Blood on the Moon, A Journey of Discovery Options

[minque]

Uhhhhh....now he's got it..hopefully he will stand up against Erich! But what also worries me is that Thyna hasn't come back! What on Nirn is keeping her?

More please?

[Tellie]

Well well, It appears that you've been busy in my absence from the forum. But I've finally read through everything and I must say that this story is definately one of the best I've read so far on the forum, and one of the reasons I've started to write and update on my stories as well.

so UPDATE SOON...pleeeease *gives the cutes puppydog face imaginable*

There will be and will stop by early just for you

A couple of Jona's for you as well

This post has been edited by Tellie: Nov 29 2009, 06:47 PM

[treydog]

Thanks, everyone. Welcome back Tellie- you have been missed!

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As the enraged hunter raced toward me, I tightened my grip on the straps of my shield and crouched slightly. It was hard to stand in place- instinct screamed at me to run, to move- either away from Erich or toward him- it did not matter which, so long as I did something. But instinct was wrong. If I moved, I would have to concentrate on my footing, on the locations of people and objects in the hall, on a myriad of things other than controlling my breathing and watching Erich’s eyes. I held my mace low and close to my side, and it seemed as if I had all the time in the world- time to see how the firelight reflected on the edge of the silver blade that was poised to spill my blood, time to be grateful that Athynae was somewhere safe, time to regret the fact that I had still not really told her how much I loved her…. And then the sword began to swing in a deadly arc and the time for thought was past.

As he swung I saw Erich turn his wrist, so it was that the flat, rather than the edge of the sword that he aimed at the outside of my left knee. I recalled Brynjolfr’s warning, and knew it to be true- “He’ll want to hurt ye if he can….” I twitched my shield down slightly, blocking the sword, which rang like a great bell. The force of the blow caused me to stagger a bit, but it also gave the Nord a painful shiver, and I saw him wince as the energy of clashing metal was transferred up his arm. He recovered and stepped back, wanting to gain distance and space in which to use his longer reach. I could not afford to allow him that space, nor could I hope to win a drawn-out duel. Therefore, holding my shield high, I stepped after him, pressing him back, trying to prevent him from getting set. He feinted a thrust at my eyes and I pulled my head to the side. The break gave Erich a chance to position his feet and he drew back in preparation for another swing. Again, I crouched, watching his eyes and the angle of his shoulder to gauge his target. Fortunately, I guessed right, and before he could strike at my head, I thrust upward with my legs, putting all their power behind my shield and slamming it into his face. I distinctly heard the crunch as his nose broke, and I followed with a quick thrust of my mace to his ribs. But Erich was no stranger to close-quarters fighting- he grabbed my right wrist with his free hand and brought the pommel of his sword down in a numbing blow to my left shoulder. I twisted free of his grip and we broke apart, staring at each other and waiting for the next steps in this mortal dance. Blood dripped from the Nord’s broken nose and flattened lips, and hatred gleamed in his eyes.

Above our labored breathing came the voice of Skjoldr, Chieftain of Thirsk:

“Blows have been exchanged and blood has been shed. Will you call truce and agree that honor is satisfied? Athlain? How say you?”

Never taking my eyes from Erich’s face, I replied: “I have drawn first blood and am willing to hold my honor avenged.”

Skjoldr spoke again: “Erich, what say you? Will you admit your fault and end this fight?”

Erich spat a glob of blood on the floor and wheezed, “I will end the fight when I see this thief dead upon the ground. I will break his bones and unstring his limbs. I will…”

Skjoldr interrupted, “Enough. You can make your boasts after the fight is done- if you are still able. Very well. To the death or until either man yields.”

The last phrase was a hollow formality- Erich would never yield- and if I did, he would kill me anyway. The dishonor would mean little to him and even less to me, as I would be dead.

The hunter’s blue eyes pierced me and he opened his ruined mouth in a horrible grin. “I will flay your hide and nail it to the wall,” he grated.

I did not respond, but chewed on the marshmerrow I had put in my mouth when I heard the commotion upstairs. It was not as effective as a potion, but I could feel the pain in my shoulder easing as the juice trickled down my throat. What I planned was going to be difficult- I wanted to trap a man who had spent his life stalking and killing some of the most cunning animals in the world. I let my shield drop just a fraction, and then hitched it back up, as if feeling the weight. And I let my eyes flicker, as if seeking some form of cover. I wanted to look weak and doubtful- and I succeeded. Even though I had thought I was ready, Erich’s attack was almost too fast for the eye to follow. Rather than using the broad swings he had previously attempted, he lunged, driving the point of his sword straight for my right leg, away from my shield side. I moved just enough so that the tip struck the outside of my leg rather than the inside, where the great artery lay. Struck- and penetrated. It felt as though someone had pressed a hot coal against my thigh and held it there. But that was what I had wanted. I turned to my left to trap the blade against the plates of my greaves and swung my mace with the same motion, slamming it into Erich’s elbow. He lost his grip on the hilt of the sword, and I whipped the mace upward, smashing it into his unprotected chin. As he staggered back, I set myself and swung with all my strength at the side of his head. The Nord fell silently, sliding down to lie in a shapeless heap, looking suddenly much smaller than the monster I had confronted seconds before.

