Blood on the Moon, A Journey of Discovery Options

[seerauna]

I have a feeling this might not end too well...

This post has been edited by seerauna: Jul 5 2009, 07:09 PM

[minque]

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..

[canis216]

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.

[Olen]

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?

[treydog]

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.

[Black Hand]

Nicely done, Senor Trey! Not all is violence and blodshed in life, nor should be in TES.

[canis216]

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.

[Burnt Sierra]

Ooh, I've had a fair bit to catch up on here

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

As always, a real pleasure to read! Here's looking forward to the next installment.

[RavenMind]

Ooh good stuff. I'm lapping this up Treydog! I can't wait for the next bit.

[treydog]

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

[mplantinga]

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.

[minque]

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

[treydog]

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.

[Captain Hammer]

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!

[minque]

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.

[mplantinga]

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.

[Colonel Mustard]

*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.

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Sep 4 2009, 05:46 PM

[Olen]

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.

I'm really enjoying this - thanks.

[treydog]

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!”

[mplantinga]

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.