Blood on the Moon, A Journey of Discovery Options

[treydog]

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.

[Olen]

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?

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.

This post has been edited by Olen: Nov 2 2009, 11:16 PM

[minque]

Ohhh jeez! this is getting better and better! The humour is astonishing...I was completely smiling the whole time I read this!

Matrons of Redoran Society for the Killing of Athlain enterprise.

Just hilarious!

Athynae is so strong....makes one wonder huh?

[mplantinga]

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.

[RavenMind]

This has been such an enjoyable read! I keep popping back every few days hopeful to find an update. Excellent work Treydog!!

[treydog]

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.”

[Colonel Mustard]

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!

[minque]

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

[treydog]

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

[Olen]

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.

[minque]

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?

[treydog]

First, the important stuff- pictures!

Athlain Outside of Thirsk

And this one is from much earlier in the story-

Athynae Trying on Her Party Dress

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.

This post has been edited by treydog: Nov 19 2009, 01:23 AM

[Black Hand]

Now that left a smile on my face.

(If she saw him, it likely because he wanted her too.)

[Colonel Mustard]

(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...

[treydog]

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.

[Black Hand]

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!

[treydog]

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

[Olen]

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.

[treydog]

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.

[canis216]

Fabulous update!