I dropped my mace and pulled the sword from my leg with a gasp. I could feel blood running down inside my greaves and pooling in my boot. Weakness washed over me, and I went to my knees. As my vision blurred, I fumbled a potion from my belt pouch and hastily drained the contents. The pain in my leg settled to a dull ache, and I was at last able to look to where Skjoldr sat. The chieftain stood and gestured to some of the other Skaal, saying,

“Carry the body outside and put it in the storeroom. We will lay him in the barrow and do the rites at sunrise. Erich was an uneasy companion, but he was also our clan-brother.”

He sat back down on his intricately-carved throne and looked at me over steepled fingers. I forced myself to my feet, silently preparing to face Skjoldr’s judgment. And now it comes, I thought. I had violated guest-right and killed a hunter of the clan. If I was fortunate, their leader would simply withdraw his hospitality and banish me. Or… he was effectively the sole ruler of this domain. The loss of a hunter could mean hardship or even death for some of his people. He could do with me as he wished. He lowered his hands to the armrests of the throne and spoke. Though his voice was quiet, it carried throughout the hall.

“Athlain Treyson, you have shed the blood and taken the life of a hunter of the Skaal.”

He paused and then continued, “Hear now my judgment. You were challenged and you defended yourself in a trial of arms, as is the right of any man. By killing Erich, you removed a stain from the honor of the Clan. Whatever he once possessed is now yours by right and custom. How say you?”

I managed not to gape in surprise- this was not an outcome I had foreseen. But Skjoldr was waiting for my response, so I cleared my throat and answered firmly:

“Let Erich’s arms and armor be interred with him, so that the evil he did is forever finished. Let his other possessions be divided amongst the Skaal, to each according to their need.”

I winced as my leg reminded me of my recent wound, and I added,

“As for me, I have had all from him that I want.”

That got a laugh and then Skjoldr nodded his approval and clapped his hands once. “So shall it be! The victor has spoken. Now let’s celebrate.”

Cheers rang around the hall and someone pressed a drink into my hands. Blood loss had made me thirsty enough that I did not care what was in the tankard- I swallowed half of it in a gulp. A gentle hand tapped me on the shoulder and I turned to see Athynae looking at me with a mixture of amusement, concern, and… something I could not decipher. She smiled and said,

“I leave for a few days, and you turn into a brawling, drunken, animal-hide wearing….”

That was as far as she got before I crushed her to my chest in a hug that set off another round of cheers from the assembled Skaal. They could make all the jokes they wanted at my expense- it would be worth it. When I released Athynae at last, she caught her breath and stepped back a little. I looked at her and then looked again and blurted,

“What in the name of the Nine happened to your hair?”

[Olen]

Good update. I liked the fight scene. I also liked the ending, even though it should be done you manage to end with a hook to draw the reader to the next part.

Great stuff, as I've said this story is better than some I've bought.

[minque]

Wonderful fighting scene! I only wish I could produce something remotely like it! And so Miss Sarethi has eturned...just in time as it seems, and about her hair? Well it makes me wonder....

My youngest daughter always has messed with her hair...everything from dying it blue or red to shave it off completely...wonder what Thyna has done???

And I agree with Olen, this story is far better than a lot of books I've bought during the years

Doggietreats to our favourite Dachshund!

[treydog]

Athynae’s eyes developed a dangerous light, and I momentarily feared that she would finish what Erich had started. And it would be too bad for Brynjolfr- there would likely not be enough of my borrowed armor left for him to salvage when she was finished. I closed my eyes, lowered my head, and waited. When the expected explosion did not come, I raised my head slightly, and opened my eyes just enough to peer at her. Athynae was… smiling? This was quite beyond my understanding. I knew as only someone cursed with not just one, but two sisters can know, a fundamental truth:

If you do not notice that she has changed something about her appearance, you are doomed. If you do notice, any change is, by definition, “wonderful.” But here you must also tread lightly; too fulsome praise will inevitably lead to the fatal question- “So you’re saying you didn’t like how I looked before?” It will only get worse from there.

So I looked at that smile, and I shivered. And, though it was far too late for wisdom now, I wisely said nothing more, waiting for her to give me some sign beyond that mysterious smile. What I got was more confusion- Athynae reached a gentle hand to touch my cheek and said,

“How could I do anything but love you, when you are always so perfectly yourself?”

