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Chorrol.com _ Fan Fiction _ Blood on the Moon

Posted by: treydog May 13 2007, 12:26 AM

Here is the link to: http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showforum=53


Prologue


“But sir, if you would only give me a little more time, I am certain you would be interested in my proposition.”

“The answer is still ‘No’, Mr. Beauchamp. I have no desire to listen to anything you have to say. You may leave now.”

“If I gave offense by my earlier remarks, I apologize. It is simply that one sometimes hears things…. I know that financial remuneration is not important to you, but I thought that perhaps the spirit of adventure might be enough to entice you.”

“Mr. Beauchamp, I have everything I need right here. My family is here, my home is here, my life is here. I have no interest in the ‘spirit of adventure’. I have found that ‘adventure’ is simply another way of saying ‘a desperate attempt to survive the situation in which one has stupidly placed oneself’. You will leave now. That is not a request.”

I heard the front door open and close with a finality that punctuated those last words. Then another voice spoke up:

“Weren’t you perhaps a bit hard on him, dear?”

The response was a growl:

“You heard what he said as well as I did- ‘…your well-known talent for getting into and out of tight places….’ He called me a thief, is what he did.”

“Well, yes, but after all, you were a thief, you know. And he did come to you directly, not lurking behind some intermediary.”

“Perhaps I used to be a thief, but I hoped I had put all that behind me. And besides, he came to me arrogantly and rudely, just as if he were a bloody Imperial, instead of a fellow Breton."


“ ’A bloody Imperial?’ ” I could envision the raised eyebrow that accompanied that innocent question.

The voices moved away to another part of the house, and I could not make out the muttered words that I was sure were an apology. But that wasn’t important; I had already heard everything I needed to know. I had a name now and a goal. Louis Beauchamp- and Solstheim!

Leaving home is rarely easy, or at least so I have heard. But I felt as if I had to, as if I was slowly smothering. If I was going to do the things I wanted to do, I must get away. There were places I wanted to explore- places he had never been. How typical of him to disparage the idea of adventure- after he had lived the kind of life others only dreamed of! And then to just…stop. As if he could pretend that none of it had ever happened if he did not speak of it. But others spoke of it- oh yes. Louis Beauchamp certainly had that right- one did “hear things”. It was easy enough to tell others that the meat was no good when you had eaten your fill. But I had tasted nothing but the scraps of someone else’s greatness for my whole life and I could stand it no longer. I would leave that very night- but not for Solstheim, at least not yet. It would not do to arrive in that far place as a penniless beggar. Although we were comfortable, and never wanted for the necessities, money was not given to me in any quantity. And though I knew the location of the family treasury well enough, I would not steal. I would not be named a thief, no matter who my father was.

Once the house had quieted, I gathered a small pack of clothing, the few coins that were my own, and a well-worn quarterstaff. How I longed for a bright blade to hang at my side! How could a ready fellow such as I set off on a grand adventure without a trusty sword? But of course I had never been trained in the use of swords, and I recalled the answer when I asked:

“Violence is the result of a mistake. If you avoid mistakes, you can avoid fights. A good walking stick will serve you better. Anything that cannot be dealt with by a sharp rap on the snout is best avoided.”

As if I had never seen the scars that marked his body, never heard the stories that everyone knew by heart, never gazed at the virtual armory hidden throughout the house.
Most of the hidden weapons appeared to be no more than well-used examples of the crafter’s art…. But some of them seemed to… whisper among themselves and to move of their own volition. I know it sounds foolish, the overheated imagining of a child, but I swear it is true. He had never gotten those swords or those scars sitting in front of the fire, reading books. And yet, when he went to the corner club for a solitary drink, and the other men related their exploits, he said nothing. Instead, he simply sat in the shadows with a glass of wine. Even so, if ever a stranger came through and became too loud or boastful, someone would nod toward the quiet figure in the corner and whisper a few words. And then the braggart would fall silent, perhaps even turn a bit pale.

All of these thoughts and more tumbled through my head as I waited in the pre-dawn darkness for the silt-strider to arrive. Perhaps it was foolish to use such a public means of transport, but I wanted distance. And going to Balmora first would help throw off any pursuit. In any event, I doubted that there would be much concern, at least not for several days. When the strider driver saw me waiting, he grinned and said,

“Going on a trip are ye, young sir? I’ll have you in Balmora before you know it. Just sit back and relax.”

He waved away my offered fare with a jovial snort.

“Oh, no charge for you, young sir. Get yourself on up and we’ll be on our way.”

I took his generosity with bad grace, because I knew that it was not for my own sake that I did not have to pay my passage. I was nobody, nothing- just another who stood in the great man’s shadow. He was the hero of the age- everyone said so. Books and ballads had been written about him. And why not? After all, he was Trey of High Rock, Nerevar Reborn, savior of Vvardenfell. And I was his son.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet May 13 2007, 12:37 AM

Oooo, this is going to be a very interesting story simply based off your introduction, Trey. The focus being on Trey's son is going to provide some nice character development, just based off his disdain for living under his father's shadow and the supposed hypocrisy of his father's teachings.

I can't wait to see what (mis)adventures, Trey's son will get into. Welcome back treydog!

Posted by: minque May 13 2007, 09:12 AM

Oh-My...YIPPEEEE!!!! treydog is back !! I am sooo happy with that...This will be interesting, I´d say, to follow Trey´s son, to learn how he will deal with the fact of being the son of such an important and famous man as Trey. Ohlala....I´m thrilled...

Apparently he has some kind of family, already and yet he set out for the unknown.

This quote made me ponder though...

QUOTE

“ ’All Imperials?’ ” I could envision the raised eyebrow that accompanied that innocent question.


So is the young breton already familiar with imperials? Or perhaps one imperial in particular? I wonder...

Anyway, finding this story up and running, made my sunday-morning!

Thank you treydog for sharing it with us... smile.gif

Posted by: blockhead May 13 2007, 03:56 PM

QUOTE(minque @ May 13 2007, 04:12 AM) *

This quote made me ponder though...

QUOTE

“ ’All Imperials?’ ” I could envision the raised eyebrow that accompanied that innocent question.


So is the young breton already familiar with imperials? Or perhaps one imperial in particular? I wonder...

Near as I can tell, that is supposed to be Trey saying that to his wife. His son is overhearing that and commenting on it?


Just the other day I was thinking to myself, "naww, Treydog probably won't write a bloodmoon story: Trey is the sort of character who won't just go someplace for the heck of it, he's got to be dragged in by obligations or some such. Nothing in the game pulls you to Solstheim like that."

Then this comes out: how weird is that. biggrin.gif

Having Trey's son go instead of Trey nicely gets around that motivational conundrum!

This should be interesting since his son has got to have entirely different stats and skills. We're guaranteed that this will be "played" much differently than Trey would have done it.


Now .... how to keep Trey from coming in and pulling Son-Of-Trey's chestnuts out of the fire biggrin.gif

"Aww dad, I was just about to toast this aspect of Hircine all by myself and save the day."

"Never you mind, young man! Time to go home now, your mother's been worried sick"

Sorry. had to tongue.gif

--
edit: a realization: from (Morrowind) in-game lore, children of mixed parentage generally take the appearance (and stats?) of their mothers race. Son-Of-Trey (what is his name, anyway?) therefore must look like an Imperial. I wonder if this causes any friction between father & son?

--
further edit:

L. Beauchamp. is a Breton ohmy.gif

Posted by: treydog May 13 2007, 04:00 PM

Blockhead- you have things exactly right... on a number of levels. The conversation is Trey and Baria, overheard by their son. Trey himself does not care to go to Solstheim- Ice Bears? No thanks! I wanted to be a little cryptic for the beginning to hopefully draw the reader in.


ETA:
As to Louis being a fellow Breton- urf. You are right. I did not do my usual meticulous study before voicing Trey's prejudice. (bangs head) May have to fix that....

"...arrogantly and rudely, just as if he were a bloody Imperial, instead of a Breton."

Etc., etc.

Posted by: minque May 13 2007, 05:06 PM

Yes of course! Mama Baria is also Imperial, I understand...now in my opinion Trey has experienced good things from female Imperials...hopefully his son will be openminded, otherwise there´s an Aunt somewhere who would have a thing or two to tell him! tongue.gif

Oh my...I can´t wait for the next part.


Blockie! I know of the rules of offspring from mixed races.....Just you wait and see!

Posted by: jack cloudy May 13 2007, 07:47 PM

Great, the master has returned.

So far, it has already got me captivated. Trey Junior (I hope we are going to get a name soon.) has enormous potential. He is the son of a hero, living in his shadow. He has apparently learned none of Trey's combat or thieving skills. Or at least, not officially. (Who knows what Junior has been doing when mom and dad were out to have tea with the neighbours.)

About his stats, I am willing to hazard a few guesses. He is probably quite proficient at Alchemy, seeing as how that is a hobby of Trey. He's likely a bit like a mage, high Int, Wil and stuff. After that though, I have no idea.


And yeah, it would be amusing if Trey suddenly showed up. On the other hand, I think the story would go much better if Junior manages to elude his father long enough to make his own fame and glory.

Hmm, I can already see Junior having to lie low because he'd heard rumours of a stranger asking around for 'whatever Junior looks like'.

Posted by: blockhead May 14 2007, 01:20 PM

QUOTE(minque @ May 13 2007, 12:06 PM) *

Yes of course! Mama Baria is also Imperial, I understand...now in my opinion Trey has experienced good things from female Imperials...hopefully his son will be openminded, otherwise there´s an Aunt somewhere who would have a thing or two to tell him! tongue.gif

Aunt? ohmy.gif


Posted by: minque May 14 2007, 07:04 PM

QUOTE(blockhead @ May 14 2007, 02:20 PM) *

QUOTE(minque @ May 13 2007, 12:06 PM) *

Yes of course! Mama Baria is also Imperial, I understand...now in my opinion Trey has experienced good things from female Imperials...hopefully his son will be openminded, otherwise there´s an Aunt somewhere who would have a thing or two to tell him! tongue.gif

Aunt? ohmy.gif

Yeah..now I think I might have confused you! An Aunt in swedish is not necessarily related to you, it is a lady just any odd lady at all.....

So....no hints! We do not know if two certain women are related do we? evillol.gif

Posted by: burntsierra May 14 2007, 10:15 PM

blink.gif blink.gif blink.gif

I did not expect to see this. I logged on in my usual mode; looking to see what I've missed when out of nowhere....


I think Christmas has come early! santaclaus.gif

Posted by: treydog May 17 2007, 01:37 AM

Chapter 1


As always, Balmora was a welcome relief after the dusty heat of Ald’ruhn and Bal Isra. Even though the Blight was over 20 years in the past, the reclamation of Vvardenfell progressed slowly, measured in inches rather than acres. As I listened to the cheerful sound of the Odai River running through the town, I recalled the few occasions I had asked why we did not live in Balmora. The answer had depended on Father’s mood: when he was in the midst of one of his black depressions, he simply scowled and spat out one word- “Hlaalu”- as if it was the vilest curse he knew. If he was feeling more talkative, his answer was almost as obscure. He would wave a hand at the walls of Indarys Manor and say, “My honor built this house, my honor and my blood. I earned this place, and here I will stay.” Whenever he spoke that way, Mother would simply shake her head and say, “Redoran” with a smile. And though we lived amongst the arid ridges and gray ravines of ash and stone, she continued to paint the green trees and blue waters of her home in Cyrodiil. And she made no complaint about the ash and the wind, just tended her garden with that same mysterious smile. When I plaintively asked her how she could live in such a place, she again answered with a single word- “love”. It made no sense to me and I wondered if everyone who had lived through the Blight was infected with some form of madness.

My unsatisfactory thoughts carried me to the Eight Plates, where I had a light meal of scrib and kwama eggs. I had been thankfully left alone, although I had felt the eyes of the other patrons upon me throughout the meal. The illusion of anonymity was completely shattered when I reached for my purse to pay and the proprietress glared at me with an offended sniff. She placed her hands on her hips and drew herself up.

“As if I would take a penny from Trey’s son. Why I recall the time he sang for his supper in this very room, before he became famous and all! Didn’t have such a bad voice, though it cracked a bit on some of the notes, he was that young.”

She smiled then, gazing at a memory only she could see. And the meal sat in my belly like a greasy lump of ash. I felt my face flush and my teeth grind at the sound of those never-sufficiently-to-be-damned syllables- “Trey’s son,” spoken as if they were a single word. As if that was my name and all of my name. As if I had no existence independent of him, as if my sole function was to remind people of his greatness. How I longed to scream at her: “I have a name! I am Athlain! I have a name!” But I did nothing, simply sat and endured her addled maundering about a man I did not know. At last, she left me to take care of her other customers and I was able to slip away.

I found a quiet corner of the wall and wrote a brief note which I sealed and addressed to:

Louis Beauchamp
Ald Skar Inn
Ald’ruhn

The contents were simple and (I hoped) enough to keep the fretful Breton from engaging anyone else for the moment. The note said:

“Do nothing until you hear from me. Plans in support of your enterprise are under way. The sign by which you will know me is ‘airship.’

A Friend”

I dropped the note, along with a half-septim, at the bar of the South Wall Club. They would see that the message traveled with the silt-strider back to the Redoran village while I went a different way. Up until now, I had been using the striders myself, as much for the speed of travel as the comfort. But now I would go on foot. The idea would be that, for all anyone knew, I came to Balmora and dropped off the face of Nirn. There were a number of trails out of town, and I doubted that anyone would remember one more cloaked figure disappearing during the darkness of early evening. It would have been pleasant to sleep in a bed, but I was used to camping, and did not want anyone else refusing my money while they told me how wonderful my father was. The trail I took followed the Odai River and took me all the way to the coast. Once there, I turned south and east, toward the sleepy fishing village of Seyda Neen.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet May 17 2007, 03:15 AM

I guess it's not in Trey's character to truly tell him all that he's done as it appears Athlain only seems to hear Trey's exploits from others. I guess Trey wanted his son to live an easy life, one that didn't have the troubles that he had experienced. Of course, this is all speculation, but the way you write does that and I enjoy speculating on things.

I don't think Athlain is going to escape the Nerevarine stories in Seyda Neen though. As most of us should know, Trey has certainly spent some time there as well.

Continue when you can trey!

Posted by: treydog May 18 2007, 12:29 AM

Interlude 1


From a broadsheet posted throughout the Vvardenfell District, late in the 3E.

Dagoth Ur may be dead, but there is still work to be done. If you are a young individual in reasonably good health and with a clean record, the Imperial Legion would like to speak with you! We offer good pay, plenty of food, free equipment, and the best training available anywhere in the Empire.

People looking for a quiet life need not apply! We are engaged in the vigorous suppression of bandits, smugglers, and cultists all over the island. You will work hard, but you can proudly call yourself a member of an elite fighting force. The Emperor and all true citizens of the Empire will appreciate your dedication and commitment. And of course everyone knows how the ladies feel about a man in uniform!

For additional information, speak to any Legion officer. Preferment and rapid advancement are available to those of Imperial heritage.

DO NOT WAIT! SIGN UP TODAY AND START THE LAST JOB YOU WILL EVER NEED!



Text of a private notice circulated to tradehouses, cornerclubs, and taverns of Vvardenfell:

Reward! Seeking information on the whereabouts of Athlain, former resident of Bal Isra. He is not to be harmed or hindered, but a generous reward will be paid for reliable information on his whereabouts. Athlain is 19 years old, with Imperial features. He is tall and slender, with brown hair and blue eyes. He has no scars or other distinguishing marks. He may seek training in the use of armor and weapons. He is an accomplished alchemist, a persuasive speaker, and writes a fair hand. Please report any sightings or additional information to Indarys Manor or to the Ald Skar Inn at Ald’ruhn. To repeat- allow him to go his way without hindrance. Payment guaranteed for reliable information!

Posted by: Lord Revan May 18 2007, 12:52 AM


It's not difficult to sympathize for Athlain when you have parents who hover over you like the clouds in the sky.

Well done, Treydog, keep on the grand works! bigsmile.gif

Posted by: The Metal Mallet May 18 2007, 12:57 AM

Ooo, an interlude eh? This is new from you. Glad to see you try new things. I also admit the hint of racism/favourtism to Imperials in the job poster was a nice touch. That amused me and it fits sooo well.

Excellent work, trey.

Posted by: blockhead May 18 2007, 11:16 AM

So after two days of a stupid power outage, I come back and see this! ooooooo! biggrin.gif Yay!

Swami predicts ... Trooper[1] Athlain volunteering for duty in Fort Frostmoth? Or ... no ... using his allowance money to finance L.B.'s airship?

I guess I'll just have to wait.

--
[1] that would *so* piss off pop Trey wink.gif

Posted by: jack cloudy May 18 2007, 01:46 PM

Really? I'd say that [2] would piss of pop as well. I don't think he trusts Dwemer machines, especially when built and maintained by someone who is not an expert.

And I loved the notices. It adds atmosphere.

Posted by: Black Hand May 20 2007, 05:40 AM

Dang! Can't believe I missed all this in the time I was somewhat gone! Very inspiring Trey! Though somehow,...I knew this was coming.

Also, in case I forget, An early happy birthday! Yes I remember yours, it's mine too!!

Posted by: minque May 20 2007, 08:48 PM

Oh Athlain, dear boy! I know it must be very hard and annoying to be your "father's son" but by all means be a good boy now and follow your destiny....I'm sure pop will approve..oh yes he will or someone might just talk him into it right?

Wonderful story dear treydog!

Posted by: Wolfie May 20 2007, 09:34 PM

Awesome! I come wandering into the Fan Fiction section to browse for a good read, and I find this!

Posted by: treydog May 25 2007, 12:15 AM

The several days I spent on the trail to Seyda Neen were remarkably pleasant. I could have made the journey in a single day without difficulty, but I savored the solitude. I also spent the time productively, gathering various plants and preparing potions. Even though the activities and odors of alchemy reminded me of Father, the memories were calming rather than annoying. He had always encouraged my efforts with remarkable patience and never raised his voice, even when I accidentally brewed concoctions whose noxious vapors drove us all out of the house. But my work on the trip to the coast had a more serious purpose than mere nostalgia- I wanted to earn some money- for myself…and for other reasons. I tried to focus my efforts on those potions that would find a ready market in a fishing village , so I prepared water-walking mixtures, along with some that restored fatigue. The time alone seemed all too short, but I knew that Vvardenfell was not so large that I could afford to loiter in one place for very long. Civilization, or at least Seyda Neen, called to me, with the prospect of a fresh start and the possibility of making a name for myself through my own efforts.

Seyda Neen may seem a peculiar choice for someone who hoped to lose himself, but I knew that it was still the main port of entry to Vvardenfell. Unlike most of the other coast towns, it was controlled by the Empire, rather than by a Great House. That being so, one more anonymously cloaked Imperial seeking information and supplies would not cause any comment. I hoped. What I most needed to know about was Solstheim and how to get there. If possible, I hoped to have some sort of employment or sponsorship before I reached the northern island, as that would provide official standing and a source of income. And income was going to be a major issue for me sooner rather than later. Upon reaching the fishing village, I realized that there was another reason for haste, one I had not counted on- if I did not leave soon, the fetid stench of the place would likely bring me to my knees. Thus the cloth I held to my nose was as much to protect me from the fishy air as to conceal my features.

But another odor, that of potent Dunmer beverages (and the sound of enthusiastic if off-key singing), led me to the tradehouse, the most promising source of information. The bartender was an Argonian, who showed his pointed teeth in a most unnerving smile. His voice was a pleasant rumble though, as he inquired,

“How may I help, Cyrodiil?”

I laid one of my few coins on the bar and ordered a mug of matze. When he placed the drink before me and reached for the gold piece, I added a second and asked,

“What have you heard about Solstheim?”

He paused for a long moment, giving me a peculiar sidelong stare from his reptilian eyes. It was almost as if he recognized me- or planned to be sure he could do so in the future. But then he responded to my question and I focused my concentration on his answer and put my paranoia aside.

“It is a cold place, with water that never melts. How can one swim in water that never melts? I prefer the Bitter Coast, with its wonderful heat and humidity.”

He blinked slowly, then continued,

“There are two ways to make money there- well, two legal ways. Young sir could join the East Empire Company- if he has influence with the Duke….?

When I made no response, he shrugged elaborately and concluded,

“There is always the Legion. They constantly seek recruits and do not ask too many questions. Fort Darius is the place to go; at least so one hears.”

He pushed forward a broadsheet that had obviously been used as a place mat- but I could still make out phrases regarding “good pay” and “free equipment.” This was an opportunity that merited some serious thought. I could not help but recall another of Father’s “lessons in reality.” I had made the mistake of speaking admiringly of group of free adventurers who had stopped in at Ald’ruhn for a brief visit. Father shook his head and assumed his “explaining this for your own good” tone.

He said, “The problem with the life of a ‘free adventurer’ is that you soon discover there is very little about it that is truly free. I know you have heard and read a great many stories, but let me warn you: once you separate out the wildly impossible, the highly unlikely, and the graphically obscene; what it boils down to is this- adventuring costs money. To make a go of it out in the wilderness requires food, armor, and weapons- not to mention the potions for the times when the armor and weapons aren’t enough….”

He went on for some time in that vein, and I nodded every so often, just as if I was really paying attention.

Supposing that there was some truth to what he was saying, and that it wasn’t all purposely skewed to “keep little Athlain safe at home,” joining the Legion would neatly counter all of those arguments. They provided armor and weapons. Better still, they would train me in the use of those things. And then there was the added bonus of Father’s reaction when he heard that I had joined the Legion. It would almost be worth going home to tell him myself….

Posted by: The Metal Mallet May 25 2007, 01:00 AM

Hehehe. That's one way to get in a potshot at one's father. Join a cause that he whole heartenly hates.

I have a feeling that living the life of a Legionaire isn't all that it's cracked up to be.

Posted by: minque May 25 2007, 06:16 PM

Joining the Legion are we huh? Well well....Dad won´t be pleased, that´s for sure! Anyway being Trey´s son he´d be ok in most cases, but of course the Legion is pretty unpredictable. Now he´s a man and that´ll help...Someone would know that.

What I wonder is moms reaction when she finds out, after all she´s an Imperial!

Posted by: treydog May 27 2007, 03:41 AM

One of my purposes in the town had been accomplished- I had learned that the most likely route to Solstheim was through enlistment in the Imperial Legion. The prospect of service in the Empire’s military was attractive to me; despite my father’s prejudice, I had known at least one person who had risen to high rank in the Legion. I could envision myself in the silver cuirass and red cape of an officer- and surely I would be able to achieve that status fairly quickly. But before I took that first step, I needed to make some preparations. Louis Beauchamp had almost certainly received my note by now, and I would have to follow up soon. The fact that he had been desperate enough to risk Father’s anger told me that the Breton speculator was hard-pressed indeed. Therefore, I made my way down the steps of the tradehouse to see what I could get for my potions.

My ability to make friends easily and my knowledge of the value of trade goods served me well- I was able to amass a reasonable stack of coins with little effort. They made a pleasant sight on the counter, but I knew that the money was only a means to an end. I left them standing while I looked over the stock. The only swords available were iron, and rusty iron at that- the salty coastal air was not kind to that particular material. Even my untrained eye could tell that those weapons were little better than scrap- more suited to bludgeoning an opponent than actual fencing. I lingered longer over the chitin armor, but again let it pass. Though I rather liked the look of the smooth, cream-colored material, I knew that a relatively complete set would have considerable weight, not to mention the cost. I had almost given up when a dull gleam amongst the rusty relics caught my eye. I reached in with a hand that almost shook with anticipation, not daring to believe my good fortune. But when my fingers grasped the richly engraved surface, I knew that I had been right. What I drew out of the trash was a silver quarter staff, marked with runes of protection and abjuration. The weapon did not have any magical properties beyond those inherent in the silver plating, but that was enough. To my delight, the head of the staff was cast into the likeness of a dragon, symbol of the Septim dynasty and the Empire. I took that as a sign that at least someone looked upon my endeavors with favor.

After some intense negotiations, I turned over most of my earnings from alchemy and walked out with the silver staff. The weapon was a necessity if I was going to implement the next part of my plan. I still needed to amass a substantial amount of money, and alchemy was too slow and uncertain a way to do that. Instead, I was going to enter some of the numerous caves and tombs scattered all along the Bitter Coast. I would do my best to avoid the smugglers and bandits themselves, but I would appropriate their loot and turn it in for whatever bounty I could command. In a way, I would be working for the Legion before I even enlisted, at least as far as the outlaw dens were concerned. The part of my scheme that required the silver staff, the tombs, was a bit more problematic. I had mixed feelings about entering the ancient burial places, but not because of any superstitious fear of the dead. My problem was a moral one. I knew that people often left valuable items in tombs- as offerings, as memorials, and sometimes simply to take advantage of the protection offered by the eldritch guardians. And if I took something from a tomb, it seemed as if I would be robbing the dead- a dishonorable act and not the sort of behavior a true knight would engage in. On the other hand, the ghosts and skeleton guardians that infested the tombs were products of necromancy, a foul practice that was surely an even more serious trespass against the dead than merely taking items from the graves. In fact, I would be doing the tormented spirits a favor by releasing them from their unnatural bonds of servitude and allowing them to rest at last. And, even though grave dust and bonemeal had alchemical properties, I would be sure not to disturb the remains of those interred in the tombs. At that point in my reverie, a crescendo in the singing from the tavern above, followed by a gust of laughter, broke my train of thought and sent my mind down another path. The laughter reminded me of a happier time, a time when I knew that my father was a giant who strode the Mundus.

It was a party. My party. It was my birthday and I was seven years old. A number of my friends were there, some who were elf children and others who were not. We made no distinctions based on race, but divided more along lines of gender. When you are a seven-year-old boy, you are certain that girls are from an alien species and probably carry horrible diseases. A great many adults had come too- my “aunts and uncles” as we called them, even though none were blood relations. But these were people whose ties were closer than family, for they had all come through the dark times of Dagoth Ur and the Blight. Children in Vvardenfell were still a miracle, and a birthday party was a first-rate excuse to get together and celebrate. Athyn Sarethi, for whom I had been named, was there, as was Serene. Other Redoran councilors and House members also made courtesy calls. Others came, too, from farther away. Most startling were the Urshilaku, wearing feathered capes and bone necklaces. They were a solemn people who spoke little, but bowed low to my father and looked long upon me and the other children. But I paid little attention to the adults, not really knowing the difference between a Councilor and a steward, and caring even less.

Somehow, Father had managed to find a small, tame guar and had crafted a saddle and bridle for it. With a grin he picked me up and said,

“If we can’t have horses here, we’ll just make our own. Give him a go, son.”

Despite Mother’s doubtful look, he placed me carefully in the saddle and stepped back. The guar took no notice of my additional weight, but instead munched contentedly on the branches of a scathecraw growing in the yard. That was a tricky business, as the plant was more thorns than anything else. The young guar suddenly discovered that fact, as one of the wicked barbs pierced his sensitive purple tongue. With a bellow of surprise, he began to leap about, shaking his head violently in an attempt to dislodge the thorn. Considering that I had never ridden anything more lively than a silt-strider, I managed to hold on for an impressive few seconds. However, the beast gave a sideways jump, followed by an attempt to duck his head between his hind legs which sent me sailing. I knew that a bad fall onto the hard ground was coming. But then, two strong hands plucked me out of the air and held me close. Somehow, my father had seen what was happening and stayed close enough to catch me. He hugged me to his chest and murmured,

“It’s all right, Athlain. I’ve got you.”

He then let go with one hand and laid it on the guar, calming it instantly. I felt a flow of healing magic jump from him to the creature, which made a happy sound and butted him playfully. In that moment, I knew that my father could do anything.

Posted by: Black Hand May 28 2007, 07:06 AM

Wow.

Posted by: minque May 29 2007, 10:39 PM

Ahhh, a glimpse from his hildhood! with all aunts and uncles visiting! yay! Simply amazing treydog! It´s always so good to learn more about his background and stuff...you sort of get "under his skin"

Now Athlain my boy....go ahead and make your dad proud of you! Or??? ohmy.gif

Posted by: treydog Jun 3 2007, 01:12 AM

Yes, my father could do anything- or so it seemed. But as I grew older, doubt began to creep in. It appeared that he actually did… nothing. Other parents were warriors or priests, explorers or councilors. They sailed the seas or traveled to distant lands. My father mostly stayed at home, only venturing as far as Ald’ruhn or perhaps Balmora. When each of my sisters was born, he disappeared for several days, gone to Tel Fyr, so my mother said. When I was small, it was a blessing that he was always there to read to me or to call for my assistance with his alchemy. But he didn’t seem to do anything, except read books or scratch away in his journal. Even the alchemy became tiresome after a time, for he simply gave the resultant potions away- often to visiting Ashlanders. We had many visitors, who greeted Father with respect and often affection. Many of them were clearly warriors or perhaps even rogues- their faces were maps of adventure. They would stay for an hour or a day and then disappear back into the wider world, leaving me with a colored stone or a carving or a mechanical toy of a sort never seen before in Vvardenfell. And Father would wish them well and return to his books. Although we had many visitors, strangers were not welcome at Indarys Manor. In fact, on more than one occasion, I saw my father’s hand reach for a sword that no longer hung at his side. He never said anything to me about those moments, but would go into a dark silence that might last for days at a time. He would look off toward the southeast at something only he could see. Mother’s quiet words generally brought him around, but sometimes it took a visit from Serene or Uncle Athyn to restore Father’s good humor.

As fascinating as those memories were, they brought me no closer to my purpose. Therefore, I cleared my head of those melancholy thoughts and made my way out of Seyda Neen, going north along the coast. Not far from town, I came upon a curious sight, one that made me wonder. A monument in the Imperial style had been erected on a lonely spit of land that was otherwise indistinguishable from the rest of the Bitter Coast. Unfortunately, it had been vandalized to the point that it was impossible to tell what hero or event it commemorated. I could only make out the words “Processus” and “…gave his life….” The monument and even the vandalism appeared to be at least ten or a dozen years old; but it was clear that at least one person still cared- fresh coda flowers adorned the stone.

The neglected memorial preoccupied me, but not so much that I passed up the opportunity to bash a few mudcrabs and extract the meat. When raw, it has an unpleasant taste, but it can be cooked with draggle-tail or bittergreen to make a tasty stew. I took care to stay out of the water, for I frequently saw the razor-sharp fins and sinuous bodies of slaughter fish in the shallows. Fortunately, no larger beasts appeared, and I soon saw the shape of a Velothi arch that indicated the presence of a tomb. Part of my schooling had included a study of Aldmeris, and so I was able to determine that this was the Samarys burial. The name itself meant nothing to me- if the family had once been prominent, they had since disappeared into the mists of time. And, to be honest, I was indifferent to their status. What interested me was a chance to test my skills against the guardian spirits and perhaps acquire some saleable items. I did take note that there were no footprints of either men or elves in the mud around the entry, and that was encouraging. Although I was willing to confront smugglers or other outlaws, I would prefer to avoid them, at least until I had better training and equipment.
I looked at the tomb entry uncertainly. Beyond the mudcrabs and a few kwama foragers, I had never actually fought anything before. Certainly not anything that had real potential to harm me. I dried my damp palms on my shirt and grasped the staff firmly, then opened the door. All I saw was a hallway sloping downward to a second, dimly-lighted door. I drew a shaky breath and moved down the passage. As I neared the door, I seemed to hear the sound of bone scraping across the stone floor and perhaps some sort of labored breathing. That was silly- undead creatures had no lungs, nor any need to breathe. The asthmatic wheezing sound was probably just the movement of air around an ill-fitting door. Probably. The hair on the back of my neck bristled and I suddenly wished that my birth sign had been the Ritual instead of the Lady. Having the power to drive undead away would have been rather... comforting. But that would probably have required something else I lacked- faith in the gods. Better far to trust in my wits, my weapons, and the strength of my muscles than the chancy attention of indifferent deities. With my scorn for the gods as a shield, I pushed open the door.

A spectral figure appeared at the far end of the burial chamber, bearing the aspect of a skeletal being in tattered funeral vestments. At the same moment that it sensed my presence, I recognized it as an ancestor ghost. I was glad of the silver staff I held, for ordinary weapons would have passed harmlessly through the insubstantial ghost. A quick thrust, followed by a backward step, blunted the spirit’s initial rush, and I braced for the counter attack. Clawed hands reached for my throat and I swatted away one- but not the other. A terrible chill wracked my body as the claws scored my neck. I swept the staff back and forth in front of me as if I was batting away spider webs. The resultant blows were weak, but the silver seemed to burn the ghost and it recoiled. After a few more thrusts and overhand smashes, the ghost dissolved into a pile of dust. As I rested from the fight, I surveyed the chamber. A few burial urns stood on funeral plinths, and a scroll that glittered with enchantment lay upon the floor. The only other items of interest were a few alchemy ingredients. I collected those and the scroll, which I decided to examine later, in safer surroundings. The passage made a turn, leading to another small chamber, complete with a shrine to St. Veloth, more urns and a second magical scroll. There was also a door leading deeper into the tomb.

Despite my worries, no more ghosts waited beyond the door. I did find a rather weak Fortify Health potion and more urns, including one that actually carried an inscription. The markings indicated that the remains were those of one “Lord Brinne,” but, true to my values, I left them undisturbed. That decision was made somewhat easier by the fact that I detected a magical trap on the container. Of more interest to me was a rough wooden chest, which bore similar markings to the urn. The fact that the chest was locked further convinced me that it probably contained the valuable goods of the deceased lord. I had no qualms about looting the chest, but I also had no hope of being able to force the lock. However, I had anticipated such a need and had therefore purchased a scroll with Ondusi’s Unhinging from the tradehouse in Seyda Neen. The scroll worked as advertised- the lock opened with a satisfying “click” and I opened the lid to find- dust and cobwebs. My frustration quite overcame any pleasure I had taken in defeating the ghost- I had spent nearly 80 septims on that scroll and had nothing to show for it. So far, my money-making scheme was not going well at all. I had used one scroll in order to gain two, plus a cheap potion that I could have concocted myself. As I left the tomb in a foul humor, I seemed to hear an all-too-familiar voice going on and on about the “realities of being a free adventurer.”

Posted by: minque Jun 3 2007, 06:42 AM

Haha! Awesome! So Trey is kinda moody and lazy nowadays? Well well quite understanable, but maybe not so to a young man who´s life lies ahead of him. I´m happy Serene still can cheer Trey up!

Now dear Athlain....impatient are we? Want to make a fortune on his first tomb-raid huh? Well that didn´t happen, right!

So he found the Processus-Vitellius-monument? That was a sweet twist, I´m sure Thavere Vedrano was the one who put the flowers there! So sweet!

As usual you manage to catch your readers interest by your very special way of calmly and detailled describe the moves of the young man...

Oh how I wish I was at least half as good a writer as you are!

Posted by: Black Hand Jun 3 2007, 06:05 PM

"True to his values"? Oh man, the value of his ring finger would have gone up to 8 Grand! Not to mention the Mentors Ring is great for the starting Magician!

Posted by: treydog Jun 3 2007, 07:09 PM

@ minque- Of course you are far more than simply "half as good"- I am constantly awed by your insight and ability, esp. as you write in a non-native language. The fact that we have different styles does not change the quality of your work...

@ Blackhand- Yup. I purposely had him obliviously pass up the Mentor's Ring- just as Trey did with the Amulet of Shadows. It is fun to throw in those "insider jokes" for folks who really know the game...

Posted by: jack cloudy Jun 3 2007, 07:43 PM

It took him quite a while to deal with that ghost. I guess our friend has a lot of training to do before he can seek out fame and glory.

And I'm with Black Hand, Mentor's ring is a great treasure to find early on. (Ignoring the fact for a moment that I didn't come to that tomb till level 7 or so which isn't exactly early.) Still, I have to agree that it adds to the enjoyment of those who are in the know. And because it brings up his sense of right and wrong, it's even better.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jun 3 2007, 07:46 PM

Very tricky, trey, nice little addition about Athlain missing the Mentor's Ring. The memorial for Processus was a nice addition to, it really gives the impression that indeed time has passed since Trey defeated Almalexia and Dagoth Ur.

I look forward to the next update.

Posted by: Dire Cheesecake Jun 3 2007, 10:33 PM

Hm, I haven't played Morrowind in years, and I don't have it anymore, so I didn't get the reference. I always remember that smuggler cave near Seyda Neen for some reason though. Speaking of which, I wonder how Athlain will deal with his first fight against another person. Trey seemed to get used to killing people rather quickly, but he didn't really strike me as the sheltered type. Then again, Athlain doesn't use pointy weapons so he may end up not killing his opponent anyway.

Posted by: canis216 Jun 3 2007, 10:49 PM

Mentor's ring is indeed nice. And it was funny to have Athlain so near his "free" adventurer's fortune, yet so far. And because of self-imposed restrictions! Such a role-player, that Athlain. Such scruples may be difficult to hold to, should he ever find his way to Solstheim.

Posted by: Wolfie Jun 7 2007, 06:02 PM

Hehehe... I figured you weren't gonna let him find the Mentor's Ring... woulda been too easy lol.
Reading these stories always makes me wish I had the time and inspiration to go back to writing The Tale of Jonacin, but alas, I don't. Oh well, such is life.

Posted by: treydog Jun 17 2007, 11:25 PM

A short one this time, without much action. This story has been harder to write...I am still learning who Athlain is.

Frustration at my lack of success propelled me out of the tomb- propelled me a little too quickly, in fact. I had forgotten that the sea was just outside the entry, and splashed into it up to my knees. My ignominious dive was immediately remarked by a couple of slaughterfish, which greeted me with painful bites. As I flailed at the piscine vermin, I heard an ugly “crack” and my treasured silver staff broke in two. No wonder the trader had let it go so cheaply- it had probably been held together by no more than spit and spider webs. Clutching the pieces, I dashed back onto dry land with the fish snapping at my heels. I was in an ugly state of mind as I returned to Seyda Neen. The tiny fishing village was like quicksand- I seemed unable to break free from its grip. At first, I was determined to tear into the trader, but by the time I reached the tradehouse, better sense had prevailed. I knew it be unwise to berate the only trader in the town- if I annoyed him sufficiently, he would refuse to deal with me. And there was no one else. Also, I had examined the pieces of the staff and realized that it was not a matter of sharp dealing, but rather the nature of the staff itself. To save weight (and expense), it was not solid silver, but rather a thin layer of the metal laid over a wooden shaft. It really wasn’t designed for being slammed repeatedly into things with wild abandon. Besides all that, I did not want to make a scene that might cause me to be noticed.

When I inquired about the possibility of repairs, I received more bad news. The trader folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe and said,

“I am sorry, young sir, but there is no one in Seyda Neen who can craft or repair arms and armor. The nearest smith is in Pelegiad. Or you might take the silt strider to Balmora….”

The meeting with the trader was not completely fruitless, however. I persuaded him to sell me an iron mace and to teach me a fireball spell for a small amount of gold. The mace was an ugly thing, but it had the virtue of being extremely durable. And even though destructive magic was not my greatest proficiency, having the fire spell available would allow me to strike from a distance.

When I left the tradehouse, I did not immediately rush off to another tomb or cave. Instead, I sat on the dock and studied the waves as if they might have the answers I needed. Although I had a couple of goals in mind, so far I had simply been darting about in the brainless manner of a young cliff-racer. It was past time that I put my supposedly superior intelligence to work and made some definite plans. First, Seyda Neen was not a satisfactory base. Beyond the fact that it stank of fish, the village was so isolated that there were no real services. It was the sort of place that most people simply passed through on the way to anywhere else. Reluctantly, I decided that I must return to Balmora. That city had several advantages, including the fact that it was the seat of Hlaalu power. While I had no intention of asking for anything as dubious as Hlaalu protection, the tensions between that House and Redoran would prevent anything as overt as Father sending some Redoran guards to “escort” me home. Better still, Balmora had a Mages Guild house. At Mother’s urging, I had joined the Mages Guild some years previously- my greatest skills were in the schools of magic. That being so, it was odd that my heart’s desire was to be a swordsman rather than a battlemage. But, when I thought of the future, I imagined myself in the silvered armor of a Legion knight rather than the robes of a mage. Regardless of logic, regardless of my father’s wishes, that was what I wanted. But in the interim, the Mages could provide me with supplies and even training. Another advantage was that most of the guild members would be too deeply involved in their own research to even notice me. Therefore, it was unlikely that they would report my presence back to Indarys Manor. As long as I did not use the Guild Guides for transport, things would probably be fine.

Rather than walk back to Balmora, I rode in comfort on the silt strider. It was a luxury, but one I could afford- at least for now. Upon arrival, I went immediately to Meldor the armorer. I had heard that the Bosmer craftsman knew more about repairing wood than anyone else. What I hoped was that he would do more than simply repair the silver staff- I hoped that he would show me the way of it. Perhaps a true knight would have a squire to maintain his equipment, but for now, all I had was myself. When I presented the broken weapon and explained my need, the wood elf was doubtful.

“I don’t know, Cyrodiil. Patching a staff is a tricky business. There will always be some weakness at the point of the repair. I suppose we could strip the silver off the original wood and plate a new staff…?”

I shook my head.

“No, Meldor. If we do that, the power of the staff over undead and summoned creatures will be ruined. If you can show me how to keep the staff from breaking again, I would rather put it back together.”

The Bosmer sighed and admitted that I was correct about the undead. He then produced a number of strips of wood, which he wound around the staff. Then he took me to the back of his shop, where a cauldron of peculiar liquid bubbled over a low fire. He looked at me closely and then said,

“This is the real secret of chitin and bonemold armor. I make a resin from certain plants and animals, which I than apply to the armor. It makes it strong but flexible. We are going to coat the wood strips of the staff with this same resin. It will take several days to dry, but the result should be all you ask for. I will also sell you some jars of resin you can use to maintain the repair. Actually, once the resin soaks in, the mended wood will be stronger than the rest.”

I paid the smith and walked down the street to the Mages Guild. Although I did not know it at the time, a pair of very interested eyes followed my progress.

Posted by: canis216 Jun 18 2007, 01:05 AM

I wonder who is watching. I imagine that the son of Trey (hears shouting from afar), oh, sorry, Athlain might draw interest from both the friends and enemies of his father. Especially some enemies who hang around a certain club...

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jun 18 2007, 02:47 AM

Hmm, yes, can't forget about those guys. I can imagine they're the type who don't let go of a grudge easily either. But I have a feeling we'll find out who is doing the observing next update.

Great work as usual, trey!

Posted by: mplantinga Jun 18 2007, 08:42 PM

I was very excited to find a brand new story by Treydog. Writing it about Trey's son seems like a really great idea, and has already provided some very interesting and thought provoking incidents. I am looking forward following him on his journey and watching the ever-present effects of his "noble" parentage.

I find it very interesting that Trey has refused to talk with his son about his "former life." I assume that his reasoning would be that he didn't want to give his son the idea that adventuring is an exciting lifestyle, hoping that his son would take a cue from his attitude and lead a simpler, safer life. It is intriguing, therefore, that this has had the opposite effect, actually driving Athlain toward a life of adventure and excitement. I'm curious to see how his choice will affect his relationship with his father (and, perhaps, the rest of House Redoran as well).

Posted by: jack cloudy Jun 18 2007, 08:50 PM

I liked the bit about the repairs. With the glue and all, it actually felt real. Much better than just whacking it with a hammer a few times.

And I feel rather sorry about the Camonna Tong. Come on guys, there are a few polite ones around. Why must we all assume that they're the bad guys just because they've got different beliefs?
,,But you slaughtered Hla Oad because of them!"

Ehh, nevermind. I never said anything. laugh.gif

Carry on please, oh great master.

Posted by: Avego Jun 19 2007, 04:08 PM

Heh!

I love you Treydog!

I've been a silent sentinel reading your stories for a while, its a great inspiration, and gets me all fired up to pen something of my own. Alas, I am crap at keeping a coherent story, and have yet to discover my own style. Maybe one day, if you've got the time you could tell me how you started, and developed your own methods as a writer.

Keep up the writing trey, its truly great stuff.

Posted by: minque Jun 19 2007, 07:08 PM

Ahhh Athlain, I wonder whos eyes are watching you? It just can´t be our common everyday-assassin, right? Of course you just had to add a cliffie right at the end...hmmm...

And mom´s influence led him right into the arms of the Mages, well that´s good!

Great work, I can´t wait for the next part.

Posted by: treydog Jun 20 2007, 02:19 PM

QUOTE(Avego @ Jun 19 2007, 03:08 PM) *

Heh!

I love you Treydog!

I've been a silent sentinel reading your stories for a while, its a great inspiration, and gets me all fired up to pen something of my own. Alas, I am crap at keeping a coherent story, and have yet to discover my own style. Maybe one day, if you've got the time you could tell me how you started, and developed your own methods as a writer.

Keep up the writing trey, its truly great stuff.

Well, many thanks for the kind words. I am always pleased to "meet" my readers.... As to the how of the writing, you might check out this thread:

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=1924

which describes my process. The short version is: read. Pay attention to the work of those writers that you like and try to figure out what it is that they do. To be a writer, you have to write. If you can't sustain a long piece, write short pieces that tell a complete story. If you have a concept of what you expect to happen, write down everything you want in the story, without worrying about the order of events. You can fix that later. Make sure your characters have personalities. Give them quirks, phobias, prejudices, and failings- as well as strengths. Above all, enjoy what you are doing.

Posted by: Avego Jul 7 2007, 07:00 PM

Thank you, it means alot to have a helping hand from someone I have come to respect merely from the power of their writing. Are you sure you're not a best selling Author in disguise? At any rate, thanks again for the link and advice.

Posted by: treydog Jul 9 2007, 01:09 AM

Sorry for the long delay- I could plead RL complications, but the fact is, it was mostly writer's block- not knowing what to do with my newest creation.... Anyway, here he is- and I hope you enjoy his (mis)adventures.

The Balmora Mage’s Guild was a pleasant diversion. They provided everything I needed to live- food, a bed, even stimulating classes in the schools of magic. I was able to pay my way by trading simple potions for lessons. It was odd- the mages could mix potions as easily as I, but they hated to take the time away from their “important research” -research that never seemed to actually yield any tangible results. But, since their intellectual snobbery was to my benefit, I made no complaint. And yet… it was just a diversion, a side path from the direction I wished to go. At the end of two weeks, I was ready to move on, to take the first decisive step in achieving my goal. Thus it was that, on a rainy Fredas morning, I walked out the south gate and up the hill to Fort Moonmoth.

Legion troops were much in evidence, and I felt stirrings of both pride and jealousy at the sight of their Imperial uniforms.

“Soon,” I promised myself, “soon….”

The first officer I located explained that the only garrison that was recruiting was the Death’s Head Legion at Fort Darius in Gnisis. He also mumbled something about “…smelly Orcs,” but I was too anxious to embark on my new career to worry about that. Without delay, I boarded the silt-strider and reached the small outpost on the Samsi River in the early afternoon.

The crab-shell buildings of the town caused an unexpected twinge of homesickness- they reminded me strongly of Ald’ruhn and my home. But I ruthlessly suppressed the traitorous melancholy and examined the other structures. Besides the strider-port, there was a Dunmer Temple, a few homes and businesses, and the Velothi tower of Baladas Demnevanni. I had heard many stories of that rogue Telvanni, and vowed to stay far away from him. Although he had no reason to bear me or my family any ill will, the Telvanni rarely needed reasons for their actions. If anyone had the temerity to ask a Telvanni why he or she had done something, the only explanation likely to be forthcoming was,

“Because I felt like it.”

Of course, that assumed that the response was not the even more probable fireball.

When I asked the strider driver about joining the Legion, he grunted and pointed toward the Madach Tradehouse. Then he elaborated in a rude tone,

“The General prefers to keep to himself, rather than mix with the troops. And he prefers to stay close to his ‘supplies,’ as well.”

That last was accompanied by a crude gesture of someone swilling liquor. I thought to lecture the fellow on showing proper respect for his Imperial protectors, but decided that some folk were too ignorant to be educated. I satisfied myself with giving him the bare minimum gratuity for his services and gathered my belongings. I did not find it all that surprising that the commander of the Legion garrison would take quarters outside the barracks- after all, most high-ranking officers were nobles, and thus accustomed to better accommodations. And the “fort” was actually little more than a customs and inspection point for traffic along the road. It was somewhat disappointing not to be able to go to the Imperial City itself, but I supposed my career had to start somewhere.

The proprietor of the tradehouse directed me to the private rooms on the lower floor, and I was pleased to note that he did so without any slurs upon the commander’s character. When I reached the basement, I was a bit startled to encounter an Orc in Legion garb, but I drew myself up into what I imagined was the posture called “attention” and spoke:

“Sir, I would like to join the Imperial Legion and be of service to the Emperor.”

The Orc gave me a disinterested look and growled,

“Yeah? And what’s that to me, sonny? Does yer mother know yer out this late?”

I flushed red and began to stammer an explanation, which was cut short by a quiet voice from an interior room.

“Enough, Nash. There’s no need to be rude to potential recruits.”

I turned at the sound of the voice and beheld a man who was unmistakably a Legion officer. It was as much a matter of his bearing and steely gaze as the gold-washed armor that he wore. When I imagined a knight of the Imperial Legion, this man was just what I had pictured, right down to the graying hair at his temples. While I was examining him, he was doing the same to me. If he was favorably impressed, he concealed the fact without effort. His expression gave nothing away. Then, just as the silence was becoming uncomfortable, he asked,

“And what skills do you bring to the Legion? What are your talents?”

I desperately wanted to impress the general, but I knew better than to exaggerate. Therefore I admitted that my martial skills were limited, and that I was more conversant with magic than with weapons. Summoning all of my persuasiveness, I added,

“But I can learn, sir. Give me a chance and you won’t be disappointed.”

He continued his silent scrutiny of me and then spoke the words I had hoped to hear-

“Very well. I am General Darius, commander of this garrison. The Legion selects for endurance, the soldierly virtue, and personality, the citizen's virtue, for service in the Legion is the model for the duties of Imperial citizenship. As a trooper or knight, you must master the long blade, spear, and blunt weapons. You must block whatever blows you can, and take unblocked blows upon your heavy armor. The Legion recruit must also be athletic to evade, maneuver, and charge on the field of battle. You have potential that we should be able to develop.”
He scribbled a note and handed it to me.

“Take this draft to the barracks to be sworn in and to draw your gear. After that, locate Senior Trooper Carbo. He will see to your training. Dismissed.”

At last, I had achieved my dream. I was a member of the Imperial Legion.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 9 2007, 04:26 AM

Hmm, I wonder how long Athlain will still view the Legion in such awe when he's drilled to death out of his element under the training of the Legion.

Posted by: jack cloudy Jul 9 2007, 09:17 PM

Well, I hope he won't get the rough treatment from the Orcs. Unlike them, he lived a sheltered life for the most part. I wouldn't be surprised if they saw him as 'the spoiled, weak brat' and treated him as such.

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Jul 12 2007, 10:41 PM

Call me a pessimist but i keep thinking that something will happen to Athlain.... causing Trey to come out of his, for lack of a better word, "hiding" and do the adventuring thing again.

never the less, your switch in point of views is intriguing and i can't wait to read more of Athlain's adventures (Hey, maybe if it all turns out well he'll have stories to tell like his old man)

Posted by: treydog Jul 14 2007, 11:39 PM

Interlude the Second

Contents of a note delivered from an undisclosed location in Vvardenfell to the city of Mournhold:

The fledgling has left the nest. Resided in Balmora and now Gnisis. Awaiting further instructions.

Contents of a letter delivered to the Dark Brotherhood:

You and your subordinates will do NOTHING in regards to a certain recent Imperial Legion recruit. If this order is unclear, I will gladly direct my operatives to explain it to you- or your replacement.

H.


From the rolls of the Imperial Legion Garrison at Gnisis, Vvardenfell District:

Enrolled on this Sixth day of Sun’s Height in the Death’s Head Legion, Knight Protector Darius commanding- Athlain ap Baria Treyson.

Posted by: treydog Jul 15 2007, 07:29 PM

Chapter 2


Although I had given my oath to General Darius, I would not formally become a recruit of the Imperial Legion until I had signed the roll. I hastened to the barracks to complete the process- and found that all was not as I had imagined. There was a huge contrast between the general and the trooper who enrolled me. He was a scruffy, unshaven individual, who constantly worked a wad of hackle-lo leaf from one jaw to the other. Some of the juice had dribbled into the whiskers on his chin. When I saluted, he waved a vague hand at me and then proffered the Legion register with a mumbled,

“Make yer mark, kid. ‘Less yer havin’ second thoughts?”

