so it was possible that it was dead.

Wulfgar had been the previous chieftain and had been loved by the people. Ragnar was only the step-brother of Wulfgar, and therefore not really the rightful ruler. The villagers were in fear of him and his men too much to do anything about it.

In order to legitimize his position, Ragnar would need to marry the widow of the previous chieftain. This woman was named Sigrid and she refused to marry Ragnar. For this, Ragnar had imprisoned her in the castle, in one of the towers, leaving her there until she changed her mind.

The day Wulfgar was killed, his son, Wulfren The White, disappeared. Fire Hair claimed that Wulfren had murdered his father and gone into hiding. No one believed that, but they did believe that Wulfren was now dead. Exit one man; enter one white wolf.

Gwenn had explained a lot to me, yet she had more to say.

"Wulfgar's sister, Laurenna, was thrown out of the castle and is now living in her father's old hunting cottage. She believes that Wulfren is somehow still alive and that he is innocent. She has taken to cutting her hair short, and has sworn a vow by the gods not to let it grow until Wulfren is in his rightful place as the chieftain of Lokken."

I nodded. I find the less I speak, the more other people want to speak. I get more information this way.

"You can see her sometimes, even at night, standing there just so that her mother can see her from the tower. You should talk to her. She would explain better."

I would do that next, if only because she was just about the only one around here that I had not yet spoken to.

Gwenn paused.

"One other thing, Rashelle."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Laurenna is a country girl, more comfortable in the forests than among people. She is shy with strangers. She's never left Lokken."

I grinned and said "Tell the bad scary Breton with the big sword not to spook the locals, I gotcha."

That got a laugh from her.

"Pass the castle, going to the right. Follow the corner of the castle left to get behind the castle. Walk a little along the back and then look for a path going up on your right. That will take you to Laurenna's cottage".

I nodded and left.

The sky began to darken into twilight: the sun must have set while I was inside talking to Gwenn.

I walked up to the castle and turned to the right. This took me along one side and then the rear of the castle. The gradually darkening blue light of twilight, combined with the falling snow, made a truly beautiful and magical atmosphere. I could walk through this forever. Truly Lokken was a wonderland, or would be if not for the oppressive tension in the air.

In a short time I found the upward path from the castle to Laurenna's cottage and ascended it.

It turned right. After a few paces the path reached a sort of plateau. There were snow-covered trees to the left of the path. To the left of the trees, the mountain rose steeply. To the right was a log and a long drop down. This gave a view down to the castle.

And there she was.

She held a glass lantern in one hand and was facing the castle. Past where she stood and to the left, partially obscured by some snow covered trees, I could just make out part of a small cottage. She wore one of those heavy woolen robes that were often necessary in these colder climates.

She wore a sword but since it hung on her left side I could not identify what kind it was.

Her hair was that shocking snow white that I had seen on some of the other inhabitants of Lokken. It was cut very short, as Gwenn had described.

I stopped. The snow continued to fall. The light of her lantern caught the snow flakes near her, creating a sphere of light around her. She was there like a beacon, a lighthouse to guide a weary traveler. Or to cheer an imprisoned mother.

I cleared my throat so as not to startle her: I walk silently even in heavy armor so I know she had not yet noticed me. I then resumed walking towards her.

Of course, like all Nords, she was taller than I am. She had a pretty face and that short hair looked rather attractive, once one got used to the unusual coloring. I wondered how that hair style would look on me.

I reached her. She turned her head to me. Her eyes were blue.

She spoke: "Hello, stranger. I assume you are one of Ragnar Fire Hair's so called 'guests', and that you are here to hunt down some of our beautiful wild animals. Don't let me interrupt you. I'm sure you have better things to do than talking to me."

I was taken aback. I had not expected this. But then again, what should I have expected, that Gwenn would send a bird with a note clearing the way for me during the short time it took me to walk here?

"Laurenna, I am not here to hunt. I want to help. Gwenn has told me of your situation and wanted me to talk to you."

"This is not your concern."

"There is evil in the castle. I have no intention of killing the wolf. I need to talk to you."

"Go away, Outlander," she said ... with more venom than any Dunmer had ever before managed.

She turned away, facing the castle again. She ignored my further attempts at conversation. As far as she was concerned, I was not there. I had the strong feeling that I could stand there for hours and she still would not speak.

The sky was continuing to darken: it was deep into twilight.

She was in a desperate situation and could not afford to trust me, a total stranger. As a stranger I had no ties here, no reason to be trusted: I could make an empty promise and then just leave. Her attitude, while annoying, was logical.

I had to admire her tenacity, her dedication, and her loyalty. It took all of that to maintain this lonely vigil day after day. One could only admire these qualities, even as one was being stymied by them.

I wanted to help her. I wanted to make things right in Lokken.

I had already talked to the entire village. There was no one else to talk to and I needed information. I had searched part of the forest today and had not found the wolf. I could keep searching but it could take a long time. If the wolf had been hit by poisoned arrows, time was running out. Laurenna's cooperation was the only way I could help Lokken. I needed a way to convince her of my sincerity.

I tried to think.

Laurenna's short hair was pretty. I had the thought that I should try it some time. The last time I had short hair was when I was a child on the run and I lived for some time disguised as a boy. Now that I was older and fully developed, the short hair might actually accentuate my femininity rather than mask it.

Then the idea hit me. I sat down on the snow.

My hair was not styled in any sophisticated way: just pulled back into a sort of pony tail with a strip of cloth tied around it. Since my hair is straight, not much curl to it, that's all it ever needed to stay out of my face and look good. I untied the cloth.

I took a breath, paused, released it. Focus, Rashelle.

But I was already committed. I was really committed when I first met Ragnar and his shaman. Also, while it may sound silly, the people here in Lokken had already charmed me. If I left now, leaving that Evil here, I would not be able to live with myself.

No more thinking. Act.

I bunched up my hair in one hand and pulled out my silver dagger with the other and slashed.

I cast the hair at her feet.

She looked down at the hair and then at me and her eyes widened. I looked up at her silently while cutting more of my hair off.

It took another minute or so to finish the job. I had to bend my head down when I neatened up the edge on the back of my neck. Not being able to see myself, I had to feel my head to get the lengths right. I eventually had what I knew was a close approximation of the cut she had.

I blew the hairs off of my dagger and sheathed it. I looked up at her again. I had her full attention now.

"Laurenna, you have sworn to the gods that you will not let your hair grow long again until Wulfren has taken his place as chieftain. I, too, swear this to your gods and I swear this to Azura and I swear this to you."

She extended her hand. I grasped it and pulled myself up until I was standing.

Twilight came to a close.

"Laurenna, I am Rashelle. I spoke to Gwenn at the Brewery. I know your mother is locked away in the castle. I know Wulfren, your brother, is the rightful chieftain and that he is missing. Ragnar Fire Hair and his shaman are very evil. I suspect the white wolf is the key to the whole matter and that he is in peril right now. I want to help. My sword and spells are at your service. Tell me what to do."

This post has been edited by blockhead: Apr 4 2007, 11:43 PM