My heart stuttered in my chest and I felt a terror even greater than I had experienced facing Erich’s mad charge. She had said the words! I could face a blade in the hands of an enemy with confidence- I had done so before. But this was completely outside of my experience. In the silence of my own mind I had admitted that I loved her- but that was far different from telling someone else- especially Athynae herself.
As I sought desperately for the right words, she was already moving on. Her face grew serious and she said quietly,

“We need to talk.”

Have four words ever been so freighted with doom? But I was already lost, had been lost since the night of the party when I had looked into her luminous eyes and seen that the only future worth considering was one that had Athynae in it. So I simply nodded my head and hobbled after her toward the stairs to the second floor. When we reached the gallery, Athynae paused just long enough to retrieve and unload a light crossbow that lay on the floor. She made no comment, but I glanced over the railing and saw that a person standing in that spot could fire at any point in the great hall. She opened the door to her room and took in the unmade bed and my few possessions scattered about. She said nothing, only reached a hand to touch the pillow and then looked at me. The silence stretched, and a slow smile again crossed her face. I inadvertently broke the spell when I shifted slightly, trying to ease my leg. Athynae helped me to sit on a bench and stopped as if to compose her thoughts. Finally she said,

“A great deal has happened, and I want to be sure you know as much as possible before you go racing off in typical Athlain-fashion.”

She waited, as if to be sure that I was paying attention and I decided it was time to seize the initiative. But there were so many things I wanted to say, so it all came out in a garbled rush:

“I was worried about you when you didn’t come back for so long. And then Erich showed up. But the smith helped me- and I need to remember to thank him. I guess you saw the fight. It’s a good thing Father has so many Nords as friends. Is Mirisa safe? Did you take her to the fort? Did anyone there ask about me? I- Athynae, I’m sorry I was so rude to you when we got here. You are….”

I ran down to a stop, watching as her shoulders began to shake. What had I done now? Was she about to cry again? If so, I would almost prefer that she hit me. But no, she pointed a finger at me and started laughing. When she had caught her breath, she asked:

“Which healing potion did you take? The one in the green bottle? And I bet you used some marshmerrow, too. No wonder you’re babbling. That combination has some odd side-effects.”

Side-effect or not, there was one thing I had to say. I reached up to take Athynae’s hands and prayed that my voice would not break.

“I love you, too. Even before you saved me from the skooma, I loved you. I was just too stupid to know it. If Erich had killed me before I got the chance to tell you that, I never would have forgiven myself. Even if that doesn’t make any sense, I don’t care. As far as I can tell, love isn’t supposed to make sense.”

Athynae’s eyes, already huge, seemed to grow even larger, large enough for me to fall into them forever. She squeezed my hands and whispered,

“We will talk about that, when there is time.”

But then she straightened and continued in a more business-like tone:

“Mirisa is well; I took her to the fort and then on to Ebonheart. She needs some time to- think about things. While we were in Ebonheart, I investigated Carnius Magius and found out some interesting information.”

She brushed a hand through her hair, which was now much shorter and a startling shade of red.

“And I got my hair done. It was Mirisa’s idea. She said I should, ‘Have a hair color that suited my personality.’ I am not entirely certain what that meant. But none of that really matters- there is more important news.”

She sat beside me and stared at me for a moment.

“Fort Frostmoth was attacked while I was in Ebonheart. No one was killed, but several soldiers were hurt and Captain Carius is missing. That Legion Champion from the Imperial City took a bad knock on the head…. Some of the Legionnaires think the Skaal were behind it- there are some pretty strange stories about exactly who or what it was that attacked the fort. So you need to collect your uniform from wherever you left it and get back there before something ugly happens. There is no one in charge, and a veteran trooper named Gaea Artoria is whipping up the others, trying to get them to march on the Skaal village. Saenus is trying to keep things calm, but…. They need an officer, someone they trust. They need you to tell them it wasn’t the Skaal. It’s what you do; you deal with things. Just like you dealt with Erich.”

There were so many things I wanted, now that I was finally healthy again. I wanted to spend time with Athynae, to explore Solstheim together, to find out what happened next with us…. But I had my duty. And if I followed her advice, I could return to the Legion without having to explain myself. I still had Uncle Sweetshare’s peculiar helm, and I could honestly say I had spent time getting to know the Skaal. But what of Athynae?

“You’re right. I will do things just as you say. And- you can come with me.”

She looked away, an almost evasive expression in her eyes.

“I… can’t. Not right now. It’s complicated. Please- just trust me when I tell you it’s better for me to stay here.”

Questions bubbled in my mind, and I struggled against my desire to ask them. But, in the end, I did trust her. I only wished that she trusted me enough to tell me what was wrong.

Athynae's New Look

[Tellie]

WOHOO the first comment is mine this time.

As always you managed to deliver an amazing update, with some nice emotional development on the characters, keep i up doggie.