When I reached for the quill, he snickered,

“It’s yer funeral, Bub.”

Amongst the illegible scrawls and shaky “X’s” I wrote my full name:

Athlain ap Baria Treyson

The trooper stared at the neat writing with bemusement and then called over another rumpled Legionnaire. He pointed a grimy finger at my signature and said,

“Looka here, Troop. We got us officer material here. Look how pretty he writes! Is that right, boy? You figger yer officer material?”

This last was addressed to me, but I knew better than to respond. I could have told the lout that the Legion register was an official Imperial document and that it required my full name. I could have explained that I was named for Athyn Sarethi, for my mother and for my father. And I could have pointed out that the explosion of births following the passing of the Blight had necessitated schools- schools that my artist mother and writer/scholar/ warrior father had insisted I attend. But I did not. Some battles cannot be won- only endured. So I said nothing until they tired of their sport and directed me to the quartermaster to be outfitted.

That worthy proved to be a heavyset Breton with a face that had seen it all and liked none of it. He sized me up with a practiced eye and began pulling equipment from various racks and bins, all the while with a running commentary:

“Cuirass, chain mail, medium, slightly used, one each. Bloodstains will come out when you polish it. Greaves, steel, right and left, one each. Those go on your legs, right greave on the right leg, left greave on the left. Helmet, steel, one each. That’s to preserve what few brains you may have left. Boots, steel, right and left, one each. You’ll figure out which is which eventually. Spear, iron, one each. The pointy end goes toward the enemy; try not to put your eye out. Have a nice day.”

I staggered to my bunk under the weight of the assorted iron and steel, feeling uncomfortably like an overloaded tinker’s wagon. I consoled myself with the thought that the weight would feel less once I put everything on. Probably. I laid out all the rusty metal, noting that it bore little resemblance to the shining uniform of a Knight of the Legion. I poked a finger into the rents in the chain cuirass, rents that looked uncommonly like the marks of large, sharp teeth. Before I could pursue that line of thought further, a voice bellowed from behind me:

“Is the sun down, recruit? Did anyone tell you to go to bed? Did they tell you to put all this worthless junk on one of my nice, clean bunks? Well, did they?”

I whipped around to see a red-faced Imperial trooper glaring at me. As I tried to decide which question to answer first, he rolled his eyes skyward and intoned, as if to an uncaring god:

“Why do I always get the idiots? What have I done to get on General Darius’ list?”

He brought his eyes back to focus on me. With a couple of quick movements, he dumped the armor and spear onto the floor. Then he glared at me again. In a low growl, he said,

“That is the bunk of an Imperial trooper. You are NOT an Imperial trooper. You are a recruit. You are lower than the stuff I wipe off my boots after walking in the guar pen. You have not earned a bunk. You will be an Imperial trooper when I decide that you are ready, however doubtful that outcome may be. Now grab that pile of junk and follow me, recruit.”

Posted by: jack cloudy Jul 15 2007, 09:03 PM

Welcome to the army, kid. biggrin.gif

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 15 2007, 11:54 PM

Oh boy! I always love hard-nosed sergeants that ride against their recruits. Excellent depiction of such a character, trey!

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Jul 17 2007, 09:29 PM

Very nice Character there Trey, gotta love that attitude in a sergeant biggrin.gif Athlain better have a lot of guts if he's gonna pull through this.

Posted by: minque Jul 17 2007, 11:32 PM

Imperial Legion huh? Didn´t his dad tell him stories from the past about how those legionnaires treated women? tongue.gif

Anyway I´m sure Athlain can handle things, after all his name is....Treyson, right? That means something..hmmm

Posted by: burntsierra Jul 21 2007, 03:32 PM

This is shaping up to be as much as a classic as The Story Of Trey. smile.gif

Being English I do start feeling guilty when I read this though. Pleasure is something to be carefully rationed, and this is such delightfully sinful pleasure that I should really go for a three mile run in the rain after reading it. Or I could get a cuppa and read it again wink.gif

Wonder which I'll choose to do....

Keep it up, I'm loving every second of this.

Posted by: minque Jul 21 2007, 03:54 PM

QUOTE(burntsierra @ Jul 21 2007, 04:32 PM) *

This is shaping up to be as much as a classic as The Story Of Trey. smile.gif

Being English I do start feeling guilty when I read this though. Pleasure is something to be carefully rationed, and this is such delightfully sinful pleasure that I should really go for a three mile run in the rain after reading it. Or I could get a cuppa and read it again wink.gif

Wonder which I'll choose to do....

Keep it up, I'm loving every second of this.

If i were you Burnt....I´d go for the cuppa! Because that´s what I do when I feel like having a good time....f ex reading trey-stories


Oh I wonder when I finally get over my...."block"? huh.gif

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 21 2007, 04:05 PM

Yes indeed minque, it would be awesome for you to get past the dreadful obstacle called the writer's block. I'm quite sure there's plenty of people silently urging you on. I'm included in that bunch because I love following your story and for other reasons that will eventually be revealed.... emot-ninja1.gif

Oh yes, and Trey has been absolutely solid so far with this story. Even this early into the story, the reader has a good idea on how Athlain thinks and acts.

Posted by: canis216 Jul 22 2007, 06:51 AM

Maybe now Athlain is seeing why his father (who is that again?) has such great distaste for the Empire--let us hope the young man can muddle through.

Posted by: treydog Jul 28 2007, 03:20 AM

Once we got outside the barracks, the angry Legionnaire continued to shout at me. As I juggled helmet, cuirass, greaves, and so on, he paced back and forth bellowing.

“Let’s start out easy. Pull the chain mail cuirass over your head and put one arm through each arm hole. Try not to get lost inside of the armor. Now, put the helmet on your head. You can do that, I hope?”

When I managed that feat, he adopted a mockingly prayerful attitude and intoned,

“Oh, thank you, great Talos, for sending me a recruit who can locate his own head without needing both hands and a torch. I am truly grateful. Strap the greaves onto your legs and place your feet inside the boots.”

Once the armor was secured to his satisfaction, he had me stand straight, with my chin tucked into my chest while he walked slowly around me. At last he gave a heavy sigh and said,

“Well, you don’t look completely like a sack of dung, so I guess that’ll do. If you have not guessed yet, I am Trooper Carbo. The General, in his infinite wisdom, has placed you in my tender care. You will call me ‘Trooper Carbo.’ I will call you whatever it pleases me to call you.”

He picked up the long iron spear and slapped it into my hands. He then resumed his pacing, shouting all the while:

“If you are fortunate, and manage not to do yourself a grievous injury in the following weeks, you may achieve the rank of Spearman. As you are a lowly recruit, and therefore too stupid to pour water out of a bucket with the instructions printed on the bottom, I will explain what that means. It means you will learn to use that spear. You will learn to love that spear. You will sleep with that spear, eat with that spear, and take it to the latrine with you. If I ever catch you without that spear, you will discover depths of misery you have never imagined. Do I make myself clear?”

I was so shocked that I just stood there, hands white-knuckled on the haft of the weapon.

Trooper Carbo leaned into my face and shouted,

“What, recruit? Are you mute? Or just stupid? I asked you a question- do I make myself clear?”

I squeaked, “Yes, Trooper Carbo,” and he stepped back with another heavy sigh.

“According to the General, you have never worn armor, never used a spear or sword, and never been in a fight. I can see why the Legion was so anxious to acquire your talents. This is apparently a test of my ability to train someone who is completely useless. But perhaps it is barely possible that you can run. We are about to find out. You will step out on your left foot- you do know which one is the left? You will step out on your left foot and begin running up to the eggmine. I will count cadence. Don’t worry- you will be able to hear me, because I will be running with you.”

I had considered myself moderately strong, even though I had inherited my father’s slender build. But once I was strapped into the fifty pounds of rusted, smelly ironmongery, I was unsure if I could walk, let alone run. But I had a feeling that if I did not try, Trooper Carbo would surely find a way to make me sorry. Therefore I began a lumbering waddle, being certain to start with my left foot. Between the tremendous weight, the chafing of the straps, and the helmet that kept slipping down to bang against the bridge of my nose, I thought that my misery was complete. But that was before we reached the uphill section of the path that led to the mine. Even worse was the fact that a man who was twice my weight and at least twice my age was able to carry the same armor and run backwards- all the while hurling terrible abuse at me. I decided that, if there were any gods, they were sadists of remarkable depravity.

After we had run for what seemed like hours, Carbo called a halt and took up a spear that leaned against the barracks wall. He waited impatiently for me to stop gasping for breath and then stepped back several paces. Holding his spear in a guard position, he continued his lecture:

“You have some experience with a staff and that will help. It’s barely possible that you will manage to learn enough to keep from getting yourself killed.”

With that, he demonstrated a series of basic thrusts, parries, and blocks, counting out the sequence as he went. Then he drilled me on those same moves, adjusting my grip and stance occasionally. At last, as still more sweat poured off of me, he called a halt and said,

“It’s all about footwork, recruit. That’s true of the spear, the sword, the axe, and even the bow. You have to have a solid base to use any weapon properly. If you overbalance or trip over your own feet, all the fancy swings in the world won’t save you.”

He sponged off with a wet towel and then put his helmet back on, and allowed me to do the same. Then he brought his spear back to the guard position and challenged me:

“Very well, recruit. You know the moves. Now try to stick that spear in old Carbo.”

When I hesitated, he sneered at me.

“What’s the matter? Scared to use a real weapon? Or would you rather sneak up on your opponent from behind- like a thief? Like your precious daddy?”

He saw from my reaction that that last barb had struck home and continued,

“Oh yeah, I know all about the great thief of Vvardenfell. Supposed to have bumped off Dagoth Ur in a fair fight, when whole armies had tried and failed. Only thing is, nobody else was there. So maybe Dagoth Ur is dead, and maybe he isn’t. And maybe that fight- if there was a fight- didn’t go exactly the way your sneaking Breton daddy says it did.”

Goaded to unreasoning fury by his taunts, I lowered the point of my spear and launched myself at the smirking Legionnaire. And then a number of things seemed to happen all at the same time and I found myself sailing through the air. My flight came to a sudden and painful stop against a stone wall and darkness closed over me.

Posted by: Black Hand Jul 28 2007, 07:05 AM

Nice!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 28 2007, 02:39 PM

Hehe, I think someone has watched Full Metal Jacket a few times. tongue.gif

Excellent update. Being goaded into attacking never seems to end nicely.

Posted by: treydog Aug 4 2007, 03:52 AM

When I awakened, it was to behold a circle of nightmarish, tusked green faces looming over me. I cried out and tried to raise my hands to ward them off, but my arms were bound to my chest. Still, most of the frightening visages moved back, leaving only one, which contorted into an expression that I realized signified concern. The remaining Orc, which I now recognized the green-skinned creatures to be, gruffly warned me:

“Be still. You’ve got a broken collarbone at the least, and maybe some other damage, not to mention how hard you hit your head against that wall. We don’t have a healer; we strapped everything up as best we could, but it won’t help if you move around too much. I am Uloth gra-Ushar.””

I tried to speak in response, but only managed a raspy croak. She held a mug of water to my lips, and I sipped carefully. Trying to drink from a mug without the use of my hands was no treat- still, I managed to get most of the water inside me rather than outside. Somewhat refreshed, I tried again,

“What about healing potions?”

Uloth shrugged and shook her head.

“Same problem as the healer. We don’t have any. Well, only a few, and they’re for the most serious injuries. We aren’t exactly at the top of the list for supplies out here. You’ll just have to heal the old-fashioned way.”

This was intolerable. I did not have time to lie in bed for the weeks or even months it would take my body to repair itself. Louis Beauchamp certainly would not wait that long; worse yet, Mother might convince the Legion to release me from my enlistment. With the supply situation this critical, it would be hard for General Darius to justify feeding and tending a useless invalid. But that was a problem I could prevent. As Uloth turned to leave the room, I called her back,

“Fetch my traveling bag. There are plenty of restorative potions in there. Give me enough to heal this damage and I will donate the rest to the Legion. Beyond that, once I have use of my hands again, I know some healing magic.”

She disappeared in a rush, as if I had just imparted a shattering revelation.

Uloth did not return for some time. In fact, I had dropped into a troubled sleep when I heard the sound of someone clearing their throat beside the bed. I looked up to see General Darius staring down at me with a peculiar expression- something between a frown and a grin. When I struggled to sit upright, he reached out to assist me. And then, as if embarrassed by his solicitude, he did not speak for several uncomfortable minutes. The silence grated upon my nerves and I finally blurted out,

“It was my fault, sir. Trooper Carbo was trying to show me how to use the spear and I… I guess I tripped… or something. Please don’t send me back….”

I ran down to a stop as his expression finally resolved itself into a beaming smile.

“Send you back? Why would I want to do that? We need you and your talents here. I was just trying to figure out how to convince you to stay. I am a bit surprised you didn’t join the Imperial Cult, but we are glad to have you in the Legion. Carbo told me what happened- took full responsibility, so don’t worry about that. On his recommendation, I hereby promote you to Spearman.”

He held one of my healing potions to my lips and said kindly,

“Drink that down. When you feel ready, go find Carbo to continue your training.”

After giving the potion time to work, he untied the bindings on my arms and turned to leave. As he went out the door, I heard him laugh and say to himself,

“’Tripped or something!’ As if I had never heard that before!”

I swallowed one more potion and began to feel as if I would live. I swung my legs off the bed, but before I could begin to get back into uniform, Trooper Carbo came and stood in the doorway. He watched me carefully and then spoke.

“Look, kid, what happened was my fault. I intended for you to rush me- I just didn’t realize how quick you are. I was just going to deflect the spear and let you run past me. Instead, I had to really throw you. I wanted to get you mad, but I had no idea that you would blow up like that.”

He stopped to see how I was taking it, then went on:

“The General said you told him it was an accident and I appreciate that. But…don’t ever lie to Darius. He can spot a lie a mile off. The only reason he didn’t tear a strip off of you was because you were trying to protect somebody else.”

He came into the room and I finally saw something besides an apparently over-weight, aging soldier. A keen intelligence gleamed from his brown eyes and he moved with a confidence that had been won in hundreds of battles. I realized then that he was a professional, a man who had gained his skills the hard way. My mind raced as I tried to think of a way to become worthy in his eyes, a way to get him to accept me, to teach me. A long-ago conversation with my father came back to me then, a bit of advice that I had ignored, like so much else he had tried to tell me:

“When you need something from someone, don’t just march up and demand it as if it is your right. Treat people with the respect that they are due. And sometimes, especially in a place like this, with people from so many backgrounds, part of that respect includes speaking their language…”

Therefore, I drew myself up, saluted, and shouted,

“Spearman Treyson reporting himself fit for duty!”

Carbo laughed and then returned the salute, saying: “You’ll do, kid.”

Posted by: Black Hand Aug 4 2007, 02:12 PM

Impressive ,Trey. Most impressive.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Aug 4 2007, 04:16 PM

Looks like things are beginning to swing on the upside for now. Nice update.

Posted by: canis216 Aug 5 2007, 12:17 AM

Ha-Hah! The Legion needs Athlain! Nice, nice. If he learns as fast as he who must not be named lest Athlain get angry or irritated (AKA HWMNBNLAGAOI) he'll do very well.

Posted by: minque Aug 5 2007, 01:59 PM

Now now, young Athlain! You just watch your back..your dear mom could just about appear and take you out of this mess...Now that would be a disappointment huh? But you know how mothers are! hehe....

Posted by: BSD-IES Aug 13 2007, 11:52 PM

It might just be me, but this story is getting even more excited than The Story of Trey did. And that got me plenty excited enough. Maybe because it seems to be finding it's own direction.

I just sense a classic in the making with this.

Posted by: treydog Aug 18 2007, 11:48 PM

The work of training continued to be brutal, despite the fact that Carbo and I seemed to have reached an understanding. He pushed me physically and mentally, forcing me to develop a toughness of mind and body. However, he was never again able to goad me into losing my temper, and I think he was secretly pleased. In addition to the running, the work with weapons, and the maintenance of my equipment, I was now the healer for the fort. No matter how weary I might be, I was awakened to treat all kinds of injuries- some minor, and others more serious. Even though the Empire was not at war with any other nation, the Legions were stretched thin. The outposts on Vvardenfell were lightly manned and infrequently supplied. No courier ever brought definitive word of why this was so, but rumors abounded. Uriel Septim was dying- was already dead- had been replaced by a doppelganger. The Death’s Head Legion would be ordered to Cyrodiil- would be disbanded- had been left to fend for itself. On and on the stories went, growing with every telling. Through all the storm of gossip, General Darius remained calm and aloof, seemingly untroubled. Trooper Carbo also ignored the swirling rumors, gruffly saying,

“My job is to follow orders…and so is yours.”

And so my endless days of training continued, learning new skills and then honing them to razor sharpness.

Some five weeks after I had broken my bones and earned my place in the Legion, a trooper came to me in the barracks with orders to “attend General Darius at your earliest convenience.” I had been with the Legion long enough to know that the last part of that message meant “right now,” so I gave my armor a quick buff and hastened to the Madach Tradehouse. Trooper Carbo was waiting along with the General, his face a mask of inscrutability. Darius ignored me for several long minutes, seemingly engrossed in some paperwork on his desk. I managed not to fidget or blurt out any questions, but I could feel a trickle of sweat running down my spine. My vivid imagination was a curse in this situation, for I kept envisioning unhappy reasons for this summons. The General had not spoken to me since he had discovered my talent for healing. That was not unusual- he was the commander and I was a lowly spearman. All of which meant that, in the normal course of events, a “request” to speak to Darius was not a good omen. Had something happened to my parents- my sisters? Had I somehow transgressed some unknown rule- transgressed it so badly that I faced official Legion discipline? Though I managed to keep my body still, my mind was racing, reviewing every bad deed I had ever committed. And still the minutes dragged by, unmarked by any sound other than the scratching of Darius’ pen on the papers before him. Just as my catalog of criminality had reached the time when, at the age of nine, I had dipped a little girl’s pigtails in the inkwell at school, the General looked up at me.

His intense scrutiny raised my heart-rate by another several beats per minute. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, frowning at me over them.

“One of my responsibilities as commander of the Death’s Head Legion is to make decisions about personnel. That is a burden I take seriously, because a bad choice on my part can get people killed.”

He paused, giving the import of his words time to sink in. When he seemed satisfied that I understood, Darius continued,

“For a number of reasons, I have closely followed your training. First, because we do not get many Imperial recruits here on Vvardenfell. In fact, we don’t get many recruits of any sort. That problem affects all of the Legions, and that means that every member must contribute, must do the work of two or three men.”

He again paused to fix me with that piercing gaze and then glanced at Trooper Carbo, who had stood silently behind his right shoulder the entire time.

“So, I have spoken with your trainer and considered the needs of the Legion. Athlain Treyson, please turn in your spear and Imperial chain mail. You are no longer a spearman of the Imperial Legion.”

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Aug 19 2007, 12:33 AM


Uh-oh! Cliffhanger! A classic spot to end an update if I do say so tongue.gif

Nice build up on the tension there trey, now I'm gonna feel like this until the next update!

Posted by: BSD-IES Aug 19 2007, 12:36 AM

You know, I'm beginning to think there should be some sort of law brought in, banning the use of cliffhangers tongue.gif

I suspect though that this is not the end of his Legion adventures, but that maybe certain duties requiring a special touch are forthcoming.

Unless of course Trey has found his whereabouts and brought some political pressure to bear....

Gah, I'll just have to wait and see. Patience has never been one of my strengths though, so please update soon, it's looking really good so far smile.gif

Posted by: minque Aug 19 2007, 11:48 AM

Uhhh? Most peculiar.....I wonder..I think there´s a deeper meaning to this, Athlain wouldn´t be just expelled like that....Ach no, I think there´s something really fishy going on..mark my words...

Posted by: jack cloudy Aug 19 2007, 11:58 AM

Maybe promotion? If so, rejoice! Yet even heavier armour!

Posted by: canis216 Aug 19 2007, 06:10 PM

I too expect a promotion. The Legion likes to give you new armor from time to time--and it is indeed heavier. biggrin.gif

Posted by: treydog Aug 26 2007, 08:17 PM

The words fell upon my ears like a hammer blow- “… no longer a spearman of the Imperial Legion.” After all the effort of training, after I had begun to believe that I had made a place for myself…. Numbly, I began to loosen the straps of my armor. Trooper Carbo moved to help me, and I stared at him in mute appeal. His face remained stony, giving away nothing of his thoughts. And, though my soul longed to cry out in protest, I would show these men that I had at least learned discipline. When I at last stood in padded tunic and leggings, Carbo initialed the quartermaster’s log, signifying the return of my equipment. That formality accomplished, I stood straight, waiting for the words that would forever release me from my oath to the Legion. Darius watched me closely, as if waiting for some word or sign. When I did not waver or speak, he nodded his head once and said,

“Well. It seems that I owe Trooper Carbo a septim.”

Then the general stood and Carbo disappeared behind me as I faced my commander. Darius picked up a scroll from his desk and began reading:

“Attention to orders. Due to his actions and accomplishments, it gives me great pleasure to promote Athlain Treyson to the rank of Trooper in the Imperial Legion.”

As my mind struggled to grasp the words I had just heard, Darius continued,

“As a Trooper, you will carry an Imperial steel broadsword and wear Imperial steel armor. Bear them proudly- you’ve earned them.”

His face broke into a smile and he clapped both hands upon my shoulders. Dazed, I allowed him to turn me around to face a grinning Carbo, who held my new equipment. The breastplate was a thing of beauty- more precious to me than any gemstone. The steel was covered with black leather and embossed with the silver and bronze horses of the Legion. Even more wonderful to my eyes was the Imperial broadsword. I drew the gleaming length of steel from its scabbard, and it seemed to have been made for my hand and no other. Although the new armor was even heavier than the chain mail I had previously carried, I did not feel its weight. Once I had finished adjusting the fit, Darius seated himself again and assumed a serious expression.

“I said earlier that I had watched you closely for a number of reasons, but I only mentioned one- the one that least concerned you personally. There is no delicate way to say this, so I will be blunt. Your presence is politically significant, but not because of you. Your father commands more power sitting quietly in Indarys Manor than do all the Legion forts on this island. It is said that, ‘If Trey sneezes, Vvardenfell catches cold.’ He defeated Dagoth Ur, ended the Blight, rose to power in the Houses and the tribes, and could have broken the Tribunal Temple if he wished…. And then he simply hung up his sword and settled down. Even now, so many years later, people wait to see what he will do next. They find it hard to believe that he has no interest in the uses of power. Which brings us back to you. Your father has never made any secret of his feelings about the Empire- or its military. The fact that his only son is now a member of the Legion has caused much discussion. People wonder if this is part of some deeply subtle move by Trey- or if there is a rift between you. And they wonder if that rift can be exploited. My own concerns are less complex- I serve the Emperor and look after the welfare of my troops. Your healing skills are a great help to me in that regard. And, whatever disruption your presence may cause, you also serve as an indirect form of protection. Those who might seek to harm me or my Legion will hesitate, fearful lest they appear to be attacking you. Your father is a dangerous and, above all, a persistent adversary. So you see, I too am playing a deep game. I tell you this because I believe that loyalty goes both ways and should be rewarded with honesty. Oh, and one last thing- it would be good if you wrote to your mother, letting her know how you are. I would consider it a personal favor.”

With that, he shook my hand and turned me over to Trooper Carbo, who escorted me out of the tradehouse.

As we walked through Gnisis, Carbo glanced at the sword I still clutched in both hands and grumbled,

“Well, mister, looks like we’re going to have to teach you how use that blade- and a shield.”

He gave me the crooked grin that meant hard work, and then changed the subject- somewhat.

“In a way, sword work is the easiest thing I have left to teach you. You’re a trooper now, and that’s supposed to mean something. First, you need to be smarter than that piece of steel in your hands. It isn’t just a matter of knowing how to use a sword- you have to know when to use it- and when to keep it sheathed. The best way to win a fight is to avoid it.”

My dismay at hearing the veteran Legionnaire echo my father’s words must have been plain on my face, for Carbo’s grin reappeared.

“That surprises you, does it? To hear old Carbo advise you to stay out of fights? Well, you’d better hear this loud and clear, if I don’t teach you anything else. We fight because we have to, because it’s our job. We don’t do it for fun or for glory. And another thing- when you wear that uniform, you are the Empire. So it’s not just Athlain pulling his sword on a man or elf, it’s the Legion ‘oppressing the downtrodden.’ Plenty of people already have plenty of reasons to hate the Legion- try not to give them any more.”

Our slow walk- that method of progress Carbo referred to as “proceeding,” brought us to a low wall overlooking the Samsi River. We sat and Carbo stared at the moving water in silence for some minutes, apparently content to simply watch the play of light on the ripples. At last he spoke in a meditative tone:

“I’ve been a trooper for over fifteen years, and it suits me. The General tried to promote me a time or two, but I told him ‘no’ flat out. Seems to me that ‘Agent’ is a stupid rank for a soldier, anyway. ‘Fore I ran off to join the Legion, I was a farmer- well, a farmer’s son, at least. I’ve got no desire to be a knight or an officer. That would fit me about like trousers on a guar.”

He turned to look me over carefully and continued,

“Now you could be an officer- if you don’t get your fool self killed first. You have the brains and the skill with people. Most new recruits have a rough time around here, what with the Orcs and their odd sense of humor. But you haven’t had any fights, and that’s none of my doing. They like you and they trust you. I saw how you calmed down Dul gro-Dush when he tangled with that kwama warrior and got his leg torn up. He was roaring and thrashing around, likely to stab anybody that came near, and you just put a hand on him and spoke, and he calmed right down. That’s a gift.”

He looked back toward the barracks and the fort.

“For some of these characters, the only way they can face combat is to get drunk- or mad. I don’t have to tell you that a bellyful of sujamma doesn’t make somebody a soldier- it just makes him dangerous, especially to himself. But counting on anger to carry you is just as bad. You already found out what happens when you lose your temper in a fight. Of course, you’re still here ‘cause I wasn’t trying to kill you. The next fellow may not have my charitable nature. I’m not saying it’s easy- some folks are good soldiers right up to the point that they have to kill another person. You haven’t faced that test yet. When you get to that place, you need to have a clear head.”

He turned back to the river, but his eyes were on some place much farther away, in time as well as distance. Speaking so softly that I had to strain to hear, he added,

“Gods willing, you won’t ever get used to it- but you will get to where you can go on….”

For just an instant, his brown eyes bore the same haunted look that I had sometimes surprised in my father’s blue ones.

Posted by: jack cloudy Aug 26 2007, 09:05 PM

An excellent update.

I especially liked the warning about knowing when to avoid a fight. That's one lesson my Luper really should learn someday.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Aug 26 2007, 09:36 PM

I really like the fact that we delve more into Carbo's character in this update. This update proves he isn't just your stereotypical hard boat, but someone who has been effected by the things he has done in his life. Fantastic!

Posted by: minque Sep 24 2007, 08:54 PM

Wise words from Carbo, just let´s hope young mr Treyson listens....It is usually more efficient if someone outside the family tries to learn young hotshots a lesson of life.

I´m ashamed of myself....just found out I haven´t noticed this update until today.... huh.gif

Nevertheless....I´m sitting here waiting to hear more.....

Posted by: pdblake Oct 24 2007, 08:39 AM

Just wondering if anyone knows if Treydog is alright? It's been a long while since he last posted.

Posted by: minque Oct 25 2007, 08:57 PM

QUOTE(pdblake @ Oct 24 2007, 09:39 AM) *

Just wondering if anyone knows if Treydog is alright? It's been a long while since he last posted.

I think he´s ok....just suffering from what we call RL....Plenty of things to do...just like me.

Posted by: canis216 Oct 26 2007, 03:15 AM

He posted in the Coffee Shop a matter of days ago. Teaching demands a high degree of time and creativity--it's one of the reasons that I've been on my own writing hiatus.

Posted by: pdblake Oct 26 2007, 09:06 AM

QUOTE(minque @ Oct 25 2007, 08:57 PM) *

QUOTE(pdblake @ Oct 24 2007, 09:39 AM) *

Just wondering if anyone knows if Treydog is alright? It's been a long while since he last posted.

I think he´s ok....just suffering from what we call RL....Plenty of things to do...just like me.



OK smile.gif So long as he's OK

Posted by: treydog Oct 26 2007, 04:06 PM

The answer to all of the above questions is "Yes". I am working my regular (38 hours per week plus commute) job, as well as teaching Compostion I and Early American Lit. (which involves a 90 mile one-way drive). Add the fact that I am doing the literature "on the fly," because I got the textbook the day of the first class.... I love the teaching; I really think we are doing some good work...but I miss down time and writing time.

I have a rough plan for Athlain and his (mis)adventures and a few notes. Right now, it may be late November or early December before we hear from him again.

Thank you for the concern and for reading.....

Posted by: treydog Dec 15 2007, 05:30 AM

A short installment that was too long in the making- hope to have more soon.

At first, the only thing that my new rank changed was the focus of my training. Where I had previously learned the spear, Carbo now ran me through drills with sword and shield. The other troopers congratulated me, but mostly continued to treat me to their rough humor and good-natured chafing. That suited me- it meant I was accepted for myself. Less satisfying was my work with the sword. I wish I could say that the Imperial broadsword became a part of me, an extension of my arm…but it was not so. Much as I loved the gleaming steel blade, much as I lavished care and attention upon it, just so much did it seem to fight against me, twisting in my grip and going awry. The problem was so severe that I began to wonder if the sword was cursed. Unfortunately, trials with other blades proved that such was not the case. Under Carbo’s watchful eye, I tried the saber, short sword, katana, and even a huge claymore that was taller than I. The damages to the training room from that last experiment were extensive; such a massive blade is hard to guide. Surveying the wreckage and the other Legionnaires coming out of hiding, Carbo summed it up in his usual direct manner:

“You will never be a swordsman, kid. If we’re lucky, we can get to the place where you at least won’t do yourself an injury handling a blade. Some people are born to it, some can learn it…and some never will.”

Seeing my crestfallen expression, he added,

“It’s late anyway. Why don’t you sponge off in the river and we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

I followed his advice and then sought my bunk. Despite my tired muscles, sleep did not come. I worried at my problem like a dog with a bone. Fragments of conversations from the past played back in my mind:

“Trey…perhaps one of the five greatest swordsmen in Morrowind. Or he used to be…”

“…bested that giant Redguard fighter of Helseth’s…and became his friend.”

“He swore that he would never use a sword again…and that was 20 years ago.”

That last kept coming back- even General Darius had referred to it- how my father had been one of the deadliest men in the Empire, and had put his sword away. I knew that words had power, especially an oath taken by someone to whom even the gods paid attention. If my father had truly sworn such an oath, perhaps the curse was not upon the weapons, but rather upon the very blood that flowed in my veins. As soon as the seed of that thought was planted, it began to grow. He was a Breton, a race well-known for their innate magical ability. What if he had unknowingly made it such that none of his lineage could wield a sword? The gods were famous for their peculiar ideas of humor, and for twisting the words of mortals. Or- worse thought- what if it had not been an accident? That last I dismissed- though his rules were stifling, even I had to admit that he was always scrupulously fair- at least by his definition of “fair.” It was not a restful night.

The next day, Carbo called me to the training ground and helped me into my armor, including the shield. I felt absurdly pleased by that- it meant that I was not going to have to go back to the spear. However, when I reached toward the rack of practice swords, he shook his head and said,

“Not those. I think we’ve seen enough of your sword work to last a while. Follow me.”

With that, Carbo guided me to a different part of the field and racks filled with hammers, maces, and axes.

He took up the posture that I recognized as his “classroom stance” and began to lecture:

“Some people consider these to be ‘peasant weapons’ because they are simple- simple to make, simple to use, and generally without ornamentation. While it’s true that the axes and hammers are based on laborer’s tools, that doesn’t make them any less effective. The Legion doesn’t train duelists- it trains fighters. The point of a fight is to win. You win by hurting or killing your opponent. The Nords understand that, which is why so many of them use these weapons. Of course, they also use them because there’s nothing scarier than seeing a Nord warrior drunk on sujamma, charging at you with an axe or a ‘big freakin’ hammer’ in either hand. Armor can turn or even break a sword; these weapons aren’t designed to penetrate, they’re made to hack and crush. You’ve gotten stronger- strong enough to use these. We’ll concentrate on the one-handed types; that’ll allow you to use a shield with your off hand. And you had better learn fast, because the general has a job for us.”

Posted by: canis216 Dec 15 2007, 10:59 AM

Ah, so very nice... and I see that Trey managed to break his sabbatical sooner than I. Consider me inspired to finish up that update I started 2 months back and never finished. As always, reading a "Treydog" reminds me of how much fun there is in crafting phrases and sentences and whole narratives...

Posted by: minque Dec 16 2007, 08:50 PM

Uhh....hehe so Athlain is no natural born swordsman? Nope wouldn´t think so....anyway, he´ll find his specialty...besides he could always visit Aunt Serene....maybe she can give him some ideas?

Another great installment...mmmm I always get inspiration when reading a new "treydog" unfortunately life´s numerous "must do´s" always get in the way!

Posted by: jack cloudy Dec 16 2007, 08:54 PM

The sword, the traditional hero's weapon.

Meh, they're overrated. Too short to be a spear (unless it's a Claymore, but spears are still longer.), too light for serious cutting.

The perfect weapon? I'd say something like a halberd. Range, cutting, stabbing, all in one package. It only suffers from being two-handed and unsuited to real close-range.

Anyway, I like the story as always. Now I wonder what that job would be? Too serious to take the time learning, not serious enough to forget about learning at all.

Posted by: mplantinga Dec 17 2007, 05:20 PM

A short installment long in the making is always better than none at all. Thanks for finding the time to continue the story for us.

I was intrigued by the apparent bias against blunt and axe weapons that you imply is inherent in the legion and general Tamrielic society. I never got that sort of impression from the game, but the way you explained it made it seem obvious. Yet another example of how Trooper Carbo seems to be a cut above the rest, even though he has refused to be promoted. Athlain would do well to learn as much as he can from this thoughtful soldier.

Posted by: treydog Dec 20 2007, 02:22 PM

Interlude Three


A letter posted from Fort Darius, Gnisis, Vvardenfell District (a portion):

Mother:

I hope this letter finds you well. I am in excellent health and my training is progressing. Please give my love to my sisters and remind them to STAY OUT OF MY ROOM! Also, give my respect and affection to Father.

Your son,

Athlain

A letter posted from Indarys Manor, Vvardenfell District (a portion):

…What would “find me well” would be for you to stop this foolishness and come home. However, your father has informed me that this Legion nonsense is “something you need to do.” I still think it is just male pig-headedness and Athynae agrees with me. You remember Athynae, don’t you? She was asking about you just the other day…. Actually, what she said was, “What has that idiot Athlain gone and gotten himself into now?” A wonderfully intelligent girl, I think. Not that it will do any good, what with my only son determined to get himself killed or horribly maimed. I do hope you are at least remembering to wear fresh undergarments.

* * *
Love,

Mother

* * * * *


Report of a patrol conducted by Senior Trooper Carbo and Trooper Treyson on or about 17 Last Seed 451 3E.

Pursuant to information provided to the Imperial Legion garrison (see Appendix A, Confidential Informant statement) stationed at Fort Darius Gnisis Vvardenfell_ the above-named Legion personnel proceeded to Ashinabi________ to investigate possible criminal activity in contravention of the laws of the Empire. Legion personnel effected entrance to said location and were immediately confronted by _5__ (insert number here; please note that “many”, “lots”, and/or “scads” are not acceptable substitutes for actual numbers).

(circle all that apply) Altmer/Argonian/Bosmer/Breton/Dunmer/Imperial/Khajiit/Nord/Orc

suspected miscreant(s). Senior Trooper Carbo_____ immediately called upon said suspects to cease and desist all unlawful activity and informed him/her/them (circle as appropriate) that he/she/they (circle as appropriate) was/were under arrest. Suspect(s) reacted violently, attacking the Legionnaires with _swords, bows__________ (describe weapons here). S. T. Carbo__ and Trooper Treyson responded with deadly force. Despite the miscreants’ superior numbers, the arms of the Imperial Legion prevailed. Long live his Imperial Majesty, Uriel Septim.

Casualty Report:

Your Name(s) Here _S. T. Carbo________________ received minor/major/fatal (circle all that apply) wounds to the (circle all that apply) head/torso/limbs.

(Medical Officer’s Report, Appendix B)

Criminal casualties comprised _5__ dead 0 wounded _0 captured (Identities of Criminals, Appendix C).

Value of Recovered Goods:

Goods, foodstuffs, arms, and armor equaling an approximate value of _2000___ septims were recovered and turned over to the Fort Darius Quartermaster. (Quartermaster’s Report, Appendix D).

Respectfully submitted: _S.T. Carbo, Trooper Treyson__________________ Your Name(s) Here



Posted by: pdblake Dec 20 2007, 03:49 PM

Love the way the form already has the 'suspects' action on it and the consequential deadly force:)

Posted by: mplantinga Dec 20 2007, 04:18 PM

Leave it to the Legion to have a fill-in-the-blank form for dealing with "miscreants."

I especially appreciated the letter from Athlain's mother. It had that despairing mother tone to it, where's she's clearly resigned herself to the fact that she can't convince him to come home, but still insists on telling him he is not thinking clearly.

Posted by: minque Dec 20 2007, 07:28 PM

Ahhhh just wonderful! Hmmmm Athinae huh? I wonder....no actually I do not wonder....I know! And I just love it.

Gah now I have to......I just have to!

And treydog my sweet treydog.....hope you will have a great holiday...

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Dec 20 2007, 08:57 PM

Excellent couple of posts. I really enjoyed the Mother's letter and hidden message provided by the mention of a girl. Also, the Legion fill-in-the-blank form is absolutely hilarious!

Posted by: blockhead Dec 20 2007, 11:57 PM

Innnnnnteresting. Welcome back, Treydog smile.gif


Posted by: treydog Dec 31 2007, 08:46 PM

I cannot relate the events that took place in Ashinabi, even though I was there. Mark that- I do not say that I “will not,” but that I cannot. To this day, I have no memory of that cavern or of the smugglers who died there, most of them at my hands. I know what the official report says, and what Carbo told me afterward- how we entered and were ambushed, with him taking an arrow to the shoulder that largely kept him out of the fight. Yet, when I asked him what happened next, he did not speak of my actions in any detail, saying instead,

“You did fine. Obviously, because we’re still breathing and they aren’t. Now sign the report.”

When I had signed my name, he looked at me for a time and then said,

“Look, kid, it’s like this. We do the job. It’s dangerous, bloody, and rotten- but we’re all there is. The Houses look out for themselves- even Redoran. The priests have their heads in the clouds. So we’re out here at the sharp end and it comes down to us to maintain order. I know there’s a lot of loose talk about the Empire bailing out of Vvardenfell or maybe even all of Morrowind. And maybe that’s going to happen. But until it does, I follow orders. I guard my patch of ground and I don’t let any son-of-a-guar smuggler or bandit crap on it. Some people call me a killer and I won’t deny it. But I never killed anybody that didn’t have a weapon in his hand or that I didn’t give a chance to surrender. And neither have you. So you see to your equipment and then get to bed. Because tomorrow or the next day, we’ll have to do it all again.”

What I did not know until some time later was that Carbo had another conversation that day, a private talk with General Darius.

The veteran Legionnaire removed his helmet and slumped into the chair his commander indicated. He mopped his brow and then spoke slowly:

“General, in all my time in the Legion, I’ve never seen the like. I’m thinking there may be some truth to those stories about Trey having Skyrim blood in him.”

Darius poured them both a drink and looked at Carbo sharply:

“Skyrim blood? You mean Athlain fell into battle-madness? Berserk?”

Carbo shook his head, frowning thoughtfully.

“No, or at least not exactly. It was almost the opposite…like he became supernaturally focused. He didn’t rave or flail about wildly- he just-- took them apart. It was like watching a grown man going against children. And the last one, the Redguard…. Sir, he stalked him. Like a big cat or a wolf. And…,” he hesitated a long moment before continuing, staring into the mug in his hands.

“And his eyes…. I know they’re brown; I’ve looked at them enough. But I would swear they turned yellow when he was hunting down that smuggler.”

He threw back his drink in one quick swallow and then said,

“What was almost more frightening was what happened after. Before the Redguard even hit the ground, Athlain had turned to me and was healing my shoulder, as if nothing had happened. He says he doesn’t remember. And I believe him.”

Darius considered Carbo’s words and then gave vent to a loud sigh.

“Well, that complicates things, at least for Athlain. He’s due for some leave- a bit of time at home will do him good. And then…. Orders are orders. I will be sorry to lose him, though.”


The next day came early, with Carbo banging his fist on the footboard of my bunk. He grinned at me and said,

“Time to scrub off the top layer and get into your kit, boy. You need to clean up as pretty as you can.”

As I scrambled for my armor, I asked blearily,

“What is it? Inspection? Visiting nobles?”

Still with that maddening grin, Carbo shook his head.

“Oh no, kid. It’s a lot more serious than that. Something I can’t help you with. You just got 3 days home leave. You have to face your mother.”

Posted by: jack cloudy Jan 1 2008, 12:10 AM

Supernatural focus? I seem to remember that Trey got his share of that experience as well, once. Only he got to remember the gritty details.

So now he's off to face the parents. Well, good luck, kid. You're gonna need it. biggrin.gif *I love saying that line.*

Posted by: blockhead Jan 1 2008, 12:45 AM

QUOTE(treydog @ Dec 31 2007, 02:46 PM) *

And his eyes…. I know they’re brown; I’ve looked at them enough. But I would swear they turned yellow when he was hunting down that smuggler.”

Oh no ... not the werewolf thing?!!! ohmy.gif


Posted by: minque Jan 1 2008, 01:02 AM

QUOTE
What was almost more frightening was what happened after. Before the Redguard even hit the ground, Athlain had turned to me and was healing my shoulder, as if nothing had happened. He says he doesn’t remember. And I believe him.”


Ohhhh....that was interesting! Does he know of his healing-skills? My my.....I like that!


QUOTE
“Oh no, kid. It’s a lot more serious than that. Something I can’t help you with. You just got 3 days home leave. You have to face your mother.”


Now this is nice, I can´t wait to hear what Baria says....and some other friends at home! yayyyy


Wonderful Treydoggie! Just wonderful. I have good faith in Athlain, he´ll do just fine at home...I think? blink.gif

Posted by: mplantinga Jan 2 2008, 04:14 PM

Face his mother indeed. She will not be happy, except perhaps to see him in one piece. Should be fun.

Posted by: treydog Jan 5 2008, 05:05 AM

The prospect of going home filled me with mixed emotions. It would be wonderful to see my family again; the long separation had made clear how much they meant to me. At the same time, I was somewhat fearful over seeing Father again- the letters I had received from Mother seemed to indicate that he understood my actions, even if he did not approve…. And perhaps that was the problem. I had always had his understanding, but what I desperately wanted was his approval. That rare moment of introspection passed quickly as I considered another reason it would be good to get away from my duties for a few days. Almost all of my Legion pay had gone to finance Louis Beauchamp, and he had sent encouraging reports of his progress. He had somehow procured complete plans for a Dwemer airship, a device that could navigate the skies just as a regular ship sailed the seas. I had been taken with the notion as soon as he explained it, and had eagerly agreed to back him. True, he had been somewhat vague about his ultimate reason for building the device, but I was not overly concerned. It had been some weeks since the fabrication of the ship was completed and a crew was hired; in fact, the ship had actually been launched successfully. So much I knew. Thereafter, Beauchamp’s letters had ceased. I knew he had not planned to travel upon the airship himself; he should therefore still be in Ald’ruhn. If he was, I would find the Breton speculator and have serious talk with him.

Following Carbo’s advice, I gave myself and my armor a good cleaning, then packed a travel bag and went to the silt-strider landing. As always, I enjoyed the sensation of gliding high above the landscape, moving with incredible speed while wrapped in a warm robe. I did not pause in Ald’ruhn, but immediately set out for Bal Isra and home. Although ash still swirled on the breeze and crunched underfoot, vegetation was taking hold in many places. Perhaps Mother’s hope for a garden was not so foolish, after all. Legion conditioning and a desire to see my home again made for a rapid journey, and the domes of Indarys Manor soon came into view, gleaming in the afternoon sun. I strode up the path to the house and gestured the family retainers to silence with a smile. They nodded their understanding that I wanted my arrival to be a surprise and smiled back as they opened the front door. I entered and set my travel bag and weapons aside before making my way down the passage to Mother’s studio. I knew that she would be there; she always said the light of early morning and late afternoon was best for painting. Sure enough, I came to the open doorway and saw her seated at her easel, head tilted to one side as she considered her latest painting. The sight of that beloved figure so filled my heart that a sound somewhere between a sigh and a sob escaped me. She whirled about, paintbrush in hand. For several seconds, we simply stared at one another, then she leapt from her chair and rushed toward me. As I started to smile a greeting, she brought her right hand around and gave me a resounding slap.

“That’s for leaving home without telling me,” she cried.

As my head rang from the blow, she used her left hand to slap me on the other cheek.

“And that’s for making me worry!”

Her green eyes flashed fire as she added,

“And I owe you another for not telling me you were coming home! But I’ve run out of hands, and it wouldn’t be lady-like to kick you!”

Then she threw her arms around me in an embrace that made my ribs creak, even through my armor. Tears quenched the fire in her eyes as she stepped back to look at me. She took in my uniform and armor and shook her head with a smile.

“Much as it pains me to admit it, you look so dashing—you’re just going to break all the girls’ hearts. And I suppose the uniform also means you aren’t home for good- how long do you have?”

Before I could answer, she rushed on:

“We’ll have to have a party, of course. We’ll invite the Sarethis and the Morvayns and…. Oh dear. Your father….”

The flow of words abruptly stopped. Able to at last get in a word, I asked,

“What about Father? Is he hurt?”

An icy spike of fear pierced my chest. I thought back on General Darius’ words, about how much power my father had, and how there were those who would wish him harm. Seeing my stricken expression, Mother held up her hands.

“Oh no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that he isn’t here. He received a note from Divayth Fyr asking him to come to Tel Fyr for a consultation. Considering that Lord Fyr rarely receives visitors, Trey felt he had to go. And there is a bond between them, what with everything that happened before. Of course, if he had known you were coming home, he would have delayed the trip for a few days. As it is, he should be back in a week or so,” she added hopefully.

It hurt me to disappoint her, but I also felt a guilty relief as I explained that I only had three days. I rationalized my relief with the thought that another furlough would come soon enough, another chance to see my father and hear his words. At the time, I did not realize how long it would be before we met again, nor under what bizarre circumstances. Mother recovered her good spirits quickly; she was always inclined to look to the sunlight rather than the rain. Taking my hand, she led me into the parlor, calling to the servants for tea.

Posted by: Black Hand Jan 5 2008, 05:24 AM

Ahhhh, motherly love.....

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jan 5 2008, 08:46 AM

I really enjoyed this latest update. The slaps actually caught me off guard. Guess it's a tough love...

Posted by: canis216 Jan 5 2008, 12:26 PM

Heh, welcome home Athlain. And I bet I can guess what Mr. Beauchamp will be saying. Methinks Athlain could have invested his hard-earned money better... but I'm getting ahead of things. Athlain still has to survive the Sarethi's upcoming visitation!

Posted by: jack cloudy Jan 5 2008, 01:03 PM

*BANG BANG* I love you, son!

Err.....love you too, mom. laugh.gif



Well, Athlain did invest with the wrong guy. If he wanted an airship, he should have paid the Dwemer spectre below Mournhold a visit. Or the fat guy in his Dwemeric wheelchair below Tel Fyr. At least then he would have invested in someone who has some knowledge about Dwemeric technology.

Posted by: minque Jan 5 2008, 04:21 PM

QUOTE(canis216 @ Jan 5 2008, 12:26 PM) *

Heh, welcome home Athlain. And I bet I can guess what Mr. Beauchamp will be saying. Methinks Athlain could have invested his hard-earned money better... but I'm getting ahead of things. Athlain still has to survive the Sarethi's upcoming visitation!


Survive the Sarethi´s visitation???? ohmy.gif oh dear, are they so scary? Hmmmm will be interesting to hear about that...
QUOTE(jack cloudy @ Jan 5 2008, 01:03 PM) *

*BANG BANG* I love you, son!

Err.....love you too, mom. laugh.gif



Well, Athlain did invest with the wrong guy. If he wanted an airship, he should have paid the Dwemer spectre below Mournhold a visit. Or the fat guy in his Dwemeric wheelchair below Tel Fyr. At least then he would have invested in someone who has some knowledge about Dwemeric technology.

Haha....you´re funny Jackie!

Anyway I´m so glad to read more about Athlain, especially now when he visits his family....and perhaps old friends?

Wonderful update treydoggie! Me likey very much..

Posted by: treydog Jan 5 2008, 06:22 PM

Yeah, it never pays to cross small, red-haired women. I had fun writing that scene. Now back to the story

We were barely seated when a great banging of doors and clattering upon the steps announced the arrival of my sisters. They burst into the room, two whirlwinds of red hair and blue eyes, nearly identical despite the two years that separated them. Mae started immediately, fixing me with a glare:

“Athlain! You rat! How could you just sneak off like that? We thought the Telvanni had grabbed you for some strange ritual.”

At a withering look from older sister Cai, she mumbled,

“Well, some of us thought so.”

My youngest sister had an unhealthy appetite for the more lurid sort of romances, the ones filled with heaving bosoms, stalwart heroes- and evil Telvanni wizards. Taking advantage of Mae’s momentary silence, Cai jumped in, cooing

“Oh your armor is just gorgeous! All the Redoran boys will be so jealous.”

Mae recovered from her fleeting embarrassment and chimed in: “Especially since the Temple doesn’t recruit Buoyant Armigers anymore.”

Cai picked up the thread again: “Not that they’ll admit it- they’ll just pretend that the Legion’s for brainless, muscle-bound lummoxes.”

After a thoughtful pause, she added,

“Not that you’re one of those. Muscle-bound, I mean.”

I had almost forgotten how the two of them completed each others’ sentences and how they worked together against a hapless victim- usually me. Sometimes, they could be a real trial, but just now, I didn’t mind at all. Not even when they begin to bombard me with questions:

“So, is it exciting? Have you rescued any elven princesses or fought hordes of Nord pirates? Did you get hurt? Is that why you’re home?”

They eyed me critically, taking in my complete complement of arms, legs, eyes, and ears. Somewhat disappointed, Cai complained:

“Hmm. You don’t have any visible scars. Scars can be so interesting. Did you get a tattoo?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at their hopeful expressions and jumped up to sweep them into a hug.

“And ‘hello’ to you, too, Large Nuisance and Smaller Nuisance. How have you been?”

I released them and subjected both to the same sort of scrutiny they had given me.

“Well, neither of you has any new scars. Did you get any tattoos?”

Even Mother burst into unrestrained laughter at that, and we all sat down to recover our breath. The hours that followed were wonderful and all too quickly over. As it got on toward evening, I began to feel somewhat restless to go to Ald’ruhn and see Louis Beauchamp. Mother, ever alert to such things, saw my fidgeting and brought the impromptu reunion to a close.

“Caia, Maesa, I believe you have lessons to complete?”

My sisters’ usual rapid-fire chatter came to a full stop as they endeavored to appear completely innocent, a sure sign that they were up to something. Cai made the first attempt:

“Lessons? We…um, that is I….”

Mae jumped into the breach: “We finished up at school. All of it.”

Her triumphant smile lasted only as long as it took Mother to reply,

“Splendid! That will give me more time to look over your work.”

The would-be partners in crime exchanged a glance and then shrugged. They were caught and they knew it. Mae stuck her tongue out at me and complained,

“It’s Athlain’s fault. If the sneaky rat hadn’t showed up unexpectedly, we would have had time to come up with a better story. I mean time to finish our work.”

She went back to trying to look angelic. Mother did not relent, saying,

“I’m sure I know what you mean. And I imagine your brother wants to go into Ald’ruhn and see some old friends.”

As identical crafty expressions appeared on Cai and Mae’s faces, she added,

“And I am quite certain he can find his way without assistance; the town hasn’t moved in the last few months. And I am also certain that whatever you might have left at school will keep until tomorrow.”

