Blood on the Moon, A Journey of Discovery Options

[minque]

Aww Athlain! It's hard to perform your first deliberate kill... 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"...

[_Hunting_]

Great update, I like how the Conjurer screamed “I’m not giving up that easily!” That was great.

[treydog]

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.”

[minque]

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?

[mplantinga]

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.

[RavenMind]

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!

[seerauna]

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!

[treydog]

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.

[minque]

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!

[mplantinga]

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?

[Black Hand]

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.

[treydog]

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.”

[minque]

“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!

[Black Hand]

We're finally on the frozen Island!! Yay!!

[mplantinga]

“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.

[treydog]

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.

[canis216]

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.

[minque]

Oh yay! Athlain's back! Niiiiiiice!

A sweet 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!

[mplantinga]

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.

[treydog]

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.”