*rattles bag with dog biscuits*

[minque]

ohhh you couldn't resist, could you? A sweet cliffie..just like that..hmmm I must say I do feel sorry about Athlain ..why on Nirn couldn't she have told him? Whatever there is to tell that is. I wonder what she's up to?

Hopefully we'll get another update...not so far in the future, I'm incredibly curious.

oh and i like Thyna's new hairdo...hehe it suits her, still I wonder....

[Colonel Mustard]

Yet another wondrous pair of updates, Trey. Action, excitement, plot development and Those Three Words. Athynae even got a new haircut!

Lookin' forward to more!

[treydog]

After the intensity of our earlier words, an awkward silence fell between us. The feelings we had for one another had been given a name now, and we understood that our friendship had changed profoundly, but we were neither of us certain how to proceed. And it was also clear to me that something had happened to Athynae, either at the fort or in Ebonheart- and whatever it was made her pace the small room with manic energy. The space that had felt empty without her began to close in on me, overfull with emotions and with words- spoken and unspoken. I started for the door, and Athynae gave me an apologetic look, but did not cease her endless circuits of the room. My offer to bring her something to eat was met with a vague wave- whether of agreement or dismissal, I could not tell.

Since I could not find any solution to whatever problem occupied Athynae, I turned my thoughts to my Legion duties. It was too late in the day for me to return to Fort Frostmoth, especially since I would be going on foot. An Intervention spell would transport me instantly to the Imperial Cult shrine, but I would arrive out of uniform- which would lead to uncomfortable questions. Of course, if I timed it late enough, I could probably dash out of the fort in the darkness with none the wiser. But… there was something afoot on this island, something that could attack an Imperial Legion fort and disappear without a trace. I remembered Serene’s words from that long-ago night in Ald’ruhn:

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

Memories of Serene and her foretelling inevitably brought my mind back to Athynae- not that she was ever far from my thoughts. Perhaps all my reasoning was just a way of rationalizing the fact that I wanted to be near her- for one more night, at least. Once I was back in uniform, back to following orders, my life would no longer be my own. And whatever had brought that haunted look to her eyes, ‘Thyna would have to face without me.

I descended the stairs and allowed myself to be swept along by the Skaal wake for Erich. Recent and painful memories of my skooma problem blunted any desire to drink much mead- I used a trick borrowed from Father- making sure my mug was always relatively full and taking only small sips while I wandered the hall. I noted with interest that Skjoldr followed the same practice- although he was almost alone in his restraint. Besides competitive drinking, the Nords engaged in a contest of story-telling, trying to outdo one another in outrageous tales of the exploits of the unlamented Erich. And if those stories did not reflect to the dead man’s credit- well, he was no longer around to dispute them. As the fires died down and the more enthusiastic revelers fell asleep- or passed out- the stories changed. A gray-bearded fellow named Einar Skaldorson described the Skaal funeral practices- the rituals they performed to prevent necromancy and the beliefs behind them:

“We take the leaves of the holly- and the berries, but only the ripe ones, mind. That shows that the spirit is everlasting, just as the leaves stay green even in the winter. The ripe berries show that the warrior has lived a full span, and has no unfinished business to hold him from the next world. And we add dry, brown leaves of the oak- because even the mightiest of living things must wither and come to an end. Then we set out provisions and protection for the journey- mead, meat, armor and weapons. A few coins and his favorite drinking horn for when he gets to the eternal mead hall- so he can throw the dice and have a swallow whenever he wants. It is best not to be miserly with the grave gifts, unless you want the shade to come looking for what it lacks.”

Here the old man took a healthy drink from his own tankard and added solemnly:

“It has become more important of late to observe the proper ways- there’s already enough uncanny creatures that roam the forests at night. The Wild Hunt has been heard abroad, seeking to course the unwary, driving lone travelers like so many deer. And it is known that there are men that take the shape of beasts, or beasts that walk like men- who can say which?”

Those of us still able to listen moved closer, happy for the warmth of the hearth- and for the nearness of human company as the wind howled under the eaves. Einar waited until one of the other Skaal passed him a fresh tankard, whereupon he continued in a hushed tone:

“I myself was with a hunting party that found what we took to be a poor, naked madman wandering the woods. We brought him back to camp and offered him some of our fare. But he wanted nothing more than raw venison from the deer we had taken. He tore off hunks of the meat and gulped them down, followed by great draughts of water. We went to our blankets with the setting of the sun, and slept deep, though none of us had imbibed to excess. An unknown time passed, and we were roused by a great clamor of growling and snarling. The moons had just come into the sky, and by their light I beheld a horrible scene- the madman was thrashing about on the ground, as if he was having a fit. Then a red light began to glow around him and he started to- change.”