Having established her authority again, she softened the blow:

“Besides, I need you two to help me plan the party.”

That got their attention. Even though I was supposed to be the guest of honor, I was soon as forgotten as last year’s Winter Fest gift. Smiling, I silently withdrew. Tiber Septim himself had never planned a campaign as carefully as my mother planned a party. Ald’ruhn would likely never be the same.

Posted by: treydog Mar 15 2008, 04:05 PM

Mother had been correct- I did want to go into Ald’ruhn- and I would probably meet with some of my friends…eventually. But the first stop I wanted to make was at the Ald Skar Inn, where Louis Beauchamp was staying. At least, I hoped he was still staying there, and had not simply disappeared with all the money I had donated to his project. In the weeks since I had received the fussy Breton’s last letter, I had spent a great deal of time contemplating stories of investors who had been gulled by fast-talking tricksters. In truth, the loss of the money was of less concern to me than my potential embarrassment over being taken in. On the other hand, no one who had ever met Louis Beauchamp would refer to him as “fast-talking.” Such was the state of my mind as I entered the common room of the Ald Skar and looked around. To my relief, the richly-dressed inventor was seated at a table near the back, staring pensively into space, and occasionally looking at some papers scattered in front of him. He did not notice my approach until I drew out a chair and seated myself across from him. His first startled reaction was to guiltily fold up his papers and then blurt out,

“Your pardon, Captain, but I am doing n-n- nothing wrong. I purchased these materials from a reputable Imperial broker. I know nothing about any s- s- stolen goods.”

He swallowed convulsively and peered at me near-sightedly. New lines of worry had been etched upon his face and his hair seemed to have receded even further in the time since I had last seen him. I reminded him of who I actually was and pointed out that; first, I was not a captain; and, second, I was here as a private citizen and investor. He blinked at my words and then seemed to finally recognize me.

“Oh. Oh yes. Young Athlain. I didn’t realize it was you. Please, have a seat.”

A rather sickly smile crossed his face when I pointed out that I was already seated, and he lapsed into silence. I prompted him with,

“The airship, Mr. Beauchamp? What has happened to the airship?”

“Yes, well. The…ah, the airship. It flew quite beautifully. A clever bit of magic if I do say so. The crew… hmmm, yes, well…. You know it can be difficult to find trustworthy people for an expedition of this sort.”

He again fell into a distracted silence, staring at the ceiling and seeming to lose the thread of the conversation. Again, I had to prod him.

“Mr. Beauchamp?” I waved a hand before his face. “The airship, Mr. Beauchamp? What happened after you launched it? Where did you send it?”

“Oh yes. They were to go to the north, to Solstheim, away from all this dust. I wanted them to locate Hrothmund’s Barrow and retrieve a certain…oh, item.” At last, some animation returned to the depressed inventor as he began to explain the expedition.

“Hrothmund's Barrow is a grave...well...crypt. It is said to lie...that is, the barrow is at the eye...of the wolf. There's a formation, you see. Rock...ice...that sort of thing. Shaped like a wolf...the wolf that killed Hrothmund! He's said to be um....entombed...at the wolf's eye. It's only visible from the sky...or, well...an airship. That's why I...built it. So...if I may say so...the airship was a brilliant idea. Build the airship, hire the crew, they find the barrow and recover the amulet. Then they bring it to me! Perfect plan, I thought....”

He smiled for the first time and took a sip of his wine., then continued,

“They were to recover...that is, bring me a special amulet. According to stories...legends and such...Horthmund was quite the...well...he had plenty of lady friends! He was ugly, too...ugly as a troll! But he had a magic trinket...he wore it. The Amulet of Infectious Charm, it was called. By...all records...he was buried with it. That's why I built the airship...hired the crew. I just...I must have that amulet, Athlain. But...there's been no word. I worry...I fear the crew has failed me.”

He fell back into a gloomy silence and then heaved a sigh.

“I...I suppose I should have...well, you know...gone myself. But all that...flying, and cold weather and...well, maybe danger! That's what I...what I get for trying to do...you know, hire...someone else to do the job...well, expedition, really.... I just wish I knew what happened. Did they fly off course? Or maybe...maybe they found the amulet, and...and flew away! To meet women! No fair maiden could resist a man with the...the Amulet of Infectious Charm...in an airship, no less! Say...Athlain.... I...I don't suppose you're...well...for hire? I would even...pay you...greatly...to find my airship. Your initial investment… plus… interest. I'd need proof of what happened to the airship, of course! Evidence, as it were...just...just to be sure. And...of course...for you to bring me the...the amulet! I NEED that amulet!”

Posted by: BSD-IES Mar 15 2008, 07:08 PM

Excellent. I'm really glad to see this back up and running biggrin.gif

Will Athlain agree to further help Louis Beauchamp, despite the financial outlay he's already given, so Beauchamp can achieve his goal of becoming...a ladies man? Will he be tempted to use the amulet himself (or is that a different kind of story wink.gif )?

I don't know the answers yet, I'm just glad that I have questions to ask once more. This really is a terrific story, and I can't wait for further updates.

Your eager reader,

Burnt

smile.gif

Posted by: jack cloudy Mar 15 2008, 08:29 PM

"I must have it! My PPPPRREEEESSSSIIIIOOOOUUUSSSS!"

Okay, now that's the kind of thing Beauchamp is going to say if this gets any worse. Speaking of which, why didn't he try to get a charm amulet of his own enchanted? Or why didn't he just stock up on Telvanni Bug Musk? It's both cheaper and more foolproof than inventing a bloody airship.

On the other hand, beyond this amulet, what other charm items do we know of? Moon-and-Star, Sheogorath's signet ring. Neither of those two are mundane items, so maybe the ability to enchant charm items yourself is a game-thing and not a lore-thing. That still doesn't rule out Bug Musk though.

Oh, and I loved the antics of Athlain's sisters.
"Got any new scars? A tattoo? Lost an arm? No? llllaaaaammmmeeee...." laugh.gif

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Mar 17 2008, 12:08 AM

Hmmm, mayhaps this will be the motivation for Athlain to take a trip to the frosty north. We shall see I suppose. Great work Trey!

Posted by: minque Mar 17 2008, 12:53 AM

uhhhh sweet Azura! TWO updates and not a single comment from me? Outrageous...

Anyway Athlain will have a go with his entire female family hehe, younges sisters really can be a pain in the...ehh somewhere. We'll just have to wait and see right? And the encounter with Louis B...hmmm well that will be interesting, will he send Athie up north? To that wretched island of Solstheim? i guess we'll await that as well....

can't wait, actually smile.gif

Posted by: treydog Mar 29 2008, 05:15 PM

For long seconds, I simply stared at Louis Beauchamp, my mouth hanging open in amazement. It was almost more than my mind could absorb- he had obtained the airship plans, possession of which was technically a capital crime; invested untold time and money to build and enchant the Dwemer craft; hired a crew…. In order to get an amulet that would supposedly make him attractive to women? Why didn’t the fool just invest in Telvanni bug musk? He probably could have purchased a manufactory with what he had put into the airship project. Failing that, anyone with his obvious magical ability should certainly be able to craft a personality-enhancing charm. For one of the few times in my life, I found myself absolutely speechless. Beauchamp must have taken my incredulous silence for refusal; he blinked rapidly a few times and then said,

“Oh...well...that's fine. I understand...I....suppose I will be able to find someone to continue the search. I just fear that I will not get anyone… reliable. Most of those who I asked simply laughed at me. And some of them even threw me out.”

I held up a hand to stop his babble as I tried to think. Despite the foolishness that had been at the heart of this scheme, the idea of locating and entering the barrow of a Nord pirate was very appealing. One characteristic I shared with my father was an affinity for our northern brethren. I knew that the Empire had only recently taken an interest in Solstheim, sending representatives from the East Empire Company to search for marketable resources. The small island was still very much the frontier, largely unexplored. It was just the sort of adventure I had been seeking when I left home. I would have to come up with a way to conduct the search for the airship while still honoring my obligation to the Legion- I was determined to make a success of my enlistment. Well, one thing at a time.

“Mr. Beauchamp, I will be glad to search for the airship and Hrothmund’s Barrow. It might take some time before I can get free….” With a gesture, I indicated my uniform and then continued, “But I promise that I will do my best.”

It took a moment for my words to register. Beauchamp said,

“Yes, I know it must seem very silly to a young man like you…. I will just get someone else, or go myself…I…. Wait. Athlain, did you say you would help me? Why that's...that's...splen...I mean...oh, wonderful! As I said, the airship is...was...headed north, to Solstheim.... The Amulet of Infectious Charm is...well, it's supposed to be at...that is, in...Hrothmund's Barrow. At the eye of the beast...the wolf, I mean. But you must...must say the wolf's name! To enter! Say, ‘Ondjage.’ Answer wrong, and the barrow will be sealed...forever!”

As I left the Ald Skar, Louis Beauchamp was thoughtfully tugging at what little remained of his hair. I realized that if I did not find an answer for him fairly soon, he would be completely bald. My next stop was the Rat in the Pot. It was still a rather seedy tavern, which explained its attraction to my friends. They somehow thought it was daring to drink there, not realizing that the Redoran Council made sure that nothing bad would happen to anyone. The worst one might expect would be a bad hangover or a few coins lost at one of the games. Still, I was happy to see my old school-mates, and they were as impressed as I could have wished with my new status. I was not allowed to pay for my drinks, and every word of my stories of “life in the Legion” was given avid attention. It hardly mattered that there was little real “action” in those stories- it was still more than anyone else had done. But somehow, the envy and adulation did not cheer me as I had thought it would. Rather, I felt somehow distant and apart from my friends and their day-to-day concerns. It was as if I had changed in the months away while they had remained the same. Even as I felt the melancholy threatening to overwhelm me, I realized that this was all the more reason to make sure Mother and my sisters enjoyed the party tomorrow evening. After a final drink, I made my excuses and left the others to their gossip and bickering, feeling suddenly quite old. As I exited the tavern, a tall figure detached itself from the shadows and halted in front of me.

Startled, I reached to my belt for the mace that was not there, that was in fact propped against a wall at home. The person before me made no threatening movement, simply reached up to lower her hood and uncover her face. It was Serene, head of House Redoran and wife of Athyn Sarethi. I went into a near spasm, trying to bow while at the same time pretending I had not just been scrabbling for a non-existent weapon. She laughed softly and said,

“Peace, Athlain. Stand still before you do yourself an injury.”

When I straightened, automatically assuming the position of attention, she surveyed me carefully. At last she spoke again:

“You know, diligent observation and awareness of your surroundings is sometimes more useful than any weapon- especially when you don’t have one.”

There was a serious undertone to her teasing and it came to the fore with her next words,

“Athlain, it is not wise for you to go abroad unarmed. Whether you intended to or not, you chose a side when you joined the Imperial Legion. Not everyone is happy with that choice- and some will act on their unhappiness.”

She stopped and looked at the star-speckled sky above us.

“And there are other, darker forces in motion as well. The wind is from the north tonight and it carries a scent of ice. What the signs and portents mean, I cannot say, but my heart tells me that malice is abroad in the world. Best be prepared lest it find you.”

With those words, she drew her cloak around her and disappeared into the darkness. More aware than ever of my lack of weapons, I hastened homeward, where I fell into a troubled sleep. My dreams were disjointed, seeming to involve pursuit by unknown foes across a snowy landscape.

Posted by: jack cloudy Mar 29 2008, 05:24 PM

So, despite the utter ridiculousness of the whole situation, Athlain has still agreed to go on with it. Must be wanderlust or something. That's the only reason I can think of.

And after that came a rather unexpected cameo. (Well, I did expect her to pop up, just not there. I was expecting her at the party, honestly.)

Neat, though I've got to wonder just why Serene picked the spooky 'come from the shadows' aproach.

Posted by: minque Mar 29 2008, 06:09 PM

Ohhhh greatness! We're proceeding here and that is good! Naturally Serene can't just walk about in Ald'ruhn just like that! She's gotta be mysterious it's in her!

Now I naturally wonder what arms she meant for Athlain......oh and how the party will go on tomorrow night, with Athlains dear mom and annoying sisters! tongue.gif

But maybe Trey himself will put some oil on the water as we say in the north... biggrin.gif


And I'm naturally very honoured that Serene appears in this story....truly honoured.. salute.gif

Posted by: treydog Apr 1 2008, 02:33 AM

Jack- I shamelessly stole your ideas about Beauchamp to illustrate Athlain's disbelief- thanks. Motivation? Hmmm- he's a kid; it's an adventure.... As for Serene- she sensed something on the wind and immediately assumed her role of protector- a role she played for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (Trey), as well. And it was an object lesson for our young Legionnaire that he isn't a civilian anymore and can't just obliviously wander around in the dark. Serene has had Legion training too, don't you know. Legion NCOs are always sneaking up on the recruits...

Posted by: canis216 Apr 1 2008, 02:43 AM

A most satisfying update, treydog. The young folks really have no sense of their own mortality, nor what "adventure" really means.

(As a young "folk", I speak from experience, of course.)

Posted by: mplantinga Apr 2 2008, 10:38 PM

I haven't commented in a while, but have been trying to keep up with some of the stories here (there are too many to keep up with them all). I enjoyed the last few updates, and am intrigued by the manner in which you are setting up Athlain's time in Solstheim. I usually enjoy seeing how people portray Beauchamp, and this story is no exception to that. The warning given my Serene is quite ominous; you make it seem like you are trying to set an even darker tone for this story than for those you have written previously (or perhaps I'm simply over-interpreting; I guess only time will tell).

Posted by: treydog Apr 5 2008, 04:17 PM

Despite the doubts and disappointments of the previous evening, the next day dawned fair, with pleasant weather and the comfortable bickering of Cai and Mae to cheer me. To their immense delight, Mother had granted them a holiday from school so that they could help prepare for the party. That amnesty earned me a reprieve from my status as a “rat,” but I knew the suspension of sentence was only temporary. My services in the arrangements were needed only infrequently, and I was often more in the way than of actual use. It was rather like being a boulder in the midst of a rushing torrent. Feeling at loose ends, I took myself off to Father’s alchemical workshop, a place which held many happy memories amongst the pungent aromas. I could not help but smile as I looked upon the many bins and bottles, all labeled in his distinctive script. My gaze fell next upon his cluttered workbench, covered with scattered glassware, formulae, and other bits and pieces of apparatus, looking as though he had just stepped out for a moment. Finally, I turned to my own area, a corner he had furnished and given to me when I was still quite young. There I found a surprise. Instead of the dust of neglect I had expected after months of disuse, everything was polished to a high shine, all the tools of the alchemist’s trade carefully arranged and ready for use. And centered on the bench was my own laboratory journal. My heart beat painfully in my chest; I knew whose scarred hands had polished every vial and tube, who it was who had brought order to my chaos. I held my breath, waiting for his touch upon my shoulder and his deep voice to guide me. The moment passed, and I reached for the journal, not seeking answers in the pages, but perhaps escape. The book opened to reveal a folded paper and a small cloth bag. The paper had no salutation or seal, but when I opened it, it was covered with my father’s precise writing. It was a long discourse on the value of the spells Mark and Recall. Interspersed with the dry, almost academic language were bits of advice: “Recall can literally save an adventurer’s life….” and “Successful casting of the circinate spells requires great skill in Mysticism; therefore, potions or amulets are to be preferred.” At the bottom of the page were carefully inked illustrations of paired amulets used to cast the spells. When I opened the bag and tipped the contents into my hand, I was not surprised to see two amulets that matched the drawings exactly. With controlled movements, I refolded the note and place it back inside my journal, which I also closed and centered again on the work table. It was time to prepare for our guests.

Because the celebration was not a formal gathering, guests were free to arrive at their own convenience, rather than following the strict protocol dictated by the formidable Redoran matriarchs. The lack of formality also meant that I did not have to go through the ordeal of standing in a receiving line with Mother and my sisters, greeting each guest according to their rank, all the while trying to ignore the remarks the two nuisances made in barely detectable whispers. However, as my presence was the nominal reason for the gathering, I was expected to speak with each guest for at least a few minutes. That wasn’t too bad; most of them were folk I had known all my life- friends, relatives of friends, and the like. By unspoken agreement, the usual factional squabbles of House politics were set aside in favor of eating and drinking. Business could be conducted; but it had to be kept on a friendly basis. So the party proceeded nicely; groups of people coalesced and broke apart, carried along on currents of conversation. As darkness fell, paper lanterns cast a festive light over the gardens, and many of the guests took advantage of the pleasant weather to slip outside. I had unfortunately been cornered by a minor connection of the Andrano family, an elderly Dunmer who held very strong opinions about the Empire, the Nords, the other Great Houses, the quality of current beverages…. I should say, he held very strong and negative opinions. He took in my uniform with a disapproving snort and asked petulantly,

“Why didn’t you become an Armiger, if you wanted to go into the service? Now they’re a sharp outfit, no mistake. Why, when I was just a youngster, we….”

I groaned inwardly and resigned myself to a long, dull evening. Once old Sedrim got started, he was like an ancient Dwemer machine- able to run seemingly forever, without need of fuel or rest. Salvation came in the form of a flurry of activity at the front door. I pressed my glass of wine into his hands and excused myself, saying,

“Sorry. Must go. Might be a Nord invasion.”

In fact, my jest was closer to the mark than I knew- the Sarethis had arrived. It wasn’t that they were loud or that they demanded attention- they simply had enough presence between them to still an arena.

I comported myself with much greater dignity than I had when Serene surprised me the previous night, shaking hands with Uncle Athyn and managing a respectable bow for the great lady herself. Just as I was congratulating myself on my performance, it all fell apart. Serene and Athyn went in search of Mother, and the third member of their party stepped in front of me. It was Athynae, sure enough; I had seen her nearly every day of my life. But she was … different. She had done something complicated with her hair that seemed to defy gravity, as well several other laws of physics. And there was something new about her eyes, too. They were violet, just like before, but seemed larger somehow and luminous, as if they contained an inner light. All my previous calm fled, and I simply stood there, staring, trying to say something. What I finally managed was a strangled, “Urk.” A voice from my right said,

“Don’t mind Max, here…” followed by an answering voice from my left, which finished the sentence, “…we figure he did too much blunt weapon practice without a helmet.”

Mae and Cai. They had homed in on my struggles as silently and efficiently as two slaughterfish after a wounded guar. Now my misery was complete, or so I thought. With a dazzling smile that did strange things to my stomach, Athynae asked,

“'Max'? I don’t understand.”

My dear, sweet sisters stepped forward and each took one of her arms, explaining as they led her away,

“Oh, that’s our new name for him. It’s short for ‘Maximus Rattus’.”

The three girls departed, their heads bowed in a conversation laden with giggles and sidelong glances at me. For my part, I decided that the gods clearly hated me. There could be no other explanation for why I had been given not one, but two sisters. I glowered after them and gave serious thought to proposition that the education of females was not only overrated, but also dangerous.

Posted by: jack cloudy Apr 5 2008, 04:51 PM

Maximus Rattus? BWAHAHA!!! Man, I loved that. Those sisters sure are a handful.

I liked everything else as well, such as the gift of the two amulets, old dudes droning on about how the legion sucks. Nice stuff.

Posted by: minque Apr 5 2008, 04:56 PM

Wonderful! "Urk" he said spotting Thyna! Now isn't that just cute? haha...she will be so utterly amused....or will she?

I want to read more about that party....it's gonna be so funny, I can well imagine Baria fuzzing about Serene and Athyn..ohlalaaa And Athlain being so startled about Thyna!

Mind you, that girl deliberately fixed herself up just for Athlain...oh aye...Now she won't be happy seeing him leave for Solstheim, so she might take actions ....mmmmm mind my words blink.gif

Posted by: treydog Apr 12 2008, 11:48 PM

My cheeks burning with embarrassment, I escaped to the welcome darkness of the garden. I slumped dejectedly onto a bench and stared unseeing at the lanterns. As I tried to grasp just what had gone wrong, the scents of Mother’s flowers came to me on the breeze and I distracted myself by cataloging them. Gold kanet, heather, black anther, even coda flowers in the pond Father had built. The scents teased me, seeming to add an aromatic counterpoint of glee to the real laughter which had driven me outdoors. Then a different scent began to grow, elusive and enticing, and I heard a quiet step on the gravel path.

“Athlain? You shouldn’t be sitting out here in the dark. At least…not by yourself. May I sit down?”

It was Athynae, mercifully unaccompanied. Even so, my usual facility with words had left me. I continued to sit in strangled silence, which my childhood friend apparently mistook for surliness. She stamped her foot and said in a low voice,

“Athlain, if you don’t talk to me right now, I’m leaving. And I’ll never speak to you again.”

The threat was enough to shatter my paralysis, and I gasped,

“No! Please stay.” Some of my wits came back and I managed to venture, “Is that a new dress?”

The question broke the tension and she quickly sat beside me on the bench.

“Oh yes. Mother had it sent from the Imperial City, along with the perfume I’m wearing. She has a catalog and contacted one of her friends in the Mages Guild, who teleported it here. We spent most of today getting it fitted.”

She stood and twirled to show off the gown, which seemed to sparkle in the star- and lantern-lit night. The pause allowed me to opine that I thought it was very nice. That set off another rush of words,

“Do you really like it? It’s just that I saw you when you came in on the silt-strider and you looked so amazing in your Legion uniform. And then when Aunt Baria told Mama about the party for you, I just HAD to have something new to wear, something that would look wonderful. Because I wanted to impress you.”

There was a sudden stop, and she fidgeted with her fan and said in a much quieter voice,

“Oops. Mae and Cai told me not to say anything about that.”

“Mae and Cai told you?” My tone was brittle.

Her reply was nearly a whisper, “I’m sorry. It’s just that nothing ever happens here, and you didn’t answer my letter, and you’ve been away, doing things. And…and… probably seeing all kinds of girls, girls who are just interested in your uniform, who don’t really know you. And so I had to ask somebody what you liked.”

That last was almost a wail. “’Thyna,” I said, using her nickname, “The only ‘girls’ I’ve met are female Orc Legionnaires. And my ‘adventures’ have mostly consisted of patrolling the eggmine and running up and down hills.”

Impulsively, I reached for her hand. “And what I like is you.”

She snuffled a little and stole a glance at me. “Really?”

I squeezed her hand and said, “Yes, really. And now we should probably get back inside.”

Athynae stood and gave me a quick kiss, saying “You’re so sweet. And I promise I’ll never call you ‘Max.’” Then she scampered off toward the house, leaving me again in stunned silence. This time, however, the sensation was not in the least unpleasant.

The moment passed and I followed the scent of Athynae’s perfume back to the house. Mother was waiting near the door and pulled me into a quiet corner, where she gave me a searching look.

“Athynae Sarethi came in just a little ahead of you and she was smiling, but her eyes looked like she had been crying. I know she went to look for you- what happened?”

“I’m not quite sure. But I think everything is fine.”

Her expression did not clear. “You ‘think’? I’m afraid that’s not good enough. Athynae is a nice girl and you are a …” I could see her mentally editing, “…nice young man. But wine and moonlight can have quite an impact.”

At last, my befuddled brain understood where she was going. I raised my hands in protest and said, “No! Oh no! It was nothing like that! I mean, I told her I liked her dress and she kissed me- once. And then she told me she wouldn’t ever call me ‘Max,’ and, by the way, if that name ever gets out, I’m going to kill a certain pair of too-clever-by-half blabbermouths. But I never…why are you laughing?”

Posted by: mplantinga Apr 14 2008, 05:27 PM

I really enjoyed the ending to this latest installment. It was quite a long string of complex, powerful emotions. Athlain certainly does seem to be the target of much laughter lately; maybe he'll be glad to go back on Legion duty.

Posted by: _Hunting_ Apr 16 2008, 04:04 AM

Very good story you have here treydog. I'm looking forward to reading more.

Posted by: treydog Apr 19 2008, 04:24 AM

Mother did not explain her sudden burst of humor, simply patted me affectionately and said,

“Sometimes I forget what it is like to be so young. I will deal with your sisters in due time.”

Most of the rest of the night passed in a fog, and is quite hazy in my mind. I do know that at one point as I watched Serene making her graceful way through the press of people, Mother remarked in quiet voice, pitched so that only I could hear:

“It is hard for her, you know, being head of Redoran. Her innate kindness makes it difficult. But her sense of honor will not let her do less than her duty. Yes, that blasted Redoran honor…. Of course, she saved you father, saved him from himself and from his black despair. And she did it by reminding him of what it means to be Redoran…and to be human.”

Although I tried, I did not see Athynae again; somehow, the Sarethis managed to slip away without my noticing or having a chance to bid them good-bye. Even so, when I slept that night, I seemed to still taste Athynae’s lips and to smell her perfume.

The dawn came all too soon, the morning of the day that I must report back to Gnisis and my service with the Legion. Father had still not returned from Tel Fyr and I found myself saddened by his absence. It was Loredas, so Cai and Mae were free to linger over breakfast, during which they quizzed me intensely regarding Athynae. I knew better than to respond- anything I told them would be used against me. Mostly, I put them off by maintaining that they knew her better than I and had certainly spent more time with her during the party. Cai responded waspishly,

“Yes, but she wouldn’t tell us anything, either. And she said that we had to quit being so mean to you.” She added darkly, “I find that highly suspicious.”

Fortunately, Mother arrived in time to save me from the interrogation, and I breathed a sigh of relief. If ever the Emperor had need of inquisitors, I knew two excellent candidates for the job. On further reflection, though, I decided that even the Emperor would consider subjecting someone to my sisters excessively cruel. After she had poured her tea, Mother asked if I had everything I needed for my return trip. When I assured her that I did, she sighed a bit and then turned to another matter.

“Athynae forgot her shawl last night- why don’t you take it to Sarethi Manor before you leave? And I have some cuttings from the garden that Serene asked for; you can take those, as well.”

Those instructions set off a sudden spasm of fidgeting in my sisters; if they had had antennae, they would have been quivering. Mother raised an inquiring eyebrow and calmly asked,

“Are you two sitting on a scrib-nest, or did you need something?”

Her dry tone quelled their twitching, but not the avid pleading on their faces. Mother made an elaborate show of not quite understanding their unspoken question for some time, and then said,

“Oh, I suppose you two would like to go to Sarethi Manor, as well?”

My sisters’ triumphant smiles died as Mother shook her head and said,

“Unfortunately, I have need of you here today, so Athlain will just have to go alone. I imagine that he would be glad to carry any messages- if you asked him nicely.”

I decided that it would be easier to say good-bye to my family and then stop by Sarethi Manor, so I embraced my sisters and told them to try and avoid burning down the town while I was gone. Cai tried to remain stoic, but I saw a suspicious shine in her eyes. Mae was less restrained; she cried openly as she hugged me and admonished me to stay safe. Then she broke the mood by adding,

“And if you rescue a princess or something, be sure to have her write to me with all the details. Yon know you always leave out the best parts.”

Though they were often a trial, at that moment, I forgave them for all of their teasing. Mother said nothing, just held me for a long moment and then waved me away. I knew that she would spend the rest of the day in her studio, losing herself in her painting.

When I reached Sarethi Manor, Serene herself escorted me to the dining area and made sure I was seated comfortably. After providing me with a cup of tea, she took the plants I had brought and disappeared deeper into the dwelling, promising to send Athynae out. Even though I had been in this room hundreds of times, I felt more nervous than I had when I joined the Legion. My breathing was ragged and I kept having to dry my hands on my trousers. I seemed to hear my heart racing in my ears. Maybe it was some kind of disease- if so, I was in the right place; Serene could heal anything. And then Athynae walked into the room and my symptoms redoubled. I knew now what afflicted me and also knew that there was no cure.

She sat at the table and took a quick look around before saying,

“We don’t have much time. Mama is not terribly happy with me. In fact, she has been in full “Arch-Mistress” mode ever since she found out I was taking sword lessons. I don’t see the problem- I paid for it with my own money. And the sword master said I was a ‘natural.’ That annoyed Mama even more.”

I could well believe that Athynae had impressed a sword master- she had usually won the mock battles we staged growing up. She muttered something that I didn’t quite catch, and, from the look on her face, I decided I was just as glad. But her expression cleared and she reached up and unknotted her scarf, saying,

“Anyway, I am so glad you came to see me; you must write to me and promise to please be careful.”

She then thrust the scarf at me and said,

“And… here. I read about this in one of those silly books Mae is always mooning over. It’s called a ‘favor’. You keep it with you all the time and think of me when you look at it.”

A brief frown of anxiety returned and she added,

“If you want to think of me, I mean….”

I quickly folded the scarf and placed it inside my cuirass, promising that I would certainly think of her. Then I removed one of my bracers and slipped it onto her arm.

“And now you have something of mine, as well. Of course, Carbo will probably make me run to the eggmine and back about 50 times for ‘losing’ it, but I won’t mind.”

I had just taken her hand in mine when Serene returned and we guiltily broke our clasp and began to studiously look anywhere but at one another.

Serene said nothing for a moment, but a faint smile came to her face as she looked at us. Then she seated herself and spoke to me with great seriousness.

“I expect that you will take care of yourself. I am quite fond of your mother, and I will be most annoyed if you do anything else to upset her. I think I understand your reasons for leaving home, though I cannot say that your manner of leaving was the best.”

I stood to go and Serene unexpectedly gave me a fierce hug.

“I say again- take care of yourself. Come home to Baria and Trey- and to us. I imagine Athynae will be glad to walk with you to the silt strider.”

I found nothing to say as we made the short journey to the platform, but Athynae seemed content to just walk beside me. I shouldered my pack and turned to say good-bye, but she stopped the words with a kiss. As I climbed the ramp, she waved and called,

“Promise you will write to me!”

As the great insect moved across the hills, I looked back to see her slender figure growing ever smaller until it was lost in the distance. It was the first time I had really felt as though I was leaving home.

Posted by: _Hunting_ Apr 20 2008, 07:51 PM

Very good update, this story seems to be getting better and better. Looking forward to more.

"Those instructions set off a sudden spasm of fidgeting in my sisters; if they had had antennae, they would have been quivering." like that line. biggrin.gif

Posted by: Black Hand Apr 23 2008, 09:00 PM

By the by, I have been following your updates trey-baby! Nothing to worry about! And this piece is far exceeding your last, IMHO.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Apr 28 2008, 12:22 AM

You've been building a wonderful sense of emotion and characterization, trey. It is simply a treat to be able to read this stuff.

Posted by: minque Apr 29 2008, 09:10 PM

At last! I should be ashamed of myself, so many times being around and not commenting on this one! Then again I'm sure Treydog knows how I feel about it....the wonderful interpretation of "my" girls! Somehow Serene is more impressive and powerful when she appears in other stories!

Athlain is also very sympathetic and his interaction with his two annoying sisters is so amusing to read.

So now what will happen next????? blink.gif

Posted by: treydog Apr 30 2008, 02:39 AM

QUOTE(minque @ Apr 29 2008, 08:10 PM) *

At last! I should be ashamed of myself, so many times being around and not commenting on this one! Then again I'm sure Treydog knows how I feel about it....the wonderful interpretation of "my" girls! Somehow Serene is more impressive and powerful when she appears in other stories!

Athlain is also very sympathetic and his interaction with his two annoying sisters is so amusing to read.

So now what will happen next????? blink.gif


Well, since you ask... here is a brief teaser tongue.gif

Interlude the Fourth


From the records of the Imperial Legion, Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim, Captain Falx Carius commanding.

Transferred from Fort Darius, Vvardenfell- Agent Athlain Treyson.

Contents of a letter posted from Fort Darius (a portion):

Athynae:

I have been transferred to Solstheim. I do not yet know how long my assignment will be. It was pleasant to visit with you, and I appreciate your courtesy and kindness. I shall certainly write again when I have news. Until then, I

Wish you all health,

Athlain

Contents of an undelivered letter drafted at Sarethi Manor, Ald’ruhn (fragmentary):

Athlain:

You “wish me all health?” Really? And what exactly does that mean? You’re off to Solstheim to have more adventures, and probably meet a bunch of those blonde-haired, blue-eyed Nord hussies, and all you can say is you wish me all health? I… ohhhh… you just….

Athynae

P.S.- I begin to see why Cai and Mae called you “Max”.


Posted by: redsrock Apr 30 2008, 02:58 AM

Hey, Treydog, this is really good. I just started reading it recently, and it's very professional-looking. Keep it up, man.

Posted by: treydog May 2 2008, 04:30 PM

Chapter 4


My return to Fort Darius was troubled by questions. Had I made a mistake joining the Legion? Would Athynae forget about me, now that I was gone? Why had Father gone to Tel Fyr? Was he ill? I comforted myself with the thought that Gnisis was not that far from Ald’ruhn- once I achieved sufficient rank, I could spend more time at home. But, as it turned out, the Legion had other ideas.

Senior Trooper Carbo was waiting for me at the strider landing; he returned my salute perfunctorily and said,

“Just drop your gear right here. The General wants to see you immediately.”

He answered all of my questions with a single word: “Orders.”

When I entered General Darius’ office, he for once did not pretend to be occupied with other work. Instead, he stared at me speculatively for quite some time as I stood braced at attention. At last, he waved me to a chair with a gruff,

“Oh, at ease, already. Sit down.”

Then he picked up a paper from his desk and looked at it with marked distaste.

“Athlain, you’re a good soldier and I will be sorry to lose you. But they’ve got themselves a situation at Fort Frostmoth and orders are orders. That goes for generals just as much as for troopers.”

With those cryptic remarks, he fell silent once more. Despite my usual reserve in front of Darius, questions tumbled out in an unstoppable flood.

“Sir, I don’t understand. ‘Lose me?’ ‘Frostmoth?’ ‘Orders?’ Sir, what does this all mean?”

“It means that your reward for doing a good job here is to get handed a nastier job somewhere else. You have heard of Solstheim?” At my nod, he continued, “Well, you probably haven’t heard enough; it’s a bad spot, a little speck of misery between here and Skyrim. However, the East Empire Company is trying to open a mine, which means that we have to protect them. The Legion established a fort- Fort Frostmoth. Usually, assignment there is punishment duty- it means the officer or trooper screwed up. Personally, I question the wisdom of putting all the screw-ups and shirkers in one place, but the higher ups didn’t ask for my opinion. In any event, the result has been what I expected- trouble. Captain Carius has asked for help, and you are it. Find out what’s happening and fix it. I’m counting on you to use your judgment more than your weapons. The good news is that the job does come with a promotion; congratulations, Agent Treyson. If you do well, there’s a knighthood in it for you. Good luck. Dismissed.”

I left the tradehouse to find that the ever-efficient Carbo had already packed up my few remaining possessions and moved them to the silt-strider landing. He was as blunt as always, telling me,

“Be careful up there on Solstheim. I’ve heard stories…. Don’t forget everything I’ve tried to teach you- and don’t let that promotion go to your head.” He grumbled, “I still say ‘Agent’ is a stupid rank for a soldier. Anyway, you have an hour or so before the next strider for Khuul. If you want to write some letters, I’ll post them for you.”

He stopped talking and turned his back to me as he stumped off a few paces. After noisily clearing his throat, he continued,

“You’re a good troop- try not to get yourself killed.”

With that, he disappeared into the tradehouse, leaving me with my thoughts.

I followed his advice to the extent that I could- writing letters home. However, given Mother’s probable reaction to my new assignment, I wasn’t sure I could heed the part about not getting myself killed. In a display of bravery, I committed pen to paper and told her the truth, knowing that she probably would not follow me all the way to Solstheim. The letter to Athynae was even harder to write; it wasn’t as if we really had an understanding. I pulled out the scarf she had given me and inhaled the scent of her perfume, the same as she had worn that night in Mother’s garden. All that did was further disorganize my already chaotic thoughts. In the end, I fell back on my training in rhetoric and composition and wrote a formal letter, explaining that I was being stationed further from home. I sealed the letters and gave them to a passing trooper, who promised to see that they got to Carbo. And then the strider was at the landing, and I climbed aboard. The giant creature carried me north, toward Khuul. From there, I would take a boat to Solstheim. That was the name that had started me on this path, the place Louis Beauchamp wanted me to go, the place the Legion was sending me, the place I had believed that I wanted to go. So why did it feel now as though every step was carrying me away from all that I loved?

Posted by: raggidman May 2 2008, 04:40 PM

I am going to be really mean here: no matter how much I like the way you write you are not nono.gif Nerevar reborn, I am Nerevar Reborn - Azura Told Me So. therefore at the moment your young character declared that his father was Trey, Nerevar Reborn I knew him for a liar, and therefor insane tongue.gif Maybe he is a follower of sheogorrath?

However ooc - this is a story based on an autobiography ohmy.gif whichj is therefore not fiction. wink.gif And if you have played this in-game it is also an autobiography ...

Posted by: minque May 3 2008, 02:15 PM

Solstheim, right? So be it then.... kvright.gif . Athynae will be.....well if not sad, angry....very angry indeed. She will most certain take some measures, maybe not the expected ones.

As usual we learn how sweet Athlain feels about what happens to him....awww poor boy! Yet there is a hint of adventurous mind in him (inherited from his dad, no doubt) So we'll see.....he'll probably get in some kind of trouble!

Posted by: treydog May 3 2008, 06:45 PM

Autobiography? Somewhat- to the extent that Athlain (and Trey) are somewhat based on my values and philosophy. More accurate to say "first-person" perhaps.... Which is the type of story I prefer to read and also the easiest for me to write....

Minque- thanks for allowing me to "borrow" your characters. On a previous comment- Serene may "seem" more powerful and mysterious as viewed through young Athlain's eyes; she knows herself to be mortal.... Thanks for all the nice comments and encouragement.

Posted by: BSD-IES May 6 2008, 06:38 AM

QUOTE(raggidman @ May 2 2008, 04:40 PM) *

I am going to be really mean here: no matter how much I like the way you write you are not nono.gif Nerevar reborn, I am Nerevar Reborn - Azura Told Me So. therefore at the moment your young character declared that his father was Trey, Nerevar Reborn I knew him for a liar, and therefor insane tongue.gif Maybe he is a follower of sheogorrath?

However ooc - this is a story based on an autobiography ohmy.gif whichj is therefore not fiction. wink.gif And if you have played this in-game it is also an autobiography ...



What are you going on about? For the sake of my sanity, please try to keep comments actually about the stories...

Posted by: redsrock May 6 2008, 11:49 AM

QUOTE(raggidman @ May 2 2008, 04:40 PM) *


this is a story based on an autobiography ohmy.gif whichj is therefore not fiction. wink.gif

Umm.....of course it's fiction. Even if this was an 'autobiography' of sorts, it is one of a 'fake' character, meaning 'not' real. I'm pretty sure that sums up to being fiction.

Posted by: Kiln May 9 2008, 04:47 AM

Great job here Trey, there's alot of emotion going on in deeper levels if you look closely. I also liked the dialogue in the last post especially, the part where they're rewarding him for doing a good job by handing him a job in solstheim...amazing work as usual.

Posted by: treydog May 11 2008, 07:47 PM

I cannot say whether it was because of my dark mood when I arrived or because the place really was that dull, but I was unimpressed with Khuul. Like many of Vvardenfell’s fishing villages, it was mainly a dock and a collection of shacks that seemed to avoid collapse only by the vigorous application of ropes and fish glue. The odor was mitigated only by the fact that the wind seemed to blow constantly, which had the effect of causing all the houses to lean tiredly in the same direction. House Redoran had gone so far as to establish a crab-shell trading post, which architectural anomaly actually gave the appearance of a giant crustacean that had heaved itself onto the shore in order to devour the wood plank hovels that huddled together for protection. “Join the Legion and see the world!” Right, as in “see the most poverty-stricken, vermin-infested, mud-covered parts of the world. Generally populated by people who want to kill you.” Of course, my sour musings didn’t really mean anything- it wasn’t as if I was planning on settling there. My goal was simply to book passage on the next boat for Solstheim, to which end I aimed myself in the direction of the docks. Before I could reach them, however, I was intercepted by a Redoran guardsman. He was not one of the House retainers I knew; I wondered if his exile to this forsaken place was due to incompetence or some other misfeasance. He apparently did not recognize me, either- for which fact I was profoundly grateful.

“You there, you are in the Legion, yes?”

I looked at my uniform with some bemusement, checking to ensure that it had not somehow been transformed to Telvanni robes, and agreed that I was, in fact, an Imperial Legionnaire.

“That’s good, good. You can do something about the infernal Daedra worshippers that have taken over the Ashalmawia shrine. I would do it myself, but I’m the only guard here in Khuul. Anyway, stopping Daedra worship is the Legion’s job, so go right ahead. It’s southwest of here, near Ald Velothi.”

His peremptory request put me in a difficult position. On the one hand, he was right- it was part of the Legion’s mandate to suppress Daedra worship, or at least worship of the more…difficult Daedra princes, such as Sheogorath, Molag Bal, and so forth. But on the other hand, I had my orders to report to Fort Frostmoth “forthwith,” which was Legion-speak for “don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” What finally decided the issue for me was pride- pride in my uniform, in my decision to join the Legion, in myself.

I knew that, as the warrior house, Redoran had more respect for the Legion than did most Dunmer, but even their acceptance of the Imperial soldiery was grudging, at best. Carbo and Darius had reminded me time and again that I was a representative of the Empire. If I simply ignored this guard’s request and took the boat to Solstheim, the story would be all over the island in a day or two. A story told in mocking, raspy Dunmer voices about how a Legionnaire had turned and run, rather than face Daedra worshippers. So it was that I told the guard,

“Let me drop off my extra equipment at the dock and check the schedule. Time permitting, I will be glad to deal with your minor problem.”

My words expressed more confidence than I felt- Daedra cultists tended to summon fairly formidable creatures from Oblivion, both to serve as guardians and as part of their rituals. Still worse, a great many of those summoned creatures were immune to weapons of iron or steel. Fortunately, I had not been completely idle during my time at home; I had put one of my childhood memories to good use….

Every child has spent a great deal of time exploring his or her parents’ house, looking for secret doors, hidden treasures, places to get away from annoying siblings….

I was five and had just “discovered” a storeroom behind a musty tapestry in the basement. The door was not locked, so I took a lamp and went in. There were barrels and boxes, looking as if they had been there since the beginning of time. Some held armor, looking like shells sloughed off by strange sea creatures that went about on two legs instead of swimming in the sea. Others contained swords and daggers, which I left strictly alone; Mother and Father had both warned me about playing with edged weapons. But in one barrel was an object that fascinated me; it was made of a brownish-yellow metal and felt heavy enough to be gold. But it did not have the deep, rich glow of gold, and felt much harder. In shape, it was rather like a torch or perhaps a scepter; I spent some time pretending to be the Emperor, waving my “badge of office” around and issuing orders to my imaginary subjects. When I tired of that game, I took my new toy outside, where I discovered that it was wonderful for cracking iron-wood nuts and smashing comberries into a paste. Thus I was able to engage in two of the favorite activities of small boys: smashing things and making a mess. Father discovered me at this pastime and asked me what I was doing. I replied,

“I borrowed the nut-cracker from the basement. Is that all right?”

He saw what I held and burst out laughing, and then picked me up, saying,

“Yes, son, it’s all right.”

From then on, the object became known as “Athlain’s Nut-Cracker.”


Of course, when I became older and began to spend some time in other houses and to visit museums, I realized that the device was actually a mace crafted by the Dwemer and probably worth more than its weight in gold. When my Legion training shifted from swords to blunt weapons, I remembered my “nut-cracker.” Thus, when I made ready to return from my leave, I asked Mother if I could have it. She gave it to me with some reluctance; not because she did not wish to give it up, but because she would have rather that I had no need of any weapon at all. I enhanced the mace’s properties still further by bespelling it with a minor enchantment to absorb health when it struck an opponent. It was a comforting weight on my belt as I headed for Ashalmawia. I believed I was prepared for anything I might meet. In that, as in so many other things, I was quite mistaken.

Posted by: Black Hand May 11 2008, 08:27 PM

QUOTE
“Join the Legion and see the world!” Right, as in “see the most poverty-stricken, vermin-infested, mud-covered parts of the world. Generally populated by people who want to kill you.”


Hehehe.

QUOTE
From then on, the object became known as “Athlain’s Nut-Cracker.”


BWAHAHAHAH!!

I'm sorry for any immature chucklings. This update is quite good, and seems as though our boy Athlain has another misadventure ahead of him, as well as a chance to perform some chivalry perhaps?

Posted by: minque May 17 2008, 08:02 PM

Blackie! You quoted exactly what I was going to quote! Hahaha that's hilarious....In fact I have a file where I've saved all the funny stuff I've laughed about during my explorations of trey's stories, and I laugh every time I look at it.

So sweet treydog now we see that the pear doesn't fall very far from the apple-tree! (old swedish proverb, wink.gif ) Athlain so resembles his father and I guess he'll get himself in a lot of trouble.....that's more or less expected huh?

Posted by: treydog Jun 1 2008, 08:41 PM

True to my word, I went to the dock, where I discovered that the next boat for Solstheim would not depart for several hours. I left my books and a few other non-essential items under the watchful eye of the Redoran guard, and set out for the Ashalmawia shrine. The walk was uneventful until the eye-watering shape of the Daedric edifice appeared on the horizon. It would perhaps have been wise to attempt to scout the area first, to go slowly and stealthily, but I had no talent for silent movement. Then too, my steel boots were not really designed for sneaking up on anything, except perhaps a deaf mudcrab trapped inside a Dwemer factory. Therefore, I simply walked up to the shrine, seeking the entry. Even so, I saw the first obstacle before it noticed me. The creature was large, vaguely human in shape and its hide was the tone of a stormy sky. I knew from my studies that this was an elemental or atronach, one of the servants commonly summoned by mages to act as a guardian. In fact, I knew more, knew that this particular summoning was a storm atronach, a Daedric creature that was not only quite strong physically, but also capable of casting lightning bolts. Armed with that information, a well-prepared adventurer would have imbibed a potion or activated an item that protected against electrical attacks. Since I was not well-prepared, I simply tightened the straps on my shield, drew my mace, and with a cry of, “For Cyrodiil and the Emperor,” charged the elemental creature.

That tactic succeeded in drawing the atronach’s attention, and it launched a crackling stream of magicka toward me. I dodged to the right and raised my shield high, protecting my eyes. Although the face of the shield was steel, the backing was of stout strips of wood. That meant that most of the electricity dissipated harmlessly- but only most. One bolt contacted my left arm, which instantly went numb. However, even as my shield dropped slightly, I had come within striking distance. The creature was much larger than I, and I knew I could not allow it to grapple me. Not only might it crush me with its greater strength, but it might also be able to transmit severe shocks directly to my armor. Therefore, I dropped to the ground and whipped my mace in a sidearm blow against the outside of its left knee. Despite its cloud-like appearance, the beast was quite solid, and the attack had the desired effect. The atronach fell and I scrambled to my feet and leaped over top of the sprawled monster. Carbo had often commented on my quickness, and I was grateful for the endless hours he had forced me to run while wearing full equipment. Before the creature could rise, I sent a series of blows crashing down upon its head. At the final strike, the summoning disappeared in a puff of vapor and dust, leaving only a scattering of salts in its place. I took a moment to heal my injuries and to quietly celebrate my victory. My self-congratulations, though, were premature. There was worse to come.

Weapon and shield at the ready, I continued to circle the ruin, looking for the entry. Instead, I found a bearded Breton, clothed in Conjurer’s robes. Before I could even begin to form a question, he cast a spell at me and shouted,

“I’m not giving up that easily!”

I was unable to dodge the spell and immediately felt as though the weight of my equipment had doubled. The effect was to root me to the spot, although I was still able to move my arms. And then the conjurer made a mistake, one that we would both regret. Rather than cast more spells at me or summon creatures to finish me off, the Breton raised his fists and ran close enough to begin throwing punches. Of course, that also brought him into range of my mace, which I swung to good effect. As should have been apparent even to a mage, a mace against regular clothing is far more effective than fists against steel. But I had no time for such thoughts at that moment; I was under attack and my training snapped into place. I took the punches on my shield and, when the mage recoiled in pain, I struck back. Even though I was unable to get my full weight behind the mace, the strength of my arm, combined with the mass of the Dwemer weapon, was enough. After only a few blows, the Breton dropped to the ground and did not move. The spell of burden he had cast upon me dissipated, and I fell to my knees, not due to a renewed attack, but in horror at what I had done.

I stared at the corpse, the shell that had, a few seconds before, been a man. And now he lay dead at my feet- a fellow human being, slain by my hand. A great void of despair opened inside of me as I wondered if this was the ultimate goal to which I had aspired. Intellectually, I had known that soldiers fought other men or elves. And I had believed I understood that they frequently fought to the death. Still more, I knew that I had been responsible for some of the deaths in Ashinabi. But I had mercifully had no actual memory of those events, no knowledge of the pathetic way a body sprawled in death; no longer angry, no longer moving, no longer- anything. Tears streamed down my face and I knelt by the body of the Conjurer who had just tried to murder me. I took him in my arms and whispered,

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

But that was a lie. Of course I had meant to kill him. That was what my Legion training had been for- to make me a more effective killer. Because the object of the exercise was to be the one who was still breathing when it was over. I stood and straightened my equipment, absently wiping the dead man’s blood from my hands. I wanted desperately to go home to my father, to run back to Fort Darius and Carbo, to be anywhere but where I was, standing over this body, this proof of my guilt.

Posted by: minque Jun 1 2008, 10:22 PM

Aww Athlain! It's hard to perform your first deliberate kill... sad.gif I can assure you your auntie Serene would have understood you so well.

Now you're in Ashalmawia, just say that name out loud...it does have an evil sound, right? Yet it's beautiful... Let's hope Athlain's skills will keep him safe or else....someone will be very sad, not to mention his mom and dad of course.

It's great to read another "Athlain"... tongue.gif

Posted by: _Hunting_ Jun 2 2008, 12:38 AM

Great update, I like how the Conjurer screamed “I’m not giving up that easily!” That was great. biggrin.gif

Posted by: treydog Jun 14 2008, 01:07 AM

Although what I most wanted was to be anywhere else, I still had my duty. I had taken on this task in the name of the Legion, and I would have to see it through. I carried the weight not only of my own honor, but the honor of the Legion, as well. Though the mage had attacked me, had even sworn that he would not give up, I felt anything but honorable when I killed him. In fact, I felt like a murderer. But before I could go very far down that path, my melancholy was interrupted by an earth-shaking roar and an orb of green fire that burst around me. As I felt the poison burning inside me, I spun to face a creature out of nightmare. At first glance, it appeared to be a fabled crocodile from Black Marsh, all green scales and snapping jaws. But no, this creature walked, or rather ran upright, and had elongated limbs. And then I knew- it was a Daedroth- one of the worst of the creatures of Oblivion- fast, strong, and cunning. But even as its magical poison seared my flesh, I felt the joy of combat come upon me, for here was an opponent whose death would not diminish me. So I rushed forward, shield and mace moving in the dance Carbo had drilled into me, working with reflexive precision to block razor teeth and raking claws. The Daedroth’s longer reach was a problem- it could easily hook my shield with one taloned hand and use the other to shred my armor and flesh. Therefore, I concentrated first on crippling the arms, smashing at the elbows and wrists. While that was an effective tactic, it left the yard-long mouth free. Just as I crushed the creature’s left arm into a useless ruin, its head darted over my shield, swift as a striking slaughterfish. The jaws clamped onto my shoulder, piercing the armor like so much paper. The pain was incandescent; I thought that I must surely be maimed for life. I started to close my eyes and give myself up to the agony- and then I thought,

“Well, I will surely have some ‘interesting scars’ now. It would be a shame if my sisters never got to see them.”

And then I did what Carbo had taught me to do- I took the pain and I put into a box and I shut the lid. I would have a chance to hurt later; for now, it was time to show this overgrown lizard that I was most definitely not on the menu. I began to pound my mace into the monster’s scaled side with the regularity and precision of a smith pounding a piece of steel. Even as I felt the massive ribs snap and hot blood bathing my arm, I kept slamming the Dwemer weapon into the same spot over and over. If the Daedroth had a heart, I was going to find it- the hard way. And then I felt the world turn underneath me and saw stars in the sunlit sky.

Some immeasurable time later, I became aware again, aware that I was lying on the ground, with a quarter-ton of dead reptile still clamped to my shoulder. As a fashion statement, I found it somewhat lacking, but the fact that the Daedroth’s jaws had frozen shut in death had probably saved me. The peg-like teeth had effectively plugged the deep wounds in my shoulder, preventing me from bleeding to death. Therefore, I swallowed several restorative potions to prevent blood-loss before working the haft of my mace between the jaws and prying them open. I hoped the boat trip to Solstheim would take a while- my armor needed major repairs, not to mention my battered body. But that was for later; I had yet to enter the shrine and put an end to whatever evil lurked within. A part of me felt that I had done enough and more than enough, that this was a job for a squad of Imperial troops instead of just one battered Agent. But…I was all there was. The reason this problem had gone unchecked for so long was precisely because there was no squad to deal with it. But just because I was alone did not mean I had to be foolish. I had no skill with silent movement, but perhaps I could do something with magic; this business of simply charging in with a shout and a shield was going to get me killed. With that in mind, I found a set of stone steps leading to the entrance and seated myself to recover a bit and to review my magical options. The few moments of rest were welcome, but my inventory of magic was less so. Because I had been so determined to become a swordsman- a knight, I had neglected to obtain much magical training, excepting a few spells from the healing arts. And I had not done any “adventuring for profit” either; which meant that I had not found many useful scrolls or enchanted items to help me in combat. In fact, all I had that might be of value was a scroll of Hellfire. I could only hope that would be enough to give me an edge.

The massive door opened silently at my touch; it was obvious that the cultists had spent some time oiling the hinges. Although I had to wonder why depraved Daedra-worshippers would bother with such maintenance, I nevertheless gladly took advantage of their diligence as it allowed me to enter the shrine unnoticed. The short entry hall was deserted, but the main chamber, dominated by a statue of Molag Bal, contained two Dunmeri mages. The pair walked a complex pattern around the statue, consulting ancient tomes and chanting in Aldmeris. I could not bring myself to launch an unannounced attack; the memory of the dead Breton was far too fresh in my memory. So I walked down the steps and called in a loud voice,

“I command you to stop, in the name of the Emperor!”

The closer of the two threw down his book and sneered in reply,

“Unfortunately for you, your n’wah Emperor isn’t here. That being so, I command you to die, in the name of Molag Bal!”

Considering that Daedra worship, especially worship of the god of rape, was a capital crime, the Dunmer’s response did not surprise me. Therefore, as the mage raised his hands to cast a spell, I read the words of my scroll, which worked quite nicely, not only scorching him, but also disrupting his attack. Meanwhile, his companion was also casting a spell, one designed to lower my ability to resist harmful magic, no doubt as a prelude to blasting me with a series of destructive spells. That might have been a problem if I had intended to get into a spell-slinging contest, but I knew my limitations- and my strengths. Therefore, I rushed the pair, using my shield to punch the left-hand mage off his feet and bashing the still-smoking caster on the right with my mace. The air crackled with magic for a few seconds, and then both Dunmer lay dead. Perhaps it was because I was still suffering from the earlier fight with the Daedroth or possibly due to the malign presence of Molag Bal, but I did not feel in the least apologetic or sorry for those new deaths. Carbo’s words regarding outlaws came to me in that moment, and I at last understood what he had meant:

“When someone decides to go against the Legion and the law, he might as well hang a sign on his neck, saying, ‘Dead man.’ Because that’s what he’s going to be, soon or late.”

Posted by: minque Jun 14 2008, 11:45 AM

Ok....a daedroth? Awesome..hehe those critters are so funny, just think about Baladas' tame one, who Serene once met!

Anyway the fact Athlain's wounds were severe, and the teeth sort of stopped him from bleeding out. Now that's interesting, and even more interesting is the kind of spell he would have to use to "heal" the wounds as the teeth are removed...hmmmm I wonder!

Will this be only the start of things to happen to him in Ashalmawia or will there be more?

Posted by: mplantinga Jun 16 2008, 03:44 PM

I really enjoyed this latest update. I felt like you did a superb job of making Athlain seem somewhat normal, in that it was a tough fight that he barely survived, and that only by luck. It was satisfying, for some weird reason, for the fight to be so tough; perhaps it seems more real to me that way. I've also enjoyed a look at Athlain's feelings on killing, even in the name of duty; it's good to know that causing death isn't something he wishes to do.

Posted by: RavenMind Jun 20 2008, 12:05 AM

Well I've just finished reading about Trey's adventures, and now his son's. I've just got to say, wow!!! Thank you so much Treydog for such wonderful stories! I eagerly look forward toward your next installments!

Posted by: seerauna Jun 29 2008, 03:23 AM

I've been reading the trey and athlain stories for awhile. All I have to say is that they are the best stories I've ever read here. Anxiously waiting for the next update. Keep writing trey!

Posted by: treydog Jul 13 2008, 01:02 PM

That is not to say that I was happy to be the “instrument of justice,” nor that the deaths of the Daedra worshippers did not bother me. They bothered me a great deal. A part of me wanted to shed my Legion uniform and my responsibilities and take the shortest path back home. And I knew that Mother and Father would take me back in, would not argue with me, would even be happy to have me with them once more. But if I ran now, I would forever after be-- diminished. I had left home because I felt constrained and limited by those who loved me. If I limited myself, I would never overcome it, would always be lost in my father’s shadow. If I wanted to be an adult, I would have to accept adult responsibilities, no matter how unpleasant. So I cleaned my armor as best I could and tightened the straps on my shield and delved further into the horror of the shrine of Molag Bal. But instead of more enemies, I found a mystery.

As I searched a small room on the east side of the main shrine, I found a note hidden in a crevice, the paper yellowed with age, the words written in a shaking hand, but still legible.

Sason my love,

I fear that I shall never see you again. The cultists have locked me away as they prepare for the ritual. If ever this note finds its way into your hands, know that I died loving you. Someone comes; I must hide this. May Stendarr bless you.

Malexa


My mind reeled- I knew those names. Sason and Malexa were members of House Redoran; a Redguard couple who often came to our home. They had an inexplicable reverence for my father- had even named their son after him, just one of the many children burdened with that distinction. As a matter of fact, they had been at my “welcome home” party…which meant that this note was from some event that took place long ago. I wondered what that event might have been- they certainly never spoke of it in my presence. But it was obvious that Malexa had made her escape or else been saved by Sason… or someone else.

As was so often the case, I had no answers, only more questions. But I was at least satisfied that the shrine was empty- for the time being. Short of destroying the Daedric edifice so completely that no stone sat upon another, there was little more to be done. Such an effort of demolition was beyond the means of the Legion or of any other group on Vvardenfell, even if they had been willing to try. And so, the Daedric prince would have a focus, a place from which to send out his insidious call, luring those with weak minds or weak morals. They would filter back to the shrine and perform their obscene rites. And eventually, someone else, driven by a sense of adventure, a sense of justice, or maybe just a sense of greed, would come and fight the dark god’s minions. It all seemed terribly pointless and terribly necessary. While I could wish that evil did not exist, wishing would not make it go away. And that meant that I would have a job for as long as I had strength in my body and a will to fight. I had been hammered in the forge of Ashalmawia; I would be quenched in the icy wastes of Solstheim.


Here Ends Chapter 4



Interlude 5


Contents of a letter posted from Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim (a part):

Mr. Beauchamp,

I have arrived on the island. I will make discreet inquiries, asking about strange aerial phenomena. Soldiers and sailors tend to be a superstitious and gossipy lot; I quite expect to hear something of the airship. I will have to await leave before I can begin the actual search.

Contents of a letter posted from Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim (a part):

Athynae,

I fear that my last missive was rather abrupt. Perhaps that is why I have not received a reply? Please forgive my inability to express myself in writing- I was taken aback by my sudden promotion and re-assignment.

Solstheim is quite different from home- there is snow on the ground, and even as I write this, more is falling…. I think you would find it quite lovely…

If the Legion and my health permit, I plan to do some exploring. There are certain to be some undiscovered sites.

Excerpt from the Prophecies of the Hunter:

The child of the blood of the hunter will come,
To contest with us in our fastness

The hunter’s treasure will become the prey
Mortal child of immortal sire,

Coursed by the true Hunter and his pack,
Red drops on white ground mark the meeting

Only one will remain.

Posted by: minque Jul 13 2008, 06:56 PM

Oh....! My my...So Sason and Malexa are acquaintances of the Trey-family? Great, now they're alive as well, that is you have given them life! Neat ending of chapter 4.

Now the prohecy in that interlude is creapy! Mortal son of immortal sire??? I have a pretty good guess who that is.

And yes Athlain you will get a reply....from Thyna, be patient sweetie!

Posted by: mplantinga Jul 14 2008, 07:57 PM

Here I will once again show my bias on author style by saying that I continue to enjoy Athlain's introspection, most especially his profound desire not to take life combined with his willingness to do his duty and accept responsibility for his actions. I agree with Minque that the prophecy is a bit ominous. I wonder to what extent that prophecy will set the tone for Athlain's adventures in Solstheim?

Posted by: Black Hand Jul 17 2008, 05:28 AM

Ahh. Sorry I missed this one Trey. The new subfourms overlap one another so its hard to tell when there is a new update. I liked it quite a bit, not quite the ending I was expecting, but thats a good thing. Keeps me on my toes.

I have my theories on Athlain, about the little clues that you are dropping along the way. Then again I had my theories about this shrine.

Posted by: treydog Jul 26 2008, 05:31 PM

Chapter 5


Of my sea voyage to Solstheim, the less said the better. I discovered that I was not a good sailor, and that even the gentle motion of a calm sea had an unfortunate effect upon my digestion. Therefore, I spent almost the entire transit hanging over the side, “feeding the fish,” as the captain so delicately phrased it. But even in the midst of my misery, I sensed the dropping air temperature and blearily noticed large chunks of ice in the water. At one point, while I was curled up in my cloak, trying to snatch a moment’s rest, a crew member remarked, “Horker.” I roused myself to respond to the perceived insult, only to see the sailor pointing ahead of the ship, to a sleek head that bobbed in the waves.

“Horker,” he repeated. “Means we’re getting close to Solstheim. Glad we didn’t have any weather this trip.”

Quite soon thereafter, we came in sight of a low smudge on the horizon that meant land. It grew steadily to reveal a rocky, ice-covered coast, and slopes dotted with trees such as I had never seen before. Even more welcome was the stone wharf and the Imperial fort that protected it. Almost before the ship’s lines had been tossed and tied, I staggered down the ramp to blessed, solid land. It mattered not that it was wind-swept, frozen, and battered with salt spray from the sea- it was land, and it did not move under my feet.

The first person I met on Solstheim was Basks-in-the-Sun, an Argonian who seemed even more troubled by the cold than I.

“All I ask for is a pair of boots,” he moaned through chattering teeth. “How hard could it be?”

It was an unfortunate fact that no cobbler or shoe-maker catered to the needs of Argonians or Khajiit. Partly, it was because their feet bore claws that made traditional materials problematic. But there was also an element of bigotry involved- most representatives of the “beast” races had been brought to Vvardenfell as slaves and they were still viewed as subhuman by most Dunmer. Even so, I had to wonder at the perversity of the shipping company that had assigned a fur-covered Khajiit to humid Vvardenfell and a cold-blooded Argonian to chilly Solstheim. My thoughts were more than idle speculation- I had a feeling the same sort of planning might involve me.

While I considered that possibility, Basks-in-the-Sun continued, speaking in a dry voice, interrupted by occasional shivers:

“Welcome to Solstheim, jewel of absolutely nowhere. It’s a miserable place, even for you warm-bloods. If you want to leave, I’ll be happy to arrange passage back to Vvardenfell. If you feel you must stay, speak with Captain Falx Carius in his chambers at Fort Frostmoth. He’s the commander here. Not a bad man, but he is a fool for remaining in this place.”

The Argonian huddled deeper into his cloak and moaned, “So cold, so cold…,” then went on, “If you are here about the colony, Carnius Magius is the man to see. You can find him at the Imperial Cult shrine.”

If I had been more experienced, I might have taken the time to make further inquiries about the garrison and its commander. But I still labored under the naïve certainty of youth. I was an Agent of the Imperial Legion- I had my orders, and I would carry them out.

Shouldering my gear, I headed for the fort, excited about this new opportunity and hoping to succeed. I could not completely suppress a slight thrill as I remembered General Darius’ words: “…might be a knighthood….” My happy daydream was soon shaken- the troopers I encountered were slovenly, unshaven, and surly. They showed no particular respect for my rank, not even saluting as I passed. Instead, they stood around in pairs or small groups, looking like nothing so much as a bunch of thugs considering the merits of starting a riot. But then, I was not yet in their chain of command; their rudeness could be overlooked for the moment. I couldn’t help recalling Carbo’s remarks about the rank of Agent- that it was “stupid,” which was the most polite thing he had to say on the subject. Possibly troopers throughout the Legion agreed with that assessment. And, in truth, I still felt too queasy to properly correct the troopers’ conduct. I had a feeling that retching in the middle of a dressing-down would tend to negate any disciplinary value. After entering the keep, I made a few false turnings, but at last reached Captain Carius’ office and made my best effort at a salute before handing over the sealed packet from General Darius. The Legion captain returned the courtesy, and then spent some moments studying me. He surveyed my uniform, complete with blood-stains- my own and those from the Daedra; my armor, still showing the tooth-marks of the Daedroth; and my somewhat greenish complexion. During his silent inspection, I subjected him to a more guarded review. In most ways, the commander was a typical Imperial, brown-haired and brown-eyed, with a round, somewhat heavy face. He also appeared as fit as one would expect from the commander of a fort. Gray hairs among the brown and deep lines beside his mouth showed that the burden of command rested heavily upon him. When he finally spoke, his distaste for my appearance was obvious.

“I asked for a competent sub-officer to investigate our problems, and this is what I get.”

He paused and then shook his head.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll fit right in. Welcome to Fort Frostmoth. Find a bunk and see about getting yourself cleaned up. Once you’ve managed that, report to me for your first assignment. Dismissed.”

Posted by: minque Jul 26 2008, 05:45 PM

QUOTE
“I asked for a competent sub-officer to investigate our problems, and this is what I get.”


Awww, what a "nice" welcome, Athlain being seasick and all! Well well that impy didn't know who he was addressing..haha. The legendary Trey's one and only son and heir!

I'm sure he will very soon take some serious measures..oh aye!

Posted by: Black Hand Jul 26 2008, 06:30 PM

We're finally on the frozen Island!! Yay!!

Posted by: mplantinga Jul 28 2008, 04:17 PM

“I asked for a competent sub-officer to investigate our problems, and this is what I get.”

This line was priceless. I'm sure that Athlain's appearance in that office was quite unbecoming an officer of his rank, even if "Agent" is a rather stupid rank for the Legion. Perhaps he won't have it too much longer, and he can get a more sensible rank.

Posted by: treydog Aug 24 2008, 05:35 PM

I feared that it was too late to correct the Captain’s first impression of me, but I had to make the attempt. Besides, I preferred cleanliness in my clothing and my person whenever circumstances allowed. Therefore, I spent several hours laundering my uniform and repairing the worst damage to my armor. I also managed to indulge in a hot bath- a luxury I had not had in some time. The only comfort I lacked was a good meal, but my stomach still seemed unsettled, enough so that I decided to abstain from food for the moment. Nevertheless, I felt restored enough to seek out the Captain and learn what orders he might have for me.

I found Carius in his office; the packet from Fort Darius open upon his desk. My improved appearance seemed to have some effect; my new commanding officer nodded his approval and was marginally less gruff. He rose from his seat and began to pace about the room, hands clasped behind him.

“So. Agent Treyson. Darius speaks well of you, and I trust his judgment. In any event, Fort Frostmoth has a problem. And, since I am the commander, that means I have a problem.”

He stopped to give me a humorless grin and added,

“And might you care to guess what that means for you- Agent?”

“That I have a problem, sir?”

“Good man,” he grunted. “Got it in one.”

He resumed his pacing. “The problem is low morale. This is a hardship post and most of the troopers here have managed to… ahhh… ‘step on their spears,’ somewhere else to get sent here. Add to that the weather, the isolation, and the local wildlife- and, well it’s no surprise that the men are unhappy. But that’s normal. Unhappy is something I can deal with. Lately, it has gotten worse. Enough worse that I’m concerned about a mutiny.”

He fixed me with a fierce glare and bit out the next words one at a time,

“That. Will. Not. Happen. Not on my watch.”

With a weary sigh, he sank back into his chair.

“I need to find the source of the trouble and fix it. Or rather, you need to find it.”

He paused to shuffle through the reports and papers General Darius had sent before giving me another probing look.

“Darius says that you are flexible and willing to take orders- even orders that you don’t much like. That’s good, because I’m about to do something that you won’t care for. I need someone who can talk to the troopers, gain their confidence. Because you are new, they might talk to you, but, then again, they might not, what with you being a sub-officer and all.”

Again, he gave me an unfathomable look.

“Athlain, I need you to pretend to be what I thought you were when you first walked in that door- a drunken disgrace to the uniform. And I need the men to feel like you are ‘one of them.’ So, I am going to demote you, which is standard practice for most of the ‘volunteers’ Fort Frostmoth receives.”

He held up a hand to stop the protest I had not voiced.

“It won’t be a real demotion- I will delay the paperwork. But I want you to walk out of this office as a trooper, not an officer, and looking like I just tore several strips out of your hide. I’m counting on you…do you think you can do it?”

I drew myself to attention, saluted, and said,

“Trooper Athlain Treyson, reporting for duty, sir!”

Then I removed my rank insignia, hunched my shoulders, and muttered in a low, resentful slur:

“Busted me back to trooper, all because I like a taste of brandy now and then. That’s not what I call fair.”

Captain Carius gave me the first genuine smile I had seen and waved me out of his office.

Whatever dreams I had entertained about service in the Legion, they had so far not been matched by reality. Even the fights I had been in seemed anything but glorious. The smugglers’ cave I could not remember… and Ashalmawia… I did not want to. And now, when I was on the verge of achieving knighthood, I seemed to be going backwards. Captain Carius had promised that the demotion was unofficial, simply a ruse…. But, what if it wasn’t? Everyone I had spoken with pointed out that Frostmoth was the basket for the Legion’s rotten eggs, its “problems.” Perhaps I was one of those problems, someone who needed to be quietly shuffled off to an out-of-the-way post where I would not cause trouble. Maybe the hierarchy was afraid to deal with me directly, concerned over how Father might react. If so, they did not know him very well. If I managed to get myself drummed out of the Legion, he would assume that I deserved it. Even though he detested the Empire and its military, he had an unyielding attitude about honor and responsibility.

If you take a job, you finish it. Even if you realize taking it was a mistake. You hold your honor in your hands; no one else can tarnish it or take it away. But you can, if you get a reputation for giving up or for not keeping your word. Learn from your mistakes; learn when to keep your mouth shut; learn how to say No. But finish what you start.

So it was that when I arrived back at my bunk, I ruefully took my freshly-laundered uniform and rolled it in the dust and dirt of the floor before putting it on. If I was going to be a disgrace, I should look the part.

Posted by: canis216 Aug 24 2008, 06:04 PM

Niiiice.

“Busted me back to trooper, all because I like a taste of brandy now and then. That’s not what I call fair.”

Priceless.

Posted by: minque Aug 24 2008, 09:41 PM

Oh yay! Athlain's back! Niiiiiiice!

A sweet quote:

QUOTE
“So. Agent Treyson. Darius speaks well of you, and I trust his judgment. In any event, Fort Frostmoth has a problem. And, since I am the commander, that means I have a problem.”

He stopped to give me a humorless grin and added,

“And might you care to guess what that means for you- Agent?”

“That I have a problem, sir?”

“Good man,” he grunted. “Got it in one.”


Gave me a good laugh!

But he better write to a certain young woman....she's expecting it....Ah she can write to him by all means though!

Nice Doggie!

Posted by: mplantinga Aug 25 2008, 05:35 AM

True to my usual preferences, I liked the introspection near the end the most. I especially liked the apparent quote from his father, and its obvious meaning to him. He takes his duty seriously, which is quite commendable. I'm sure it is not a coincidence (on the author's part) that his comment about being busted down to trooper included alcholol -- nice touch.

Posted by: treydog Sep 15 2008, 04:34 PM

If my assumed role was to work, it would require more than a soiled uniform and the appearance of bad hygiene. Fortunately, Carbo had trained me in other things than the use of weapons.

If you want to gain a man’s trust, have a drink with him. Most troopers figure anyone who will drink with them is all right. If you want him to be your friend, pay for the drinks. Always keep a jug or two of sujamma in your gear; it can be good for trading in a place where you don’t want to flash gold around. Besides that, it can knock the rust off your armor or disinfect wounds. Worst case, you can always drink it- although I don’t recommend that.

I had never acquired a taste for the raw Dunmer beverage, so the bottles I carried were full. I tucked one under my dirty cloak and went into the bailey to see if I could find the source of the trouble at my new station. Captain Carius’ talk of low morale and smoldering resentment confirmed the impression I had gotten when I first entered the fort. The clusters of Legionnaires still shivered in the cold, warming their hands around fire pits and speaking in low voices. Wanting to avoid a scene, I selected a trooper who stood off by himself. Forcing a smile, I said,

“Say Troop, where can a fellow get a drink around here?”

The Legionnaire gave me a scowl in return and muttered,

“Well, if you can find one, let me know. There ain’t a tavern here, nor a corner club, neither. Legion’s supposed to send a supply ship regular, but I haven’t seen a drop in a guar’s age. Let me tell you, I got a thirst- and not for that Nord crap, either.”

I motioned the trooper closer and said,

“I might have the cure for that. But take it easy; we don’t want a mob running us over.”

Then I let him get a glance at the crockery jug I carried. He wet his lips and said,

“That’s the real stuff? You wouldn’t be fooling a pal, would you?”

By way of answer, I cut the wax seal with my dagger and pulled out the cork, then passed the jug to the trooper. He sniffed the awful aroma rising from the open neck and a happy smile replaced his previous dark expression. He raised an eyebrow in inquiry and I said,

“Go ahead. In fact, keep the whole thing. I’ve got more.”

The thirsty Legionnaire needed no further encouragement- he took several massive gulps and then belched in satisfaction.

“Oh, that’ll fix what ails me for certain. You’re a trooper and a saint, friend. My name is Nathan.”

I took his hand in a warrior’s clasp and responded, “Athlain. Used to be an Agent, but I guess I’m a trooper now…. Carius broke me a couple of ranks- said it was normal for new arrivals. Listen, I’d really like to get my bars back and you might be able to help.”

I looked around carefully, as if to make sure no one was listening.

“I couldn’t help noticing that the garrison here is in a pretty foul mood. So what’s that all about?”

Nathan gestured with the sujamma in his hands.

“You seem okay, so I’ll tell you what I know. This here drink is the trouble. Or, more to the point, the lack of anything to drink. I heard from Antonius Nuncius that the Captain placed a ban on all alcohol at the fort. And, sure enough, there was none to be found.”

“Antonius Nuncius? Who’s he?”

“The Imperial priest. He's not bad, I guess, for a priest. You'll find him at the Imperial Cult Shrine here at the fort, though he keeps an office upstairs near the Armory. Could be in either place. Seems to understand us soldiers pretty well. He was telling me just the other day how it seemed unfair that the Captain had cut us off from the drink. He figures that's one of our few pleasures on this dung heap of an island.”

My mission was going well; the problem was the ban on drinking. Legionnaires were famous, or perhaps notorious, for their affinity for distilled spirits. It was a bit surprising that an experienced officer like Captain Carius had made such an obvious mistake as banning alcohol. But he would no doubt correct the error once I made him aware of it. I thanked Nathan for the information and headed off. Before I left, the trooper offered me the sujamma, asking,

“Sure you don’t want a taste?”

I shook my head and admitted that the sea voyage had not been kind to my stomach. My new friend nodded his understanding and said,

“Oh, I know how miserable a belly-ache can be. And the usual potions don’t seem to touch it. If it doesn’t go away, check with Carnius Magius, the East Empire Company man. He has a way with cures. You’ll most likely find him near the Imperial Cult shrine- he has an office there.”

The mention of potions reminded me that I been too preoccupied to even try a simple Cure Disease potion. Perhaps that would be all my stomach required. First, though, I needed to let Captain Carius know that I had found the root of the garrison’s morale problems. I climbed the stairs to his office, feeling my legs burn with the exertion. When I told him what I had discovered, he frowned and said,

“Hmmm...I imagined that the lack of alcohol might have some effect on morale, but I didn't ever actually ban it. Personally, I didn't even care about the alcohol; it was the priest, Antonius Nuncius, who was worried about the effect it was having on the men. I disagreed, but the question became moot: our shipments stopped coming in months ago. And more than that, I have a feeling someone is actively stirring up discontent. Speak with the soldiers a bit more, and see if you can find the source of the trouble.”

I was a bit disappointed that my first attempt at intelligence-gathering was not enough- but I could see the Captain’s point. The information I had gleaned so far indicated a “point of convergence”- the priest, Antonius Nuncius. According to the trooper, the priest had commiserated with him over the alcohol ban. According to the captain, the priest had insisted that alcohol be banned. Neither Nathan nor Carius had any reason to lie to me. But I was assuredly getting two different stories, and only one of them could be true. Although my instinct was to confront the priest immediately, Carius had told me to seek more information from the soldiers first, so I sought out another lone guard. Nathan had apparently shared my “gift” with this man, so he was more than willing to talk. When I asked him if the lack of refreshments was behind the low morale, he immediately confirmed it:

“That's right...no liquor at all allowed at Fort Frostmoth these days. Captain's orders, I guess. Odd, coming from him. Captain Carius seems like a fair enough guy, as long as we carry out our duties. Guess he figured we weren't up to his standards, so he cut us off. Since then, everyone's been in a pretty bad mood.”

When I asked him if anyone had actually heard Captain Carius announce the ban, he paused and ran a thoughtful hand across his scalp.

“Now that you mention it, no; not any of the troops, at least. Seems like the priest, Antonius Nuncius, was the one that told us. He said as how it was an insult to us troopers, and that he wouldn’t stand for such treatment. Really took our side. Said if it was up to him, he’d make sure every trooper got a drink.”

Posted by: Black Hand Sep 15 2008, 10:08 PM

Excellent! Nice to see you writing again Trey!

Posted by: mplantinga Sep 18 2008, 07:40 PM

Seems like a confrontation with the priest is likely to be imminently forthcoming. Athlain may have been able to befriend the troopers with a simple drink, but avoiding violence in confronting the priest may take a little more effort. I'm very curious to see how he proceeds from here.

Posted by: minque Sep 18 2008, 08:35 PM

Ahaha.....hilarious! Athlain lurking around in Fort Frostmoth with a bottle of Sujamma in his pocket!!! I too like the honoured Doctor wonder how he will proceed and how he will approach the mighty Priest.

As usual the you produce some really good work here, I read it with utmost pleasure.

Posted by: seerauna Sep 19 2008, 01:02 AM

I wonder what will happen from here. The priest will either take alot of cunning or some violence. At least that's what I think. I don't know how I missed for three entire days! Must of been asleep whenever I got on... sleep.gif

Posted by: treydog Oct 3 2008, 01:16 PM

Now that a second soldier had confirmed that it was the priest who was fanning the flames of discontent, I felt confident enough to return to the captain. I entered his office and saluted, then said,

“Sir, it grieves me to report that the Imperial Cult priest, one Antonius Nuncius, is promoting discontent and disobedience among the men.”

I expected the captain to thank me for my efforts and then order that the priest be brought before him. The Empire gave its commanders broad discretion in the discharge of justice, especially in the remote outposts. Instead, the silence stretched as Carius paced the chamber for several minutes. Finally, he seated himself and stared at the opposite wall. When he spoke, his voice was so low that I was not sure the words were intended for me.

“This troubles me. I wish for these soldiers to be the most excellent in the Empire, and I have long believed that one among them is poisoning the minds of the others. Perhaps it is a reflection on my leadership that this has occurred, but regardless it must end soon.”

He then pinned me with a stern glare and spoke more forcefully:

“If there's reason to suspect Antonius Nuncius, find the proof. If you feel you have it, confront the man himself. Then report to me. Let's do this right, Athlain.”

I must admit that I was somewhat puzzled by the captain’s reaction. It was obvious to me that the priest was the problem; surely Captain Carius could see that, too. Why wasn’t he doing something, taking direct action? Then I remembered another of Carbo’s lessons, a lesson on the difference between soldiers and officers.

Some people think the only difference is a matter of social status- peasants become troopers and nobles become generals. Sometimes that’s true, especially back in the heart of the Empire, where the soldiers don’t have to do much besides march in parades and collect tolls. But out here, at the sharp end, the officers have to think. A trooper can just charge right in, once someone has pointed him in the right direction. But an officer, a good officer anyway, has to figure out what the right direction is. He has to study all the angles and make sure before he commits himself- and his men.

And that was what Captain Carius was doing- he was studying all the angles. Right now, he had the gossip of some troopers- as passed on by a new sub-officer he did not know- me. Balance that against the status and power of a priest of the Imperial Cult, and it was awfully thin. Priests were usually from noble families- and they frequently had imposing political connections. If Nuncius really was stirring up a mutiny, it was a serious matter, serious enough that people could be hanged if it went much further. The captain needed proof before he acted, and he needed me to provide it.

I could simply confront the priest with what I had heard…. And he would deny it or claim that the troopers had misunderstood. Worse, he would be alerted to my interest, and I would be no further along. Nathan had told me that Nuncius maintained an office near the Armory; that was the most likely place to search for the proof I needed. If I was fortunate, he would be elsewhere when I showed up. If he was inside, I could make some excuse about needing counseling after my recent demotion. Perhaps he would let something slip that I could take to Captain Carius. Searching the office seemed a good plan- but for what would I search? The only villains who wrote carefully detailed and specific criminal plans were those who appeared in the pages of my youngest sister’s overwrought romances. I really did not expect to find a packet of papers labeled “Evil Plot Dry Fort, as conceived by Antonius Nuncius.” On the other hand, proof could take many forms- I just had to be perceptive enough to recognize it. I followed the corridors to the Armory and from there to Nuncius’ office, walking resolutely, as though I was on official business- which I actually was. The room was unoccupied, for which blessing I was grateful. It was a bare, sterile space, containing only a massive desk, a chair, and a cupboard, all made of rough lumber. The surface of the desk was littered with papers and books, none of which provided any clues. The desk drawers were locked, which was not necessarily suspicious. It did, however, present me with a problem.

Although my motives were forthright, I was uncertain about methods. I had never been good at misdirection or sleight of hand- nor had I ever practiced those skills. That was one point on which Father had been absolute. He had preferred that I not learn the use of weapons, but he had forbidden me from learning or using the arts and tools of the thief. His words were engraved upon my soul:

It is honor rather than “morality” that concerns me. Morality is what you do when you think someone else might be watching. Honor is a matter of being true to yourself and your values, whether or not anyone else is there to see. The day you steal, no matter the value of the thing you take, is the day you will feel the weight of my disappointment. I have lived with the name of thief for most of my life, and I deserve it. But I do not wear it with pride. It matters not that I have stolen nothing for many years; nor that I have performed other acts more notable. I will forever be known to some as “Trey the Thief.”

When I had set out to become an “adventurer,” I had known that I might have the need to get into- or out of- locked places. Since my abilities were more magical than physical, I had taken pains to learn a reasonably powerful unlocking spell. After all, there were reasons besides larceny to need to open locks. The spell should be sufficient for Antonius Nuncius’ desk, but only if-

If you ever stop dithering over the propriety of your actions,” a dry, familiar voice seemed to whisper in my mind.

With that thought, I shook myself and suited deed to word, speaking the command- Inviga- while touching the lock. A glow of magic briefly surrounded the desk and then I felt the drawer loosen under my hand. When I slid it open, it took me a moment to understand that I had, indeed, found the proof I sought.

As I had expected, the Imperial Cult priest had not been so foolish as to write down his plans and leave the incriminating manifesto where anyone might find it. But what he did have hidden in his desk was a truly astonishing assortment of alcoholic beverages- almost certainly the “missing” shipments from months past. As I reviewed the information I had gathered, the pattern became clear: Nuncius had first tried to convince Captain Carius to ban alcohol at the fort. When that failed, he diverted the shipments, all the while telling the troops that the lack was due to the commander’s orders. I now understood how the priest had incited a near-mutiny, but what I did not know was why. And only one person would be able to tell me- Antonius Nuncius himself. As I crossed the bailey, I considered how best to approach the plotting priest. After discarding a number of overly-elaborate schemes, I decided that simple was best- I would tell him what I had found and see how he reacted. Mother had often used that technique on my sisters- and on me.

Even if I had not known of his misdeeds, I would have viewed Nuncius with disdain. He was a heavyset Imperial, with a jowly face and rather ridiculous side-whiskers, which served to draw unfortunate attention to his dissatisfied mouth and weak chin. He greeted me with a perfunctory gesture of blessing and asked,

“How can I be of service, my son?”

His voice was of a piece with the rest of him- oily, overfed, and entirely too pleased with himself. That being the case, I dispensed with courtesy and got right to the point:

“You can explain to me why you have been fomenting rebellion and how it is you come to have stolen liquor in your desk.”

My words stunned him and his face went through a number of interesting transformations as he sought to regain his balance. He first attempted bluster,

“Well, I have no idea.... You've been in my desk? My desk? You've been in there? Why...that's an outrage!”

The effect was rather ruined as his tone rose to a squeak. Then the rest of my words caught up and he continued in a miserable mutter,

“Stolen liquor? I have no idea.... All right. Perhaps I have been hiding the alcohol. It was for their own good! And... I had hoped that if the soldiers got fed up and revolted, I'd be able to justify going home to my superiors.”

I waited a few moments to see if the man had anything else to say, then turned and left him standing there. On my way back to the commander’s office, I removed a selection of the bottles hidden in Nuncius’ desk and took them with me.

For what I hoped would be the final time, I reported the results of my investigation to Captain Carius. There might have been another choice, another way to proceed, but I was amazed by the selfishness of the priest’s actions. He had been willing to cause a mutiny, during the course of which people would almost certainly die…simply as a way to get sent home? The captain was as surprised as I- when I had finished detailing my findings and turned over the alcohol, he responded:

“You say that Antonius Nuncius started this whole thing because he wanted to go home? The twit! I could have had him reassigned, had he just asked me.”

He paused and thoughtfully rubbed his chin before continuing,

“Now, though, I think he might do his best work here, saving the souls of my men. With the new abundance of liquor at the fort, someone will have to deliver their salvation. Thank you for your help, Athlain. You did well.”

With those words, he presented me a silver sword imbued with magic, as well as three potions. As I thanked him, he commented,

“You look like you could use those. There are some diseases here that aren’t seen elsewhere and that are hard to shake. We have more fort business to discuss, but it can wait until you are feeling better. Dismissed.”

Posted by: canis216 Oct 3 2008, 07:57 PM

Very nice, Treydog. Funny--and so appropriate--how Trey would forbid his son from thievery.

Posted by: minque Oct 3 2008, 10:25 PM

Haha....so old Trey didn't want his son to go in his footsteps huh? Ah I mean thievery....Hmm very wise I'd say.

So he found his proof, well honestly I didn't expect anything else. The interesting thing is now about those diseases mentioned in the last paragraph, I wonder......yes I wonder.


Anyway its just so great to read about Athlain.....I like that boy, indeed I do

Posted by: seerauna Oct 4 2008, 03:50 PM

QUOTE(treydog @ Oct 3 2008, 07:16 AM) *

“You can explain to me why you have been fomenting rebellion and how it is you come to have stolen liquor in your desk.”

My words stunned him and his face went through a number of interesting transformations as he sought to regain his balance. He first attempted bluster,

“Well, I have no idea.... You've been in my desk? My desk? You've been in there? Why...that's an outrage!”

Haha! That made me laugh. Great update. I want more now!! Oops, uh I mean more please?

Posted by: mplantinga Oct 4 2008, 11:02 PM

QUOTE
Morality is what you do when you think someone else might be watching. Honor is a matter of being true to yourself and your values, whether or not anyone else is there to see.


Excellent update, as always. I particularly liked these lines, almost as much as I continue to enjoy Trey's almost palpable presence in this story about his son. It seems that Athlain has a very deep respect for his father, and has taken his wise advice to heart.

Posted by: treydog Oct 11 2008, 05:44 PM

As soon as I reached my bunk, I followed Captain Carius’ advice, downing one of the Cure Disease potions he had given me. Normally, the effect of such a curative is immediate; a sense of health and vitality infuses one’s whole being. But in that instance, all I felt was a fresh wave of nausea. I was not discouraged- potions can lose their effectiveness over time, or even go bad. Besides, I had brought along some potions of my own, which I knew were still fresh. After waiting half an hour, I tried one of my own concoctions- and achieved the same result. Given the failure of the potions, I was ready to try something else. Like all Imperial forts, Frostmoth had a shrine dedicated to the Nine Divines, the gods of the Empire. I made my way to the chapel, donated the amount of gold necessary to receive a blessing, and waited. As with potions, the effect of a blessing is usually instantaneous. Usually. Perhaps the gods recognized my lack of faith- I was not terribly devout- or perhaps they simply had more important things on their minds. In any event, the only response I got to my prayers was a fresh round of stomach cramps. When they passed, I decided that I must seek someone to help me. If I had been in Ald’ruhn, I would have gone to Serene, the greatest healer in all of Vvardenfell. But home was far distant, and I needed a solution right now. I could not expect assistance from the priest whose mutinous plot I had just exposed- he certainly had no reason to wish me well. In fact, I had probably made an enemy for life. Perhaps there was someone else.

I made my painful way up the stairs, stopping to lean on a table at the end of a corridor. There, another spasm seized me, so severe that I collapsed in a heap on the floor, taking the table and its contents with me. The resultant clatter was loud enough to cause a well-dressed Imperial to open a door to one side of the hall and look out. Upon seeing me, he curled his lip in disgust and said,

“Take your drunken carousing elsewhere, lout! How can I be expected to get any work done with you crashing about out here?”

But then he got a look at my face and his demeanor changed. He reached me in a few strides and helped me to sit up.

“It isn’t drink at all, is it? You’re sick and none of the usual cures have worked.”

That last was a statement rather than a question. He continued,

“My name is Carnius Magius and I have something that will help. It is an infusion of my own devising. It works best as a tea, but almost any transport agent will do. Come with me and I’ll fix you right up.”

Carnius assisted me to a chair in his office and turned to a small burner nearby. As he mixed and heated the tea, I asked him about the ingredients, thinking I would prefer to create my own potions rather than depend on someone else. His answer was somewhat oblique:

“As I said, the base is an herb tea made from bittergreen. But the key is to stop the cramps and spasms in the stomach and abdomen.”

So saying, he poured the tea through a cloth filter and handed me the cup.

I was desperate enough to try anything, so I took a cautious sip of the proffered drink. I grimaced at the taste- bittergreen was certainly the dominant component. There was another, more elusive flavor underneath, one that I did not recognize. Nonetheless, I downed the rest of the tea in a few swallows and handed the cup back.

The results were… odd. To the good, the painful cramps in my stomach eased almost immediately. For the first time since the ship from Vvardenfell had reached the open sea, I felt as if the prospect of my continued existence was a good thing. But with the relief came a strange lassitude. All the problems and worries that had occupied my thoughts receded and became of no importance. At the same time, I seemed to be more aware of myself, of my breathing and heartbeat. It felt almost as though I could enter my own body and study the systems and processes at first hand. Carnius Magius broke the spell by clearing his throat. When I looked at him, he explained that I might feel somewhat tired and that it would be wise to rest for some hours. I followed his advice and returned to the welcome sanctuary of my bunk. My sleep was filled with vivid dreams and a peculiar, detached euphoria. When I awoke some time later, the specifics of the dreams vanished, leaving me with the feeling that I had come very close to grasping essential truths about the nature of the universe.

For the first time in days, I felt rested upon waking. Better yet, my appetite had returned, and I breakfasted on kwama eggs and scrib jerky. My gratitude was such that I sought out Serjo Magius in his office and thanked him profusely. He accepted my praise and then raised a cautioning hand:

“Please be aware that the tea is not so much a cure as a treatment for the symptoms- a way to allow the body to heal itself. It would be wise to continue the infusion for another few days; once in the morning and once at night. I would also caution you to avoid strenuous activity during that time.”

When Captain Carius had reinstated my rank, he had also told me to take as much time as I needed to recover my health. With the morale problem solved, he felt confident that the routine at Fort Frostmoth had been restored. Therefore, I told the East Empire man, “I am in your hands.” At that, a strange, almost predatory look seemed to pass over Carnius Magius’ face, but was gone before I could be sure. With a shake of my head, I reminded myself that I was not at my best; that strange fancies and imaginings had bedeviled me since the previous day. I gladly accepted a fresh infusion of the tea, and spent the rest of the day walking about the fort and visiting the waterfront.

Whatever the cure contained, it was effective. I did feel somewhat light-headed immediately after each dose, and became somewhat anxious as the time for a new one approached. But I comforted myself with the admonition that those effects were to be expected when the body was repairing itself. The next several days passed without any notable incident- my dreams continued to be both vivid and elusive, and my health continued to improve. Then on the third day, as Serjo Magius handed me my morning medicine, he gave me a long, thoughtful look.

“Your recovery has gone well, Athlain. Therefore, I feel it is not too much of an imposition to ask a favor of you. I am, after all, a businessman; which means I like to see a return on my ‘investments’.”

He smiled at his metaphor and then lifted a paper from his desk,

“As you know, I am the factor for the East Empire Company here on Solstheim. As such, I have been given the task of setting up a colony and ebony mine at Raven Rock. The first workers have arrived, and they need a reliable escort to take them to the colony site. I have no doubt that you, as a Legion officer, will handle the assignment with speed and diligence. What say you?”

Posted by: canis216 Oct 11 2008, 06:27 PM

Ah, that Carnius Magius is crafty one. Athlain best be on his toes.

Posted by: treydog Oct 17 2008, 04:44 PM

I considered Magius’ request for a moment. It was true that my health had improved considerably, and that I had grown somewhat restless. A journey to the colony site would allow me to explore some of the island and to look for signs of the missing airship. And it was also true that I was in Serjo Magius’ debt- his tea had helped me when nothing else worked. For all of those reasons, I nodded firmly and told him,

“I would be happy to assist you.”

The East Empire factor clapped his hands together sharply and said,

“Excellent! I knew that I could count on you. Now, the men are good workers, but none of them are skilled with a blade. Go down to the dock and speak to Gidar Verothan, then escort the crew to the Raven Rock colony. Once you get there, find Falco Galenas. He may have some more work for you. I would consider it a favor if you would accept any small task he might require of you. I intend to see to it that the colony turns a profit. Safe travels.”

After a brief stop to put together a pack and gather my weapons, I walked down to the dock. I savored the scent of the air, a mixture of wood smoke, sea salt, and the evergreen forests that covered most of Solstheim. Once I reached the stone pier, I immediately sighted a pair of Dunmer standing with a lone Imperial. As there was no one else about, I quickly deduced that these three were the group I was supposed to escort. I inquired which one of them was Gidar, and the taller of the Dunmer spoke:

“That would be me, soldier. Why do you ask?”

“Carnius Magius asked me to take your party to the Raven Rock site. Are you ready to go?”

The dark elf nodded his assent and then pulled out a map showing the southwestern portion of Solstheim. A square labeled “Raven Rock” had been marked in red ink some distance to the north of Fort Frostmoth. The colony site appeared to be located along the coast, at the head of a long inlet or “fjord”. Once I had fixed the location in my mind, Gidar folded up the map and explained that we had a choice.

“We can walk- or we can take ship to Raven Rock. The only thing is, if we go by ship, you’ll have to pay the fare for all of us. Serjo Magius says he is here to make money, not to spend it.”

Although I had used up most of my ready funds financing Louis Beauchamp, money was not really a major concern. I could have afforded the fare easily enough; however, the fact was, I would rather fight a Daedroth barehanded than climb back on board a ship. We would be going overland. When I announced my decision, Gidar and his crew picked up their possessions and fell in behind me as I began the northward trek. The others introduced themselves- Gamin Girith was the second Dunmer; Sabinus Oranius was the Imperial. None of them had been to Solstheim before, but they had heard that the EEC would pay well for skilled miners.

In a short time, we had left the fort and all signs of civilization behind. It was for this that I had left home; a chance to walk over ground my father had never seen. Whatever deeds I accomplished here would be mine alone. Although the sky was overcast and the air held a chill, the ground was clear and dry. I was grateful for that, but wondered if we would encounter snow. What I should have wondered was why a party of two Dunmer and one Imperial, all strong and healthy, needed an escort for a journey of a few hours. And perhaps I should have wondered why Carnius wanted me to provide that escort. And I should have asked more questions about why everyone on Vvardenfell had referred to Solstheim as a “terrible place.” But, as happened all too often, I did not ask the right questions. If I had, the answers that were revealed might not have surprised me. But then again, if I had not done all of the things I did, I would not be the person I was. I leave it to others, wiser than I, to decide whether or not that is a good thing.

We had not traveled very far when I began to hear odd roars and howls which seemed to come from every side. Gidar and the others moved closer together and surveyed the scattered rocks and trees with uncertain eyes. I reassured myself with the thought that the sounds were generated by the wind in the tree-tops and the grinding of ice against the rocks of the shore. That doubtful comfort lasted only until I glimpsed shapes moving at the edges of my vision. When I turned to look, I saw only shadows. But the howls were closer and no breeze stirred the branches. I called a halt and drew my mace, concentrating fiercely on the shadowed patches. Now I began to catch sight of low, dark shapes ghosting through the trees, paralleling our course. We were well into the Hirstaang Forest, and I tried to remember if I had heard anything about it, other than the name. A snatch of overheard conversation came to me, and I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold. Two troopers had been talking about seeking treasure in the old burial mounds that dotted the island when a veteran interrupted them, saying,

“What you idiots will find is your own burial- in the belly of a wolf or a bear! The Hirstaang is full of them.”

And here was an uncomfortable fact, one that I had not given much thought. We all have fears, terrors that are not rational or reasonable, but that are very real. Some people fear the darkness- or what it can hide; some fear all manner of spiders and other arachnids, no matter how small; some- suffice to say, the list is endless. And I? What did I fear, who dreamed of being a true knight of the Cyrodiilic Empire, with blazing sword and shining armor? In my imaginings about my Legion career, I had acknowledged to myself that I might be wounded, might even lose a (nonessential) body part, perhaps a finger or two from my left hand…. And I had even had my courage and resolve tested at Ashalmawia, and found myself to be as brave as I had hoped. I had the physical and spiritual scars to show for my encounters in that Daedric ruin. But I had grown up knowing the beasts of Vvardenfell- nix hounds, kagouti, and alit. And I had been aware of the Daedric summonings. Terrible as they were, they were familiar to me, creatures whose dangers I recognized. But there were no wolves or bears on my home island. All I knew about those predators I had read in traveler’s accounts and adventure stories set in other parts of the Empire. And all those sources agreed on several points- first, these beasts were consummate hunters, able to follow a scent for miles; second, they feared nothing in the forest, not even men or mer; and finally, they would gladly devour anyone who fell to them, be he dead or still living. In fact, it was said, some of these creatures developed a positive preference for the flesh of men, and found them easy prey. And I remembered one of my most vivid recurring nightmares.

I was in a dark wood, where I was pursued by a howling pack. At last I fell, exhausted, no longer able to run. My heart pounded as if ready to break free from my chest, and my breath came in great, tearing gasps. Yellow eyes appeared from the darkness on either side of me. The howls subsided, replaced by low snarls and growls. I knew the wolves were communicating, planning their final attack. They need not have waited; I was unarmed, helpless. The moment stretched- and then they fell upon me, biting and rending. I closed my eyes, praying for the final darkness, the endless sleep…. But it did not come. I was being eaten alive.

And then something bumped into me from behind.

Posted by: minque Oct 17 2008, 10:52 PM

Eeeeeeeviiiiil! A cliffie!!!!!, it just can't be....treydoggie, I'll treat you with three pounds of doggiebiscuits if you please continue this, I really wanna know what bumped into his side.

Now I could imagine of course but I'd rather wait and see. Lucky thing Thyna doesn't know of this... wink.gif

Posted by: canis216 Oct 18 2008, 12:46 AM

Ah yes, the cliffhanger. Keeps stringing us along, addicts that we are... begging for more.

Posted by: treydog Oct 22 2008, 05:24 PM

I stifled a most unheroic scream as I realized that the impact to my back was one of the miners; the entire crew had crowded close as they noticed the shadowy shapes beneath the trees. Their obvious fear gave me the strength I needed to shove my own terror down into the darkness.

“If you all don’t mind, I need a bit more space to whip these curs back to their kennel.”

Gods, that speech sounded pompous even to me, but it had the desired effect; the workers edged a few feet away from me with nervous chuckles and some shuffling of their feet. Scanning the forest, I sighted a black wolf that had approached somewhat closer than its fellows. Readying mace and shield, I advanced on the creature, which responded by baring its fangs and crouching lower. In what must have been a fit of insanity, I threw my arms wide and shouted,

“Come and get me then, you skulking lapdog!”

I do not know that the wild animal understood my speech- but it certainly saw what appeared to be an opening. With a deep growl, the wolf launched itself, covering a good ten feet in a single leap. Instead of backing up, I stepped forward to meet it, swinging my shield across my body, and letting the gaping jaws snap shut on my steel-clad arm. Teeth that could have ripped flesh and crunched bone instead shattered on the forged armor. I did not hesitate, but brought my mace looping around to smash the stunned wolf aside. A couple of additional blows finished the beast, and I felt a triumphant surge in my blood. In fact, I was so euphoric at my victory that I wanted to howl myself- to send a challenge to the other members of the pack. But there was no need; the wolves that had paced us faded into the distance, and their voices grew fainter as they sought less daunting prey. Sabinus Oranius clapped me on the shoulder and let go a flood of words as reaction to his earlier fear set in:

“Oh, that was magnificent, sir! I thought you had lost your mind, I admit it. I thought you were done for, that you would be the main course, and we the dessert. I guess old Carnius knew what he was doing when he sent you with us, though.”

I made some vaguely polite acknowledgment of his babble and then said,

“We’d best be moving- the blood might attract worse monsters.”

In truth, that was the least of my concerns; I simply needed to start moving again lest standing still betrayed the trembling of my legs.

The rest of the journey passed without incident. When we reached a clearing ringed with boulders, an Imperial in silver armor approached and introduced himself as Falco Galenus. He directed the miners to some tents set up under the trees and then silently looked me over. I, in turn, examined the supposed “colony site”. There was little to see- a few shelters and some supplies constituted the whole of it. Beyond that, blaze marks on the trunks of several trees seemed to indicate the proposed boundaries. Whatever Falco thought of me, he kept to himself, finally giving a grunt that could have meant anything. Then he gave me a sharp glance and spoke:

“So Carnius talked you into joining our little venture, did he?”

There was a hint of something in his voice… sarcasm, dislike? But I did not know him well enough to be sure. The fact was I had little experience with Imperials other than my mother; Father’s antipathy toward them was well-known. I did not have the same facility for “reading” them as I did the Dunmer. And of course anyone could tell what a Nord was thinking. Best then to just ignore Falco’s tone and answer his question in a straightforward fashion:

“Yes, Serjo Magius asked me to escort these miners.”

To my relief, his answer was equally serious:

“Very well, I will be managing the site and answering to Carnius. Since you are here, I have an assignment for you, if you are willing.”

I recalled that Carnius Magius had requested that I accept any “small tasks” the site manager requested, so I nodded my assent.

“Good. Now that I have some workers to supervise, I need to live up to my job title. So you can finish the task I was working on before you arrived.”

He handed me a heavy, dark purple chunk of rock and continued,

“That’s raw ebony. It’s why we are here. Find me four more just like it. Carnius needs some proof for the investors that this venture is worth it, and the ore should do nicely. This is a good site, and you shouldn’t have any trouble. Carnius is in such a hurry to get started that he says he doesn’t really care where the ore comes from. I’m surprised he didn’t just bring some over from Vvardenfell. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

As it happened, I was quite familiar with the ore, since one of Serene’s first acts as head of Redoran had been to wrest control of the Caldera mine from the Hlaalu. Shortly thereafter, she had freed the slave laborers and brought in a paid workforce. Despite the higher cost of operation, the mine still made a better profit under Redoran control- the crippling corruption had disappeared along with the former Hlaalu management. Therefore, I was sure I could find the samples Falco needed. I was more troubled by his remarks and attitude toward Carnius; it felt like I had walked into the middle of an argument of long duration. And it was often the supposedly disinterested party who ended up getting hurt in those situations.