Every eye was on the storyteller now, and I would have thought it an elaborate jest, except that I saw strong men grow pale, and more than one make signs to ward off evil. Meanwhile, the grizzled hunter went on:

“First, he began to sprout hair- or, to call it rightly- fur, all over his body. And then his muscles writhed and rippled, like there was something trying to get loose from under his skin. His fingernails started to grow and his hands turned into claws. And his face- well, it… stretched.”

He drained his tankard and resumed the tale:

“At last, he reared up onto his hind legs, looking like nothing so much as a wolf trying to walk like a man. He threw back that awful head and howled, then stared at us with eyes that were wolf-yellow, but had the understanding of a man. He went for Sigmund first- ripped him open with a swipe from his claws. We all drew our weapons then, but couldn’t seem to harm him- axes, hammers, swords- it made no difference; the wounds just closed right back up, and the bones knitted together as we watched. And in the meantime, he was biting and clawing at us- and our wounds didn’t close. We were losing, though there were five of us, and only one of him. Finally, Anders, our leader, yelled, ‘Silver! Use a silver blade if you have one!’ I drew from my boot the dagger I had from my grandfather, and he from his. ‘Twas this very dagger that I still carry.”

He showed us a beautifully-crafted silver blade, the bone handle shaped like the head of a wolf, and with the look of long years on it.

“And I plunged it up to the hilt in the wolf-man’s chest. Oh, then he set up a howling such as I never hope to hear again! And he raked at me with his claws, but I got my arm up and blocked him from getting at my vitals. Then he sort of- shrank. While we watched, he changed back to his former shape, looking like nothing but any other corpse. Sigmund was dead where he had fallen, and the rest of us not any too spry, but we cut off the wolf-man’s head, and we burned the body. And we put a sprig of what the Imperials call ‘monkshood’ in Sigmund’s mouth before we buried him. We Skaal have a different, older name for the plant.”

The old man stared into the fire for long minutes, and I thought the story was done, but he added a final postscript:

“And though that was over 50 winters ago, I don’t walk the forests in the dark of night, nor in the light of the moons. No man does on Solstheim, not if he is wise. I am the last one of that hunting party, and all I have left is the memory of that night. And this….” He pulled back his left sleeve to show four parallel scars, deep marks left in his flesh by the claws of a beast that walked like a man but had the shape of a wolf.

[Tellie]

I already commented at TES, but And give us another update soon

[Olen]

Good stuff. The story was well told and I liked the plant referance, things like that add quite a bit of depth to the story/ world.

And now we have warewolves I'm looking forward to reading the next bit.

[minque]

OMG......Now I'm scared, werewolves are nothing to play around with. I just hope Athlain and the rest makes it..and I also hope Athynae hasn't got it.....lycanthropy!

jeez...

[canis216]

Let's fetch another round of mead for this fine storyteller!

And no, despite my lupine visage there on the left, I can assure everyone here that I am not, in fact, a werewolf. I beseech you, please, sheathe your silver blades. No, really, nothing to see here.

Ahem. I imagine young Athlain will find the fort's appearance rather startling. Oh, hey, and there' still that scofflaw Carnius Magius! What fun!

This post has been edited by canis216: Dec 15 2009, 03:29 AM

[Black Hand]

As you say canis....(Nocks silver arrow, just in case.)

Actually, of all the monsters in all the tales of all the movies, I love Werewolves the best. Sort of a geek on the lore you might say, so Solstheim had a particular appeal for me.

And to speak of the lore, dear Trey, you have crafted perhaps one of your finest entries here. In my mind, I truly saw the old man sitting in a dim hall reeking of drinking and burning timber reciting this tale to the flickering of the fire.

Good job!

[treydog]

Disturbed by the story, my impulse was to simply curl up in an empty spot in front of the fire, keeping to the company of others. The darkness at the top of the stairs teemed with phantasms- Erich, risen from his temporary bier, his face bloody and his unquiet spirit set upon revenge; yellow-eyed hunters who not only wore the hides of wolf and bear, but who became the creatures they pursued; and over it all some dark, nameless, shapeless dread, an unknown fear that caused Athynae to turn away from me and vanish. It was that last that decided me, that set my feet upon the steps. No terrors, real or imaginary, would keep me from her side. But when I reached her door, it was bolted and there was no answer to my knock. Fear could not stop me- but Athynae could. I, of all people, knew how precious freedom could be- especially the freedom to be left alone. I placed my palm on the closed door and bowed my head, willing her to feel my love and support. And then I turned and went to my own, empty room and its cold bed.