For now, it seemed best to simply carry out my assignment; I would be free of the EEC squabbling soon enough. After a quick look around the colony site, I espied some promising outcrops a dozen yards to the north. A bit of scrambling among the rocks and some work with my dagger were sufficient to acquire the ebony I needed. Of course, the raw ore was quite heavy, and I wasn’t sure I relished the idea of carrying it all the way back through the Hirstaang. And I truthfully did not care for the idea of making that walk alone- alone except for the wolves and bears, that is. But there was another alternative that would suit me. On my 14th birthday, Mother had given me an amulet that was enchanted to bring me to the nearest Imperial Cult shrine upon activation. There was nothing of a religious nature in the gift- she knew that I was already growing restless, and wanted to be sure I had a way out of whatever trouble I might find. Even better, Carnius Magius had his office near the shrine, so I would only have to carry the heavy ebony up a flight of stairs to be done with this job. I grasped the amulet and spoke the command word, feeling the familiar yet disorienting twist that came from teleportation.

When I arrived at the Imperial Cult shrine, I did a cursory inspection to be sure that all of my parts had completed the journey in the proper configuration. The Breton half of my heritage gave me an affinity for magic; the Imperial half tempered it with a major dose of skepticism. Carnius was in his office, frowning at some papers on his desk. My arrival did nothing to clear the clouds from his expression. Rather than spinning a long tale of my travels and my success, I simply displayed the raw ebony and waited for a response. Carnius’ frown changed to an even less-attractive sneer:

“Ah, so you have the ore I asked Falco for? He couldn’t even accomplish that much by himself, could he? No matter- the investors are waiting for proof, so hand it over. Here’s a couple of septims for your trouble.”

He carelessly dumped the ore into a cloth sack and handed me some coins, then turned back to his papers. When I did not immediately leave, he looked up impatiently.

“I don’t have anything else for you to do; come back in a few days once construction has begun. There might be something then. Oh, here. Take this stock certificate. It gives you a personal stake in the success of the colony. That will be all for now.”

He passed me a heavily decorated and sealed parchment, and waved a hand to direct me out of the office.

I was at a loss; he had previously treated me with courtesy and cordiality. And while I hoped to avoid becoming entangled in the obvious antipathy he and Falco held for one another, I needed to stay on good terms with Carnius. I cleared my throat and hesitantly inquired,

“Ah- Serjo Magius? What about the tea? I understand that you are a busy man, but… well, perhaps it was the teleportation spell…. Anyway, I am feeling a little nauseated and somewhat nervous. So if you could…?”

Carnius folded his hands on the desk and stared at me in an unfriendly fashion.

“Athlain, I told you before that I seek a return on my investments. It appeared to me that you had the potential to be useful to my efforts here on Solstheim. Therefore, I invested several days and some considerable resources in you. So far, I have profited from our relationship. The colony is about to begin construction, and I have the ore samples to show the investors. Well and good. But now, you seek an ‘advance’ in your pay, when you have done nothing to earn it. I find that disappointing. I am not without compassion, but even that has its limits. You see, the ‘medicine’ you require is expensive- and illegal.”

He reached into his desk drawer and produced a small vial, a vial whose wax seal bore the symbol of the crescent moon.

Here Ends Chapter 5


Posted by: mplantinga Oct 24 2008, 04:58 PM

Oh dear; it sounds like our dear Athlain is beginning to have a bit of a skooma problem (although I could be mistaken). I hope he realizes what's going on before it is too late.

Posted by: minque Oct 26 2008, 11:51 PM

O_o....now what? I must confess I didn't understand the thing with the tea....Is tea really illegal or am I totally lost here?

NM a most exciting update, Athlain is really developing himself and I'm so curious to learn how he will manage the conflict between Carnius and Falco..and who he will choose...later on.


A funny quote:

QUOTE
I simply needed to start moving again lest standing still betrayed the trembling of my legs.

biggrin.gif



Posted by: treydog Oct 27 2008, 03:01 PM

QUOTE(minque @ Oct 26 2008, 10:51 PM) *

O_o....now what? I must confess I didn't understand the thing with the tea....Is tea really illegal or am I totally lost here?

NM a most exciting update, Athlain is really developing himself and I'm so curious to learn how he will manage the conflict between Carnius and Falco..and who he will choose...later on.


A funny quote:
QUOTE
I simply needed to start moving again lest standing still betrayed the trembling of my legs.

biggrin.gif

Planty is correct as to what is occurring.... Sometimes, I am a little too cryptic. But...it will be explained in greater detail in Chapter 6- if I ever get to Chapter 6.

Posted by: The Bean Oct 29 2008, 09:16 PM

Ey'up Trey, just popping in to say I've read all of this through so far, and I must say I'm extremely impressed. Using Athlain as a character for the sequel to the story of Trey (which I've yet to read) is really rather clever, and you've managed to capture the feeling of his father's shadow hanging over him really rather well. Keep it up, old boy.

Posted by: Olen Oct 31 2008, 12:13 AM

I think I understand exactly whats happening and I like it! This is really good, I'll have to read Trey when I have a free few hours. Athlain is filling out as a chatacter well now and the story is moing along well, in fact it has been well paced throughout.

Excellent stuff - I want the next part now.

One question - is EEC meant to be a joke? Either way it made me laugh.


Posted by: treydog Oct 31 2008, 09:18 PM

Interlude Six



From the records of the Imperial Legion, Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim:

21 Frostfall- Granted indefinite medical leave- Agent Athlain Treyson.

A letter posted from Sarethi Manor, Ald’ruhn, Vvardenfell (a portion):

25 Frostfall

…don’t understand why you haven’t written. I know you are busy with your duties, but surely you have time to scribe a couple of lines…. You haven’t met someone else, have you? But no, you haven’t written your mother, either. Aunt Baria is worried- you really should let her know you are all right. Unless you aren’t…. Athlain, you have made a real mess of things. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m going to have to do something….

‘Thyna

A letter posted from Sarethi Manor, Ald’ruhn, Vvardenfell (a portion):

27 Frostfall

To the Honorable Captain Falx Carius, Commandant, Fort Frostmoth

Dear Captain Carius,
I am writing to inquire about the welfare of one of your officers, Athlain Treyson. He is a… friend. I know that the Legion does not normally discuss the business of its members with outsiders, but perhaps you would be interested to know that my mother is Serene, Head of Great House Redoran, and a former Knight of the Legion…. I am sure she would appreciate your assistance.

Yours truly,

Athynae Sarethi

A letter posted from Solstheim to Sarethi Manor, Ald’ruhn, Vvardenfell (a portion):

2 Sun’s Dusk

Mistress Sarethi:

You do not know me, Miss, and I would prefer to keep my name out of it. I know of you through Athlain, who would be upset if he discovered that I had contacted you. Still, I feel that I must. If you care for him, or know someone who does… well, he is in need of help. I will not commit to paper the nature of the problem, as missives can go awry.

Posted by: minque Oct 31 2008, 10:04 PM

Okey now, that settles it! Someone just have to go to Solstheim, that's for sure. Thyna will certainly want to rush off immediately, but....but she's raised by Serene and Athyn, and she resembles her father in mind and common sense. She also has a lot of her mother's compassion. Besides she's definitely in love with Athlain.

I wonder....I have a feeling she will make a trip soon...she'd better pack some really warm clothes though! wink.gif


Posted by: treydog Nov 3 2008, 07:23 PM

Chapter 6


In the years after the defeat of Dagoth Ur, much of the Empire fell into a- call it forgetfulness. Because one great evil had been vanquished, we relaxed our vigilance and grew complacent. On Vvardenfell, the Great Houses squabbled over territory and privilege, the Legion waged an endless war on smuggling, and the Temple lost its ascendancy. The people devoted themselves to the business of living, delighting in the fact that children once again played in formerly barren streets and houses. And no one gave much thought to the fact that there were other powers still abroad in the world, other evils both lesser- and greater. So much for the blindness of the councils and king, of the leaders who should have known better. This story is not about them- it is about me- and about my own failure. When I joined the Legion, it had nothing to do with anything so abstract as “fighting evil.” I enlisted to support the Empire, to uphold the Law, and- it has to be said- to annoy my father. Ah, yes, my father. How easy it would be to claim that what occurred was his fault. After all, he had destroyed the most serious threat of his time- he had become “The Hero.” And now, all of that was over; it was old news. But Trey the Hero still lived, so it seemed only logical that if there came a new threat, he would again take on his appointed role. Simple logic seemed to imply that a crisis required a hero. Therefore, no hero = no crisis. Unfortunately, logic and truth are not always the same thing. And the logical answer is not always the right answer. And perhaps even the gods could have taken lessons in stubbornness from my father. Maybe it is even simpler than that- maybe it comes down to the fact that that we can’t depend on our parents to save us forever. Why the dissertation on the nature of heroes and evil? Perhaps because reporting the events which next occurred is painful to me, and I would rather not. In truth, I would just as soon dispatch them with a short paragraph and move on. Or talk in abstract and meaningless terms rather than take responsibility for my own actions. But to ignore those dark days would also be to ignore the bright, shining light that relieved them; to ignore the courage, honor, and strength of another. That, I will not do. But I get ahead of myself.

I stared transfixed at the vial on Carnius’ desk as if it were a deadly spider. I knew what it was- no alchemist’s apprentice or Legion recruit could fail to recognize that plague in a bottle. It was the illegal narcotic skooma, and Carnius Magius had spent the last several days making sure that I was addicted. I was seized by a storm of conflicting resolutions- first, I reached convulsively toward my mace; next, I made an abortive turn toward the door; finally, I simply stood, staring at the man who had ruined me. He seemed to read each of my reactions as I might read the leaves of a book; a faint smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

“You are correct, young Athlain. Though you are angry, it would not do to kill me. How would you explain it? And it would be a grave mistake to report this to your Captain. After all, if you accuse me of possessing the drug, you will have to explain how it is that you know. And that would most probably end your promising career, not to mention your supply. So- your best option is to do nothing. You will survive the next few days, I’m sure. You need not worry that your illness will return- skooma taken in tea actually does stop the spasms and cramping. I discovered that fact quite by accident. I don’t use the drug, myself. But I find it to be- useful- in maintaining the loyalty of my subordinates. That will be all; you may go.”

The following days were something out of a nightmare, except that there was no relief, no awakening. My craving for the drug grew with each hour, causing me to feel alternately hot and cold, ravenous and nauseous, lethargic and hyperactive. If I could have concentrated sufficiently, I might have attempted alchemical experiments to alleviate the addiction- or at least its effects. But I could do nothing except lie sweating in my bunk or pace frenetically, gnawing on a loaf of bread. And I could tell no one of my troubles, not without completing my downfall. I could not resign and cast off the uniform I had dishonored, for fear of the questions that would follow. Nor would I abandon my post, to have my name forever blackened with the epithet “deserter.” I admit that, in the depths of my despair, I gave thought to casting myself from the curtain wall or into the sea, thus ending my misery. But I could not. As the idea took hold in my mind, it was as if a window opened before me, and through that window I saw visions of home- Mother working at her easel, a frown of concentration on her face; Father in his chair, setting aside his book with a welcoming smile; my sisters with their heads together, planning some elaborate prank. Even if I could never return to my family, I could still warm myself in the glow of their love, the knowledge that they still thought of me, alive somewhere in the world. Exhaustion at last overcame me, and I slept a sodden, restless sleep.

Early on the fourth day of my ordeal, a trooper brought me a note from Magius, requesting my presence. I considered the note, knowing that I had no choice but to go to him. And the craving climbed still higher, aware that it might soon be satisfied. But I could still exert some control over my life- if I must go, I would go as a man, not as a whipped dog. Through a supreme effort of will, I took the time to clean my clothing, bathe myself, and shave. If the delay annoyed my tormentor, so be it. I would not kneel and I would not crawl. But my defiance was bravado rather than true courage. It was a brittle sort of resolve, with little strength behind it. My hands trembled as I made my preparations, and my head buzzed with desire for the drug. When I was at last satisfied with my appearance, I walked slowly to the East Empire Company office and opened the door with a hand that shook only a little.

Magius was seated at his desk and I halted before him, resolutely ignoring the kettle that steamed on the portable burner at his back. He gave me a false, apologetic smile and said,

“I am sorry that you had to suffer through these last few days, but I wanted to be sure you fully understood our arrangement- and the consequences, should you become, ah- difficult.”

With that, he turned and poured some of the infernal “tea” into a large mug, which he then handed to me. Cursing my weakness and my need, I drank the contents down in a long, shuddering swallow and placed the empty vessel on his desk. I still avoided looking at his face, maintaining my gaze at a point on the wall behind him. Seeing that I would not speak, Magius sighed and picked up a piece of paper from his desk.

“I don’t actually have anything for you to do, but Falco seems to be having some sort of problem at the colony site. Doesn’t surprise me in the least. Go out there and see what’s going on. I expect you’ll have to deal with it, since Falco is obviously out of his depth.”

My second trip to Raven Rock was quite different from the first. My earlier excitement was replaced by a numbing depression. The chill breeze that had invigorated me a few short days before now seemed simply cold and the air smelled alien- an odor of old snow and decay. The Legion armor I had learned to wear almost without thought was heavy upon my shoulders, and I constantly adjusted the straps and fittings, looking for comfort that did not come. I almost hoped for an attack by wolves or bears, but those creatures kept to the trees. Perhaps my scent warned them away, filled as it was with death and black anger. I barely saw the terrain that passed beneath my feet, dwelling instead on my troubles. But my self-absorption was finally shaken by the changes that had taken place at the colony site. The frames of several buildings rose from the rocky ground, and one finished structure loomed against the clouded sky. Yet despite the evidence of industrious labor over the last few days, the workers now simply stood around, looking worried and a bit frightened. Falco leaned against a large tree, and his hair line seemed to have receded since I had last spoken with him. Still, he greeted me warmly, and my spirits rose a little at seeing a friendly face.

“Athlain. It’s good to see you again. I wonder if you might assist me once more?”

I returned his greeting and admitted,

“Actually, that’s why Carnius sent me.”

The normally cheerful Falco frowned and snarled,

“Confound it all; I had hoped he wouldn’t catch wind of the situation! I had things under control until a short time ago. It’s that crazy Nord, Hroldar the Strange, as we’ve taken to calling him. He’s been hanging around since we started clearing the site, ranting about how we’re ruining the land, and that if we don’t stop, we’ll incur the wrath of Nature itself. I have no idea where he came from, but I can’t have him spooking the workers. He was just a nuisance, but now it looks like we’re going to have to get rid of him.”

No matter how far I had fallen, I did not like the sound of that. I cautiously inquired,

“How exactly do you intend to ‘get rid of him’?”

Falco’s response was not reassuring. He replied,

“That’s where you come in.”

Posted by: seerauna Nov 4 2008, 12:01 AM

Yay new update! Poor Athlain. Carnius will pay for this! And 'taking care of' Hroldar doesn't sound like it will be fun either.

Posted by: minque Nov 4 2008, 12:05 AM

Beautiful....you really have managed to let us creep "under the skin" of Athlain, his thoughts his nightmares, his feelings are all so well depicted.

Now I can't wait to see how he will handle Hroldar.....

Oh and another thing just struck my mind, if he's somewhat addicted to skooma, what will happen when the first Nord offers him mead?? ohmy.gif

Posted by: Olen Nov 4 2008, 05:22 PM

This is great, you portray Athlain's conflicting needs and loyalties extremely well, I can't wait to see how all the internal (and external) conflict explodes. He's a really strong character, his reactions are just.. right.

Posted by: canis216 Nov 7 2008, 01:03 AM

This foray into Solstheim is inspiring. So inspiring, in fact, that I've been playing a bit o' Bloodmoon with you know who.

IPB Image

Posted by: mplantinga Nov 11 2008, 06:19 PM

I feel very sad for Athlain and the mess into which he has fallen. I do hope he can find a way to break his addiction without having to leave the Legion in dishonor. But more importantly, I hope he can put this skooma problem behind him before it has severe consequences for his physical and mental health. Addictions have a tendency to effect the people around you as well, and I don't want to see Athlain accidentally hurt someone he loves because of it.

@canis: Thanks for posting that screenshot. It's one of my favorite easter eggs.

Posted by: treydog Nov 15 2008, 07:55 PM

Falco either did not notice the reservations in my question or else chose to ignore them. And his muttered response did nothing to soothe my worries.

“I’m sure Carnius would want Hroldar killed. Anything standing between that man and his profits gets a death warrant, as far as he’s concerned.”

The colony supervisor shook his head in disgust and continued,

“But I feel sorry for Hroldar. It’s clear his own people have abandoned him- and I can see why. But my sympathy only goes so far, and he’s blocking the mine entrance. Don’t hurt him, Athlain; just try to talk to him. You’ve an honest face and a way with people. Reason with him if you can. If that doesn’t work, come back to me, and I’ll think of something else.”

I was only too glad to obey those instructions, and I reminded myself that not everyone was as ruthless as Carnius Magius. It was becoming hard not to see others through the distorted lens of the EEC factor’s manipulation; he held my future in his hands- and I knew he would crush me without a thought if it became necessary.

Meanwhile, there was the problem of Hroldar to engage me, and I looked forward to accomplishing a simple task. I had been blessed with the ability to talk to almost anyone- and it worked well when I bothered to exert myself. Better still, Nords were often simple folk, and this fellow probably just wanted a friendly ear. No doubt I could hear him out, all the while drawing him away from where he blocked the door. Such were my thoughts as I approached the great structure that housed the mine entrance. And then I got my first glimpse of the man I was supposed to persuade. Despite my youth, I was not a small man- I had inherited my father’s height, and Legion training had added muscle to my frame. But I felt like a child next to the figure that loomed in the doorway. For just a moment, I thought I had gone back to the days when giants had wandered the land. The man, if such he was, overtopped me by more than a foot. He was dressed in hides, and either they had not been completely tanned or else he was unfamiliar with the concept of regular bathing. Those impressions rushed in upon me as I moved closer- and then I saw his eyes. They were the ice-blue so often seen in those of Nordic blood, and reminded me uncomfortably of my father’s gaze when he was lost in memories of past events. They seemed to stare into some unfathomable distance, and gave the impression of a spirit haunted by burdens too great to bear. It was the pain in Hroldar’s eyes even more than his mighty stature that caused my steps to falter. But it did not matter; he had already seen me, and began to speak in a rumbling voice more suited to forests and mountainsides.

“You’ll not infect me with your devilry, Imperial. I am here to defend Nature, and I will do so at any cost. Now begone!”

After that pronouncement, he neither said anything more nor moved from the doorway. He paid me as much attention as a grazing guar does a wandering gnat.

I shrugged and returned to Falco, who was unsurprised by my report.

“He won’t move? Fine. I don’t have time for this. We can’t get any work done as long as he’s blocking the door.”

Falco tugged nervously at his hair and added,

“You have my permission to remove him physically. No weapons, mind you, wrestling or fists only. I want him to understand he isn’t to come back, but I don’t want him killed.”

I fought the urge to laugh hysterically and ask the colony supervisor if he had gotten a good look at the mountain of flesh and bone he had given me “permission to remove physically.” While he was at it, why not give me permission to relocate Masser and Secunda to more congenial positions? Still, I had to try. Partly, I had to make the effort because Falco was depending on me, but I had less admirable reasons, as well. If the mine stopped working, the Company stopped making money. And if the Company stopped making money, Carnius Magius would go elsewhere, leaving me bereft of my supply of the drug I hated- and needed.

I might have a chance against Hroldar, albeit a small one. He did not seem to carry any weapons- not that he would really need them- and Carbo had taught me some unarmed combat techniques. In fact, there was a type of hold, called a “sleeper,” that could render an opponent unconscious without causing any harm. I only hoped that I could apply the hold before the giant Nord squashed me like a bug. When I returned to the mine entrance, Hroldar had not moved, and he again greeted my arrival with contempt.

“Sent you to talk me out of this, did they? These devils won’t be so easily rid of me. Talk all you like, boy. The curse I place on you will be all the more painful for it.”

At that, I laughed. The laughter was from bitterness rather than good spirits. I wondered how this crazed Nord could possibly curse me any more thoroughly than I had already cursed myself. And my despair was fuel for my anger. I put all my resentment and loneliness and self-loathing into the hold I took upon Hroldar’s massive neck and shoulders. He did not fight back as I had feared, but roared his protest:

“I’ll not give in to you, you Imperial tick! Cease this violence before you bring death and destruction upon yourself!”

But I simply gripped him all the tighter, my steel-clad fingers clamped upon the nerve bundle to the side of his neck. Soon enough, the huge man went limp, crashing to the ground like a giant tree. I leapt away before I could be crushed in the collapse, and then recruited a couple of miners to help me carry the snoring madman beyond the boundary of the mining colony. I waited beside him as he slowly regained consciousness, shaking his massive head. He squinted a bleary eye at me and shook his head again.

“I don’t know what trick you used, Imperial, but I know when I am beaten. Give me a minute to collect myself and I promise I will leave.”

Falco met me as I came back to the mine entrance, and shook my hand.

“Good work. I appreciate your not being too harsh with him. Now things can get back on track, and not a minute too soon. Let Carnius know, will you?”

He reached into a pocket and produced a bag that made a pleasant clink.

“And here’s something for handling it so well. It’s not much, but I like to reward a man who can follow orders.”

Though I could always use some ready cash, the coins meant less to me than the praise- not that I could buy anything with either one on Solstheim.

And now it was time to return once more to my puppet-master. As I prepared to cast the teleport spell that would carry me to the Imperial Cult shrine, I paused. This constant shuttling back and forth was tiring, not to mention that I risked attack and injury from Solstheim’s unfriendly wildlife. More to the point, it was unnecessary. I drew out one of the paired amulets that had been hidden in my laboratory notebook back home, and contemplated the depths of the colored stone. My father’s gift would save me steps and time- if I used it. Holding the enchanted pendant, I found a clear area near the growing colony and made sure it was not intended as a building site. Next, I scribed a simple circle in the dirt with my dagger, and marked the elemental symbols for earth, water, fire, and air around it. Earth, to anchor the spell; water, to draw my physical being to the place; fire, to fuel the magic; air, through which I would travel. Such elaborate preparations were not really necessary; the amulet should function perfectly well without them…. But I was comforted by the ritual, and did not mind the extra time it took. It gave me the illusion that my life was still my own. I spoke the word that set the Mark, which meant I could use the Recall amulet to return instantly to this place. I still worried that all this teleporting might leave parts of me scattered in the Aether, but that seemed less daunting a fate than it had formerly, when my continued survival was something to be desired.

Posted by: minque Nov 16 2008, 11:42 PM

QUOTE
“You have my permission to remove him physically. No weapons, mind you, wrestling or fists only. I want him to understand he isn’t to come back, but I don’t want him killed.”

I fought the urge to laugh hysterically and ask the colony supervisor if he had gotten a good look at the mountain of flesh and bone he had given me “permission to remove physically.” While he was at it, why not give me permission to relocate Masser and Secunda to more congenial positions?


Hilarious!

Oh I liked the way Athlain "put him to sleep" very creative..hihi. But I'm a bit worried about his addiction to a certain drug.... Oh aye...

Posted by: treydog Dec 4 2008, 06:09 PM

For some reason, the continued growth of Raven Rock had done little to improve Carnius Magius’ mood. When I entered his office, he asked me in a tone just short of a snarl,

“Did you solve that incompetent Falco’s latest problem?”

My answer was a polite but unadorned, “Yes.”

Magius’ response was unsurprisingly hostile, and also revealed that he had at least one informant at the colony site:

“Too bad you didn’t just kill the Nord crackpot, but fair enough, as long as the work can continue. I don’t have anything else for you right now, and it will probably be a few days before I do.”

He abruptly changed his tone, giving me a smile of false sympathy, and continued:

“You’ve earned a reward in any event. It should make the next few days more bearable.”

With that, he produced a large, nondescript flask and offered it to me. And I? I took it.

Some readers of this narrative may wonder why, if I could go for days at a time without the drug, I could not simply free myself completely from its malign influence. The best answer I can give to those well-meaning folk is that they should pray that they never become enmeshed in the toils of an addiction. Skooma took over my life; it was the first thought I had upon waking, and the last before sleeping. I measured my days by the doses I took, promising myself that I would wait an hour longer, a half-hour longer that I had the day before. But whatever promises I made (and broke), however long I managed to hold out- I eventually gave in to the craving. For the simple, awful fact was this: I felt better under the spell of the skooma than I did when my mind was clear. The drug whispered to me in the hours of darkness, promising me a perverse relief from the guilt I felt at my weakness in taking it. There is more to say, but that is enough for now. Despite the fact that my addiction had become the center of my existence, events around me continued to move at their own pace, and I still had limited duties, including standing watches and interacting with the other Legionnaires at the fort. And there was one other task, a task I had nearly forgotten, that forced its way back into my befuddled consciousness.

Garrison duty, especially in a remote outpost like Solstheim, is largely a matter of mind-numbing boredom. Small wonder that the troopers looked forward to their daily allotment of alcohol to blunt the monotony. For another fact of garrison duty is that the two main pastimes are drinking- and talking. Many of the stories I heard in those days were of the sort you often get when soldiers gather together- tales of battles, of women, of fantastical creatures encountered, of fabulous lost treasures. And of course, most of the stories bore only an accidental resemblance to reality. But one cold evening, as the snow swirled and I walked the guard posts, an old sergeant warming his hands over a fire-basket glanced at the sky and noted:

“Not much of a storm- just a dusting. Not like that blizzard a few months back- the night I saw the dragon-ship.”

He stopped expectantly, and I knew the next step of this dance. If I wanted him to continue, I would have to ask… and I would have to offer him a drink. A crafty story-teller could make one tale last through the night- and through a good many bottles as well. So I handed over a bottle of flin and prompted the veteran:

“Dragon-ship? You mean like the reavers use? I’m surprised you could spot something that far out to sea during a blizzard.”

The trooper took a healthy swallow from the bottle and smacked his lips.

“Well, you see, that’s the thing. This dragon-ship weren’t on the ocean- she was flying through the sky.”

A jolt of memory went through me- a flying ship. It was the story of Louis Beauchamp’s flying ship that had first sparked my interest in Solstheim. For just a moment, I forgot my troubles and felt the return of my enthusiasm. I nearly danced with impatience as the story-teller took another drink and looked admiringly at the bottle. Finally, I blurted:

“A flying ship? Where was it going? What else did you notice?”

He finished the flin and set the empty down carefully, saying:

“Another dead soldier. You know why they call ‘em that, right? ‘Cause the spirit has gone out of ‘em.”

He cackled at his own joke and then took pity on me.

“She was headed straight into that blizzard, to the north, and she didn’t look any too steady. I’d be surprised if she survived the storm.”

North. Unfortunately, north took in most of the rest of the island. And I was still tied to the fort- and to Carnius Magius. Still, I kept the story of the flying ship in mind, and vowed to find some way to explore whenever an opportunity presented itself. That chance came much sooner than I expected.

I woke early- there was no real dawn- not on Solstheim in the dying part of the year. But my craving for skooma kept me from sleep, so I dressed, allowed myself a miserly dose of the drug, and went out to the bailey. I was surprised to see a new officer talking to the troopers, and felt a momentary spasm of fear that my condition had been discovered and that a replacement had arrived to take my place. The newcomer wore the uniform of an Imperial Champion and her armor was a silver flame against the dull gray stone of the fort. My concern was redoubled as I got close enough to hear her words:

“…a problem with moon-sugar, and I have been sent from Cyrodiil to investigate.”

That seemed to settle it- the Legion had brought in someone from outside to deal with me. I wondered if I would simply be allowed to resign in disgrace, or if I might be subjected to a court-martial and a prison sentence. It really did not matter; in some ways, it would be a relief to confess my failure. And maybe a few years in prison would give me a chance to break free of the addiction. So I squared my shoulders and approached the senior officer. I saluted and took the time to study her as I waited for her to return the courtesy. What I saw was almost an ideal picture of a Legion Champion- a picture I had once hoped to embody myself. She was a slender Imperial, with short brown hair and intelligent eyes. Her face was too narrow and strong to be beautiful, but had a vitality that was compelling. She introduced herself as Severia Gratius and nodded to me in a friendly way that I found surprising, given the reason I thought she was there. Her explanation quickly cleared up my confusion.

“Agent Treyson, isn’t it? Glad to meet you. You’re new at Fort Frostmoth, so I guess you haven’t heard. Over the past couple of months, several people across Solstheim have been poisoned… with moon-sugar. Someone has been slipping it into their food and wine. They experience temporary euphoria, and then complete exhaustion. I’ve been charged with finding the culprit and bringing him to justice. Recently, the Cult priest Jeleen was poisoned, so it is now an official Legion matter.”

She paused with a frown of fierce concentration, then continued,

“If it were just the locals, the Empire couldn’t be bothered. But now one of our own has been poisoned! Last week, Jeleen was stricken with moon-sugar euphoria after drinking some wine. There wasn’t anyone available locally to deal with the problem, but the Legion is getting impatient. So they sent me to investigate. We want the person responsible caught. I understand from Captain Carius that you’re currently unassigned, and this is just the sort of task that calls for someone with your rank and skills.”

She placed a hand on my shoulder and said firmly,

“I call upon you, as a loyal member of the Legion, to bring the poisoner to justice. What say you? Are you ready to honor your oath and serve the Empire?”

Posted by: mplantinga Dec 4 2008, 06:41 PM

Athlain just can't manage to stay out of trouble, and now he carried his own trouble with him. I wonder how his new addiction will impact his ability to carry out the upcoming investigation.

Posted by: Olen Dec 4 2008, 08:40 PM

Good stuff. It should be interesting to see how he deals with this...

Great to see another update.

Posted by: minque Dec 4 2008, 09:43 PM

Ahhh, most welcome! Now what Athlain? You surely will help Severia, right? Well that may do you good, you can't possibly be under the bad influence of skooma while performing a task for the Legion, can you? Oh aye, can't wait to know more....

Posted by: contureh Dec 11 2008, 02:49 AM

I can't seem to find chapter 3. Does anybody know where it is?
EDIT: Found it.

Great stuff Treydog. I only have to add this story to the mod now (as long as I find chapter 3).

Posted by: BSD-IES Dec 29 2008, 07:46 PM

Terrific, as usual. Is it my imagination though, or are we missing an update here compared to the official forums?


Posted by: canis216 Dec 29 2008, 07:48 PM

QUOTE(BSD-IES @ Dec 29 2008, 11:46 AM) *

Terrific, as usual. Is it my imagination though, or are we missing an update here compared to the official forums?


Not your imagination, BSD-IES. I've indeed seen a more recent update on the BethSoft forums.

Posted by: minque Dec 29 2008, 09:08 PM

WHAT??? oh my my.......that was most unfortunate! sad.gif

Posted by: treydog Dec 30 2008, 09:35 PM

Oops. I am a bad doggie. Did not mean to short-change my friends here at my web-home. Here is the belated addition:

I responded in the only way I could- I snapped to attention, gave a parade-ground salute, and declared:

“I am happy to be of service!”

Severia returned my salute and bestowed a smile upon me, then spoke formally:

“Excellent. You are a credit to the Legion, Athlain. I hereby authorize you to seek out, and if necessary, kill the person responsible for the moon-sugar poisonings. Jeleen was the most recent victim, and he actually caught a glimpse of the poisoner. It was a man, wearing a unique white Colovian fur helm. Bring me that white helm, and I’ll know justice has been served. Be sure to talk to Jeleen before you start your search. He is at the Imperial Cult altar.”

I saluted once more and turned away to seek Jeleen. Given my lack of religion, it was odd how many significant events of my tenure at Fort Frostmoth took place in or near the Imperial Cult shrine. It was almost enough to make me re-examine my unthinking skepticism. But a diversion into theology would have to wait- I had more pressing issues on my mind. My face was a picture of calm determination as I crossed the bailey, but my soul was in torment. As far as Champion Gratius and the Legion were concerned, I was acting as a dutiful officer, intent on following orders. I alone knew the truth of my motives, and that knowing burned like acid at my core.

Whatever my reasons, I needed to carry out my assignment, and so I sought the Imperial Cult altar, where I found a powerfully-built Redguard dressed in the robes of a monk. His face was lined with years and hardship, and some gray had begun to tinge his hair. Even so, his voice was deep and compelling when he asked me if I was in need of counsel or comfort. I longed terribly to shout,

“Yes, yes! Both of those. I am in desperate need of counsel and of comfort!”

But I stamped on that impulse with a ruthless heel, and said instead,

“I understand you were recently poisoned. Champion Gratius has ordered me to investigate the matter. Any information you can give me would be helpful.”

The priest nodded his understanding, and told his story as follows:

“Yes, I too was stricken with moon sugar euphoria. It was just last week, after a Cult service. I sat down to some wine, and moments later realized something was wrong. I am a law-biding man, Athlain, and have never experienced anything so...free, in all my life! The laughing, the dancing...it was horrible! And then, as I drifted off, I saw him. A strange man...old and frail -- certainly no Nord -- wearing a white Colovian fur helm. But even stranger was his silly song.”

I was uncertain of the significance of song, but decided to be thorough.

“Silly song?”

Jeleen shrugged and looked away before continuing,

“It's rather embarrassing, really. I mean, I was deeply affected by the moon sugar, and I'm not even sure I can trust my own recollections. But, well, I heard singing. It was a very strange tune, more like a nursery rhyme. Something you'd sing to a child, maybe. I only caught a little of it. Something about a workshop in the snow, and lanterns all aglow. And I remember something about candy. Oh yes, and there were lots of he he he's and ha ha ho's. It's all so absurd, I know.”

Beyond the vague description of the man and his memory of the song, Jeleen could tell me nothing more of value. But before I could leave, he stopped me with a hand on my arm, saying:

“Athlain, if you would be so kind, there is another problem I wish to place before you. I know it is an imposition, but… do you think you could find Mirisa for me?”

The request caught me by surprise, and I simply gaped at the priest for a moment, before asking, “Who?”

Seeming almost as distracted as I, Jeleen answered indirectly:

“She was headed north to preach the way of the Nine Divines. Surely she should have been back by now.”

Gathering my own wits, I spoke slowly and clearly-

“Who was headed north? And what is she to you?”

My calm disconcerted him even more than the admitted bluntness of my questions and he cleared his throat and looked around the shrine before responding.

“Mirisa. She means a great deal to me. That is, she...her work...is very important to the Imperial Cult. You are going to be exploring the island anyway, Athlain. If you could find Mirisa and return her to me, I would be most grateful. She left here over a month ago and headed north, toward Lake Fjalding. You should begin your search in that area.”


I considered Jeleen’s request briefly before agreeing. My decision was partly due to the real concern Jeleen expressed, but also because Lake Fjalding was as good a place to search for the moon-sugar poisoner as any other. Although the person the priest had seen was not a Nord, the island-dwellers might be able to provide information about his “workshop”. And that was information I was quite anxious to obtain. I would not be able to leave immediately, however; there were preparations to make. And those preparations depended on the whim of Carnius Magius. He would summon me when he needed something, not before.

I spent the interim in fruitless questioning of the garrison. None of them had seen anyone resembling the figure described by Jeleen, and I could tell that more than a few thought the priest was a bit addled. My efforts had another result, as well, one that was not necessarily welcome. The day after Severia Gratius had spoken to me, I received a summons from Captain Carius, requesting my presence in his office “at my earliest convenience.” That last bit of verbiage meant, “Why aren’t you already here,” so I wasted no time in seeking the commander. He greeted me in a friendly fashion and gave me a searching look before offering me a seat.

“I am happy to see that you are feeling better.” He paused and then cleared his throat, before continuing,

“Athlain, I understand Champion Gratius has asked for your help. Although I might have wished that she had consulted me first, Cyrodiil makes its own rules. And I expect that you will provide whatever assistance the Champion requires. Perhaps, in the course of your investigation, you could also look into a troubling matter which has recently come to my attention?”

Although, he phrased that last as a question, I knew an order when I heard one. Therefore, I responded without hesitation:

“How can I be of assistance, sir?”

He rose to pace his office, a habit I recognized as a sign of his agitation. Then he stopped and explained his concerns:

“I've noticed the store of weapons in the armory has been decreasing, and I know there is no official reason for it. My only guess is that someone is smuggling them off Solstheim to be sold on Vvardenfell. I want you to uncover this smuggling ring, and I will provide you with a bit of help.”

Of course there was no question of turning down the assignment, so I concentrated on a potential problem:

“Help, sir?”

He nodded vigorously.

“I would like you to work with another of my soldiers on this case. You have clearly demonstrated your ability to operate on your own, but a Legion officer also needs to be able to command others. It is past time you were given that opportunity. There are two soldiers available, and they are among the best here at Fort Frostmoth: Saenus Lusius and Gaea Artoria. You'll find Lusius in the General Quarters, and Artoria in the General Quarters, Upper Level. Speak with them and decide which will be your subordinate. When you have unearthed the smuggling ring, report to me. I leave how you deal with the smugglers to your discretion.”

I left the captain and took a few moments to ponder the joys of boredom, joys which I had so often disdained in the past. Now, I had almost more complications and excitement than I could rightly handle, and a definite feeling that I should have been more careful about what I wished for. Oddly enough, though, I actually required one more complication before I could proceed- an assignment from Carnius Magius.

Posted by: seerauna Dec 31 2008, 04:50 AM

Good doggie laugh.gif! Great update as usual. Funny that, although Athlain has more than enough complications he still needs one more to continue. I wonder what this help can offer to Athlain?

Posted by: minque Dec 31 2008, 12:38 PM

Yes indeed, good good Doggie! Wonderful to have another brilliant update here! Now I second seerauna here, does really Athlain need more complications? Well as usual the issues are drawn to him like they are magnetic...

He'll be fine I'm sure, but I hope he considers to get some help from his beloved ones.....

Anyway I'm happy to see this continued, Athlain has a special spot in my heart!

Posted by: treydog Jan 3 2009, 09:33 PM

Over the next couple of days, I made my preparations, ensuring that my equipment was in good repair and that I had the necessary supplies. I wanted everything in place so that I could move quickly once I solved the problem of weapons smuggling- and whatever task Carnius Magius gave me. I would be venturing into the wilderness of Solstheim and might be gone for some time. In fact, it was possible that I would not be coming back to Fort Frostmoth at all. In furtherance of my orders from Captain Carius, I asked around about the troopers he had suggested I command in the search for the smugglers. What I heard was encouraging, but still left me with a decision to make- which one would best complement my own skills. And more important, which would be most likely to survive.

Regarding Gaea Artoria, one of the more eloquent troopers said,

“She’s one of the most powerful soldiers here. Never seen her bested in combat, and her skill with weapons is legendary.”

A more typical response was- “Tough fighter. Short temper. She can be a bit thick, but there's no one I'd want more on my side in a fight.”

As for Saenus Lusius, the consensus was- “Smart as they come, that's Lusius. Everyone around here likes him, too. Real easy to talk to. Not the most handy guy with the steel, but he makes up for it in smarts.”

I would have to talk with both of them myself, and evaluate them using the techniques Carbo had tried to teach me. Fort Darius and Gnisis seemed terribly far away, and I realized with some amazement that I was actually homesick for those days when things were so much simpler.

At last there came the moment I had awaited with anticipation and dread- Carnius Magius sent a note demanding my presence. I did not waste any time, but went directly to his office. When I entered, he was in an even worse temper than usual, and grunted a terse greeting.

“Took your time getting here. Perhaps I should reconsider our arrangement.”

The first statement was a lie and the second was a threat- there was no useful response to be made to either, so I remained silent. Seeing that I would not be goaded, Magius moved on. He buried his hands in the stacks of paper that covered his desk and grumbled,

“The Empire floats on a sea of paperwork- or at least the East Empire Company does. Yet the lack of a single blasted sheet can bring everything to a halt.”

He gave me a flat –eyed stare and continued,

“Anyway, you can make yourself useful. It's a menial task, but it needs to be done. I've spent a great deal of money ensuring that supplies are delivered from the mainland, and I'd like you to go make sure everything is in order. The supply ship arrived this morning according to my schedule. Get me a copy of the shipping manifest from Falco, will you? On your way, then.”

He turned his attention back to his papers and I stepped out of the office, more determined than ever to free myself from his grip.

The good news was that it would take me less time than Magius supposed. I quietly congratulated myself on having set a teleportation mark at the colony site, a bit of information which I had neglected to impart to him. I was not certain why I had not told the Company man; it just seemed best to keep him in the dark as much as possible where my activities were concerned.

Once I had reached a deserted hallway, I activated the Recall amulet and was transported to the outskirts of the colony. The growth of Raven Rock had not abated in my absence- new storehouses and additional housing had been completed. Given the amount of money being spent on construction, I could understand why Carnius Magius seemed to be under so much strain. That knowledge did not make me like him any better, but it did provide some insight. As I considered these things, I sought Falco in his usual spot beneath the trees. If the pace of construction was having a negative effect on Magius, Falco seemed to be thriving on it. He gave me a cheery wave and called,

“Athlain! What brings you here? Just looking over our progress- or do you have a task?”

“Actually, Carnius Magius needs the manifest from the last supply ship- it should have arrived in the last day or so.”

Falco scratched his head in puzzlement.

“Shipping manifest? I'd give it to you if I had it, Athlain. But no ship has arrived; it may have something to do with the fact that Carnius never said anything about putting in a dock, so where would a supply ship land? I'm of little help; I've spent all my time making sure the construction proceeds smoothly, so I haven't seen anything. Check with the men; perhaps one of them can tell you more.”

I wondered if Magius had broken his rule against using the drug with which he had enslaved me- his control of the situation appeared to be slipping. But that did not matter. What I needed to do was discover the whereabouts of the ship. To that end, I located Gamin Girith, one of the Dunmeri miners I had escorted to the colony site. When I asked if he had noticed anything unusual in the last couple of days, the elf gave a raspy laugh.

“You mean besides the wolves and bears and other creatures that would like to make a meal out of us?”

He waved a hand in apology and continued,

“Not your fault, Athlain. I took on the job of my own accord; it’s a little late to complain now. As to your question, maybe I did see something, now that you mention it. Night before last, I saw a light off to the northwest. Thought maybe it was a reaver boat, or a raiding party or something, and I wasn't about to go check it out, but maybe it was our supply ship.”

There wasn’t much point in consulting Falco or Magius- either one of them would simply send me to investigate the sighting. That being so, I simply set out on a westward course, planning to reach the coast and then head north in hope of finding something- preferably before something found me.

The wind grew colder as I neared the sea, and snow swirled and blew in my face. I could only hope the inhospitable conditions discouraged the local wildlife as much as they did me. Fortunately, I was able to avoid any unpleasant encounters, and the snow stopped as I began my northward trek. Several miles up the coast I spotted a low shape rising from the rocky shore- it looked like a dismasted ship, driven hard aground and heeled over. Several figures appeared to be gathered on the ground below the wreck, and I wondered if they were members of the crew. But something in their movements made me cautious, and so I stayed under cover as I moved closer. It was well that I did so, for a gust of wind brought me a sudden unpleasant stench- a combination of frozen earth and rotting flesh. The figures’ shambling gait and emaciated form made sense- they were obviously some sort of undead. That suspicion was confirmed moments later, when they somehow sensed my approach and turned toward me with eyes that glowed like coals in the furnaces of Oblivion.

As the foul creatures turned their attention toward me, a rapid succession of thoughts crossed my mind. First, I now knew what had happened to the ship- that should be enough for Falco and Carnius. Second, dealing with the undead was a matter for priests or crusaders, and I was neither. Finally, I had no idea of the exact nature of these necromantic beings, and it was a wise adventurer who did his research beforehand, rather than charging blindly into battle. Pleased with the logic that proved me to be thoughtful rather than frightened, I prepared to activate my Recall amulet. And then I heard the scream.

Posted by: Olen Jan 4 2009, 07:34 PM

I'm loving this. You really draw the reader on, I want more now.

I like the storm just beginging to brew with the East Empire Company too, makes me wander which side Athlain wil take.

Posted by: Kiln Jan 9 2009, 11:50 AM

QUOTE(Olen @ Jan 4 2009, 06:34 PM) *

I'm loving this. You really draw the reader on, I want more now.

I like the storm just beginging to brew with the East Empire Company too, makes me wander which side Athlain wil take.

Nah, the right side of course. laugh.gif

Posted by: minque Jan 9 2009, 01:06 PM

Ufff! A cliffie! You just had to treydoggie, huh? Young Athlain have a knack for getting into trouble, like his dad, no doubt. I remember Trey once stating very clear that he did not like undead thingies, especially not to try to take things from them...hehe. So now let's see how Athlain copes with this situation. I gather he's not more fond of undeads than his dad

When is the next update coming up you think? it's not that I'll press you or anything...oh noes! wink.gif

Posted by: treydog Jan 9 2009, 09:19 PM

QUOTE(minque @ Jan 9 2009, 12:06 PM) *

Ufff! A cliffie! You just had to treydoggie, huh? Young Athlain have a knack for getting into trouble, like his dad, no doubt. I remember Trey once stating very clear that he did not like undead thingies, especially not to try to take things from them...hehe. So now let's see how Athlain copes with this situation. I gather he's not more fond of undeads than his dad

When is the next update coming up you think? it's not that I'll press you or anything...oh noes! wink.gif

Yes, he has definitely inherited his father's feelings about undead- as Trey once said "...they scare me."

I actually have about 2/3 of the next part written. Just need to add another page, run it past my "first reader", and it will be ready to go.

And here it is:

Having found the missing supply ship and discovered that it was beset by undead of a type I had never before seen, I decided that the better part of valor was to retreat and work out a plan- preferably while sitting in front of a warm fire with some mulled wine. Perhaps, if I were fortunate, formulating that plan would take long enough for the undead to go elsewhere. But then I heard someone scream from the direction of the shipwreck. I knew it was not the deep roaring of the undead, nor the sound of the wind in the trees. It was the scream of a human female. And knowing that reduced my choices to one- I had to attack. Just to make things better, the snow had begun again with renewed fury.

There were three opponents that I could see, and possibly others hidden by the blowing snow. The main thing was to keep them from getting behind me, so I edged as close to the icy water of the sea as I could. Undead were often tied in some way to the ground that held their graves, and were therefore reluctant to enter or cross water. And even if that restriction did not apply to these, I could always use a water-walking spell or potion to stay out of their reach. In the meantime, I gripped my mace and shield tightly to combat the fear that roiled my stomach. The creatures I faced were skeletally thin, but rotted leather and fur armor padded their forms. The fleshless skulls were not the usual ivory color of old bone, but seemed more a dark gray that absorbed what little light there was. And then the time for observation was over, for they were upon me. Whatever manner of creatures these were, they fought without weapons, using clawed hands and powerful kicks of their booted feet. Fortunately, they seemed quite unwilling to touch the water, and I used that advantage to hold them off. The icy water swirling about my feet was a reminder that I was not impervious to the cold, either. If my feet became sufficiently numb, I would be easy prey. I rather wished that I had attained my father’s skill with a bow; it would have been much easier to levitate or water-walk and turn these awful constructs into so many smelly pin-cushions. Instead, I spun and blocked and bashed, hammering them down in an efficient but inelegant manner. At last they were defeated, and I was no worse for the encounter. But there remained the mystery of the scream that had attracted my attention. Now, but for the wash of waves and the moan of the wind, there was silence.

No one moved on the deck of the ship, a shattered hulk which appeared to be good only for firewood now. Weapons ready, I moved toward the bow, which was driven deeply into the shore. There I discovered the body of an expensively dressed Bosmer. From the odd angle of his head, it appeared he had been thrown from the ship and had his neck broken when he impacted the shore. I continued my investigation, moving to the north side of the wreck, where I discovered the source of the screams I had heard. A young Imperial woman stood, backed against the planks of the wreck, the body of an undead sprawled before her. Hearing my steps on the sand, she suddenly shouted,

“Get away! Horrid things!”

She held up her hands in a warding gesture and pressed further back against the hull.

Now this was just the sort of situation I had imagined when I joined the Legion- a helpless young woman beset by evil creatures, with the gallant Athlain riding- well… striding… to the rescue. I put away my mace, removed my helm, and executed a low bow.

“Glad to assist you, milady. Athlain Treyson, Agent of the Imperial Legion, at your service.”

She recovered quickly and gave me a measuring look.

“Are they all gone? Have you defeated them? In that case, don’t just stand there; take me away from this awful place.”

As I struggled to keep up with her rapid manner of speaking, the woman picked up a cloth bag and started to walk inland. When I did not immediately follow, she stopped and glared at me, folding her arms and tapping her foot.

“What? I suppose I didn’t introduce myself? Very well. I am Apronia Alfena. Thrilled to meet you, I’m sure. Now can we go?”

I cleverly answered, “Go?”

“Well of course. I mean, you can't just leave me. No one would be that heartless. I'd freeze to death out here! I don't know what I was thinking, hitching a ride on a supply ship in the first place. Who appoints a Wood Elf captain of a ship? I should've known better. And then that horrible crash.... And now they're all dead, and the supplies are ruined, and I just want to get warm. Oh, please take me with you....”

My wits finally came back to me as I remembered Mae and Cai worrying that I would fumble any chance I ever got to rescue an elven princess. Mistress Alfena was not elven, nor did she seem to be a princess, but I was doing a spectacular job of fumbling the rescue. I cleared my throat and responded,

“I will certainly be glad to escort you to Raven Rock or to Fort Frostmoth.”

The not-princess gave me an engaging smile and replied,

“Oh, thank you! There isn't even any food left to survive on - most of the supplies are gone....”

Then she looked at me a bit doubtfully before adding,

“Well, I guess you should just take me to whomever your boss is. I mean, I hope you're not offended that I'm assuming that you're not the boss; it's just that people that tend to be bosses of things don't usually wander around the countryside looking for people to help. They send other people out to do that sort of thing, don't they? Hey, how come we're not going anywhere yet?”

Somehow the stories I had read did not mention the feel of icy water freezing inside your boots, the graveyard stench of the undead corpses strewn on the shore- nor the impatience of rescued damsels. Of course, in a story, I would have had a trusty horse or even a well-insulated carriage in which to whisk her away to a conveniently deserted hunting lodge. What I actually had were my own two feet, which were currently freezing and considering secession from the rest of my body.

I shook off my increasingly fanciful thoughts and told Mistress Alfena:

“Stay close; we’re going to move fast. I intend to avoid trouble if possible, but if it comes to a fight, stay out of the way. I’m a trained soldier, and I don’t need you crowding me.”

She made no response, but simply nodded briefly. We stayed near the shore- partly to avoid the wolves that haunted the forest, but mostly because it was the only way I could be sure of finding Raven Rock again. I was beginning to think we would reach the colony without incident when a great brown bulk rose from behind a pile of rocks and began snorting and snuffling. I reached out a restraining hand toward Mistress Alfena and said,

“Don’t be frightened. It’s just a bear. Probably looking for fish. If we move slowly, it should….”

That was as far as I got- the woman and the bear charged at the same instant, as if they were blood-enemies. With a muttered curse, I drew my mace and ran after the mad-woman. Before I could get to the bear, the damsel I was “guarding” drew a sword from somewhere and made short work of the grizzly. She at least had the good grace not to say anything; instead she cleaned her blade and replaced it in the scabbard hidden beneath her skirt. What I had taken to be a pocket was actually a slit in the fabric designed to allow quick access to a concealed weapon. As for me, I simply slammed my mace back into its loop and shook my head. It seemed as if every woman I met was better with a sword than I. I had a sudden memory of Athynae, practice blade in hand, laughing as she chased me around the training room at Sarethi Manor. The chill wind froze the moisture that came to my eyes, and I shook my head again, this time in regret. I gruffly told Mistress Alfena,

“We’d best get moving- the blood will attract attention.”

Posted by: mplantinga Jan 13 2009, 05:26 PM

The irony was delicious: he tells her to stay out of the fight, but she finishes it before he even has a chance to engage. If she is that good as a fighter, I wonder why she didn't take on the draugr herself?

Posted by: canis216 Jan 13 2009, 07:01 PM

Well, she did kill one draugr. Beyond that, I mean, they are undead, and nobody (save for necromancers) likes undead. Even Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun (who kills people for a living) generally avoids them.

Posted by: treydog Jan 13 2009, 07:30 PM

Yes, it was rather meant to be a commentary on several levels...(not to be too satisfied with my own cleverness or anything).

First, it is about the game's (necessary) NPC-foot-nailed-to-the-floor quests. They can fight, they can move, but they can't leave the spot until you invite them (sort of reverse-vampires, I guess)...

Second, every escorted NPC seems to attack everything in sight, even when the NPC is unarmed and the creature is ignoring them.

Apronia Alfena is a bit of a mysterious girl- she wants to reach Solstheim so badly that she takes a ride on a supply ship (with a Bosmer captain, no less). She is expensively dressed, carries a sword, has (apparently) defeated at least one Draugr. And yet...who is she and what is she doing there? Athlain, despite his recent experiences, is too naive to wonder.

Finally, just couldn't resist making Athlain come off as a bit silly (and throwing him a poignant reminder of Athynae).

Posted by: minque Jan 17 2009, 11:39 PM

Ah yes....that was amusing, I agree on the mystery Apronia....that one is quite som lady..hehe that Pronie! See how Athlain will handle her!

Soo Athynae did beat him back in the "old" days huh? that was most interesting, most interesting indeed!

More please??

Posted by: treydog Jan 19 2009, 05:01 PM

The rest of the mercifully brief walk to the colony passed in near-silence. The usually talkative Mistress Alfena kept her thoughts to herself and I too, had little to say. In truth, I was feeling a bit put upon and sorry for myself- but the real difficulty for me was the company of a young woman of Imperial heritage. She reminded me of my sisters and of my mother- and I realized how terribly I missed them. Nevertheless, when we reached the outskirts of Raven Rock, I still felt that it was only right to offer to lead her to Fort Frostmoth, which might be somewhat safer. Mistress Alfena gave me a look which I could not quite interpret and answered:

“Oh, don't be silly. You've already brought me here; where else would we go? I think I've seen quite enough of the woods, thank you, and one can only look at snow and rocks and dirt for so long before one decides she's seen enough to last her the rest of her life.”

When I started to protest, she smiled sadly and patted my hand, saying,

“Of course, I'm desperately trying to politely tell you that I'm not going anywhere else on the island; you do understand that, don't you?”

With that, she turned and walked away, stopping to talk to the miners and laborers, showing a polite interest in everything they pointed out in the new town. I felt an inexplicable sense of loss as I watched her departing figure, then straightened my shoulders and approached Falco. He gave me a wise look and said,

“I’m guessing you don’t have good news? Although it isn’t just anyone who can go into the howling wilderness and bring back a pretty girl….”

“Falco, I am afraid Mistress Alfena is all I brought back- and all that is left of the supply ship. I found it wrecked a ways up the north coast; she was the only survivor. And most of the supplies are ruined, too. There were some peculiar undead swarming around- I don’t think they had anything to do with the wreck, though. Probably just scavengers, attracted by the bodies.”

At each sentence, Falco’s expression turned more and more grave. When I ran out of words, he closed his eyes and leaned against a tree. Without changing his expression or posture, he spoke softly:

“Wrecked? Are you sure? Well, then there's little more that can be done. At least you saved the girl. I told Carnius it was a bad idea to take the lowest bidder, and that this was too important to not take seriously. Well, at least you've solved that mystery, Athlain. Thank you for looking into it; you just need to make sure word gets to Carnius. From your description, it sounds like those creatures you met were draugr. Never heard of them? Well, imagine an angry Nord. Now imagine a dead, angry Nord with a taste for human flesh. Get the picture?”


He opened his eyes and added, “We can get by without the rest of the supplies, but we were expecting some pick axes. If Carnius didn’t forget to order them, they should have been on that ship. And they probably weren’t damaged in the wreck…. Listen, Athlain, I know it’s asking a lot- could you escort a party back to the ship to collect any supplies that can be salvaged and bury the dead? I don’t feel right just leaving them out there for the animals.”

I glanced at the sun to gauge how much of the day was left, then promised to start at first light the next morning. I passed a chilly night wrapped in a blanket in one of the storehouses, and was happy to see the dawn. True to his word, Falco sent a couple of laborers with me, and we reached the nameless hulk without incident. The experienced miners made a quick job of burying the dead captain and crew in the rocky soil while I stood guard. As for the bodies of the draugr, I cut off the heads and threw the corpses onto a bonfire we built some distance down the beach. Although I was not given to strong religious feelings, I did believe that the dead should stay dead, and not get up from their graves to wander about. Finally, we loaded the usable supplies and made a fast journey back to Raven Rock. Falco thanked me for my efforts and gave me a heavy purse of gold. He explained,

“That would have gone to the captain of the ship- but he isn’t likely to complain. And we can’t make money if we can’t mine. If I don’t give it to you, Carnius will just find some way to waste it.”

There seemed to be nothing left to say, so I stepped behind a cluster of boulders and activated the amulet that transported me to the Imperial Cult shrine. Though I heartily despised Magius, it gave me no pleasure to bring him bad news. His reaction was a predictable scream of outrage:

“WHAT? It's gone? This is unacceptable! After the money I spent on this venture.…”

Then he stopped shouting and stared at the wall, as if some answer might be written there. After a long, uncomfortable silence, he turned back to me and spoke briskly,

“ Fine, fine. Another ship will have to be sent for. Well, don't just stand there; the longer I look at you, the longer I have to think about it.”

He then thrust a large flask of his special “tea” into my hands and waved me out the door, growling:

“ Just take this and go away. Come back in a few days.”

I had what I wanted; now all that remained was to discover who was behind the weapon smuggling and begin my exploration of the wilderness.

Posted by: Olen Jan 19 2009, 05:38 PM

Great stuff. Looks like things should get interesting soon too...

QUOTE
Although it isn’t just anyone who can go into the howling wilderness and bring back a pretty girl…

Excellent line.

Posted by: Rumple Jan 22 2009, 04:51 PM

Well, I came to Chorrol for something good to read... and I didn't have to look very hard before I found it!

Ok, so it's way past time I had some quality Treydog reading time. Although obviously I'm familiar with you and your works (who isn't?), I don't think I've ever sat down and read a whole story through before. And wow, was I missing a lot. I wish I'd done this years before.

First person narrative is so hard to pull off that I can't believe I've found someone who's done it without a hitch. The problem with first person is that while it gives a unique insight into the object's thoughts, it can often be difficult to stop it getting insular, and shutting out the rest of the world. Well, at least, that's why I've always avoided it... but you didn't seem to have those problems at all! Although we're seeing the world through Athlain's eyes only, there was no part in his narratives that made me feel cut off from everything and everyone else. I love the way you used clever plot devices like the interludes to interject a more omniscient viewpoint and catch a glimpse of what Trey is actually doing about Athlain's disappearance.

Another thing I'd like to mention is realism. I talk about it a lot in my reviews, but that is because it's so important to me, and I find that the best stories always have it in spades. Throughout this whole story, I was subtly aware of the fact that you're an awfully knowledgeable person in many areas, not only ES lore. Little things make such a big difference - for example, mentioning how the humid air of Seyda Neen is detrimental to keeping weapons in good repair; how adventuring is expensive and not always yielding; what ingredients are needed for poisoning, and what for cooking. Another big plus is that while Athlain's goal is to get to Solstheim, that doesn't happen for a long, long time. You can't just start off on an adventure and get from A to B in a matter of days. You need money, and preparation, and provision. The little details add such a lot, and people don't always give them the time they deserve.

I really like your description of Legion life. It reminded me a bit of Jon Snow's induction into the Black Brothers in A Game Of Thrones, or perhaps Arthur Penhaligon's training in Sir Thursday. Have you had any military experience, maybe? Your descriptions are so detailed that they indicate personal experience.

Your interludes are a masterpiece. I want to state right now that I had no idea we were using the same device - I actually have nearly exactly the same thing written myself, saved on my harddrive for a later chapter - an outtake featuring an exchange of letters. I promise I didn't take the idea from you! But your interludes are much more faithful to the real idea of them, which is to take snippets of information and use them to imply what's happening in the greater world. The humour you worked into the letters between Athlain and his mother, and the Imperial Legion Incident Form, were just wonderful. They were a joy to read.

There is a great tenderness, too, to the way you describe first love and the intense feelings that go with it. Athlain and Althynae have a very innocent connection. You can really feel it when he leaves her to return to Gnisis, and in the humour of her parting letter to him. Young love!

Your battle scenes are close and intense. The one that really struck me was Athlain's fight with the Daedroth. Your line, "And then I did what Carbo had taught me to do- I took the pain and I put into a box and I shut the lid." I found it to be very powerful. I also like the fact that you don't glorify battle. It is bloody, tiring, depressing and draining, and Althain'd exploits prove that you cant just kill someone and then forget about it, even if they are on the wrong side of the law.

All in all, I have really enjoyed reading this - demonstrated by the fact that I have just sat for four hours and read the entire thing tongue.gif I'm really looking forward to the next installment. Thanks for sharing!

Posted by: treydog Jan 23 2009, 05:33 PM

Such a thorough and thoughtful review deserves a response- and I do love the sound of my own voice (keyboard?)- so... in no particular order-

I had the idea of using the "documentary interludes" long before I actually started the story; in fact, I had written the Seyda Neen handbills, the Legion report, and the East Empire recruiting poster as much as a year before I sat down with the first narrative text. My approach has always been to write whatever I know is going to be in the story immediately, then work out how to get there later. The Legion report is a bit of an homage to Pratchett's Night Watch books.... As far as the device of using letters to provide expository material, I would hardly claim that as my original concept- I know of at least a couple of fiction books that consist entirely of correspondence between the main "characters".

Realism, even in a fantasy setting, is very important to me. I prefer to play characters that have to plan carefully and use skills/resources wisely to survive. Being able to kill anything with one hit gets dull very quickly.... And, if I want people to believe in my characters, I have to provide believable situations....

I have always liked first-person narrative- when it is done right. In my original story, you can definitely see some Raymond Chandler influence. It can be limiting- only one character gets to have a real "voice," but that just means I have to write dialogue that reveals the others.

No personal military background- my dad was a sergeant in WWII, and I have known several folks who served. I borrowed shamelessly from their stories and turns of phrase.

Thank you for your kind words and now let's hope we start seeing The King and I posted here....

Posted by: minque Feb 1 2009, 11:36 PM

After such a thorough comment from another professional writer, what can I say? More than I agree with her...completely

Posted by: treydog May 2 2009, 10:05 PM

While I had been off at Raven Rock, I had spent some time considering which of the troopers I would recruit for the smuggling investigation. On the one hand, Gaea Artoria was said to be a top-notch fighter- and my own martial skills were still only middling. Having a strong right arm could make the difference. But Saenus Lusius was friendly with most of the garrison, and could probably find answers quickly, and speed was important to me. Besides, it was possible this mission could be accomplished without fighting. I could not control the length of time it would take to find the moon-sugar poisoner, so I needed to save steps anywhere else I could. Therefore I crossed the bailey to the general quarters and asked for Saenus. One of the guards pointed me toward a bunk, where a young trooper was repairing his armor. I took a moment to study him before I approached. What I saw was encouraging. As his name had implied, Saenus was an Imperial, but his red hair hinted at Breton blood. He was not much older than me, and had an open face, with laugh lines around the eyes and mouth. In short, he looked like someone with whom I would get along well.

When I introduced myself, he stood and saluted in a competent but not overly formal fashion. I waved aside the salute and shook his hand. Saenus gave me a grin and explained,

“I find it’s usually best to observe the courtesies when dealing with a new officer. Most of them are friendly enough, but every now and then you get one who seems to think he’s the Dragon himself. So, Captain Carius said you might want to talk to me- what’s the situation?”

“It seems that someone is smuggling weapons out of the fort- probably to sell on Vvardenfell. The captain wants us to find out who it is and put a stop to it.”

Saenus nodded slowly. “Yes, the smuggling ring. Captain Carius mentioned something about that. I would be glad to join you. Though I'm admittedly not the most handy with my blade, I believe I can help.”

I clapped him on the shoulder and said,

“I can’t think of anyone I would rather have along.”

Saenus picked up his weapons and said,

“Excellent! Gaea will have to handle the other work the captain assigned us, but she won’t mind. Of course, if it comes to a fight, she’ll complain about not getting in on it. That trooper surely enjoys cracking heads- I think she must have some Nord in her.”

I motioned him to walk with me, waiting until we were out of earshot of the rest of the guards. Then I said,

“Saenus, I’m new here and don’t know my way around. That’s one reason I chose you. How do you suggest we start?”
Saenus again gave me that engaging grin and clapped his hands enthusiastically.

“We should speak with some of the troopers here at the fort. A motley bunch, to be sure, but some of them are fair soldiers. I've developed quite a rapport with a few, in fact. Why don't we begin by speaking with Zeno Faustus? He's an interesting character- and he works in the Armory.”

Together, we crossed the bailey to the Armory, which was housed in a separate tower and could serve as a strongpoint at need. Of course, on this day, the doors were unlocked and open, allowing air- and soldiers- to move freely through the structure. I entered the Armory itself with Saenus at my heels. Once inside, I spent a moment looking with longing at the bright swords arrayed in racks along the walls. In spite of all of Carbo’s training, I still felt regret that I would never be a swordsman. But I set that dream aside and looked instead at the beefy Imperial who sat scowling at a ledger opened on his desk. He ignored my presence until I ventured,

“You are Zeno Faustus, the Armorer?”

He gave an annoyed grunt and replied, “What is it you want? Unless you’re a new recruit, which we never get at Fort Frostmoth, you should have all the gear the Legion says you need. You won’t get as much as a single arrow from me without an authorization.”

Throughout the surly speech, Zeno never looked up. My response certainly got his attention, though.

“I am glad to hear you say so, since what I want is to find out who is smuggling weapons out of the fort- and where they are taking them.”

The burly armorer slammed his ledger shut, reared up, and fixed me with a glare. Then, noting my rank insignia and, even more, Saenus standing behind me, he deflated and sat back heavily. A few moments passed in silence as he ran a calloused hand over his scalp. Finally, he spoke in a quiet voice:

“I see you're with Lusius, so I figure you must be okay. Listen up. I overheard some of the soldiers talking about a place, the Gandrung Caverns, a bit northeast of the fort. Something about weapons being stashed there. I didn't want to know more than that. Maybe you should check that place out. But if you find them, you'll have to kill them...unless you can find some other arrangement. And one more thing- you didn’t hear it from me.”

I had a feeling Zeno probably knew more than he was saying, but the information he had provided was enough to get on with, so I exited the Armory without comment, beyond a wave to Saenus to follow me. Outside once more, I arched an eyebrow at the young trooper. He understood my unspoken question immediately, and responded:

“I think we have what we need. Zeno wouldn’t give bad information. He’s about as friendly as a grizzly with a hangover, but he won’t lie. If he didn’t want to tell, he’d have just closed up.”

He looked thoughtfully toward the gate. “Gandrung isn’t far from here. It’s a cavern, but the Nords have used it for hundreds of years. Hope you don’t mind getting your feet wet- it’s on a little arm of the sea. Of course, that makes it perfect for smugglers- boats can come right up to the entry.”

I shouldered my pack and started for the gate. If Saenus was curious about the fact that I seemed to be carrying more equipment than was necessary for our assignment, he managed to keep it to himself. The more I learned of the Imperial trooper, the better I liked him. I regretted that we had to meet just as I was preparing to leave Frostmoth, but I was learning that life is seldom fair. With Saenus in the lead we soon found the entry to the cavern. The doorstep showed signs of recent traffic. I waved for silence and carefully set down all my extra gear. Then I leaned close and whispered,

“This is just a job- not a matter of honor. Watch my back, don’t charge ahead, and don’t get yourself overmatched. If we work together, we should be able to handle anything we meet.”

I had half-expected to surprise a sentry near the entry, but we found nothing beyond the overlapping tracks of Legion boots. Perhaps the phrase “bad soldiers” had more than one meaning. The architecture of the man-made sections was noticeably different from the few tombs and caverns I had entered on Vvardenfell. The shoring timbers were massive and built in such a way as to resemble Nordic trilithons. Wood fires burned in stone basins spaced along the passage, giving a smoky, flickering light that threw dancing shadows on the walls. Saenus and I were tense as we walked side by side deeper into the cavern. We stayed silent, communicating with gestures- the penalty for smuggling was death, and we weren’t going to be providing warning. Carbo had been blunt on that point during our first patrol out of Fort Darius-

“These characters know they’re headed for a long drop- they aren’t going to surrender. So if you want to yell, ‘stop, in the name of the Legion,’ or ‘you’re under arrest,’ do it after the fight is over. Because if you announce our presence and get me killed, I promise I will come back and kick your sorry backside.”

After a dozen steps, we encountered our first opponents- a pair of giant rats. Our coordination was good, and the rodents died without giving so much as a squeak. My confidence was buoyed as we turned into a side passage on the left- perhaps the smugglers had abandoned the cavern. If that was the case, we could recover whatever equipment remained and I could get on with my plans. That wishful thinking ended when a figure in Legion armor rounded a corner and immediately attacked with an axe that glittered with malevolent magic.

Posted by: Olen May 3 2009, 01:25 PM

I'm glad to see this is still going. I like it.

Can't say I really have any comments, its quick moving and flows well and I want more.

Posted by: canis216 May 3 2009, 04:52 PM

Back! Excellent!

Another really enjoyable update to this fine tale.

Posted by: seerauna May 3 2009, 05:30 PM

There's nothing I can say that hasn't already been said. Enjoyable update, hope Athlain doesn't get in too much trouble this time!

Posted by: minque May 3 2009, 11:50 PM

Athlain my dear! glad you found a friend to accompany you in your forthcoming task...

I'll keep my fingers crossed, you bet! wink.gif

Posted by: treydog May 4 2009, 09:39 PM

It was a kind of "place-holder" update, after a too-long absence.... Just had to do some stuff to move the story forward. I think the next one will be more satisfying... at last I hope so.

Posted by: mplantinga May 5 2009, 03:57 PM

"Place-holder" or not, I really enjoyed this update. It was nice to see Althain interacting with Saenus; I really appreciated the detail you put into that trooper's personality. I especially enjoyed the quote from Carbo; for some reason, it made me laugh.

Posted by: treydog May 9 2009, 06:23 PM

Saenus and I split up, forcing the rogue Legionnaire to make a choice as to which of us he would face. The fight was difficult- it quickly became clear that our opponent was more experienced than either of us. But he still had only one axe and one shield. I discovered that the axe was enchanted with a paralysis charm, fortunately one with a short duration. I took a few painful wounds, but in the end, the enchantment worked against him- he managed to strike me a glancing blow and turned to face Saenus, who was menacing him from the right. As his concentration left me, the magic holding me frozen wore off. Rather than try to strike a decisive blow myself, I bashed the axe aside, leaving Saenus with the opportunity to put his sword through a gap in the smuggler’s armor. He fell with a gasp and lay still. Saenus flipped the fallen man’s helm off with the tip of his sword and contemplated the corpse.

“Well, well. Mus Roscius. I always knew you would come to a bad end. And if you’re here, that probably means….”

He stopped for a moment and then said, “I shouldn’t speculate- after all, I could be wrong.”

We treated our wounds and waited to see if the sounds of fighting had attracted any attention. No one approached us, so we moved deeper into the cavern. Eventually, we found a stone ramp leading down, guarded by a few more rats of the four-footed variety. At the end of a side passage was a small chamber with a roughly-built wooden platform. Based on the barrels and chests, it appeared to be a minor storage area. The containers held some provisions and an assortment of armor, but nothing of any real significance. Remembering the feeling of helplessness that had overcome me when I was paralyzed during our most recent fight, I sorted out some willow anther and shared it with Saenus.

“Try to swallow the powder before we get into close quarters,” I said. “It’s not as good as a potion, but if we aren’t up against a paralysis enchantment, it won’t hurt. And if we are, it might keep us alive.”

I had just closed the last chest of stolen goods when a voice shouted,

“You have found your grave.”

I turned to see a Redguard clad all in shining steel armor, except for his peculiar helm. It looked rather as if a skeletal bear was trying to swallow his head. Although the man was clearly a warrior of some skill, he did not immediately attack, but spoke the words of a spell. His fluency and speed showed that he was no stranger to the use of magic. As a sputtering ball of electricity sped toward us, Saenus and I finally shook off our surprise and dove to opposite sides of the chamber. Even though we avoided the worst effects of the spell, it brushed both of us, and I felt my muscles spasm in reaction. The warrior did not hesitate, but spoke another enchantment. A clannfear appeared at his command; however, it was behind him in the narrow passage and could not get past. I used the moment to struggle to my feet and wave Saenus back as I charged, hoping to reach the battlemage before he could invoke another spell. I knew that trying to fight an accomplished caster at long range was a formula for certain defeat, unless one had magical protection or immunity. The only hope was to keep him off balance so he could not concentrate well enough to complete the words and gestures needed for his spells. Those thoughts on fighting against magic-wielders prompted another idea, and I stopped to swallow a potion along with the willow anther powder. And then I was within reach of the axe my enemy handled with obvious dexterity.

He struck the first blow, and I felt the bite of the blade- along with a peculiar sensation as if something had struck me and rebounded. Which indeed it had. The potion I had imbibed gave me a temporary chance to reflect hostile magic back upon the caster. So it was the Redguard who stood paralyzed, victim of the enchantment on his own weapon. I wasted no time, but smashed him repeatedly with my mace. I ignored the clannfear- the Daedra reptile could not easily reach past its summoner, and I knew that killing the Redguard would dispel the creature. By the time the self-inflicted paralysis wore off, Saenus was at my side. Together we kept the mage from casting any more spells, and were also able to block most of his attacks. When he collapsed at last, the clannfear disappeared with an unhappy squawk- returned to its native Oblivion. Saenus identified the dead Redguard as a man named Sorian, and confirmed that he was a battlemage.

“I recognize that trollbone helm. He hung around the fort for a while, playing dice and drinking with Mus… and some others. Then, when the booze ran out, he disappeared. From what I could tell, he was a mercenary- for sale to the highest bidder and not too delicate about the nature of the work.”

The next two smugglers we met were Orcs- the first I had seen on Solstheim. I had learned a great deal about the green-skinned, warlike race while I was at Fort Darius- or so I thought. The difference between an Orc who is your comrade and one who has gone rogue is the difference between a big puppy and a rabid dire-wolf. They have superficial similarities, but the important facts are these: the rogue Orc wants nothing so much as to kill you… and he is superbly equipped to attain that desire. It was fortunate that we came upon them one at a time, else our survival would have been doubtful. The sword-wielding natives of Orsinium again had weapons imbued with paralysis charms; worse yet, their strength and skill meant the wounds we took were more severe than those dealt by Mus and Sorian.

Nevertheless, in each case, the fact that Saenus and I could support one another, could provide crucial seconds for recovery, kept us alive. When the second Orc had fallen, we leaned wearily against the cavern wall, breathing deeply and giving the restorative potions we swallowed time to work. When I had recovered enough to speak, I panted,

“Still...glad…I picked you…’stead of Gaea Artoria?”

Saenus just flicked his sword to one side to clear it of blood and grinned at me.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for anything. If we live, I might get a promotion. Better yet, I’ll probably never have to pay for another drink on the strength of this story. Two Orcs defeated by the valor of Legion arms- and the talents of Saenus Lusius!”

His grin grew wider.

“Of course, I will try to mention that you provided a bit of help, here and there.”

I would treasure that moment of light-heartedness- it was the last I would experience for some time.
After taking a few more minutes to recover, we explored further, coming at last to a chamber piled high with crates. Seated on one of the crates was a large Imperial wearing Legion armor and holding an axe casually across his knees. His brown hair was speckled with gray, and his nose showed the broken blood vessels of a heavy drinker. When I went into a defensive stance, he heaved himself to his feet with a sigh and said,

“Wait. There’s no need for that. My name is Gualtierus Spurius, and I don’t want any trouble. I see you’re working with Saenus, and everyone at the fort knows he’s a reasonable fellow. Maybe we can make a deal.”

When I did not respond, he licked his lips and continued,

“It’s like this- I’m in this racket for the money. Since my little operation here is a bust, I’ll just get off the island and leave all the weapons behind. You let me go peacefully and don’t cause any trouble with Carius, and I’m gone. I’ll even give you this nice axe as a little bonus for keeping my name out of it. Carius will never miss me and I’ll just disappear. Ask Saenus- he’ll give you good advice.”

I risked a glance at Saenus, whose normally cheerful face was an expressionless mask. Suddenly, I was very tired. Tired of so-called “adventure,” tired of fighting, tired of deceit, tired of Carnius Magius and his damnable “tea.” Most of all, I was tired of myself. I had just waded through a sea of blood, dealt death to people who wore the same uniform as I did, been grievously wounded…. And now this sorry excuse for a soldier wanted to offer me a bribe- a “nice shiny axe,” so I would let him go. And what if I did? What did it matter, that a few moments go, he would have cheerfully buried that self-same axe in my head? If I let him go, it would save me having to kill him, free me of the burden of another death. And, if he was true to his word, Gualtierus would leave Solstheim- and set up shop somewhere else, where some other wet-behind-the-ears Legion officer would have to deal with him. I glanced once more at Saenus’ youthful face, still wearing that wooden expression, and I made up my mind. I spoke none of my thoughts, simply turned back to the smuggler and said,

“No, I don’t think so.”

And then I hit him as hard as I could.

The fight was short and brutal and did not make me feel any better. I doubted that anything ever would.

When it was over, as I bound my wounds, I spoke to Saenus:

“You disagree?”

He looked uncomfortable, then finally said,

“It’s not the way I would have handled it, but the job’s done, right?”

“Yes, but it’s more than that. I suppose I could have let him go- what’s one more smuggler? After all, Vvardenfell is infested with them. So maybe it doesn’t matter. But there are those dead men, Mus and those others. They should matter, to me if to no one else. And someone has to take responsibility for them. You can argue that they knew the risks and took their chances, but Gualtierus was their leader. He was responsible- just like I would be responsible if you got killed. It’s not enough to call yourself the boss and give orders; a leader has to hold himself accountable. Or someone has to do it for him.”
I stopped and waved a vague hand,

“Don’t worry about it. I just make speeches when I’m tired. Look, I’ll clean up here. Please go back to the fort and let Captain Carius know of our success.”

Saenus may have seen something on my face, because he looked at me closely and said,

“Very well- if you’re sure….”

I sent him on his way and gathered the stolen weapons, after which I stripped the smugglers of their Legion gear. They had dishonored their uniforms, and I would not have them wearing them when they were buried. And what of me? Was I not also dishonoring my uniform with my addiction? I knew the answer, and so I carefully removed that which I had fought so hard to earn. As I shed each piece, I remembered the day it had been issued. Tears fell from my eyes as I quietly recited the litany- “Greaves, steel, left and right, one each…” Finally, I stood in my own clothes, holding the scarf Athynae had given me. I moved to place it with the armor, but I could not. She had given it to me, to Athlain, not to Agent Treyson of the Legion. I wrapped the token carefully about my neck, at once comforted and bereft by the faint scent of perfume that still clung to it.

Solstheim was a dangerous place, though, and it would not do to go unprepared into the wilderness. Therefore, I put together whatever bits and pieces of the smugglers’ loot would fit me and picked up the enchanted mace I had brought from Bal Isra. Saenus seemed to be in no hurry to return, so I took a moment to write a note to Captain Carius and another for Athynae. These I placed atop my uniform, and then I left the cavern, pausing at the entry only long enough to pick up the rest of my equipment. Shouldering the burden, I turned my back on Fort Frostmoth and walked north and east, into the forest.

Posted by: canis216 May 10 2009, 01:44 AM

Oh, wow. Rather rash of him... but then he seems to have thought about this a lot, hasn't he?

Posted by: Olen May 10 2009, 12:49 PM

Ooooh, I didn't see that coming. Certainly not, but equally it's completly believable and in character, in fact now it's happened it's not a surprise. Genius.

A most enjoyable part, as ever, and the story moves on... I like this, a lot. Great to see it fully revived.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard May 10 2009, 01:49 PM

Well that was unexpected, but as Olen said, in keeping with Athlain.

A good part here Trey, and a realistic description of the fighting, but this part rankled me slightly.

QUOTE(Tredog)
I wasted no time, but smashed him repeatedly with my mace.

A mace is a big spiky ball with metal bits on it. It is heavy. It is extremely hurty. One blow to face would surely be enough to simply smash that Redguard's brains out through his skull, and even with armour chances are his ribs would shatter. The fact that he survived even a few blows doesn't seem realistic, and 'repeatedly' strikes me as more than one or two. Mace+person=dead.

IPB Image

Posted by: treydog May 10 2009, 04:59 PM

QUOTE(Colonel Mustard @ May 10 2009, 12:49 PM) *

Well that was unexpected, but as Olen said, in keeping with Athlain.

A good part here Trey, and a realistic description of the fighting, but this part rankled me slightly.

QUOTE(Tredog)
I wasted no time, but smashed him repeatedly with my mace.

A mace is a big spiky ball with metal bits on it. It is heavy. It is extremely hurty. One blow to face would surely be enough to simply smash that Redguard's brains out through his skull, and even with armour chances are his ribs would shatter. The fact that he survived even a few blows doesn't seem realistic, and 'repeatedly' strikes me as more than one or two. Mace+person=dead.

IPB Image

First, thank you for reading and commenting. As to the fight, I tend to agree with your analysis. What happened was, Athlain was really underpowered for that mission, and I had to struggle to keep him and Saenus alive. In game mechanics, paralysis really does "freeze" the player character or NPC for some duration. In "reality" one could then simply cut the paralyzed victim's throat = end of fight. I may consider fiddling with the paralysis effect in my story and make it more like a major "slow" spell- reactions and movement are impeded, but not completely locked.... In any event, it is certainly a place where my desire for realistic portrayal of combat and the game's magic system are in conflict- and I did not even notice.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard May 10 2009, 05:23 PM

The paralysis worked fine for me on that front, after all Mus would have been too distracted by Saenus to finish off our hero, but it was just the bit with the redguard surviving multiple mace blows.

Posted by: treydog May 16 2009, 05:04 PM

Interlude 7


A note addressed to Captain Falx Carius, Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim (undelivered):

Sir:

At this time, I wish find it necessary to resign my commission as an officer of the Imperial Legion. I am aware that this is highly irregular, and I apologize. Nonetheless, circumstances make it impossible for me to carry out my duties in a professional and exemplary fashion. Please inform Champion Severia Gratius that I will do all in my power to discharge my orders from her as regards the moon sugar poisonings.

Respectfully,

Athlain ap Baria Treyson


A note addressed to Athynae Sarethi, Sarethi Manor, Ald’ruhn, Vvardenfell (undelivered):

Athynae:

You have been a friend and more than a friend to me, and it pains me to write this letter. I had hoped that we might… illegible

…not the person I should be, nor a fit person for you to know. So it is that I bid you a fond farewell and ask that you remember me as I was, not as I have become. Find…illegible… you happy.

Illegible….

Athlain

Report on the Attack at Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim, Vvardenfell District, Morrowind (a portion):

Appendix D: Casualty Report

Killed: None
Wounded: Champion Severia Gratius, Guard Nathan Linnaeus
Missing: Captain Falx Carius, Agent Athlain Treyson

Posted by: minque May 16 2009, 11:54 PM

OMG....Now you really done it, my Canine friend....that entire post is a cliffie! How do you expect your readers to have the patience and wait for the continuation?

If Athynae finds out Athlain is missing she'd go bezerk, I promise. She'd immediately set out for >Solstheim trying to find him oh dear oh dear .....

So now I sit here, nope I wont get a good nights sleep until you tell me what's going to happen... tongue.gif

Posted by: Black Hand May 17 2009, 09:29 PM

Nice, been playing a bit of catch-up here. Must say, I am rather enjoying it! Keep it up!

Posted by: treydog May 22 2009, 06:12 PM

Chapter 7


My choice of direction was not based on impulse, nor did it originate from any sense of foreknowledge. The simple fact was that both Fort Frostmoth and Gandrung Cavern were on the southern coast and Raven Rock was to the west. My strongest desire was to avoid places where I might encounter anyone who knew me- I wanted to lose myself in the interior of the island. I also wanted to find the source of the moon-sugar used in the poisonings, because I had agreed to do so… and for other reasons. And it seemed that a person in a white Colovian helm, singing a silly song would have generated some interest at the fort or the colony. No one besides the priest had mentioned such an individual. I felt the loss of my Legion armor acutely, and kept shrugging and twitching as I tried to adjust the fit of the cast-offs I wore in its place. Yet, despite my discomfort, I also felt a sense of relief as I passed into the tall trees. I had performed my duties to the best of my ability and had not left any unfinished business behind me. Except for, perhaps my informal and unacknowledged resignation… and Carnius Magius… and… Athynae. I loosed a sigh fit to match the wind that slid amongst the needles of the trees and wondered when my life had grown so complex.

Before long, I came to a river that flowed down from the north. If my sketchy map of the island were to be believed, this was the Iggnir, and had its origin at Lake Fjalding. The river was icy, and I decided to follow it upstream in hopes of finding…. Well, I was not sure what I hoped to find. A place to cross? The moon-sugar poisoner? Some clue to Louis Beauchamp’s airship? A solution to my problems? Perhaps I mostly stayed beside the river because the fast-flowing water reminded me of the slower and warmer Odai and Samsi back on Vvardenfell. However much Father and I disagreed, on one point we were alike- nothing calmed the mind like being in the presence of moving water. Whenever I was deeply troubled, I would find my way to a quiet spot on the riverbank and consider the paradox- the river was constantly changing, yet always the same- and always perfect. The petty problems of people- love, war, self doubt-- none of those made any difference. The water flowed into the sea, providing life to the plants and animals along its course. I should have perhaps paid closer attention to that last part- and to the fact that I was on Solstheim, rather than Vvardenfell.

If you ever find yourself in a place that is home to large predators, it would serve you well to consider exactly how those predators are able to become so large. A carnivore requires a reliable source of protein, preferably protein that can be obtained with only minimal effort. One of the best such sources of protein is fish. And a great source of fish is… that’s right, a river. Some people like to compare bears to big, shaggy dogs. I wouldn’t know- I have never seen a dog outside of illustrations in books. However, if they are anything like the mountainous, smelly mass of fur, claws, and teeth that erupted from amongst a nest of boulders and tried to eat me- I can’t imagine why anyone would keep such a creature in the house. The quick way Mistress Alfena had finished the bear we encountered on our walk to Raven Rock must have been an anomaly- I had almost as great a struggle with this one as with the Daedroth back on Vvardenfell. I blocked a swipe of the right paw only to be buffeted from my feet by the left. Fortunately, I fell on my back and was able to interpose my shield between the fetid jaws and my throat. Frustrated, the bear again rose up on its hind legs, perhaps to contemplate how to remove this tasty crustacean from its shell, or perhaps intent on crushing me with its massive weight. I rolled to one side, reaching my mace out to strike a rather weak blow to one leg. Then I kept rolling, closely followed by the hot breath of my attacker. When I fetched up against a rock, I knew that was where I would have to make my stand. In the event, it was more of a kneel than a stand; I was able to come to my knees, where I crouched beneath my shield rather like a tortoise. Unlike a tortoise, however, I had the reach and weaponry to do more than passively defend myself. It was no doubt undignified, but I really did not care- the point of a fight was to win, not to look good while losing.

When the bear at last collapsed, I dragged myself to the chill water of the river and bathed my wounds, then drank deeply. A healing spell took care of my aching head and stopped the flow of blood; the claw- and tooth-marks on my armor would have to be remedied at some later time. Although I felt refreshed, I moved a prudent distance from the river, just keeping it in sight as I continued north. My care was soon rewarded- I espied a person wandering among the trees in a rather addled fashion. As I approached, I could see that it was a Nord woman, a woman who was barely dressed in animal hides and seemed to be arguing with someone only she could see. I called out softly, asking,

“Mistress? Are you well? Has someone or some creature attacked you and left you in this state?”

Her response was to pull a huge, rusted hammer from beneath a tree and attempt to brain me with it, shouting:

“You call this fighting?”

I had no clever response, nor did I think any reply, clever or not, would have mattered. My attacker was apparently bereft of her senses. She swung the hammer wildly, spinning herself around with the force of her blows. To my benefit, the strength of her attacks was not matched by her skill. And, even though I was fighting a woman, reflex took over, and I slew her as I would any other wild beast. Only when it was over did my conscious thought catch up with the reality of what I had done, and I trembled as I stared at the broken body.

The bear I had left lying, confident that scavengers would soon dispose of the flesh. But what was I to do here? This corpse had been a person, regardless of the fact that she had attacked me. I could not just leave her out here to be squabbled over by wolves and worse. Then too, there was the problem of necromancy. A body left unburied and unhallowed could very well be reanimated and become a greater danger than when it had lived. I had only to consider the Draugrs that had beset the shipwreck to know that the possibility was all too real. I knew that the Nords sometimes sent the dead off to the afterlife in blazing ships, launched out into the sea. But I had neither the skill nor the time to build a boat for this unknown woman. Another option was interment in a barrow, an earthen mound raised over the fallen warrior. But that was generally the work of a clan or crew, not of one person. I had a disturbing vision of myself, doomed to forever drag the corpse along with me, a symbol of my bad judgment. That solution might feel like justice, but it would also have a… quelling… effect on anyone I met.

Soon enough, I reached the conclusion that I already carried a sufficient metaphorical burden of shame and guilt, and that adding a physical component was a trifle excessive. There was a crevice among the boulders that would serve as a grave, and enough loose stones lying about to cover it over. Knowing something of Nord custom, I enclosed her meager possessions with her, so that she would not go into the next life empty-handed. When I was done, I considered what sort of eulogy to give someone whose name I did not know; about whom, in fact, I knew nothing; except that she had tried to murder me. Noting the aching bruises where her hammer had gotten through my defenses, I spoke clearly:

“She was a warrior.”

That should be postscript enough for anyone, especially a Nord who ran around wearing animal hides and attacking strangers in the wilderness.

Posted by: treydog May 31 2009, 07:44 PM

It was becoming clearer with every passing moment why some folk on Vvardenfell had referred to Solstheim as a “terrible place.” Besides the usual run of smugglers and deadly fauna, the northern island had the added attraction of battle-crazed warriors and freezing cold. I had not realized how sheltered I had been while residing at Fort Frostmoth; my use of magical transport had also protected me more than I knew. But now I was truly adrift in the wilderness, with only the thin reed of my own wits and strength to keep me alive. Nevertheless, I had made my decision and must see it through. As one path seemed no safer than another, I returned to the bank of the river and followed it north. If nothing else, I would eventually see Lake Fjalding, said to be covered with ice. I was not sure if that story was true, or if it was just a tale to fool the unwary, but it was worth finding out. And I suddenly seemed to have a great deal of free time- until events changed again.

I was passing a low mound on the river bank, a snow-covered lump that appeared no different than any of a thousand other massive boulders, except that I could hear the sound of a woman weeping- and it seemed to come from inside the mound. My first impulse was to discover what was wrong, and whether I could render assistance. A second thought followed quickly on the heels of that impulse- a reminder that my most recent dealings with women had not turned out well. I spent some minutes torn by indecision, but at last considered how this episode of my narrative would look on the page:

And so, frightened by his previous experiences, the bold adventurer ignored the heart-rending sobs, and bravely slunk (slinked? slank?) off into the wilderness.

Since I had already proved that I was not wise, I would have to settle for being courageous. After all, I knew of many brave warriors who had rather face the hordes of Oblivion than the tears of a woman. Unfortunately, the sagas were notably silent on how one accomplished such a daring feat. With no precedent to guide me and unable to delay any longer, I plunged into the dark entry.

What I had taken to be a mound was actually an ice-cavern- a narrow tunnel dug into the frozen ground. The tunnel carried me to a chamber lit by a fire and a single candle. A wood platform had been raised in one corner and held a few simple furnishings. In the midst of the primitive dwelling was a slender, red-haired woman, facing the fire. When I cleared my throat to announce my presence and she turned a tear-streaked face toward me, I realized that she was hardly more than a girl- certainly not much older than I. Despite her youth and the bizarre locale, she seemed to have some desire to act the proper hostess, for she apologized, saying,

“Forgive me. You have arrived at a bad time. Please warm yourself before the fire and I will make tea.”

My relief at the fact that she did not attack me on sight was such that I did as she asked, moving silently to stand nearer the fire pit. An uncomfortable silence stretched as she busied herself with the kettle, and I finally blurted out a question about the woman who I had killed in the forest. As soon as the words had left my lips, I cursed myself for a fool, thinking that this poor woman would now fear that I was a murderous brigand. However, she showed no surprise at my tale, but nodded seriously and asked a question of her own-

“Did you by chance find alcohol among her possessions?”

I responded that I had, for there had been a bottle of sujamma beneath the tree where the warrior had stood. My hostess shook her head with a sad frown and explained-

“She was what we call a ‘berserker.’ They’ve been driven mad by the cold and the long darkness and roam the wilderness in a drunken state looking for someone to kill. Drink is the curse of my people. It is what caused the death of my Gustav.”

She trailed off and then seemed to recall her manners again, handing me a cup of tea and identifying herself as Kolfinna. I nearly gave my true name, as well, but realized that if “Athlain of the Legion” were to disappear successfully, he shouldn’t go around introducing himself. Therefore, I invented a false name and replied,

“Thank you for your hospitality. I am… Videlectus Peregrinus, a… free adventurer.”

Anxious to move the conversation away from myself, I took a sip of tea and asked,

“Gustav was your husband? Did he die in an accident?”

I pictured a drunken sprawl on the ice, an attack by wild animals, or some similar misadventure. She shook her head and said fiercely,

“It was no accident- he was murdered, struck down in cold blood by Sigvatr the Strong, in a foolish argument. He was my husband's friend. Sigvatr and Gustav were drinking, and Sigvatr...he...he slew my husband where he stood! There were witnesses! I demand wergild, the traditional retribution of my people. It is my right.”

Though I knew a bit about Nord customs, this was new to me, and I had an unfortunate curiosity regarding new words and concepts. Thus I asked,

“Wergild? What is that?”

Kolfinna’s face took on a determined look.

“Wergild is the traditional Nord rite of retribution. When a life is taken, that life must be accounted for. My Gustav is irreplaceable, but there must be compensation for his murder. I do not wish Sigvatr dead. I only want his family heirloom, the gem Pinetear. Pinetear is rather small, and not very valuable, but it means much to Sigvatr. If I were to gain possession of Pinetear, it would serve as fitting payment for Gustav's death.”

She paused then and surveyed my well-used arms and armor, clearly weighing me in some mental balance. Making a decision, she spoke persuasively,

“As you have enjoyed guest-right in my home, I will ask of you a boon. Will you help me extract wergild from Sigvatr the Strong?”

What had been an academic exercise suddenly took on an unwelcome reality as I stared at her wan, hopeful expression. But what had I really expected when I followed my conscience and investigated the sound of Kolfinna’s weeping? In part it was my natural inquisitiveness, but it was more than that. What I truly sought was redemption, to make payment for the death of the berserker and for my failure in the Legion. It seemed that the farther I tried to run from responsibility, the faster it caught up with me. I did not understand at the time, but it was far easier to give a false name than to be false to my own essential nature. My answer was far less equivocal than my thoughts-

“Yes, Mistress Kolfinna, I will gladly help you.”

For the first time, a smile lit the woman’s tired face. It was small and still tinged with sadness, but it transformed her harsh expression into one more appropriate to such a pretty girl.

“May Mara smile upon you. Sigvatr is hunting near the standing stones called the Altar of Thrond. It is northwest of here, on the far bank of the Harstrad. Again, I do not desire Sigvatr’s death, and would rather you find some other way. But be careful, for he wields the mighty hammer Rammekald. It can freeze a foe where he stands. He… he used it to murder my Gustav. Please, bring Pinetear to me, that I may have peace.”

There was nothing left to say, and so I took leave of her and turned north once more. I was pleased that she did not want me to kill Sigvatr, but I wondered how he would feel about giving up his heirloom. From the sound of things, he had a quick temper and no compunction about murder, not even when his victim was a supposed friend. I only hoped my persuasiveness would be enough to avoid a fight. As events transpired, my fears were well-founded, yet at the same time misplaced.

Posted by: treydog Jun 14 2009, 03:24 PM

I continued my journey north along the river, considering how to approach Sigvatr. Offering a drink was usually a good opening gambit with a Nord, but it appeared that this particular Nord became decidedly unpleasant under the influence of alcohol. That reminded me of something Father had said regarding the effects of strong drink-

You will hear people say, “Oh, it’s just the matze that makes him act that way.” Don’t believe it. Alcohol doesn’t put anything inside a person that wasn’t there to begin with. All it does is release their inhibitions and allow them to act as they would like to act all the time. So a “mean drunk” or “melancholy drunk” is just being himself. He simply hides it better when he’s sober.

Just at that moment, I would not have minded a drink, myself, regardless of whatever inner truths it might reveal. But I did not want it so badly that I was willing to unpack my equipage to get to it. And I also knew that alcohol was not what I truly craved.

That introspection had carried me a few miles up the river, when my thoughts were disturbed by the sound of voices carried on the wind that blew out of the north. I soon saw a band of Nords spread out along the bank, and surmised that they must be a hunting party. Thinking that they perhaps had word of Sigvatr and his whereabouts, I raised a hand in greeting and called out. For response, one of them nocked an arrow and sent it flying past my head! A closer look showed that I had been right in my guess and wrong in my conclusion- they were indeed a hunting party, but their quarry did not go about on four feet. They were reavers, Nord raiders who preyed on other men. And I had just delivered myself into their ungentle hands. All that saved me was that the first reaver had reacted too quickly, perhaps assuming that I had recognized them for what they were and that my greeting was a challenge. Or perhaps Fortune simply smiled on me, and a stray gust pushed the arrow off its course. What was certain was that I could not face so many enemies alone. My only choice was to flee.

There are so many things the stories of combat don’t tell you about- the sounds of cursing, of weapons striking flesh, the peculiar snap of an arrow that passes close by. And, in their dry language about retreats and routs and defeats, they don’t mention how your breath rasps in your throat as you run for your life. They don’t talk about the fear that turns your legs to lead and your bowels to water; the absolute certainty that, this time, you are going to die. Most of all, they never describe how it feels to turn and run from a fight, all thoughts of glory and reputation so many ashes in your soul. In my headlong flight, I cast aside every bit of excess weight that I could. The shield went first- I wouldn’t be using it. Next was the pack that carried my provisions and my precious alchemy apparatus. I let it fall like so much trash behind me. And still, I knew, knew that an arrow was about to find my back, a sword or axe bite into my neck. I had only one thought- to stay alive. And one more- I could not lead these human wolves to Kolfinna. A lonely house with only a widow inside was just the sort of place the reavers sought. Thus, I drove myself north and west, deeper into a wilderness of which I had no knowledge. At the back of my mind was the thought- this is just like the dream.

After what seemed like hours, I heard no more sounds of pursuit. They had either tired of the chase, or decided to be satisfied with the trail of possessions I had left behind me. After all, though they were certainly murderous, they were in it for the profit- and I had given them plenty. To some, it would have been a fair bargain- I had taken no physical hurt and my reputation was no longer worth defending, anyway. But there was a problem, a problem that became clearer with every moment as the adrenaline finally left my body. The exertion had burned through the skooma fog in which I normally wandered- and I was going to need more of the drug, very soon. And my flask of damnable, wonderful, necessary “tea” was now in the hands of the reavers. I could hope they would not drink the potion- their taste tended more toward known alcoholic beverages, which my gear also contained. There was nothing else for it- I would have to go back. I would have to confront the reavers and take from them either my drug or my death. But there was more than one way to do what was necessary, and I was still no better able to face half-a-dozen armed men than I had been. But I was no longer a Legionnaire, no longer had any illusions of myself as a knight. Therefore I would not approach the problem as a knight or a Legionnaire, but as someone who planned to win- and to survive. The first step was to remove all my armor. And then I checked the dagger that hung in a sheath down my back inside my shirt.

Since I had been a child, I had possessed some abilities that my family never discussed. They were no doubt inherited from my father and reflected those parts of his past he most wished to forget. For one, I could walk close enough to a wild guar to touch its flank without it ever knowing I was there. And for another, although I had no ability with swords, that did not mean I could not use a blade. Daggers seemed to rest in my hands as if they belonged there; I could instantly find the balance and make an accurate throw with either hand. But a short blade was the weapon of an assassin or a thief, of one who lurked in shadows and struck his opponent unaware. So I never used them, never admitted that I had any such skill, tried to never even think about it. But I always kept one dagger with me, because it had been a gift, and because Sethyas had told me to.

It was not magical, except in the way that any superbly crafted item is magical, such that it performs its designed function seemingly without effort on the part of the wielder. And the function of a dagger is to kill- quietly and with great economy. That description is also a fair summation of Sethyas Velas, yet another of the heroic figures who populated my childhood. I will say little more about him for a variety of reasons- first, he is capable of speaking for himself; second, his story is told elsewhere; and finally, because he frightens me. When I was entangled in the physically and emotionally awkward period of my teens…

I was outside of Ald Skar, being bullied by a group of visiting Imperial nobles who were only a little older than myself. I had approached them, hoping to talk of Cyrodiil and the Imperial City, but they laughed at my accent and mocked my clothes. The verbal confrontation had just become physical when Sethyas appeared in their midst and spoke a single quiet syllable-

“Leave.”

They took one look at the tall Dunmer with a black hand tattooed on his face and scattered. I rose shakily to my feet and turned to go when his raspy voice stopped me.

“Not you. Not yet. I have a gift for you, but first you must listen to my words. I will not interfere with your father, whether I agree with him or not. He is your father and must do as he believes is right. And you must obey him, for a while longer, at least. But you are now of an age where what passes here is between you and me. There will come a time in your life when you will have to kill. Words will not save you, nor cleverness, nor honor. Your salvation will lie in the strength of your arm and the sharpness of your steel.”

He reached under his tunic and handed me a dagger. The hilt was wrapped with wire for a sure grip and the sheath was plain black leather. He locked my gaze with his red eyes and said,

“Keep it with you always, but tell no one. When it is time to use it, you will know.”

And then he vanished into a sudden swirl of ash.


I had kept the dagger with me, but had never used it- until now.

Posted by: minque Jun 15 2009, 10:16 PM

What a beginning of the new chapter! I'm utterly impressed, the plot really tightens up very quickly...OMG.

Now that letter...to Thyna, will naturally cause some immediate actions, I promise, she just won't let go of it... wink.gif

And the appearance of my favourite assassin...was just wonderful...so well fitting...oh aye I like it very much..but as I mentioned, something will ...let me put it like this: happen! tongue.gif

Posted by: Black Hand Jun 16 2009, 12:37 AM

I am truly honored and impressed with this latest update, dear Trey.

Your third statement reminds me of a discussion I had on chat, the jist of it was that I had Children of Morrowind Mod, but despite enjoying it, I uninstalled it. When asked why, I told them that I usually play darker characters and a sweet innocent child coming up to me and asking what I do for a living slightly unnerved me.

"I exchange blood for gold, have a teddy bear!"

Posted by: canis216 Jun 16 2009, 01:23 AM

Excellent work as ever. It looks like Athlain is well rid of all the glorious illusions of knighthood. That's the wilderness for you; that's Solstheim. Also love the Sethyas Velas cameo, of course. And Black Hand, that last sentence of yours was born to be a signature. Golden, says I.

Posted by: kementari Jun 16 2009, 10:30 PM

Just wanted to pop in to say - Ten thousand views exactly, congratulations Trey. smile.gif


Posted by: treydog Jul 5 2009, 05:34 PM

What is there to say about the reavers? If you are reading this, you must know that I prevailed. That being the case, are the details so important? I suppose they are- after all, I have written of other things here which are not pleasant to recall and I must continue as I began. Free of encumbrances and armor, save for a pair of fur boots, I became as a shadow on the snow, a breeze that lightly brushed the trees and moved on. As I carefully followed my back trail, I effortlessly avoided bears and wolves, feeling as one with my surroundings. I was perfectly adapted to this silent movement, to gliding from one bit of concealment to the next. And I hated it. I hated the way the dagger fit perfectly in my hand, its sharpened steel blackened to prevent any telltale glint. I hated the quiet that marked my passage in place of the former creak of leather straps and rattle of metal armor. When I had worn the uniform of the Legion, I was a part of something, an avatar of order and justice- and I had been a visible representative of the Empire. Without that uniform, I was just another shadow. If I was glad of my innate skill, it was only because I did not wish to be seen skulking beneath the trees and hiding amongst the rocks.