My sleep was not restful- the wolf dream came to me again- the dream of being chased and brought to bay against a wall of ice. There were other dreams, as well- Athynae floating away from me on a piece of ice that grew smaller with every second; sprawled figures in a shadowy room who offered me the forgetfulness of the skooma pipe; Nord warriors who fell before me, only to rise back up again and again. I welcomed the morning light and the knock at my door that pulled me from my troubled slumber- Svenja calling me to breakfast. Although I had no desire for food, I ate my fill. My Legion training had included the concept of “eat whenever you can; you don’t know when there will be another chance.” And it had only taken one of Senior Trooper Carbo’s “little walks around the wilderness” to reinforce the idea that starting a journey with an empty stomach was a very bad idea. I was nearly finished when Athynae appeared on the stairs. It was apparent from the dark places under her eyes that her night had been no more restful than mine. Still, she offered a smile that warmed me more than any mundane fire ever could. I caught her hand in mine as she sat on the bench beside me, but said nothing. The words that usually came so easily to me were nowhere to be found- this silent communion of joined hands would have to do. Of course, it could not last; when Svenja brought a plate to Athynae, she gently shook free from my clasp, showing a spark of her normal humor as she said,

“I like you, too, but I really need both hands to eat.”

That broke the tension enough that we were able to resume our usual teasing banter, as if it was just another day in Ald’ruhn.

But time was not my friend; I could not linger over the meal as if I had neither cares not duties. When I rose to pack, ‘Thyna stood with me and said,

“I mixed some more potions for you last night. I… wasn’t sleeping anyway, and the ingredients won’t keep forever.”

Although I already knew her answer, I had to try once more:

“Are you sure you won’t come with me? You know my sense of direction isn’t that good- and I won’t stop to ask anyone if I get lost.”

She smiled at my joke, but her eyes were still shadowed as she shook her head. She looked at me for a long moment, and then almost whispered:

“Have you ever felt as if someone was watching you? But then, when you turn to see, there’s no one there? Now imagine what it is like to feel as if the watcher is inside your own mind….”

She raised her hands in frustration.

“It’s too hard to explain. I don’t have the words, don’t even know what I want to say!”

Then her expression softened and she reached up to take my face between her hands.

“But I know you. And I know what you must do. You are an Agent of the Imperial Legion, and they need you. And the Skaal need you. And I… I need time to work things out- alone. If you truly love me, don’t try to hold me so close that I smother.”

There was no answer to that except to kiss away the tears on her cheeks and gather up my meager possessions. When everything was packed, I returned to the main hall, where I thanked Svenja for her many kindnesses, and also took formal leave of Skjoldr. The Skaal chieftain gave my hand a warrior’s clasp and said,

“It is sorry I am to see you go, young Athlain. But we all have our responsibilities. And I trust you will be able to keep peace between the Legion and the Skaal. Honor to you for your efforts, and for your honesty. Safe journey to you. If chance or purpose brings you this way again, you may be sure of a warm welcome.”

As for the words Athynae and I exchanged, well, they were only for ourselves, and I will not record them on the page, though they are inscribed upon my heart. But when we kissed goodbye, I felt a flutter of doubt, for her lips tasted of sorrow and farewell. The wind was out of the south, but it brought no warmth, only blowing snow. I set off down the hill, leaving Athynae standing by the doors to the mead hall. Just before I reached the trees, I turned one more time, and she was still there, her red hair a flame against the white snow, a beacon to guide my return. And then the forest closed around me and I was alone.

The journey back to Gandrung Cavern should have been easy enough; the plentiful food at Thirsk, along with Brynjolfr’s torturous training, had returned me to fitness. Physically, I felt better than I had since the day I had boarded the ship at Khuul. But it was not weakness of body that caused my steps to drag, nor even the wind that seemed to always blow in my face, no matter which way I turned. When I had left home, not so many months ago, I had been sure that I wanted a Legion career and a knighthood. And I could still have those things- a promotion was practically assured if I prevented an unnecessary battle between the garrison and the Skaal. And no doubt I would have the support of Severia Gratius, for I carried ‘Uncle Sweetshare’s’ white helm with me. Everything I had believed I wanted was within my grasp- rank, recognition, the respect of other Imperial soldiers- and it tasted like ashes on my tongue. In part it was because it was based on a lie- although I had carried out my mission, and stopped the moon-sugar poisonings, I had let the culprit go free. And then there were the weeks I had spent lost in a skooma haze, caring nothing for my life or my responsibilities. But most of all, I had discovered that there was something- someone- I wanted far more than all the honors the Empire could bestow. And I was getting farther away from her with every step I took.

[Black Hand]

I almost get the music of the old "Hulk" T.V. Series ending music.

The sad walking away song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eMbzSdf0_oQ

[treydog]

During the long trek from Thirsk to Fort Frostmoth, I discovered two things: love can lead one to compose incredibly bad verse- and the depth of one’s love is no guarantee of inspired composition. I clearly recall seeking suitable rhymes for “Athynae,” but most of the rest is mercifully forgotten. It is a fortunate fact that walking in the wind and snow is not conducive to writing, so none of my “poetry” from that day survives. And the world is therefore a better place.