All too soon, the scent of a cook fire and the sound of rough voices raised in argument and song told me that I was near the reaver camp. I found a spot beneath a tree and settled myself to wait for night and darkness. Even after night had fallen I waited, listening as the songs gave way to sodden snores. The reavers had posted no guards, believing themselves to be the most dangerous predators in the forest. That overconfidence was fatal- to them. I took the first when he stumbled away from the fire to relieve himself. A second died in the chill waters of the river where he had gone for a drink. With two of the party removed, the time for stealth was past and it became a matter of controlled speed and fury. A stone pitched into the fire scattered sparks and hot coals among the sleeping men, blinding them as I stepped out of the darkness. They leapt up, only to fall again as my dagger did its bloody work. I slashed the side of a neck, the back of a knee, a throat. As they fell, I danced away, letting the shouts and thrashing of the wounded and dying further confuse the survivors. The confusion soon gave way to silence and all was still, except for the crackle of the fire. I built it back up and searched the bodies, taking only those things that had been mine. The rest I left, including the bodies. When I was done, I opened the flask of tea and downed half of it at a gulp before putting the stopper back. I needed its warm, blurry haze as much to stop the chill that had settled into my soul as to quiet the craving that sang in my blood.

I had no desire to remain in the company of dead men, especially not those I had killed, so I turned west, seeking the Harstrad River and the Altar of Thrond. The walk through forest and snow gave me more time to consider how I might persuade Sigvatr- I was heartily sick of killing, and wanted no more blood on my hands if I could avoid it. No brilliant ideas came to mind, and I finally shrugged and determined that my approach would simply depend on the man himself, assuming I could even find him. What I mostly found were wolves and bears in great numbers, along with a particularly vicious type of wild pig. I was forced to revise my opinion as to which were predators and which prey after I observed a battle between boar and wolf from a safe distance. Several times I thought I saw small, man-shaped figures, only a few feet high- and once I even imagined I saw one riding the back of a large boar. But I concluded that such visions were a result of blowing snow, a lack of sleep, and an excess of skooma-laced tea.

At least I had Kolfinna’s description of Sigvatr to help me in my search. My encounters with the berserker and the reavers had taught me caution when approaching anyone in this wilderness. On Vvardenfell, frontier though it was, most travelers you met did not wish to murder you on sight. That was definitely not the case here. Still, while it was possible that Sigvatr might deal with me as he had with Gustav, he would perhaps be willing to talk first. Shortly after I crossed the river, I sighted a lone figure striding through the snow. A moment’s observation convinced me that this was indeed the man I sought. He was dressed in thick fur armor and had a war hammer in his hands. My trained eye detected an unmistakable aura of ancient and powerful magic around the weapon. I stepped into the open and spoke clearly,

“Hail and well-met. If you are Sigvatr the Strong, I would speak with you.”

I showed my empty hands to indicate my peaceful intent, and was pleased to see him rest the hammer against his shoulder. He did not approach me immediately, but scanned the area where I stood, making sure I wasn’t the bait for an ambush. Still not moving, he called back to me,

“I am Sigvatr, called the Strong. Why do you spoil my hunting? And what speech would you have with me, Imperial, that brings you so far from home? Best you go back to your mother before you are missed. Perhaps she will give you a bowl if warm milk to ward off the chill of Solstheim.”

I knew something of Nord ways and customs, and so did not take the insults seriously. They were as routine as an Imperial greeting of “good day.” On the other hand, I must respond in kind, or Sigvatr would not respect me, nor listen to my request for wergild. Therefore I made a broad gesture of holding my nose and said,

“Sigvatr the Strong, indeed. Rarely have I encountered so strong a stench. You have no need of weapons to hunt- your odor must knock beasts to the ground for miles around. But you might want to clean those furs before a bear mistakes you for his mate and makes improper advances.”

My reply apparently met with the hunter’s approval; although he did not laugh outright, I detected a grin beneath his luxuriant beard. At a gesture, I walked up to him, opening a jug as I did so. To show that it wasn’t poisoned, I took a mouthful of the raw sujamma and swallowed. It was either that or spit it out- I had never developed a taste for the vile liquor and had no desire to try. I offered the jug to Sigvatr, who sniffed it suspiciously, saying,

“This isn’t any a’ that thin brew you Imperials suppose passes for a real drink, is it?”

I indicated with a gesture that he should try it for himself, not trusting that I could speak just yet. The Nord took a good pull at the jug and swirled it around in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing.

“Not bad,” he allowed, then surprised me by corking the jug.

“Right then. We’ve insulted each other and shared a drink. The forms of hospitality are met. So what is it you want, that you come traipsing all this way after me?”

He folded massive arms across his barrel chest and waited impatiently. This was not what I had expected, and I tried to rapidly revise the speech I had planned. But it was no good- I just could not come up with a plausible story that didn’t sound completely contrived. Sigvatr’s countenance became more clouded with each passing second, and I finally blurted out,

“I… it’s… Kolfinna sent me. She wants….”

I looked on in dismay as the huge man lifted the hammer from his shoulder and asked in a dangerously quiet voice,

“Yes? Kolfinna wants- what?”

He swung the hammer idly at his side, the massive weapon making an unpleasant sound with each pass.

Posted by: Black Hand Jul 5 2009, 06:39 PM

Wuh-oh.

Posted by: seerauna Jul 5 2009, 07:08 PM

I have a feeling this might not end too well...

Posted by: minque Jul 5 2009, 08:18 PM

Oh dear...I'll have to agree with Raunie...it's quite a possibility that this will not end in a pleasant way...But of course you never know with Athlain..

Posted by: canis216 Jul 6 2009, 08:09 PM

I wonder what Athlain will say?

Nice account of Athlain's slaughter (I imagine he would have to agree to the veracity of term, much as he might dislike it) of the reavers. The young man is full of surprises, it would seem.

Posted by: Olen Jul 10 2009, 10:05 AM

Nice updates, the situation changes again. I like this story, a lot, the rapidly changing situations and attitude of Athlain flow well together and seem natural while keeping the reader off balance and never fully knowing what to expect. The darker side he's showing is unexpected but quite believeable, Solstheim is a fairly murderous place after all.

I'm really likeing this... more? Please?

Posted by: treydog Jul 14 2009, 04:48 PM

Time seemed to slow, and I was aware of the dagger hanging down my back and the mace at my side. Even more, I felt the weight of the dead, a long chain that stretched from Ashalmawia to Gandrung to the reavers’ camp. I knew that I could fight Sigvatr, could perhaps even kill him- but that was not the answer to his question. Kolfinna had plainly said she did not desire this man’s death; she knew that one death could not be washed away by another. And I did not desire his death, either. There had been too much blood spilled, and I was weary of it. So I carefully raised my empty hands and said,

“She seeks wergild for Gustav. She asked me to speak with you and convince you to pay blood price with the gem Pinetear.”

The warrior grounded the hammer and leaned his hands upon the shaft, then shook his head.

“Wergild, is it? Never! Pinetear has been in my family for generations and will be for generations to come. Gustav had it coming. I did what I had to do, and Kolfinna wasn’t there. Neither were you. Leave off.”

A haunted look had come to his face and his hands opened and closed on the hammer spasmodically as he spoke. There was a story there, known only to Sigvatr, and it was gnawing at him. I held my words for a few minutes, watching his eyes, and then nodded.

“What you say is true. Neither Kolfinna nor I was there. If you will not pay wergild, can you not at least give her a true accounting of how Gustav died? Does she not have the right to know?”

His head dropped until his chin rested on his chest, and he muttered words almost too low to hear:

“We argued, Gustav and I. We had too much to drink and got into a foolish disagreement. Heated words were spoken, but it was just words until I saw him reach for his blade. I was only defending myself from his treachery, so there is no obligation, no wergild. I owe Gustav nothing!”

His final statement caught my ear and I swiftly replied,

“Again, what you say is true. You owe Gustav nothing. But what about his widow? She was not the one who held the knife… nor the one who dealt the fatal blow. She is simply the one who is left without a husband, without means to support herself.”

And then I was quiet. A man will often persuade himself, if you give him time to do it. At last Sigvatr looked up with tears in his eyes.

“I thought he meant to cut my throat, but what if I was wrong? What if I did murder my friend?”

With a convulsive motion, he reached into a pocket and produced a dark green emerald and handed it to me. In a hoarse whisper, he added:

“Take Pinetear and give it to Kolfinna. Perhaps it will ease her pain. But my guilt will never end.”

When he turned away, I again had the good sense to remain silent, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

I secured the gem inside my shirt and turned to the south, moving quickly and silently back to Kolfinna’s dwelling. The return journey was faster because I knew the way, but my steps were also lighter because I at last carried a burden that would ease pain rather than cause it. I was even content when I used my inborn skill to avoid the wild creatures that I encountered on the way. If a talent for moving unseen could help me avoid bloodshed, why should I find fault? Of course, I was also without the burden of the steel armor to which I had grown accustomed. Therefore, my appearance was much changed when I entered Kolfinna’s house, and she did not recognize me until I spoke. Even then, she took my lack of armor as a sign of bad news and sank into a chair with a sigh.

“I am sorry, master Imperial. Had I realized that you are still but a youth, I would not have sent you on such a perilous quest. But at least you have returned with your life, so that burden will not be on my conscience. On Solstheim, success is often a matter of survival, even if one fails otherwise.”

I lifted Pinetear from its hiding place and held it to the light, replying:

“Perhaps so, but I prefer more tangible signs of success.”

She straightened in her seat and reached a trembling hand for the stone. Lines of care disappeared from her face, and a smile lit her too-thin countenance.

“You have brought me Pinetear! How did you manage it? No, never mind- one should not question good fortune. Now that I have wergild, Gustav can rest peacefully.”

She raised her eyes to mine and spoke with great seriousness,

“You have acted as a man of my family would have done in this matter. Therefore, I name you ‘brother.’ You are welcome in my home and may treat it is if it were your own. If I can aid you in some way, speak, and I will do what is in my power to make it so.”

Her words and even the reddish tint of her hair reminded me of my own sisters, left behind on Vvardenfell, along with my former life. Almost, I told her the truth- my true name, my desertion from the Legion, my loss of honor and hope. But I would not cast such a shadow upon her happiness. The secrets I carried were my own, and she had no part in their making. It would be unwontedly cruel to ask her to share them now. So instead, I smiled and spoke carelessly, as if regarding a matter of small consequence:

“Now that you mention it, there is one favor I would ask- have you ever heard of a fellow who goes about in a white, pointed hat? And might you know where he makes his dwelling?”

She looked at me strangely, but answered quickly enough.

“Yes, Gustav spoke of such a man. He saw him once, wandering through the woods and singing a funny song. It was odd enough that he followed him to see what might be afoot. The fellow has a cabin north and a little east of here. It rests at the base of a hill and has red and green lanterns hanging from the eaves.”

She paused and then added,

“If you are determined to seek him out, please be cautious. A man who sings to himself in the wilderness is likely not completely sane, and could even be dangerous.”

I promised to be careful and politely refused her offer of a warm drink. What I needed was not tea, at least not the sort of tea Kolfinna could provide.

Posted by: Black Hand Jul 15 2009, 02:43 AM

Nicely done, Senor Trey! Not all is violence and blodshed in life, nor should be in TES.

Posted by: canis216 Jul 15 2009, 02:45 AM

Right on. Now, I will be most interested to see how Athlain deals with our purveyor of moon sugar. I could see this working out in a number of ways, especially considering Athlain's drug problem.

Posted by: Burnt Sierra Jul 16 2009, 08:33 PM

Ooh, I've had a fair bit to catch up on here smile.gif

Hard life I tell you...

I believe I said before (either here ot t'other place) that I was finding the company of young Athlain to be an even greater pleasure than that of his father, and that hasn't changed. If anything, I'm growing to like him more and more, and the character is really starting to progress. Whilst still retaining enough of his idealism, he's starting to accept some of his nature that he hid away. Also, I have to add, the way you smoothly add external characters is really skillfully done. The cameos of Serene and Sethyas could have seemed gimmiky, but instead felt like an entirely natural addition.

Oh, and I loved the traditional exchange of insults with Sigvatr the Strong - very, very amusing biggrin.gif

As always, a real pleasure to read! Here's looking forward to the next installment.

Posted by: RavenMind Jul 22 2009, 01:25 AM

Ooh good stuff. I'm lapping this up Treydog! I can't wait for the next bit. smile.gif

Posted by: treydog Aug 29 2009, 11:43 PM

Much as I wanted to stay in Kolfinna’s house, I knew I could not. I had made up my mind that I would exile myself from the warmth of human companionship, for a time at least. Where I had before worn the uniform of a Legionnaire, I now armored myself in solitude. The cold wind that blew upon my face was as nothing beside the cold that filled my heart. I was alone, outcast, nameless. I crawled across the snowy landscape like a wounded beetle on a plate. Following Kolfinna’s directions, I crossed the river and turned somewhat east of north. I studied the shape of the land, looking for a place where the terrain began to rise. Again, I avoided confrontations with Solstheim’s wildlife, slipping past bears and wolves unnoticed. When I smelled wood-smoke, I knew my destination was near. I followed my nose to the source of the smoke and soon beheld a well-built cabin nestled against the snow-covered base of a hill. As Gustav had told his wife, the cabin was brightly lit with red and green lanterns hanging from the eaves. The sight stirred something inside me, sparking memories of stories Mother and Father had read to me when I was a child- stories of the Jerall Mountains or of Skyrim, home to the Nords. I remembered how they struggled to explain snow to me- what it was, how it came to be, what it felt like. At the time, I was not absolutely sure it was not a joke at my expense- frozen water, falling from the sky? But not exactly like ice- softer and lighter. When I had first seen the snow-laden trees of Solstheim, I had delighted in them, had gone immediately to examine this phenomenon for myself. I had even written to Athynae about it, knowing she had been as doubtful as I. And none of that mattered. My musing on snow was simply a way of distracting myself and delaying whatever was next.

As I approached the cabin door, I noticed a dark shape off to the right and veered that way to investigate. A Khajiit lay crumpled in a deep drift. As I watched, a few snowflakes settled on his open, unseeing eyes. My Legion training asserted itself, and I searched the body, looking for clues to his identity and how he had died. In one pocket of his robe I found a crudely printed bit of doggerel entitled The Song of Uncle Sweetshare. There was also a small moon-sugar packet, missing most of its contents. I knew that moon-sugar was almost irresistible to the Khajiiti, and that they would indulge the habit without regard for property, health, or even life itself. As there were no marks of violence on the body, nor any signs of the more common plant poisons, I was fairly certain that this poor fellow had fallen victim to his weakness for the drug. The irony was not lost on me- and it made not the slightest difference. I straightened and walked to the door. From within, I heard an off-key voice singing. I put my hand on the door latch and stood for a long moment with my eyes closed, waiting for… something. Perhaps I hoped to feel a hand on my shoulder and to hear a kind voice telling me to come away, that what I sought would not be found within that particular door. But all I heard was the wind, and all I felt was the cold against my skin- and the need within. I shuddered and pushed the door open.

The interior of the cabin was as neat and well-made as the outside. It was a single large room, the walls lined with work tables. A fire burned on the hearth at one end, and a hammock hung nearby. The tables held rows of alchemy apparatus and an assortment of vials and jars. I saw all of those things peripherally, as my eyes were drawn to a brown-robed figure wearing a tall hat- a white Colovian fur helm. At the sound of the door opening, he turned toward me and I saw that he was a smooth-shaven Nord. He smiled a somewhat distracted smile and spoke a cheerful nonsense verse akin to the doggerel I had found on the dead Khajiit. Then he tilted his head to one side and regarded me, saying:

“Can it be? A visitor to my workshop? How can I help you, young fellow? I have candy treats to spare, if you are in search of happiness. And I don’t mean to criticize, but you look as if you could use some happiness, my friend.”

I had been prepared for an evil alchemist, prepared for a fight- but this…. I had no answer to this ridiculous figure from a children’s story. I latched onto the one comprehensible thing he had said and asked,

“Candy treats?”

The Nord’s smile grew broader, and he waved a hand at the small, colorful packets in front of him.

“My candy treats are tasty, they are! And filled with special sugar and love! They bring happiness! Happiness to everyone on Solstheim! That's what I do, you see! I give out my special sugary treats and spread happiness throughout the land! It's difficult work, but oh so very rewarding! M'nashi certainly thought so. Ahh, M'nashi, the dear lad....”

His smile faded and he looked sadly toward the door before continuing.

“M'nashi was my assistant! He helped me make my candy! He so loved his sugar, M'nashi did. Loved it a little too much, I'm afraid! He died, you see. His, ah, sweet tooth got the better of him. I buried him, just outside. We had a lovely little ceremony. The horkers came and sang for him, they did! He he he! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

His manic smile returned and he danced around the workshop, stopping in front of me with a bow.

“So, what brings you to my happy home? Do you want some of my candy treats- for yourself- or…” he winked conspiratorially, “for someone special who needs a little happiness?”

I shook my head to clear it- his obvious insanity seemed to be infectious. Adopting a serious tone, I responded,

“Actually, Severia Gratius of the Legion asked me to investigate a case of moon-sugar poisoning at Fort Frostmoth.”

At the mention of the Champion’s name, the Nord’s smile turned into a petulant frown. He muttered,

“That Severia Gratius is so grumpy! Maybe I should visit her next! Because that's what I do, young fellow! I visit the sad and miserable and spread all the happiness I can! It is the way of Uncle Sweetshare, you see! Now that Jeleen, there's a sad, sad boy. His true love has disappeared, don't you know. Very sad, very sad. That's why I sang to him! He needed something extra, something special! Sugar and a song! It cures all!”

His smile came back and he began dancing around the room again, singing in an uneven voice:

“That's me, you see! Uncle Sweetshare! Just like in the children's rhyme! When I found that old song the lyrics moved me like nothing else in my life! I knew at that moment who I truly was, and what I was meant to do! So I had this workshop built! I make treats here, you see! Delicious treats with the special sugar! Moon sugar! He he, ha ha! Then I spread my cheer throughout the land!”

He stopped in mid-whirl and looked around, placing a finger to his lips-

“But it's all a secret! Shhhhhhhh....”

His rapid changes of mood and his crazed dancing were making me dizzy- or maybe it was the moon-sugar residue that coated every surface and hung in the air…. I simply had to plow stolidly ahead, keeping myself focused on the task at hand.

“It would be a bad idea to ‘visit’ Champion Gratius. She is anxious to solve this case and return to Cyrodiil. Your description has been circulated and she has placed a bounty on you. If you want my advice, I would recommend you give me your helm- it is quite distinctive, after all- and then you should slip quietly away and cease this business.”

I paused as I contemplated my own bleak future and added quietly, “People are generally only as happy as they chose to be- you can’t give happiness to them as a gift.”

He grew silent and sat for a time on a bench, resting his chin in his hands, then removed the fur helm and turned it round and round in front of him.

“Give you my helm? Stop sharing...stop sharing my sugar? He...heh...ho...hmmm.... Distressing...most distressing.... But you WILL let me live? I do so love to live! All right, then. We have a deal! Here's my white helm, and you have my promise I will not spread any more cheer! And I will get to live! That won't be so bad, will it? He he he he! Ha ha ha!”

‘Uncle Sweetshare’ was as good as his word. He placed the helm on a table and stuffed some clothing in a satchel, humming happily as he did so. I pretended not to notice the packets of moon-sugar that found their way into his pockets- after all, who was I to judge? With a happy wave, he strode out the door and disappeared into the gathering darkness. And now I had the cabin all to myself. The cabin- and its contents.

I have little to say of my time in the tiny cabin- descriptions of squalor are rarely uplifting for either the reader or the writer. More to the point, it is not a period I remember with any clarity- nor do I wish to. I slept a great deal, rising only long enough to convert moon-sugar into skooma and skooma into tea, which I then drank. When my hunger became unbearable, I stumbled outside and stalked wild beasts or gathered edible plants. A few times, I ventured as far as the seaside, where I watched the hypnotic succession of waves breaking on the shore. I looked across the water, thinking of Vvardenfell lying out of sight below the horizon- Vvardenfell and home. I wondered if it might not be better to simply walk into the water and swim until I reached a familiar shore- or until exhaustion took me. But I always returned to the cabin. My hunting forays were frequently unsuccessful and I went without. My clothing hung loosely on my frame and I allowed my hair and beard to grow into a tangled mat. Time lost any meaning and days blurred into an endless parade of misery and befuddled self-loathing. I wanted to die, but lacked the will or strength to do anything about it. Even so, death would have come- from exhaustion, from starvation, from animal or accident- except that something else happened first.

Here Ends Chapter 7

Posted by: mplantinga Aug 30 2009, 05:55 PM

A great end to a great chapter. I appreciated his choice to let Uncle Sweetshare live, but I worry for him due to his choice to stay in that cabin. Your description of his descent toward death and despair was very powerful, and I look forward to reading about whatever it is that will finally pull him out of this dangerous downward spiral.

Posted by: minque Aug 31 2009, 11:50 PM

Oh Athlain! Hanging around in that drug-nest for quite some time if I'm not mistaken? And naturally he didn't write home during that period...oh my my that will cause worry among his family and friends. imagine Mother Baria...she will be very worried, not to mention Athynae! Hmm those two ladies are no whimps, they will probably take some serious actions....

Looking soo much forward to the next chapter!


S.V.G.M.P.I

Story.Very.Good.More.Please.Immediately

Posted by: treydog Sep 4 2009, 12:41 AM

Interlude 8


A letter from Louis Beauchamp, Ald Skar Inn, Ald’ruhn, Vvardenfell (a portion):

To: Athlain Treyson, currently resident at Fort Frostmoth
Re: Our Arrangement

…not heard from you for several weeks. I understand that you are in the Legion now, and your time is not always your own. However, we had an agreement- a contract, as one might say. I would prefer not to involve your Legion superiors- or your parents….


Excerpt from the Prophecies of the Hunter-

Fate ordains, blood calls, the meeting delayed
Cannot be denied

Rescued, restored, the child of the blood finds
Solace granted, a deadly gift


A note from Tel Fyr to Indarys Manor, Ald’ruhn (a portion):

Of course, without direct examination, I cannot speak with absolute certainty. Nevertheless, I believe your surmise may be correct. As to how to proceed with this information, I cannot advise you- as you know, my own familial relationships are—unique.


A note left at Sarethi Manor, Ald’ruhn, Vvardenfell (a portion):

…has gotten himself in trouble; I just know it. And he needs help to sort it out. I am asking forgiveness rather than permission, because I would rather not defy you if you forbade me to go. Please understand that this is something I need to do- you cannot keep me at home forever.

P.S.

I borrowed a sword from the armory.

Posted by: Captain Hammer Sep 4 2009, 02:26 AM

I leave for a while, I come back, and I find this.

The early post about the mission back in Vvardenfell, and now the note from Tel Fyr does beg an interesting arcane-scientific question: What effects of the Divine Disease would a divinely-blessed father pass on to his child?

Looking forward to more!

Posted by: minque Sep 4 2009, 07:52 AM

yay!!!! I just knew it! She would definitely take off to help him out...ohhhh this is gonna be sooo awesome.

I just hope Athlain will get out of his addiction somehow without being too much hurt.

Posted by: mplantinga Sep 4 2009, 03:29 PM

Sometimes I think I enjoy these letters as much as the installments. They contain just enough information to pique my curiosity, yet leave out enough to leave me wondering about the possibilities. Thanks again.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Sep 4 2009, 05:45 PM

*Shakes head despairingly*

Oh Athlain...

I find I agree with Planty as to the fact I'm enjoying these letter bits very much. They're most interesting indeed.

Posted by: Olen Sep 4 2009, 09:36 PM

Those interludes are excellent. Enough to know the gist of the letter but no details. Things look bad for him, I wander what shook him out of it. Yup I'm as hooked on this as he is on his tea. smile.gif

I'm really enjoying this - thanks.

Posted by: treydog Sep 19 2009, 04:07 AM

Chapter 8


The days blurred one into another, and I rarely left the cabin. Food had become increasingly difficult to find, but the skooma suppressed my appetite to the point that I was no longer bothered by hunger. I melted snow for water and used the firewood already stacked against the walls. I made no attempt to replace what I burned- it would be too much work- and besides, I could not be bothered by thoughts of the future. Much of the time, I was in a waking sleep, a condition defined by the most vivid dreams- dreams that seemed real, but which then vanished beyond recall. Many people and creatures came to me in that dream state- my parents; my sisters; even the ghost of Dagoth Ur, demanding to know what I was doing. So, when the snow-spirit came into the cabin, I was not surprised; in fact, I was somewhat relieved that death had finally arrived.

A cold gust disturbed my fitful slumber in the hammock, and I turned my head to see a figure dressed in white pushing through the door. I could not see the face inside the hood, but saw a large blade strapped to the figure’s back. So, I thought, Death grew tired of waiting, and has sent someone to collect me. Good. Some befuddled part of my brain reminded me that it was good manners to stand when a guest entered the room… or was that when a ghost entered the room? Either way, I really should get up- the spirit had come all this way, after all. So I flopped out of the hammock and staggered to my feet. The spirit had not yet moved from the door, and I frowned as I noticed something. I took a hesitant step forward, mumbling,

“I thought you would be taller.”

Before the spirit could reply, a wave of dizziness washed over me, and I fell in a heap.

* * * * *

When I next became aware, I was still sprawled on the floor, but some things were different. The fire, which I had allowed to die down to coals, was now blazing with fresh logs. The clutter from my uncertain housekeeping had been straightened- including the removal of the bristle-back bones that I had taken to tossing in a corner. Beyond that, there was no sign of the spirit that had visited me. Perhaps, I mused, it was not an envoy of Death after all, but one of those helpful spirits- the sort that mend shoes. But if that were true, why did the spirit carry that great black sword? I would have to be sure and ask if it returned. But for the moment, the warmth of the hearth was an invitation to sleep, and I was only too glad to accept.

* * * * *

Eventually, thirst overcame my weariness, and I struggled upright. Hard on the heels of my normal thirst came the craving that clenched my abdomen and fired my blood. How fortunate, I thought, that a cup of tea will quench my thirst as well as my need. The shallow pan I used to melt snow should still hold some water, so I would not even need to venture outside. When I shuffled over to the table I used for the only alchemical process I still performed, I saw that my helpful visitor had straightened and cleaned that area, as well. The apparatus was carefully arranged, and all the haphazardly strewn ingredients had been returned to their drawers or paper packets- all except one. With increasing panic, I pulled open every drawer and cupboard, shook out every packet in the cabin, and went through the pockets of all the clothing. At the end of my frenzied search, I had returned the room to its previous state of disorder, but I had found not a single grain of moon-sugar.

* * * * *

The next several hours were difficult in the extreme. The cabin became too hot, so I threw open the door to let in cold air. Within minutes, the icy draft chilled my sweating body, sending me into uncontrollable shivers, so I slammed the door shut again. My stomach cramped fiercely, feeling as if some live thing was struggling to escape from within. My thirst seemed unquenchable, no matter how much water I drank down. I even went so far as to sprinkle salt from my small store onto my palm and lick it off. Racking hunger pangs were interspersed with bouts of nausea. Physical exhaustion soon overcame my weakened body, but blessed sleep refused to come. Instead, I was unwilling witness to a parade of waking hallucinations, visions that frightened and shamed me. I saw red-eyed Draugrs prowling the room, sniffing and growling as they sought living prey, but somehow ignored me. Senior Trooper Carbo stepped out of the wall, drew his sword, and reversed it- offering the hilt to me. He shook his head sadly and said,

“You have to do the right thing, kid. Everyone is depending on you.”

He turned and gestured at a horrible scene behind him- Mae and Cai were bound and laid upon the altar of a Daedric shrine- Ashalmawia, I realized. The Daedra-worshipper I had fought, the first man I had ever killed, stood over them with an ebony dagger poised to strike. Carbo looked at the scene, then at me, and finally at the sword he had offered. His face took on an apologetic look as he re-sheathed the blade and said,

“Sorry. I forgot you can’t use one of these. I guess they’ll just have to pay the price.”

He vanished, and the dagger plunged downward. My sisters weren’t looking at it- their pleading eyes were fixed on me. I reached out a weak hand, seeking comfort more than offering it, and the scene changed again. The altar became our dining table at home, and the whole family was seated around it. Someone sat in my chair, but I could not see who it was until Carnius Magius turned to leer at me as he pulled a skooma flask from his robe and offered it to my mother. That scene melted away to reveal Father leaning tiredly against his workbench, holding a sheaf of papers. The papers shifted and became one of Mother’s prize flowers; the petals wilted and fell away, revealing a Dwemer mace. The mace grew into a daedroth, which turned and sank its teeth into his throat. His thoughtful expression never changed; he simply gave me a probing look and asked,

“What are we going to do about this?”

Blood spilled from his mouth and a chill even worse than before came over me, a cold wind that blew away the vision and the mist that had surrounded it. The wind seemed to waft a familiar perfume to my nostrils and I thought I heard Athynae wailing,

“But I just cleaned this room!”

Posted by: mplantinga Sep 19 2009, 08:39 PM

A very intriguing start to chapter 8. I have to admit that I feel uncertain about what has actually happened vs. what was a dream, but I'm confident that will get resolved soon.

Posted by: minque Sep 19 2009, 11:07 PM

Ohhh dear...withdrawal symptomps...could be so painful. Athlain surely pay his price here, but ir's just necessary, he's got to get out of it, his addiction. But poor kid!

Let's hope the ghost will aid him in his struggle, after all Athynae loves him I'm so sure.

Most intriguing update, really can't wait to see how the meeting between those two turns out

Posted by: treydog Sep 25 2009, 01:05 PM

It was then that I knew for a certainty that my mind was truly gone. Athynae, of all people, could not be here. She was lost- lost to me, anyway- for all that she was safe at home in Ald’ruhn. When I had left my life and my name behind, I had resigned myself to never seeing her again. The only comfort I took from that knowledge was that she would not discover the depths to which I had sunk. She would be sad for a while, no doubt, but her last memory of me would be untarnished by the reality of what I had become. So… this must be another hallucination, a dream that sprang from my addled mind. I would turn around, and there would be no one there. I would turn around, my heart and my mind in conflict. I would turn around, pitting logic against hope. I would turn around, and face the disarray of the cabin and the ruin of my life. But I would face it alone. A lifetime passed between one breath and the next. And then I turned.

A quiet voice, a bit breathless and with a hint of humor, said:

“It would probably work better if you opened your eyes.”

It was Athynae. She was real, and she was there, not five feet away from me, looking like a creature of the Aether in the midst of the wreckage. I could find no words; my heart was too full. She stood there, and it was as though every good thing in the world had entered that door with her- family, home, love. My weary eyes drank in the sight of her, and the skooma-thirst that had burned within me momentarily abated. She looked much as when I had last seen her the day after the party- slender, athletic, and altogether beautiful. Her violet eyes seemed shadowed with anxiety, but her smile lit the room. I took in the white armor she wore, and the katana hilt that rose over her right shoulder, and I understood that the path which brought her to me had not been straight or easy. Still the silence stretched as we stared at one another, until I finally broke it with a mind-numbing inanity:

“You’re here.”

With those two words, I proved once and forever that my sister Mae had been correct- I would make an absolute hash out of things when I encountered an elven princess.

But Athynae did not seem to care. She threw herself across the space between us and grabbed me in an embrace that was anything but ethereal. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she held me tightly and her words came in a rush:

“I was so worried. You got sent off to Fort Frostmoth, and I didn’t have a chance to see you. And then your letters stopped, and I was afraid you had met someone else. But you stopped writing to Aunt Baria, too. So I sent a letter to the Legion, but nobody knew anything. The only thing to do was come and find you myself.”

She finally relaxed her fierce grip just a bit and leaned her head back to look at me. There were questions in her eyes, questions I knew I would have to answer. But for now, it was enough that she was here, in my arms. She backed up a pace and dried her tears, then resumed her story in a slightly more coherent fashion:

“I stopped at Fort Frostmoth first. They weren’t even worried about you- just said you were ‘on assignment’ for Severia Gratius, and that you would come back when it was done. Well, that nice young trooper Saenus seemed a little concerned, but he wouldn’t say why.”

My heart lurched at the thought of my Athynae alone amongst the dregs of the Legion at Fort Frostmoth. It was no place for a young woman. And then my brain caught up with my ears and I felt a stab of jealousy- “nice young trooper Saenus” was it? I started to launch into a withering lecture on how foolish she had been to come here unaccompanied, how dangerous Solstheim was, how frantic Serene and Athyn must be…. And then I closed my mouth, leaving the words unspoken. The hypocrisy would have choked me. I was in no position to condemn anyone for foolishness, for leaving their family to go out into the wide world. At least she had left home for a purpose greater than herself; out of concern for someone else, rather than out of boredom. And there was something more, a realization that brought with it an infinite sadness- seeing that slender girl bearing a sword on her back should have been faintly ridiculous- but it was not. The katana seemed a part of her, as if it had always been there and I had just never noticed it before. Meanwhile, she continued:

“But Saenus wouldn’t tell me anything- said it ‘wasn’t his place,’ and that I should talk to the Captain. And Captain Carius wasn’t there- he had to go to the mainland for something. I got tired of waiting and went to Thirsk- that’s the Nord village up north. Mama has friends there. Anyway, I got Brynjolfr to make me this armor from snow wolf furs. It’s a lot warmer than chitin or glass would be.”

As always seemed to happen, Athynae’s rush of words and sudden changes of direction left me dizzy. I had a feeling she had left some important information out of her rapid-fire narrative; for example, I had noticed a slight catch in her voice when she mentioned Serene’s friends at Thirsk. Somehow I doubted that her parents had approved this unaccompanied trip into the wilderness. I also noticed that she made no mention of how she had gotten the fur for the armor- and I knew that you couldn’t just buy it. But before I could raise that issue, Athynae had a question of her own:

“Speaking of armor, what happened to your Legion uniform? I didn’t see it anywhere in the cabin when I cleaned up.”

The way she crossed her arms and the look in her eyes when she mentioned her housekeeping efforts told me that was a topic that she planned to come back to- probably in the very near future. Meanwhile, she tilted her head inquiringly and asked,

“Well?”

A full answer to that question would lead to other questions, many of which I was not ready to have raised. Therefore, I decided to respond literally- to the letter of the question, rather than the intent. With a vague gesture to the south, I mumbled:

“My uniform, it’s…. I left it… back there. I resigned.”

There was a long silence, which I rushed to fill:

“I left a note….”

Athynae gave me a look of exasperated affection.

“You left a note. How thoughtful. What did you say- ‘Dear Emperor Septim, I quit. Respectfully, Athlain’?”
She shook her head. “You always did have an overdeveloped sense of the dramatic.”

This from the girl who had seen every performance of The Terror of Castle Xyr when the traveling company came to Ald’ruhn. And who had then insisted on going to Balmora to see it again. For just a moment, I was back in school, where we had argued endlessly with one another about everything. But the illusion was fleeting- we were neither one of us in school any longer, and my problems were not the problems of childhood. Whatever we might have once meant to each other, whatever future we might have had, my failures had destroyed for all time. My initial surprise at seeing Athynae had passed; so too, my clouded thinking. And, just to add emphasis, I felt a familiar cramping of my midsection. Whatever she had experienced in her search for me, I could not let her see this; she could not see the addiction overcome me. I knew what I must do, and steeled myself for the task. I looked into her smiling eyes and said,

“Athynae, you shouldn’t be here.”

Posted by: Olen Sep 25 2009, 08:22 PM

I like.

The last part was good, I liked the addiction sequence. On its own it seemed a little too disjointed (I realise this was deliberate and like the effect it achieved of moments of togetherness fading in and out of memory) but once tacked onto the longer part it works very well. Also its a good introduction for Athynae, there's some back story there to come out which has me hooked. You've also introduced her as changed from earlier, I'm interested to see how much and how her greater knowledge of the island will affect their relationship.

QUOTE
“Athynae, you shouldn’t be here.”


Ooooh... I think sums that up.

Posted by: mplantinga Sep 26 2009, 01:21 PM

We're so accustomed to knights-in-shining-armor rescuing the damsel-in-distress; it's really refreshing to see the damsel-in-shining-armor rescuing the poor-sod-in-distress. I hope this marks a very positive turning point for Athlain.

Posted by: treydog Sep 30 2009, 07:45 PM

Without a word, Athynae ducked back out the door. I closed my eyes and cursed myself for my clumsiness. Why was it that I could speak with anyone from a Redoran Councilor to a nomad guar-herder with ease and confidence, but I always said the wrong thing to this girl? Although I had meant what I said, I had not intended for her to go immediately back out into the cold. She could have stayed for a short time- an hour, perhaps two- maybe even until the next day. And I would have managed an explanation, preferably one that did not involve drug-addiction, as to why she needed to leave, rather than a rude dismissal. As I looked for a solid surface against which to bang my head, my bout of self-loathing and self-pity was interrupted as Athynae pushed back through the door, bearing a massive pack and a silver longbow. She eased her burden to the floor and took up the conversation again, apparently misunderstanding my meaning:

“Well of course not, silly. You can’t stay here, either. I only have enough food for a few days; then we will have to go somewhere else. I think Thirsk would probably be best. Don’t stand there gawping; help me hang some blankets to make a curtain so I have a place to sleep.”

She was staying! That was wonderful- no, that was terrible. This was not working; I had not made myself clear. I ruthlessly stamped on the thrill I felt at her nearness, and moved to where she was sorting through her pack. When she turned with a stack of clothing, I grasped her shoulders and made sure she was looking at me. I spoke slowly, as if to a child,

“No. You should not be here. You cannot stay with me. You have to leave. There are reasons, good reasons. Listen, Athynae, I….”

That was as far as I got before she shook off my hands, dropped what she held, and shouted,

“No, you listen! I don’t want to hear about your ‘reasons.’ I don’t want to hear what a terrible person you are and how you’re only trying to protect me! I have had people ‘protecting me’ all my life and I’m sick of it!”

Her eyes flashed fire as she stared at my face as if daring me to speak. Even if I had been foolish enough to try, I was too stunned. I had never seen Athynae in this mood before, and I dimly realized that she possessed a strength, a…dangerousness… whose depths I could not calculate. She shook her head and looked around the cabin before turning that burning gaze back to me. She spoke in a low, angry voice,

“I know, Athlain. All right? I know about the moon-sugar. I found it when I cleaned this place up, and I got rid of it. I dumped it in the sea, every last speck. I know enough of alchemy to recognize what you were doing, and I know enough about healing to recognize that you’re addicted. And I am not leaving until you are cured.”

Her eyes lost their fury and she lifted a tentative hand and touched my cheek,

“Let me help you. Please? If I left you like this, I could never face your family again.”

Of course she knew; I should have realized that the drug had not just magically disappeared. And of course she would want to heal me- she was Serene’s daughter, after all. I stumbled to a bench and sat down heavily. Unable to face Athynae, I put my head in my hands and sobbed.

“I have been so lonely and ashamed. I’ve let everyone down. All because of Carnius Magius and his accursed ‘tea’.”

The thought of the man who had enslaved me was a flash of lightning through my fogged brain. I sat up and muttered,

“No more. I can make sure he pays for what he has done to me.”

I looked to the corner where I had dropped my mace when I took over the cabin, and stumbled toward it. Athynae placed a restraining hand on my arm and pulled me back to the bench, saying,

“I knew it had to be something like that, that someone must have tricked you; you would never take the drug willingly. But please wait. First, because you are not strong enough- in your condition, you probably wouldn’t survive the trip to the fort. And besides that, there may be a better way.” The smile that came to her face would have given a Daedroth nightmares. She continued, “He’s a money-man, yes?”

At my nod, she sat down beside me and took my hand:

“Once, when Mama was talking about the Hlaalu and all that business with the Caldera Mine, she told me- ‘The way to hurt them is to take their money. They don’t value life, but they love making money.’ So that’s how you deal with this Carnius- find a way to take his money. And if you can find a legal way to do it, so much the better. You can only kill him once, and then it’s over. But if you beat him financially, he’ll have to live with that forever.”

I reminded myself- again- to never really provoke Athynae. I knew from growing up with two sisters that girls were far more devious than boys ever thought of being. But this plan was absolute vengeful genius. I nodded my enthusiastic agreement and then doubled over as a spasm racked my whole body. I felt Athynae’s arms around me and gasped,

“Gods, I think I’m dying. Wish we had had more time. Love you—sorry I never said before…. Hold me, please.”

The next thing I felt was the back of my head thumping against the bench as she dropped me.

Posted by: minque Oct 10 2009, 11:41 PM

I'm honoured by the presence of Athynae in this story, I truly am. She's a special young woman and you picture her so vivid and her personality is just so right!

I just hope she will be aiding Athlain through his recovery from his addiction, and that the wicked captain gets what he deserves.

Your description of the agony and pain Athlain feels when he suffers from withdrawal symptoms are so "on the spot"

So now I sit here eagerly waiting for more



(and hopefully come up with some writing myself)

Posted by: Captain Hammer Oct 11 2009, 03:49 AM

Ah, dropping the 'L-bomb.' Gotta appreciate how she drops him right as he says it. Goes to show why some of us are always apprehensive about using it.

Posted by: treydog Oct 11 2009, 03:24 PM

Athynae put her hands on her hips and gave me a critical look.

“Oh, grow up. You aren’t dying.” She sniffed disdainfully and muttered, “As if I would let that happen anyway.”

I was so surprised that I nearly forgot the pain that cramped my belly. I was never going to understand this girl. She came all this way to “save” me, and then dropped me on my head. If she planned on becoming a healer like her mother, her bedside manner definitely needed work. Still, given my previous disastrous attempts at conversation, I decided that silence was my greatest ally. She looked me over clinically and continued in a brisk, detached tone:

“So it’s your stomach, right? Lift up your shirt. Oh, don’t look at me like that- Mama says that direct contact is best for healing spells- you wouldn’t bandage your greaves if you had a leg wound, would you?”

I meekly obeyed and she pushed up her sleeves and flexed her hands. As she prepared herself, my eyes fell on the bracer that she wore on her left forearm- the bracer I had given her all those months ago, before things went to pieces. She took in several deep breaths, and her face seemed to change, to become far older and more majestic and yet hauntingly familiar. Her hands began to glow the blue of the dawn sky and she placed them on my stomach. I had been healed before- like any active child on Vvardenfell, I had experienced bumps, bruises, knocks on the head and even broken bones. So the sensation of mingled warmth and cold radiating through me was nothing new. But Athynae’s touch was different. There was an intimacy to it, a sharing, that I had never felt before. It was at once thrilling and disturbing, and my body reacted in a way that made me glad I was wearing heavy trousers. The sensation passed and Athynae lifted her hands and stood slowly. Her face was her own again, although drawn and streaked with perspiration. I recognized the signs- it had been a difficult healing. She sat wearily and drained a flask of water, then shuddered as if taken by a sudden chill. She was silent for some minutes, then finally looked at me and asked,

“How do you feel?”

I felt alive, invigorated, intoxicated. I felt better than I had in years- as though I could race from Ald’ruhn to Suran without stopping. I wanted to pick Athynae up and whirl her around the room. What I said was somewhat more subdued; perhaps if I stuck to polite civility, I would manage not to put a foot wrong. Again.

“I feel much better. I think I am completely well now. Thank you.”

Athynae frowned thoughtfully and stoppered the water bottle. Unable to completely contain my energy, I stood up and stretched luxuriantly, trying out the little smile that usually worked on Mother. Athynae appeared to be immune to it; she nodded her head once, as if coming to a decision, and replied,

“That’s good. Because….”

She rose lithely to her feet and with the same motion threw a punch that started somewhere around the floor and ended on my chin. It was no girlish swat- it was a serious blow with plenty of muscle behind it. I flew backwards and crashed to the floor, watching stars burst behind my eyes. When my vision came back into focus, I saw Athynae standing over me, her face pale with anger.

“Just tell me how you could be such an idiot. Explain to me how it is you managed to survive on Solstheim for two minutes when you also managed to forget that you know the greatest healer in all of Morrowind. Enlighten me as to why you thought Mama wouldn’t help you and wouldn’t keep your confidences if she did. I could understand you joining the Legion, although you might have at least told me about it first. But this… this….”

She searched for words sufficient to convey her assessment of my monumental stupidity as I huddled on the floor at her feet and contemplated the idea that I should always wear armor in the presence of the women in my life. Unfortunately, I knew of no way to armor my heart. Nor did I want to. Her rapid breathing turned into sobs as she continued,

“Whatever possessed you to think you should just run off into the wilderness, as if you had no friends, no family… no one who loves you?”

She dropped to her knees and cradled my aching head in her arms, whispering the words of a healing spell that took away the pain her punch had inflicted. She bent her head to mine, and the salt of our tears mingled as we kissed. Fireworks burst behind my eyes again and I reached up to hold her close. What might have happened next, I do not know, for the soporific effect of the fire combined with the exhaustion that follows a major healing spell overcame us both and we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Some unknown time later, a nightmare came stealing and I-

Found myself standing alone in a snowy clearing. Broken clouds alternately covered and uncovered the full moon and the wind carried the voices of wolves howling their hunting calls. I heard the soft pad of paws amongst the trees, and a deep, throaty howl sounded close behind me. But when I turned to face the source, there was nothing there. There came another howl, from a different place. Every time I turned to look, I saw nothing but shadows. The sounds and shadows seemed to be all around me, except to the north. There, through a break in the trees, a path gleamed in the dappled moonlight. I cautiously stepped that way, eyes straining to discern if it was really a way out, or simply a trap. I saw nothing, and the pack fell silent. I took another step, and another, and I was on the forest path. I turned once more to look behind me and perceived the hunched shapes that had crept into the clearing. Just at the edge of the trees, I sensed rather than saw movement- a darker shadow against the dark trees. It walked like a man, but was far taller, and seemed to have antlers on its head. Hands rose to hidden lips and a howl louder than any before shattered the night and shook the limbs overhead. I felt as though I was being driven by a high wind, and broke into a panicked run. The pack took up the call, and I ran faster, coming to a stop at last against a cliff of ice. The first wolf leapt, and I felt its jaws close on the arm I threw up to block. The antlered figure rose behind the wolves and called my name.

“Athlain! Athlain, wake up! You were having a bad dream.”

Athynae’s voice called me back and I struggled up out of the depths of sleep. She loosed her grip on my arm and her concerned gaze sharpened.

“Your eyes,” she murmured, “that’s odd.”

“What about my eyes?”

She did not answer, but frowned with concentration and firmly grasped my head, turning it back and forth like a housewife examining a doubtful melon in the market. She at last relinquished her grip and shrugged.

“It was probably just a trick of the light. They’re bloodshot, which is no surprise. A little more rest and a compress of bittergreen leaves will fix that.”

Her words were dismissive, but there was something in her tone that sounded almost like—fear. Before I could frame a question, her gaze moved to a point behind me and it looked for all the world as if she was listening to a voice only she could hear. She frowned and shook her head, then rose to her feet and spoke briskly.

“But that will have to wait. It’s morning, and I’ve changed my mind. We should start for Thirsk as soon as we can finish packing.”

I responded carefully, watching her hands in case I needed to duck or dodge.

“Could we eat something first? It has been some time since I really enjoyed a meal…. And I’m sure the healing took a lot out of you, as well.”

She considered my appeal and relented slightly- “I suppose we can have breakfast first, but after that, I don’t see any reason to stay here any longer.”

I could think of several, but the memory of getting knocked to the floor the previous night was fresh in my mind, so I wisely said nothing.

Posted by: Olen Oct 11 2009, 07:04 PM

This is a joy to read. You introduce Athynae quite effectively, its also nice to see a strong female character in TES fanfic (or fantasy in general). The story progresses very smoothly. That dream sounds distinctly ominous and is a nice hook. You must have these fairly well planned before you write them?

As far as criticism goes... You use adverbs quite heavily which is mostly fine though sometimes a better verb might negate the requirement for the adverb. Just a thought, and to be frank looking from something to say as there's not much wrong.

Good stuff.

Posted by: minque Oct 11 2009, 11:13 PM

Yessss Yesss....this is really going to be most intriguing! Thyna is after all the first born child of Serene and Athyn Sarethi. She has to be strong, and wise, and also quite stubborn!

I just love the interactions between Athlain and her, who knows what all this is gonna lead to? I'm curious to learn more...yummy!

Oh it's about time you get a

S.G.M

Posted by: mplantinga Oct 12 2009, 02:18 AM

Well, Mr. Treydog, I've been reading your work for a long time, and I've come to expect great things from you. This installment caught me by surprise. It was, perhaps, the most impressive bit of writing of yours that I've ever read, and that's saying something. You managed to combine your incredible powers of description with a depth of emotion that nearly had me in tears. In case I haven't said it enough times in the last few years, THANK YOU so much for sharing your skills and giving us this story.

Posted by: treydog Oct 15 2009, 08:40 PM

We dined on scuttle and the last of the kwama eggs ‘Thyna had brought from home. The return of my sense of taste was a welcome change from the stolid eating I had done previously- and the company certainly had something to do with that. I did not even mind when she insisted that I clean up the cabin, a task she summed up with the comment that:

“We should leave it in a fit state for habitation by people, not a family of bristle-backs.”

Even so, it was still early when we turned north, and I was glad to leave the cabin behind me- my few clear memories of it were less than pleasant. More to the point, departing the workshop meant staying with Athynae, and I could think of no brighter prospect. The chill brought color to her cheeks and her breath frosted the air. She was altogether the most beautiful sight I had ever beheld. We moved quickly and with little conversation for the first fifteen minutes or so, and the silence was companionable. But my brain refused to be quiet or satisfied with things as they were. It kept producing difficult questions, most of which I would rather remained unvoiced. Unfortunately, an artifact of my Imperial heritage was a certain degree of verbosity…. To say it another way, I had a big mouth.

There were things I wanted to say, questions I wanted to ask- but I was more than a bit afraid of the answers. I wanted to ask her why she had come looking for me, what exactly she had meant when she accused me of “running from the people who loved me,” what she had seen in my eyes that morning- and whether whatever it was had prompted her to change her plans and decide to leave immediately. Or whether that decision was brought about by what had- or had not- happened the night before. And then there was my proven history of babbling inanities and non-sequiturs whenever I was around her…. Given that we were on Solstheim, perhaps it would be better if I followed the apocryphal Nord tradition and rapped her smartly on the skull and threw her over my shoulder. The only problem with that plan was that I would more likely find myself stretched out again, and probably skinned into the bargain. The fact that she would heal me afterwards was small consolation. And still, my traitor tongue could not be silent:

“Ummm- so anyway, I just wanted to be sure that you knew that nothing happened last night. Well, I don’t exactly mean ‘nothing’—after all, you healed me and I truly appreciate that. And, and- we, err- kissed each other, which was wonderful, too. But, what I mean is, ah, ummm, … I, that is we… you know….”

In the theater of your mind, your words are always perfectly scripted, and your fellow player cooperates by picking up her cues. In the real world, I stumbled to a verbal and physical halt and stole a glance at her from the corner of my eye. She stopped walking and turned to face me squarely, raised an inquiring eyebrow, and gravely said,

“Was there something you wanted to ask?”

The gesture and tone were so reminiscent of my mother that I nearly choked. Fortunately, I managed to keep the comparison to myself. But she was looking at me, waiting for a response, and even though the sight of her drove every coherent thought out of my head, I had to say something. From a wide array of available topics what I managed was:

“Why did you think it was necessary to hit me?”

I looked forlornly at the vapor of my question as it condensed before me, wishing that I could draw it back in, or scrub it out of existence, or that it at least did not sound as much like a whine as I suspected it did.
Athynae’s mouth curved upward in a smile, and I gave silent thanks that she was amused rather than offended. She answered my question with one of her own:

“You know Mama spent some time with the Ahemmusa Ashlanders?”

I had no idea where this was going, but had learned that she usually had a point, no matter how circuitous might be her route. Therefore I nodded encouragingly. She went on:

“Well, the Ahemmusa are guar-herders, and Mama noticed that they all carry these heavy wooden staves. She assumed they were to defend against predators that might attack the herds and asked the wise-woman. The wise-woman explained it this way- ‘Guar are very intelligent when they want to be, but they are also very stubborn. You can train a guar to do almost anything, but first you have to get its attention.’”

Athynae then smacked me lightly on the back of the head and added,

“I figured the same technique should work with you.”

She raced away from me and added laughingly over her shoulder, “After all, you’re almost as smart as a guar!”