I felt as if I was trapped between two fires- or perhaps “fears” is a better word. Athynae had not given a very detailed description of the fort, only warned me that the damage was “extensive.” And so I feared what I would find when I arrived. The other fear, the one I was leaving behind me, was concern for Athynae herself. I simply could not conceive of any circumstance that would cause her so much agitation- and that she would not discuss with me. As for the homicidal wildlife of Solstheim, I did my best to avoid encounters with them, moving like a ghost through the snow and silence. I also avoided contact with people-my nearly fatal mistake with the reavers had seared an abiding caution into my soul. And too, I felt a desire for solitude, for time to think about what I might do if ever I discharged all of my obligations. Could there then be a future with Athynae? Would she wait for me? The wind had no answers and neither did I.

The smugglers’ cave was much as I had left it- except that the bodies and the stolen goods had been removed. Oddly, my uniform- and the letters I had left with it- still lay in an orderly pile, apparently undisturbed by whoever had scoured the cavern. In fact, the letters were still sealed, a fact which was both a puzzle and a relief. I quickly consigned them to the flames, wishing I could so easily erase the circumstances that had prompted me to write them. And then I took up my Legion armor again. Donning the uniform engendered a feeling it never had before; I could not help but recall Brynjolfr’s remark about “steel corsets,” for at that moment, my armor felt less like a symbol of achievement and more like a prison. But I would never again take it off, until I could do so with my honor intact.

Duty is heavier than a mountain, death lighter than a feather.

I shifted my shoulders in an almost reflexive shrug to settle the cuirass, placed the helmet on my head, and marched out of the cave into the failing light of the afternoon.

My first sight of Fort Frostmoth in many weeks was a shock- Athynae had only said there had been an attack. What I saw was that the east curtain wall had been breached in at least two places, with great piles of rubble spilling onto the ground. I entered the main gate and beheld another disturbing sight: the garrison stood about in ones and twos, but no one seemed to be following the orderly routine of a functioning outpost. Instead, men and women gripped their weapons and looked about fearfully, or huddled around the parade ground fires. It reminded me painfully of my initial arrival, when discipline had been almost non-existent. As I considered what I should do, a mass of troopers clustered around me, calling my name and asking for guidance. Attracted by the commotion, Champion Severia Gratius shouldered her way through the crowd and grasped my arms, looking long and hard at my face.

“Athlain! I had feared you were gone, never to return. So, tell me- what news? Did you carry out my orders?”

Her eyes had an almost fevered look, and I quickly opened my pack to remove a slightly battered object from within. She reached for it, practically crowing with delight:

“A white Colovian helm! Then the deed is done! The moon sugar poisoner has been brought to justice. You have done a great service to me, the Legion, and the Empire itself. I know that for a soldier such as you, duty is its own reward, but there was a bounty, so take this gold.”

She handed me a heavy pouch and then drew her sword. Reversing it, she presented the hilt to me.

“And I would also like you to have another reward, a symbol of my personal thanks. This shortsword has served me well and you will find its enchantment will rally others to your cause at need. Please accept it with my gratitude.”

I mutely accepted the sword and the coins, unable to formulate a suitable response. I had no idea of where to begin- should I tell her that Uncle Sweetshare still lived? Explain that a sword, no matter how magical, was of no use to me? Or ask why in the name of all Oblivion, she, a Champion of the Legion, had done nothing to reorganize the fort following the attack? As I struggled with my mixture of guilt and anger, she was already turning away, talking to herself:

“Thank Talos that job is done! If I hurry, I can be packed and ready to take the next ship for Cyrodiil and leave this gods-forsaken rock to the savages. The brass is going to owe me- and I intend to collect.”

Almost shaking with disgust, I sought a familiar face among the scattered soldiers. At last, I spotted Saenus, leaning wearily against the wall outside the ordinary quarters. As I approached, I could see that the youthful trooper I had left behind had been replaced by a man who looked haggard and much older. His eyes were shadowed and his expression was downcast. When he saw me, some of the weight seemed to lift from his shoulders and he straightened up and essayed a salute. I shook my head at him and embraced him roughly. Then I released him and said:

“None of that, now. We’ve been to the wars together, Saenus. What happened here?”

He stared at the tumbled walls and plucked at his lip before replying:

“I don’t know much- no one does. You sent me back and I reported to the Captain; he sent a detail to retrieve the contraband from Gandrung…. After that, things went along pretty regular for several weeks- I was a little worried about you, but the Captain said you were on a special assignment. I knew what that meant- ‘Don’t ask any questions.’”