I had no hope of catching her in a foot-race; even if I had not been given the task of carrying our gear, she had always been far swifter than I, ever since we were children. But, as I watched her feet kick up clouds of white powder, I recalled something Mother and Father had talked about when they tried to explain snow to me. Quick as the thought itself, I bent and scooped a handful and patted it into shape. Athynae had slowed when she realized I was not pursuing, and I made a perfect throw that caught her right between the shoulders. The snowball exploded in a satisfying spray of icy fragments, some of which, judging by the way she moved, found their way down her neck. My moment of victory was short- ever a quick study in all the martial arts, she grasped the concept immediately and pelted me with a storm of snowy missiles. I was getting hit three or four times for every one I managed in return, and decided that desperate measures were necessary. Senior Trooper Carbo had taught me that the best thing to do when confronted with an archer was to hold up my shield and charge. I had no shield, but decided my left arm would have to do. Athynae was so focused on lobbing snowballs at me that I had dropped the pack and gotten within reach before she recognized the danger. I did not stop my rush, but lowered my shoulder and tackled her, dumping us both into a drift. She protested this treatment by rubbing a handful of snow in my face, laughing all the while. I cleared my eyes and mouth and informed her that she made a quite comfortable couch and that I believed I would simply rest where I was, exhausted by my great triumph.

“‘Great triumph,’ is it? I’ll show you a triumph, you great oaf!”

She twisted slightly and moved her arms and legs, then the blue sky spun over me and our positions were reversed. From her seat on my chest, Athynae spoke with mock thoughtfulness:

“Yes, I think you would make a fine pack-guar. I might even get you a harness with some nice bells. Would you like that?”

She poked me in the ribs and added,

“I don’t know though; you seem awfully skinny. I want a guar with lots of muscle.”

It was a scuffle like those that we had played out any number of times back in Ald’ruhn, and that was the problem. We weren’t in Ald’ruhn.

Posted by: Black Hand Oct 21 2009, 12:52 AM

Rest assured that I am still reading this fantastic series of Athlain Treyson!

Posted by: minque Oct 21 2009, 07:31 PM

QUOTE(Black Hand @ Oct 21 2009, 01:52 AM) *

Rest assured that I am still reading this fantastic series of Athlain Treyson!

Me too! i'm just so fascinated how you describe the interactions between Thyna and Athlain...so right on spot! My my I'm ever so curious about how this will turn out!

Athlain is just so charming in his approach to her...I just love it!

Posted by: treydog Oct 21 2009, 10:09 PM

Thank you, folks. I love writing this story, but I have to admit that it sometimes feels like I'm shouting down a well. Petty of me to vent to the folks who love me, I suppose, but who else would I complain to? smile.gif Anyway, enough of that, let's have some more story:

We should have died from our carelessness, in our happiness, in our childish play. And if our attackers had been reavers or other human predators we probably would have. But they were wolves, and that is what saved us. Wolves hunt cooperatively and with a particular method- they try to separate one animal from the herd and then they chase it until it is exhausted. An exhausted animal cannot fight, not even for its life. So the hunting pack howls. They do this to communicate, but also to start the prey. A running animal does not think about anything except running. So we knew the wolves were around us when they howled. But we did not run. I stood and quickly drew my mace, standing guard as Athynae pulled her bowstring from an inside pocket and strung her bow. Our movements were fluid and natural, as if we had always been a team. In Athynae’s case, it might just have been the grace with which she did all things- for me, it was because of my training. Carbo had drilled me endlessly on the concept that one of a maceman’s most important tasks was guarding the archers. I watched the wolves as they circled us, but I also watched Athynae as she stood relaxed, an arrow half-drawn, choosing her targets. Then she began to shoot, and it was as if a warrior goddess of old had come to life before me. She was like a statue except for the movement of her hands and arms, feet planted solidly, letting the wolves move into the killing zone. And the vision prompted a memory-

We were around ten years old, and Athynae had so far managed to avoid the “icky girl” label by being better at all athletic endeavors than any of us. We had recently discovered that, by climbing onto the roof of the Emperor crab, we could hide from Mae and Cai, who were, by dint of being my sisters, definitely “icky”. As we basked in the sunshine, we saw cliff-racers wheeling over the foothills outside of town. Like all residents of Vvardenfell, we despised the foul beasts, but also knew to be careful of them. Their razor beaks and clubbed tails meant danger to any unwary traveler. Efforts had been made to wipe them out, but no one had been able to find their nesting grounds. Some even speculated that they were a creation of the Telvanni, designed to slow settlement of the island. Normally, we would run inside if one approached, trusting the Redoran guards to handle the threat. But on this day, Athynae got a stubborn look on her face and told me, “Wait here.” She scrambled off the roof and went inside, only to reappear with a rolled blanket, out of which she pulled a flask, a bow, and a sheaf of arrows. The bow was of bonemold, and made for someone of Athynae’s size. In fact, it had been a gift from the Ahemmusa, and she treasured it and practiced with it daily. She set the archery equipment down beside her and opened the flask. I waved a hand under my nose and piped,

“Phew, ‘Thyna! What is that?”

She took on the look she got in the classroom when she was reciting: “Cliff-racers are scavengers. They eat carrion, as well as small or injured animals.” She brandished the flask, and added, “This is bait.”

She looked at me and amended, “Actually, you’re going to be the bait as soon as I dump this on you. Do you think you can look small and injured?”

Afterwards, we were banned from ever again climbing on the roof; Athynae’s bow was taken away for a month; and I got to go “camping” for a matter of several days, while Mother and Serene tried various soaps and other mixtures to remove the smell. However, we did get to keep all the racer plumes we had collected.


The wolves were canny enough to avoid a massed attack, and also wove in and out of the trees, preventing easy shots. The ones in front of us mostly acted as distractions, rushing forward to hold our attention while their mates closed from the sides and rear. The wolves of Solstheim had hunted people before, and knew that our noses were useless and our peripheral vision nearly so. Still, Athynae had killed or wounded several before the rest began the real attack. I turned so we were back-to-back, and stepped a few paces away. If she drew her katana, she was going to need room to use it. Howls rose from all sides and a smoky grey shadow, larger than the rest, lunged toward me, snarling and snapping. I batted it aside and set myself for the next. Others crowded in on me and things got a little vague after that. Time slowed as I battled silently, with my own puny teeth bared in imitation of the creatures I fought. My only thought was that I could not let a single one get past me, that I must account for them all. I wanted desperately to make sure Athynae was all right, but I could not spare the time. I whirled and dodged and bashed, never focusing too long on any one opponent. Finally, the last of the wolves that were able dragged themselves away, and I could look. She was still there, still standing, no wound or injury anywhere to be seen. In fact, she seemed completely relaxed, resting the bow against her thigh and looking at me in a peculiar way. I realized that she had never drawn her sword, but had simply continued to shoot as long as there were targets. I caught my breath and asked, a bit crossly it must be admitted:

“Why didn’t you change weapons when they got close?”

She smiled at me and replied, “There was no need. I knew you were there.”

That answer washed away my annoyance, and I felt myself flushing with pleasure and embarrassment. I also felt something else- the skooma craving that always seemed to strike after combat. I turned away, as if surveying the distant landscape, hoping to hide my weakness. But Athynae was as perceptive as ever and place a comforting hand on my shoulder,

“Is it bad?” I looked at her and she bit her lip and explained, “I was able to heal your stomach and to cleanse your blood of the physical effects of the drug- but there is still a… need. That will pass- eventually.”

She shook me and continued, “But until then, you have to talk to me and let me know. Trying to keep it all to yourself is what got you in such a mess to start with.”

I understood then, in a way I hadn’t before, that love takes many forms. The moment passed, and Athynae rummaged in the pack for a couple of knives. She tossed one to me and said,

“We can collect the best of the wolf hides and take them with us to Thirsk. It helps if you don’t show up empty-handed.”

I wasn’t sure what disturbed me more- her assurance with a skinning knife or her familiarity with Nord customs. As we worked, I asked what I hoped sounded like a casual question:

“So, you keep talking about Thirsk. What is that, exactly? Is it a town or settlement?”

Athynae replied without looking up from her work:

“Thirsk is mead-hall. Like what we would call a ‘corner-club’ or tavern back home. There really isn’t much there- just the hall itself and Brynjolfr’s smithy. The people are nice enough, though.”

As we gathered our belongings, she elaborated, “There’s a village, too, a bit north of Thirsk. The people call themselves the ‘Skaal’. As long as you’re respectful, we shouldn’t have any trouble.”

Edited to remove gratuitous whining. tongue.gif

Posted by: Olen Oct 22 2009, 12:31 PM

Good update. You move their relationship forward very well, without seeming to force anythin they're now a unit. And again I must say that it's refreshing to see a strong female character in fantasy and I'm interested to see how things go in Thrisk and with the Skaal.

QUOTE
but I have to admit that it sometimes feels like I'm shouting down a well

Fanfiction can be like that but you do have quite a following of readers and I can say personally that this story is one of the best I've read online and better than pleanty I've paid good money for. Thanks for sharing your talents.

QUOTE
Petty of me to vent to the folks who love me

I disagree, if you need to vent then vent away.

Posted by: minque Oct 25 2009, 07:11 PM

Ahh, heading for Thirsk, are they? Now Meadhalls are ..ehh nice(?) Then again a nice good hefty mead will probably do them good ... biggrin.gif .

I like them connecting with the Nords, Nords are good strong ones and I'm sure they will have a good time in thirsk..or will they?

Anyway I'm ever so pleased with your development of Athynae!

Posted by: treydog Oct 25 2009, 08:26 PM

I appreciate the feedback- and Minque, I especially appreciate you letting me "hijack" your character; I have grown quite fond of her, and she ties Athlain in such knots.... Which makes it fun to write.

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

There was more wrong with me than the skooma-craving; Athynae’s joking reference to my “needing more muscle” was based in truth. In the midst of the arduous work of skinning the dead wolves, my hands began to tremble so badly that I had to put down the knife before I sliced myself. I was beyond tired- our scuffle and the subsequent battle had pushed me to exhaustion. I knelt in the bloody snow, heedless of the melt water seeping into my clothes. Athynae came over and gave me a playful shove, saying:

“I don’t pay you to sit around- let’s see some work.”

When I crashed to the ground, she was instantly contrite and began sorting through the small healer’s kit she carried at her waist. She drew out a couple of vials sealed with Serene’s personal mark and dosed me with them. While I waited for the full effects to take hold, she explained:

“Fortify potions. You really need more time to recover, but we can’t stay out here. Did anything about that attack seem odd to you?”

I looked at her blearily, my tired mind trying to follow the convoluted logic of her words. Which attack- my attack of weakness or the attack by the wolves? If the first, I always seemed to go weak in the knees when she was around. If she was asking about the wolves, it had been my experience that everything that moved on Solstheim wanted to take a bite out of me. I was even beginning to suspect some of the trees of harboring homicidal thoughts. I summarized those concepts with a plaintive, “What?” That was enough to prompt a torrent of words from Athynae. Even as she gathered our scattered possessions, she kept up a running commentary:

“Wolves. Wolves rarely attack people, right? They have to be sick or injured or starving. The wolves I mean, not the people. Although a wolf would be more likely to go after a sick or injured or starving person if they did. Attack people, I mean. Which they don’t. Except that they did. And then they didn’t stop as soon as I- well, we- had killed and hurt some of them. They kept pressing the attack long after it was clear it had failed. That’s not right, either.”

Even though I had not made a sound, she held up a hand as if to forestall argument while she settled the pack on her shoulders:

“Fine. I know we’re on Solstheim and these wolves are different than the wolves in Cyrodiil. But why are they different? If anything, they should be smarter….”

She stalked several more steps and ended with a phrase I had heard quite often over the years, delivered in a querulous tone:

“It doesn’t make any sense!”

Her monologue had carried us out of the trees and I stopped in my tracks as I beheld Lake Fjalding. As I had heard, it was almost completely covered with ice, with only a few small patches of open water to show that it really was a lake. I noticed movement far out on the ice- low, white shapes that seemed to undulate rather than walk. Athynae saw where I was looking and explained,

“Those are horkers. They don’t have paws, just these flippers. But they can get around fairly well on land, and are incredibly fast in the water. You can hunt them, I suppose, but it would be like clubbing baby guar. Anyway, we’re almost there.”

She pointed toward a large structure on the east side of the lake; a steady stream of smoke poured from the chimney, and I faintly heard the sound of a hammer ringing on an anvil. I did not bother to tell Athynae that I had already seen horkers; there was no reason to spoil her pleasure in playing “tour-guide.” Now that we had almost reached our destination, I wanted to take a closer look at the ice-lake, so Athynae said she would meet me at Brynjolfr’s forge and turned to go up the hill. I watched as she walked away, the low light of the afternoon illuminating her beautiful form, and it was like a vision of Dibella come into the world of men. I still dream of that moment, especially the part where she turned to look back and wave to me. I wondered how I had ever been able to leave her- and what I was going to do about our situation. Although she had cured me of my addiction and probably saved my life, little else had changed. I was still absent from the Legion without leave- even I knew the excuse of my “resignation letter” was thinner than the paper on which I had scrawled it. Apparently, from what Athynae had said, the commander assumed I was still working for Severia Gratius, but that could not last forever. No, my life was just as much a ruin as it had been- only now, thanks to Athynae, it would likely be a ruin that lasted much longer. If I loved her, how could I drag her down with me, especially now, just when she was seeing everything the world had to offer? The setting sun threw long shadows across the lake, and I knew darkness would come quickly. There was nothing to be done at the moment, I rationalized, and so I put off making a decision. The fact that waiting to decide also meant at least one more night with Athynae was simply a beneficial side-effect.

The smithy was set up in a small building to one side of the great hall, and I followed the smells of charcoal and hot metal to the open front. Athynae was seated on a bench inside the door, displaying our fresh wolf pelts to the smith. When my shadow loomed in the entry, he paused at his work and glanced up. His frown of concentration became a ferocious scowl and he spoke to Athynae:

“Come away from the door, lass. A skraeling has followed ye out o’ the forest. I’ll just see him off wi’ my hammer.”

Athynae turned to look and put a hand on his arm.

“That’s not a- skra… skrat…skraeling,” she said. “That’s Athlain. He’s my….”

Here she paused for a long moment, and her face grew flushed from more than the heat of the forge. It was a treat to see her, for once, at a loss for words. My pleasure was short-lived, however.

“He’s my betrothed,” she finally blurted.

Posted by: Olen Oct 25 2009, 11:15 PM

You have a talent for beaking off at moments where everything has suddenly and unexpectedly (well perhaps not unexpected per se as it fits well with the characters but still surprising in the way it changes the immediate situation) changed. It leaves me wanting more and wandering exactly how Athlain will take it.

I also wander what will happen next. I like the situation you've put Athlain into, he's getting increasingly torn between dutys and his own pride and I'm interested to see what he plans. The wolves also create some nice foreshadowing...

If I had any criticisms of the previous part (and as ever they're trivial but I feel compelled to criticise something) it's that the walk from where they were attacked seemed a little short and disjointed. On re-reading it I think it might be that Athlain is on the ground then they're at the lake. But either way its a minor continuity error at worst.

Another thing I don't think I've said yet is how much I like the characters. They're very strong and their actions seem their own and the plot entirly a function of them which is excellent. You have the dialogue nailed too, their lines 'sound' different. Great stuff smile.gif

Posted by: minque Oct 28 2009, 12:11 AM

ah treydoggie! It's true I invented Athynae, but you surely developed her into a great charachter! Sure she's a "besserwisser" sometimes but that is just so .."her"

Ok about those wolves...I have a dreadful feeling about them....could it be? nooo,....or?

Then Athlain in a meadhall, now that will be most interesting, I wonder if het s taste for mead..hehe wonderful beverage ... but for Athlain?

I also hope he will let go and make a move towards Thyna....I'm sure she would love it...in the end

Can't wait for more now!

Posted by: treydog Nov 2 2009, 10:51 PM

Olen- I tend to agree- that walk was over rather suddenly. Guess I just wanted to move things along a little too quickly....

Minque- You have no idea how much I depend on your example and inspiration. Without Serene to show me the way, I do not believe I could have understood Athynae.

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

The world paused in its turning, and Time slowed to an imperceptible crawl, giving me a chance to contemplate the individual hairs on Athynae’s head as they stirred in the slight breeze. Perhaps it was a trick of the failing light from the sun, combined with the glow of the forge fire, but I noticed a slight reddish tint among her tresses. It was not the true auburn my mother displayed, but more a tinge, similar to Serene’s elegant locks. Oh by the gods! Mother and Serene! They would flip a coin to decide which one got to kill me. No, strike that; they were friends; they would come to an agreement. Perhaps Mother would kill me and then Serene would resurrect me. Even though she despised necromancy, she would make an exception in this case- probably several times over. That way they could take turns killing me. I needed a plan. Lying was a plan, wasn’t it?

Athynae? No, I haven’t seen her since the day after the party. Why do you ask?”

That was no good; we had been seen together. Perhaps I could disguise myself as a boy and take passage on a ship to Akavir. Wait…I was a boy, well, a man- or at least I would be until Mother and Serene caught up with me. But I had no idea where Akavir was or how to get there. Maybe Divayth Fyr would tell me. But he was Father’s friend. He would just hand me over to Father, who would hand me over to Mother, and we were back to the whole Matrons of Redoran Society for the Killing of Athlain enterprise. If I turned and ran immediately, I might make it to the lake, where I could drown myself. But Athynae would almost certainly save me- and then she would kill me for running away. Athynae… Athynae, who was still standing before me, her embarrassed flush changing to something else as an ominous light came to her eyes. Several centuries passed and still we stared at one another in silence. She stood- the girl I loved; the woman who had rescued me, only to now ensure that I would suffer a lingering and painful death; the person who, in her slender form, encompassed all my hope and terror. And I waited for her next words, for the syllables of my doom. What she said was:

“Well, then. Don’t just stand there gawping; it isn’t polite. Anyone would think you’d never seen a forge before. We’ll just leave Brynjolfr to his work now, and see about accommodations. Right, dear?”

She linked her arm possessively through mine and led me away. When I could manage to form human sounds again, I choked out:

“B-, but… betrothed? Why did you have to tell him that?”

“Did you want me to let him whack you with a hammer instead?” Athynae hissed back at me.

“I’m not sure; let me think about it.”

The silence which ensued was even chillier than the snowy air. I finally broke it with one of my usual irrelevant questions:

“What’s a ‘skraeling,’ anyway?”

Athynae cast a guilty glance at me from the corner of her eye and mumbled something inaudible.

“Excuse me? What was that?” I prompted.

She looked everywhere but at me and finally said, “I think it’s like a beggar or a wild man of the woods. Ummm- your clothes are a little ragged…. And then there’s your hair- and the, ahh- beard. Plus, sweetheart…. How to say this…. It seems like maybe it’s been a while since you…”

Her darting eyes fell on a small structure behind the mead hall and she spoke as if a thought had just occurred to her:

“Do you know, the Skaal have this marvelous thing called a ‘steam bath.’ It’s warm and really helps loosen up your muscles. I imagine that would feel good- to you- after that long walk through the snow. Why don’t I ask Svenja to get it ready for you? I… yes, I’ll just go and do that now, shall I? And you can wait right here, right… ahh, outside.”

She made to scurry away, but I was feeling more put-upon and surly than usual, so I tramped after her, showing only enough bad grace to stop outside the main door of the mead hall while she darted inside. As the doors opened and closed, a brief burst of sound wafted out. It sounded as if someone, or more likely quite a number of someones, was having a wonderful time. Lucky them.

After several minutes, the doors opened again, and Athynae emerged, trailed by a woman of obvious Nord heritage. If the ring mail and fur greaves had not been enough of a clue, there was her white-blonde hair, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes. She was really quite pretty, but seemed rather washed out standing next to Athynae. But then, most women did, at least to my eyes. When she spoke, it was apparent she had been returning my scrutiny and was less than impressed by what she saw:

“We can certainly heat up the stones for your… companion. In fact, I think the bath is empty at the moment, so he can go right in.”

I was about to protest being discussed like so much livestock when she finally addressed a remark to me:

“By the way, I am Svenja Snow-Singer, Hunter of the Skaal. Just leave your clothes outside the door to the bath. I imagine we can find something that will fit. And I’ll send along some shears.”

She turned back to Athynae: “And will you be needing a room?”

Athynae colored nicely at the off-hand remark about our sleeping arrangements. I was becoming quite enchanted with seeing her blush for a change. She composed herself enough to say,

“That would be wonderful, Svenja. But make it two rooms, please.”

At the Nord woman’s questioning look, Athynae waved a casual hand, as if to say this sort of thing came up all the time, and explained in an airy voice:

“Oh, you know. Redoran customs. The betrothed couple have separate rooms until after the wedding.”

She laughed and continued, “It’s silly, I know- but- traditions and all that.”

I should have kept still, but I was enjoying her discomfort too much, plus I was still a bit nettled at being made to wait outside. I put an affectionate arm around her waist and drew her close, giving her a leer as I said,

“Since we aren’t in Ald’ruhn and there aren’t any House members around, is tradition really that important?”

I made as if to nuzzle her ear and she jabbed an elbow sharply into my ribs, smiling tightly while she purred:

“You forget, darling, that I am a member of House Redoran.” And then to Svenja, firmly: “Two rooms!”

If the Skaal hunter thought our actions were odd, she managed to keep any indication of it from her face. Athynae, on the other hand, had an expression that promised retribution- and in the near future.

Posted by: Olen Nov 2 2009, 11:14 PM

Good update. Your characters make this story, they really seem to come out of the page. I'm still wanderng how he's going to like the Meadhall though.

Also I like the degree of realism added in him being dirty, stories are often guilty of ignoring the trivial things which nonetheless matter and when included make everything that bit more direct.

More? smile.gif

EDIT: I forgot to say whoo and great : 'tresses' was a word I'd never come across before and thats not a particularly common occurance. I like words.

Posted by: minque Nov 3 2009, 12:16 AM

Ohhh jeez! this is getting better and better! The humour is astonishing...I was completely smiling the whole time I read this!

QUOTE
Matrons of Redoran Society for the Killing of Athlain enterprise.


Just hilarious!

Athynae is so strong....makes one wonder huh? wink.gif

Posted by: mplantinga Nov 3 2009, 01:46 AM

I'll second Minque's comment on that superb line; some phrases are just enticing and quite satisfying, and that one certainly is.

I am amused by the slowly developing romance between Athlain and Athynae. Sometimes it feels like two children fighting, unwilling to admit that they fight because they "like" each other; other times it has the sense of an angst-ridden adult lover's quarrel. I am really enjoying the playful jabs that sneak in between the more serious concerns.

I am also starting to realize that this story has somewhat broken with the precedent set by the stories about Athlain's father Trey. In those stories, your plot generally followed the main- and side-quests fairly closely, with liberal artistic license to keep things interesting. With this last storyline of addiction and rescue, you've deviated more than in the past from that framework. I can't speak for anyone else, but I'm really enjoying seeing this more creative side, and I'm hoping it will continue.

Assuming (which might be a bad idea, but we'll see) that Athlain will eventually find his way to the Skaal and the Bloodmoon prophecies, I am very curious to see not only how you get him from here to there, but also how his time in the moon-sugar hut has changed or matured the Athlain of the Legion that left Fort Frostmouth what seems like so long ago. (Yes, I realize that was a bit of a run-on sentence; my graduate advisor yelled at me for those all the time, but I still can't seem to stop writing them).

Part of me would really love to see Athynae journey with Athlain through the rest of his time on the island, as she seems very capable and they certainly worked together pretty well during the wolf attack. However, I worry that her presence would cause him to second-guess himself too much, which could lead to mistakes that Trooper Carbo would shake his head at most sternly. I guess only time will tell.

Posted by: RavenMind Nov 5 2009, 11:16 PM

This has been such an enjoyable read! I keep popping back every few days hopeful to find an update. Excellent work Treydog!!

Posted by: treydog Nov 7 2009, 04:24 PM

The steam bath was every bit as pleasant as promised; even more so was the opportunity to comb out and trim my unkempt hair. Despite what Athynae had seemed to assume, I was quite familiar with the traditional Nord sauna, even if I did forgo the dubious pleasures of afterwards whacking myself with tree branches or diving naked into a snow drift. Trying to fit in to the community was all well and good, but I saw no reason to overdo it. My happiness was cut short when I examined the clothing that had been left for me. The lack of an opening at the front of the trousers, not to mention the cut of the shirt, indicated that they were cast-offs from a woman- and a well-endowed one, at that. Still worse, I had to roll up the cuffs of the trousers and the sleeves of the shirt to keep them from flapping outrageously at every step. Thus, despite the satisfaction of being clean, I was not in a particularly friendly frame of mind when I at last made entrance to Thirsk, the mead hall of which Athynae had spoken so happily.

The interior was smoky and loud. There were some dozen or more Nords eating, drinking, and dicing; as well as singing, laughing, and arguing- all at the top of their lungs. The building consisted of a single open room on the ground level, with rough steps leading to a gallery and additional rooms above. The packed earth floor was dominated by a central fire pit, and animal hides did service as rugs- or, in some cases, sleeping mats. I squinted against the smoke, but could not see Athynae amidst all the chaotic activity. Someone had seen me, however, for Svenja emerged from the gloom and greeted me. It might have been my imagination, but I thought a hint of a smile touched her usually impassive face as she took in my attire. If so, she kept it from her voice as she said,

“You should speak to Skjoldr Wolf-Runner, Chieftain of Thirsk. Also, know that you are welcome here, but be careful of Erich the Unworthy if he returns from hunting. He is my clan-brother and a good hunter, but he is not a good person. And he doesn’t like outsiders.”

She then gestured for me to follow and threaded her way toward the other end of the hall, where a man surveyed the raucous activities from a wooden throne. When we were close enough, I could see that he was a Nord of 30 or so, with a handsome face and a pleasant demeanor. He was a large man, but then, everyone in the room was large, or at least larger than I- including most of the women. He gave me a smile and rose smoothly from his seat. Taking my forearm in a traditional warrior’s clasp, he boomed:

“Be welcome in this place. I am Skjoldr Wolf-Runner and I offer you guest-right. Enjoy our hospitality- take shelter from the cold and taste the nectar of Shor.”

He then produced a large earthenware flagon and presented it to me ceremoniously. I raised it high and took a quick gulp. The beverage was sweet and golden, but even a small swallow made me a bit dizzy- I had never had much of a head for strong drink, and it had been some time since I had taken any. Fortunately, courtesy was satisfied with a single draft, and I was wise enough to restrict myself to that. Meanwhile, if I was to enjoy guest-right, I must give a name, which I did without thinking-

“I thank you for your hospitality. Athlain Treyson, at your service.”

I only just managed to avoid adding “of the Imperial Legion,” but a knowing look still came to Skjoldr’s eyes and he grinned.

“‘Athlain,’ is it? I had some thought that you might be a different wandering Imperial warrior- one who had speech with Sigvatr the Strong and secured wergild for young Kolfinna…. The name escapes me at the moment, but I am certain it was something other than ‘Athlain Treyson’.”

He watched me carefully for a few moments and then shrugged. “No matter. Whatever you may be called, you are welcome here, especially when you bring with you such good company as that.”

He pointed to Athynae, who had just come down the stairs, and was making her way to where I stood.

Her progress was slow; it seemed that everyone in the hall wanted at least a few words with her. I bore the delay with good humor, at least until a Nord youth of about 17 came up and presented her with an intricately decorated belt, which he proceeded to fasten around her waist. I could not hear their words, but I recognized the emotion behind the rather stunned smile on the youth’s face. I set aside my drink and walked over.

“Friend of yours, dear?” I asked Athynae with deceptive calm. “Why don’t you introduce us, since I am after all your…‘betrothed’?”

Athynae said, “Oh, Athlain- this is Ingmar. I met him while I was… looking for you.”

The Nord clasped my hand and then, with one last adoring look at Athynae, disappeared into the murk of the hall.

“He’s a sweet boy,” Athynae told me. “I helped him out a bit with a small problem.”

She touched the belt gently and added, “And so he just had to give me a gift in return. It’s a Nord tradition, you know.”

I grunted a response that might have signified anything, including what I thought about strange men putting their hands on her. And as to him being a “sweet boy,” he was taller than I was and broader across the shoulders, as well.

The combination of mead, smoke, and the bath all worked together to bring a great wave of exhaustion over me. I had no desire to drink or mingle with this crowd of boisterous strangers- I just wanted to go upstairs and sleep. Beyond that, I also felt the stirring of a familiar craving, like an itch at the back of my brain. All of which may explain, but not excuse, what happened next. Athynae walked up the stairs with me, and I waited until we had reached the gallery to speak my mind:

“And is this your idea of an appropriate situation?”

Her face showed puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it is no sort of place for you. It is no better than a low tavern filled with drunken, brawling, animal-hide-wearing….”

That was as far as I got before she poked me in the chest with a stiff finger.

“These people took me in and gave me food and shelter. They made no judgments and asked no questions. They are my friends. And as to their clothing….”

She raised her own arm to better display her wolf-fur armor: “If you haven’t noticed, Serjo Oh-So-Superior Imperial Soldier, I am wearing animal hides, too. I don’t know what has made you so grumpy, and I don’t care! I’m going to my room. You can go soak your head!”

She whirled and stomped down the hall.

“Fine!” I yelled to her retreating back.

“Fine!” she shouted back as she slammed the door hard enough to cause a momentary lull in the din coming from downstairs. Then, with a wave of laughter, it resumed.

There was no way I was going to go back into the mead hall proper, where I would no doubt be subjected to all manner of ribald jokes at my expense. Therefore, I started toward the room that had been set aside for my use. Before I could reach it, a voice called from behind a closed door at the end of the hall:

“Please! Is someone there?”

“Wonderful,” I muttered to myself, “who would have thought a mead-hall patron would be disturbed by one more shouting match?”

Aloud, I called back: “Sorry. We’ll keep it down. As a matter of fact, I was just leaving.”

The unknown voice answered: “No, please wait. You sound like an Imperial. Are you?”

When I acknowledged my Cyrodiilic heritage, the woman cried, “Thank Mara! I’ve been imprisoned for weeks- first in a cave and now here. Please get me out.”

“Certainly. But- with whom am I speaking?”

“I am a missionary from Fort Frostmoth. I wanted to bring the message of the Imperial Cult to these stinking barbarians. My name is Mirisa.”

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Nov 8 2009, 06:07 PM

Ooh deary me. This is going to be very interesting indeed, and not necessarily the good kind of interesting.

This has been fascinating so far, Trey, and I'm kicking myself for forgetting to read it. Suffice to say, I've spent a very enjoyable hour or so catching up, and I'll make sure to keep following this in the future. Athlain's a fascinating character, and the little bit of nuttiness at the back of his head thanks to the Skooma addiction makes him all the more engaging.

Job's a good 'un, Trey. Keep it up!

Posted by: minque Nov 10 2009, 01:54 AM

Now this is going to be very interesting! ok so Thyna got him aquainted to the Nords..hmmm and Ingmar seems to be very sweet indeed. watch out athlain!

So now the Mirisa story begins! if I remeber correctly Mirisa is a very beautiful woman, and if Athlain's gonna escort her or save her or whatever...now it will be very interesting to see Thyna's reaction to that!

Oh boy i just can't wait...it's gonna be......hmmm veeeeeery interesting

Posted by: treydog Nov 14 2009, 02:23 PM

Mirisa. The name was known to me- from somewhere…. And then I remembered- Jeleen had asked me to look for a missionary by that name when I started investigating the moon-sugar poisoning. It had been obvious even to me that his concern went beyond that of a priest for one of his subordinates. In fact, “Uncle Sweetshare” had mentioned that Jeleen was sad because his “true love had disappeared.” As I worked out those memories, I also determined that the door was held shut with a stout lock. A spell took care of that problem, but I was not sure what might await me inside, so I readied my mace before entering the room. What I found was a shock. I discovered a Redguard woman who had been badly treated, and apparently for some time. Her hair and clothing were even more disarrayed than mine had been when I arrived at Thirsk, and a fading bruise marked one eye. Her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes indicated a lack of nourishment, as well. When she saw me, she clutched my arm with a strength borne of desperation and pleaded,

“Thank the Nine! You have to get me out of here! I think Erich will probably kill me, once he gets tired of his games.”

The appearance of a friendly face seemed to trigger a flood of words, and she continued to speak, almost hysterically:

“I came here to tell the local savages about the Imperial Cult…. But then I saw how much they drink, and decided that a message about the perils of alcohol was in order. I should have known better. These heathen animals aren’t much better than the Dark Elves. Why, they even revere the bones of their ancestors- just like those superstitious Dunmer. Most of them just laughed at me and went back to their carousing, but one- Erich the Unworthy he’s called- dragged me outside. I thought he was just trying to get rid of me, but he took me to a cave, where he kept me for weeks. Whenever I asked for food or water, he would dump a mug of that awful mead over my head. He brought me here this morning because he had run out of supplies and wanted to go hunting.”

When she stopped speaking, I asked what seemed to me an obvious question:

“Why didn’t you just cast an Intervention spell and get back to the Fort that way? You are an acolyte of the Cult after all.”

She raised a hand to her jaw, as if feeling an old injury, and explained, “I started to, but he hit me before I could complete the spell. He said something about ‘knowing how to deal with witches’ and then put this on me.”

She held up her arm to display what appeared to be a bracelet- a bracelet that gave off a telltale glow of enchantment. But I knew it was not jewelry- it was a slave bracer, used to prevent the wearer from casting spells. Father and I had our disagreements about many things- but slavery was not one of them. Nor was the proper treatment of women. I could feel rage building inside me, but I banked the fires of my anger for the moment; I would need it later, but now was not the time. I considered my options and then stepped across the hall to tap on Athynae’s door. When she did not respond, I knocked louder and called:

“’Thyna?”

A muffled voice replied, “Go away.”

I answered, “I need your help right now. You can be as mad at me as you want later.”

And then I added the words no Redoran could ignore: “It’s a matter of honor.”

Athynae opened the door, and even though her eyes showed signs that she had been crying, she had also picked up her bow and strapped on her sword. She looked at me without favor and asked, “What?” in a low voice.

I waved her across the hall, and she stifled a gasp as she saw Mirisa’s condition. I explained the situation before Mirisa could begin another extended diatribe, especially one involving the relative barbarism of Nords and Dunmer. Athynae, as always, preferred direct action:

“You’re right. This is a matter of honor. As soon as Erich gets back, I’ll deal with him. He’ll be lucky if I just let him off with a beating.”

I interrupted Athynae’s progressively more vivid descriptions of what she planned to do to the absent hunter and said,

“That is certainly one plan, but I actually had a different idea in mind. First, do you know a way to open a slave bracer without the key?”

Serene, I knew, despised slavery as much as Father; if anyone could devise a method of removing the symbol of that hated practice, it was she. Athynae looked at the bracer for a moment and said,

“We could try to pick the lock or open it with magic, but I think there’s an easier way.”

She took Mirisa’s hand, frowning a bit as the Redguard flinched from her touch. Displaying her usual exasperation with a reluctant patient, she muttered:

“Oh, hold still. I’m not going to cut off your hand or anything.”

Athynae pulled a bottle from her pouch and asked me to open it. When I did so, the scent of bittergreen drifted into the room. She took the bottle back and poured some of the oily contents on Mirisa’s arm and hand. Then she squeezed the captive’s thumb and fingers into a small bundle and started working the bracer back and forth. In a few moments, it slipped right off. She dropped it with a disgusted grimace and stated:

“Erich’s apparently as stupid as he is mean. He’s starved her to the point where the bracer doesn’t fit, and he never thought to adjust it.”

Then she looked at me and added: “Now that that’s done, do I get to kill him?”

For answer, I shook my head and gave each of the women a Divine Intervention scroll. Then I took my paired Mark and Recall amulets from a pocket and handed them to Athynae.

“First, use the Mark amulet to set a teleport locus here. Then, you two use the scrolls to reach the Imperial Cult shrine at Fort Frostmoth. Once you have made sure Mirisa has someone to care for her, Recall back here. I will wait for you.”

Of course, Athynae argued- it was simply her nature to do so.

“But don’t you need the amulets? Why don’t you go back to the fort while I wait for Erich? What about…?”
I placed my finger tips gently against her lips and smiled at her.

“Enough. I need you to do this. You are going to bring the amulets back. If I go to the fort without my uniform, it will lead to questions I don’t want to answer right now. And besides, Captain Carius or one of the other officers might give me new orders, and then I wouldn’t be able to come back to you. Now go- and be careful.”

I did not add that I thought it would be educational for Mirisa to be rescued by a “superstitious Dunmer.” Nor that I had my own plans for the aptly-named Erich the Unworthy. With a last searching look, Athynae nodded her head, activated the Amulet of Mark, and then gave a signal to Mirisa. Voices blending, they read the scrolls and vanished. Air rushed into the void where they had stood, but nothing came to fill the emptiness I felt inside.

Here Ends Chapter 8

Posted by: Olen Nov 15 2009, 12:54 PM

I like the take on that quest, I also wander that Athlain has planned for Erich...

“Now that that’s done, do I get to kill him?” -- Excellent line.

I'm interested to see how this alters the dynamic of the story, now Athlain won't be suspected missing anymore and more AWOL. Makes me want to read the next bit.

Posted by: minque Nov 15 2009, 11:49 PM

O_o...so that was the plan? Very clever Athlain...very clever...but imagine what Athynae would say when she returns and Athlain maybe already killed Erich? I would not be in his clothes when that happens....now if he really is going to kill the Nord that is..

I find it very amusing that Serene got a daughter who actually likes fighting! I like it, I really do! Seems she's more like the dunmer-side of her heritage


Who ever her father is? blink.gif

Posted by: treydog Nov 19 2009, 01:01 AM

First, the important stuff- pictures!

http://img193.imageshack.us/img193/9885/athlainthirsk1.jpg

And this one is from much earlier in the story-

http://img190.imageshack.us/img190/6851/athynaeparty.jpg

ETA- Screen-shot taken using Better Bodies 2 and Better Bodies Silk Dresses.

Interlude 9


Excerpts from several letters from Solstheim to Ald’ruhn:

Mother:

I apologize for not writing sooner. I have been on a difficult confidential mission for the Legion, and had no means of sending word. I am well and hope you and all the family are the same. I have no idea when I will be able to come home; the situation at present is-- unsettled. Please give my regards to Aunt Serene and Uncle Athyn.

Oh, and to Athynae, of course.

Athlain


Mama:

I am fine. I will be home eventually. So for now, please STOP IT! I saw Sethyas lurking around Fort Frostmoth- you should tell him he is slipping.

Athynae


To: Sarethi Manor, Ald’ruhn, Vvardenfell

Serene:

You worry too much. You always did.

Seth


Excerpt from The Prophecies of the Hunter-

The child of the blood
Whole in body, wounded in spirit

Loses all and only, alas
Seeks surcease in sacred stones

Taking up off-cast skin,
The invader seeks to atone



A note left at Thirsk, Solstheim (a portion):

…and so I must leave you, my love. Please forgive me. I wish things were different, but it is better this way. In time, we will see each other again- if you want to, of course. I will look for you in Ald’ruhn when the flowers bloom.

Posted by: Black Hand Nov 19 2009, 11:32 AM

Now that left a smile on my face.

(If she saw him, it likely because he wanted her too.)

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Nov 20 2009, 11:16 PM

QUOTE(Black Hand @ Nov 19 2009, 10:32 AM) *

(If she saw him, it likely because he wanted her too.)

If it wasn't the case, it would be a very un-Sethyaslike slip (hey, I just invented a new word! Whoo!)

Anyhoo, I'm looking forward to seeing how this pans out-having Sethyas thrown in adds an extra element of surprise to this, and should end up with some very interesting scenarios.

I'm also interested to see what reception Athlain will get on return to the fort. Very interested indeed...

Posted by: treydog Nov 23 2009, 01:27 AM

Chapter 9


It was deep night by the time Athynae and Mirisa vanished in a flash of magicka. My weariness, formerly held in abeyance by the needs of the moment, returned full force. I glanced at the door to the room that I had been given, and then went instead into Athynae’s room. It seemed unlikely that she would return before morning, and already I missed her terribly. She had not unpacked yet, just dropped her things inside the door. I could see the outline of her body where she had lain on the bed, and felt a twinge of guilt at the tear-stains on the pillow. But I was too worn out even to engage in a new round of self-loathing, so I sat carefully on the edge of the bed and removed my boots. I reached inside the too-large shirt that had been loaned to me and extracted Athynae’s scarf- her “favor,” as she had called it back in Ald’ruhn. I had carried it with me ever since that day, and it was frayed and not so clean as it might have been. But through some magic or alchemy too arcane for my poor brain to fathom, it still retained a hint of her perfume. I wrapped it around my throat, laid down my head, and let my tears mingle with hers on the pillow.

The night passed, as we always hope darkness will, and I awoke to the light of a new day. When I opened the door, I discovered that someone had laundered and patched my clothes and left them on a bench in the hall. I donned them gratefully, and went downstairs to see about something to eat. My healing at Athynae’s hands had brought back my appetite, and I hoped the Nords of Thirsk not only drank, but ate. In fact, I discovered that they ate quite well- bread liberally covered with honey, sausages made from bristleback, and a choice of wine or berry juice. Better still; the morning meal was a relatively quiet affair, perhaps out of deference to those who had over-indulged the previous night. I lingered for a time after eating, hoping that Athynae would put in an appearance and allow me a chance to apologize for my behavior. One of Father’s rules for a harmonious home was to always admit fault, whether or not he had, in fact, been in the wrong. His words came back to me, spoken as he smiled at Mother, seated across the room reading:

“You won’t understand this now, but someday you will. What matters is that I love her. Who is right and who is wrong has nothing to do with it.”

And now I did understand. I only hoped Athynae would give me a chance to tell her that I had been a fool.
By midmorning, she still had not returned, but I tried to ignore my worry. She was safe at Fort Frostmoth, a stronghold guarded by Imperial Legionnaires…. Hmm. Perhaps it was just as well not to spend too much time on the idea of Athynae in a fort full of lonely soldiers. Besides, I had other concerns. The main one was to see to this Erich, who thought he could get away with abusing women. Mirisa was a member of the Imperial Cult and was based at the same fort as I- that made her mistreatment my business. More than that, I had been raised with Redoran values and with Father’s unyielding concept of honor- and that made it personal. I hoped the Nord hunter would return soon, as I preferred to keep Athynae out of it, if I could. But if I was going to confront Erich - and possibly his clan- I needed to prepare. Thanks to ‘Thyna, I had a handful of restorative and fortification potions, but I needed something else. After I was promoted from Spearman, my Legion training had emphasized fighting with a weapon and shield- a shield which I no longer had. Facing a Nord who was liable to be armed with a hammer or axe, I really wanted the extra protection, especially since I was going to be fighting without armor. My Legion kit was back in Gandrung Cavern, and I had also left behind the cast-offs taken from the smugglers.

Before stepping out into the cold morning sun, I let Svenja know where I was going, and then crunched through the new snow to the hut where Brynjolfr’s fire still glowed. He was not working at the forge, but was instead seated on a bench, fitting pieces of light metal into one of a pair of fur greaves. He glanced up briefly when I entered, but went on with his task without speaking. I observed for a minute and then took up the opposite greave and mirrored his actions. He still made no comment, but moved the armor plates closer to me with his foot. When we had finished inserting the reinforcement into the specially-made pockets in the greaves, he produced two large, curved needles and several lengths of waxed rawhide cord. We sewed the pockets closed over the metal, continuing to work in silence. When I was finished, Brynjolfr took the armored legging from me and checked its shape and stitching against his own. He gave grunt of satisfaction, then stretched his back and set the greaves aside before retrieving a clay bottle from behind the forge. I shook my head when he offered it to me, waiting while he took a long swallow. When he corked the bottle and put it aside, I said,

“I need a shield. A buckler will work, but a tower shield would be better. I’ll borrow it if I can, buy it if I must.”

He rubbed a shovel-sized hand over his chin and considered me.

“When ye came in last night, I wasna sure if ye were living or dead. But yon sweet girl seems to set store by yerself. Ye know yer way with armor. And ye don’t demand- ye ask honest, like a man.”

He paused for another drink and gave me a searching look.

“And if I was to ask for how long ye might need this shield, and for what reason- would ye answer true?”

“For as long as it takes to put paid to Erich the Unworthy,” I replied steadily.

Posted by: Black Hand Nov 23 2009, 07:58 AM

I love how you make this quest more then just 'whack-a-nord'. If you have to kill, there needs to be good reason for it, and you set the stage like a master.

More...more! MORE!

Posted by: treydog Nov 23 2009, 01:47 PM

The subtext of the two notes- the one from Athynae and the one from Seth indicates that he allowed himself to be seen. The idea being- Mama Serene is worried; badgers Seth into checking up; he does so, even though he thinks it is a waste of time- and so does the task in an "unSethyas-like" (hee hee) way to demonstrate his feelings about it

Posted by: Olen Nov 23 2009, 01:54 PM

Nice update. I like the interludes and the background they create which can often be lost in first person. I also like the ominous foreshadowing of the final note portion. Makes me wander...

I'm interested to see how this goes.

Posted by: treydog Nov 24 2009, 11:31 PM

Brynjolfr gave an explosive snort at my words, and then stood and went into the area of the smithy that served as storage. His voice drifted out to me:

“Well, ye aren’t shy; I’ll say that much. And how does yer young lady feel about this?”

I shrugged and then, realizing he could not see me, spoke:

“Actually, I hope to take care of it before she gets back.”

Honesty compelled me to add:

“She’ll probably be upset with me- she wants to kill him herself. But then, she’s already angry with me, and rightly so….”

I trailed off as the smith clumped back to the front of the building, carrying assorted bits and pieces of armor. He dumped the pile in front of me and gestured for me to stand up.

“Ye’ll need more nor a shield if yer goin’ to fight that bloody-handed spawn of a snow-demon. So we’d best be about it.”

As he began measuring me and fitting various bits of hide armor, he continued:

“I know it isna what yer used to, but ye will be able to move well in it- and ye’ll have need to be quick.”

He shook his head with a wry smile and added:

“I canna see how ye soldier-fellas manage to take a single step in the steel corsets ye wear.”

“Why do you think I’m a soldier?”

The smith just grinned at me and said, “It’s the way ye move, don’t ye see? And the way ye stand. If I had to guess, I would say ye was trained at one of the out forts, not back on the mainland.”

The fitting and adjustment of the armor took over an hour, but at the end of that time I had a complete outfit made of wolf hide, which fit me like a second skin, along with a heavy Nordic mail shield. Brynjoflr pronounced himself satisfied and held up a hand to stop me when I mentioned payment.

“Nay, young fella. Yer little girl has brought in enough hides to more than make up the cost- and beside that, I figger to get that fur suit back one way or another. If Erich kills ye, then I can just patch up the holes good as new. If not, I reckon ye’ll give it back yerself. I seem to recall hearin’ summat of how ye don’t much care for the wearin’ of animal hides.”

He winked at me and then laughed uproariously as I blushed scarlet. Apparently, my fight with Athynae had been a major subject of conversation around the mead hall. And she did have a rather… carrying… voice, especially when she was annoyed. The smith’s face grew grim and he said in serious tones,

“Be ye careful of that Erich. He’s a black-hearted, foul-minded creature, but he’s dangerous for all that. He’ll want to hurt ye before he kills ye, if he can. So here’s what ye’ll need ta do….”

I listened carefully, knowing that my very life depended on how well I learned this lesson. And I feared that Athynae’s life might depend upon it, too.

But when I returned to the mead hall, she still had not arrived, and I was disappointed- and relieved. I spent the next few hours practicing with my new armor and resting. And I needed the rest. During the time I had spent in a skooma-haze, my physical condition had deteriorated alarmingly, and it was mainly due to Athynae’s spells and potions that I had made it to Thirsk at all. Though it shamed me to do so, I went back to Brynjolfr and asked for his help again. When I had explained my situation, the smith nodded thoughtfully and dug out a large leather pack.

“Take this down to the lake and fill it wi’ stones- all the way to the top, mind. Then run it back up here to the forge. When ye have done that five or six times, we’ll see about a little sparring.”

The long afternoon was an agony, but I kept before me the memory of Mirisa’s bruised face and haunted eyes- and the thought that it might have been Athynae who was so abused. Despite Svenja and Skjoldr’s acceptance of her, the Nords and the Dunmer had a long history of conflict, and Athynae had been more fortunate than she knew. The training routine was also reminiscent of my early days at Fort Darius, under Senior Trooper Carbo’s watchful eye. And so I gave myself up to the rhythm of my feet pounding a path in the snow and the rocks bouncing against my back. And every time I reached the forge, the smith was waiting, ready to “spar” with me. At least, that was what he called it- to me, it seemed more like being whacked repeatedly with a practice sword. Brynjolfr kept me at it until I could no longer see my hand in front of my face and I was staggering from fatigue. He then pointed me toward the sauna, where the steam did its work on my bruised, trembling muscles. I slept again in Athynae’s empty bed, where my only dreams were of endless hills, every one occupied by a bellicose Nord who chased me with a piece of firewood. And so passed the following day- and the next.

Still, Athynae did not return, and I began to worry in earnest. I considered leaving Thirsk and making sure she had arrived at Fort Frostmoth. But I had told her I would wait for her- and I still had my reasons to avoid putting in an appearance at the post I had frankly deserted. The good news was that Erich had also not returned, and I chose not to dwell on the coincidence. The better news was that my return to fitness progressed quickly, to the point that even Brynjolfr grudgingly admitted that there might be something to Legion training after all. By the morning of the fourth day since Athynae had left, the smith pronounced me ready, although his exact words were less than glowing:

“Aye well, it seems that anow, ye’ll at least not trip on yer own feet and spit yerself on Erich’s sword. He mayhap will have to work a bit afore he carves out yer liver and lights.”

He smiled as he said it, though, and I grinned back. Feeling like a warrior again for the first time in weeks, I entered the mead hall, torn between my desire to see Athynae and my hope that she still had not returned. In the event, the hope was answered- she had not come back to Thirsk- but someone else had. When I entered the hall, all eyes seemed to turn toward me and then to the steps leading up to the guest quarters. From that direction, I could hear things being tossed about and a voice shouting curses and threats. As I came further into the hall, the gathered Skaal moved away from me, leaving an open space. And still, they did not speak. I looked to where Skjoldr sat upon his throne, hoping for some sign, but he simply returned my look with a troubled gaze and a shrug of his massive shoulders. Meanwhile, the shouting from overhead had ceased, and I heard footsteps crossing the gallery and descending the stairs. I drew several deep breaths and made sure of my footing, then stood still. The man who appeared on the stairs was everything I had feared- he was large, he was angry, and he had a murderous scowl on his face. His attire was a mixture of wolf and bear hides, including a helmet made from the head of a brown bear. The effect was as if two faces were snarling at me- one human and one animal. Bear-claws decorated his cuirass, tokens of successful hunts. The one surprise was that, instead of the expected hammer or axe, he carried a silver longsword. All of this I observed as I maintained the slightly unfocused gaze Carbo had taught me, looking at everything and nothing, all at the same time. Erich glared around the hall, and his bloodshot eyes finally fixed on me. Lip curling in a sneer he demanded,

“And are ye the pox-ridden whoreson thief who has no respect for the property of others?”

I flinched at the word “thief;” I could not help it. Father’s sensitivity on that subject had carried over to me. But then I grew still again and answered quietly and contemptuously.

“And are you the sorry excuse for a man, Erich, rightly named ‘the Unworthy,’ who makes war on women? As to theft, I vow before all here that I never touched nor took anything that belongs to you.”

Although there was much more I wanted to say, I clamped my teeth shut on the torrent of insults and abuse I longed to hurl at him. There was a form to these things, and I must observe it scrupulously. I had to count on my enemy to make the mistakes. Fortunately, Erich did not disappoint me:

“Again, I name ye thief and rogue. I call upon my clan-brothers and sisters to aid me as I defend my right to what is mine.”

So saying, he drew his sword and looked at the assembled hunters. I glanced around as well- for I was uncertain as to how the Skaal would react. Long seconds stretched out, and then all of the Nords, including their chief, carefully moved their hands away from their weapons, folded their arms, and looked impassively back at the raging hunter.

I let out a slow breath, relieved that they had decided that this dispute was between the two of us, and was not clan business. Erich, on the other hand, was driven into still greater fury at their refusal to help him. Bright red spots bloomed on his cheeks as he screamed,

“Cowards!”

And then he was charging across the hall, his sword held out to the side, poised for a scything blow.

Posted by: canis216 Nov 25 2009, 04:50 AM

Fabulous update!

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