He looked at me from the corner of his eye before resuming the story:

“Then, a couple of nights ago, we were hit. They came out of nowhere. Horrible creatures, covered in fur, with red eyes and claws like adamantium. The Captain was trying to rally a defense and… things were pretty confused. The creatures disappeared into the dark, and the Captain was nowhere to be found. I’m afraid they took him- or something worse.”

He swallowed hard, visibly struggling to maintain his composure.

“Listen, Athlain. You’ve got to go see Gaea Artoria. She’s really taking the Captain’s disappearance hard- well, we all are- but it has made her a little… unstable. Her answer to most anything has always been to hit it until it stops being a problem. And now she wants to go fight the Nords in the village up north. Talk to her. She knows the Captain trusted you, and she’ll listen to what you have to say. She’s up on the second floor of the quarters, ‘planning a strategy.’ Which basically means she’s trying to talk as many troopers as possible into going to bash some Nords.”

That matched what Athynae had told me, so I made haste to find Gaea Artoria. We were of the same rank, but she had been at Frostmoth longer than I, so this would take careful handling. I found the Legion Agent in the common room of the quarters, looking at a map of the island. A handful of other troopers occupied the room, their expressions a mixture of fear and determination. I made a point of announcing my presence, calling soldiers by name and clapping them on the back or shoulder as I walked past. When I reached the table, I removed my helmet and tucked it under my left elbow, then stood at attention. Gaea growled,

“Oh, cut out the nonsense and siddown.”

As I drew out a chair, she added,

“It’s good to see you. Talos knows we need somebody in this outfit with some brains.”

That got a general laugh and the tension in the room lightened for a moment. Still, I decided it would best serve me to act ignorant for the time being. Glancing around the room, I asked:

“So what’s the story?”

Gaea looked broodingly at the map, then spat some hackle-lo juice into a cup.

“There was an attack...some kind of wolf creatures. I don't know exactly how it all happened. We were outmanned, but the soldiers fought valiantly, especially the Cap'n. When it was over, he was gone. I didn't see him go down, so I assume he was alive- at least when they took him. My guess is that those savages from the Nord village have something to do with this.”

She gave me a look that was at once pleading and defiant.

“You need to find him, Athlain.”

As long as she was talking, she wasn’t doing something irrevocable, like attacking the Skaal. And I needed information, besides. Therefore, I probed:

“Who or what do you think attacked the fort?”

“My guess would have been werewolves. I've seen 'em before. But this was different. I've never known the things to travel in such large numbers, and there were a lot of them in the group that hit us. I've also never heard of werewolves on this island. Who knows?”

She shrugged and added:

“I've heard rumors that the Nords up north can control the beasts, though. Some say they can even turn into them. Whatever they were, I don't want to see them again.”

Now we had reached the most delicate part of the discussion- I had to somehow divert her fury, or at least channel it in a more constructive direction.

“So tell me about these Nords. What are they like- and why do you think they might be behind the attack?”

She spat again and stabbed a finger at a point on the map:

“They're a bunch of savages that live on the northeast tip of the island. The Skaal, they call themselves. Their village is here. A bunch of animal spirit-worshipping freaks...wolves especially. What does that tell you? Even if they didn’t attack us themselves, I bet they know who did. And I'm sure they know what happened to the Captain.”

I nodded, as if what she was saying was perfectly logical. I rubbed my chin, feigning deep thought. At last, I placed both hands on the table and spoke decisively:

“I think you’re right. But if we show up in force, it’ll mean a fight, and that will mean paperwork- reports, official inquiries- that kind of thing. And if the Nords are dead, they can’t tell us who took Captain Carius. What we need is somebody to… investigate.”

Then I sat quietly. She had to think it was her idea. At last Gaea blew out a breath.

“You did some ‘investigating’ for that stuck-up Champion from the mainland, didn’t you? And you got that missionary girl back safe and sound, right? So I think you’re the perfect man for this job.”

She snapped her fingers at one of the troopers and said,

“Nalia, go get that skull from your footlocker and bring it here.”

While we waited, she said,

“The Nords aren’t likely to trust you, so take this skull. Nalia… picked it up… from a Nord barrow. They'll be happy to get it back, since they worship their dead relatives. You should stay with them until you find out what's happened. Get in good with them, earn their trust. And then…”

She drove a dagger into the village marked on the map and left it quivering in the wooden table.

[canis216]

I love how you handled the return to the fort... walking in the wind (that herald of winter, harbinger of doom, barer of souls, etc.), the personalities of the soldiers, conversational manipulation... very fine work, sir.

[Olen]

So the warewolves appear. Nice.

I'm trying to think of some more meaningful comments that just 'I like it' (which goes without saying) but can't really think of what to criticise. The fort was very well portrayed in it's disarray and I enjoyed the conversation between Athlain and Gaea, perhaps a little more would have been nice but equally it would have risked the nice flow your writing has.

Now to the Skaal, I'm interested to see what Athlain makes of them...