Blood on the Moon, A Journey of Discovery Options

[minque]

Two updates....yay, and I've only been away for a couple of days! Amazing.. Athlain on his way to Skaal, well that will be an adventure ok. Still I really can't understand why Thyna didn't go with him, it would have been most suitable...for her!

But if I know you right my dear treydog, you will provide us with an intriguing explanation to that little mystery.

Oh this story is indeed wonderful!

[treydog]

I passed an uneasy night in the armory, cleaning and repairing my gear. The attack had put everyone on edge, and there were a fair number of “volunteer sentries” manning the walls. Others stayed close to the few troopers who happened to have obtained silver weapons, and more than one, knowing of my abilities with potions, asked me if I had any monkshood. Unfortunately, I did not- the plant was common on the mainland, but unknown on Vvardenfell, and I had not found any on Solstheim, either. I did use the privileges of my rank to requisition a silver dagger from the armory, recalling Einar’s story of werewolves. It bothered me to take advantage of my status, but not enough to stop me from doing so. The silvered blade might save me in a fight, and a darker impulse forced me to admit that I might have a different use for it if I fell to a lycanthropic foe.

With morning came a desire to be on the move again, to visit the Skaal village and learn what I could. But before I could leave, Saenus sought me out and asked me to walk with him. He said nothing until we were in a deserted corner, where he looked me over carefully. At last he smiled and said,

“It’s good to have you back. She said she would find you, but I wasn’t sure.”

I did not have to ask who “she” was- Athynae generally made a strong impression on people.

Saenus continued, “So… you haven’t been to see Carnius Magius, yet? No unfinished business with him?”

I shot a suspicious glance at the trooper, wondering at the intent of his probing questions.

Carefully, I responded: “No, I have not seen him since I got back. Is there a reason for your interest?”

The normally voluble soldier was quiet for so long that I began to think he was not going to answer. At last, he shook himself and looked at me with pleading eyes.

“Sir... I mean, Athlain… we’re friends, right? We cleaned out the smugglers, and you treated me more than fair. I- it’s like this- I haven’t always kept the best company or made the smartest choices. Everybody knows I would rather just ‘go along to get along.’ Or they used to know that. But you showed me that there was a different way, that ‘honor’ is more than just a word.”

He turned to face me squarely,

“And that girl of yours- she’s something special. She showed up here- and I don’t have to tell you, this is a rough bunch. But nobody offered her anything but kind words and respect- and it wasn’t because they were afraid of her- or not just that.”

He smiled at the memory and continued,

“She strode in here and said, ‘I’m looking for one of your officers- his name is Athlain. I’m afraid he’s in trouble, and I’m going to help him.’ And the thing is, no one laughed. The way she said it, we believed her. And I knew you had been doing some work for Carnius- and I also know a little bit more about him than some of the others do.”

He took a deep breath. “The reason Athynae showed up- one of the reasons, anyway- is that I sent her a note. You had told me a lot about her, and when I figured out that Carnius probably got you hooked on skooma… well, I decided someone needed to know- someone who wasn’t official. And so I figured I owed it to you- and to her- to make sure you were squared away.”

He said nothing else, just turned and walked across the parade ground- tall, straight, and proud- the very model of a good soldier.

In truth, I had not really spared a thought for Carnius Magius until Saenus mentioned the name. My mind had been occupied with finding a way to prevent a needless fight between the Legion and the Skaal, with the attack on the fort… and with getting back to Athynae as soon as I could. I looked toward the wing where the East Empire factor had his office, and my hands clenched into fists. But then, with an effort, I opened them and turned away.

“Later,” I thought. “There will be time to deal with you later.”

For now, I had another long walk ahead of me. It need not have been so- if I had thought to ask ‘Thyna for the Mark and Recall amulets, I could have magically transported myself back to Thirsk and then made the short trip to the village further north. But I had not done so, and I rather liked knowing she had them- they were a mystical connection between us. They had come from Father to me and from me to her.

So, even though I had much to think about, I was in a pleasant mood as I left the fort. The day was cold and clear, and I decided to make my way east, to the coast, before turning north. That route would give me a chance to explore part of the island that I had not yet seen- and perhaps find some evidence of Louis Beauchamp’s missing airship. The Breton inventor had sent a rather terse note to Frostmoth, reminding me of our bargain, and I owed it to him to respond- even if what I had to report was negative.

Although my Legion armor made it difficult, I still did my best to avoid the bears and wolves that seemed to cover every square foot of the island. I thought about my natural history lessons, and came to the tentative conclusion that there was something decidedly unnatural about the number of predators on Solstheim. There were no large herds of grazing animals to support them- the only prey species were bristlebacks and horkers, plus some fish. And then I considered my own experiences and added another item to the carnivores’ diet plan- people. But that was still an effect, rather than a cause. The wolves and bears attacked people because there were too many wolves and bears and not enough of their natural food supplies. So- why were there too many predators? I did not know.

In the midst of my contemplation of what was wrong on Solstheim, I came across a sight that was even more bizarre than an over-abundance of creatures that wanted to eat me. Some fifteen feet atop a rock spire was the body of an Argonian. My curiosity, as well as my Legion training, pushed me to investigate more closely. The sides of the rock were sheer, and offered no way to climb up, so I swallowed a levitation potion and floated gently upward until I could examine the corpse. The dead Argonian was quite frozen, and the ice and snow indicated that he had been here for some time. He was not a mage, and had no potion vials or magical scrolls- so how had he managed to get on top of the rock? And what had killed him? Beyond the fatal injuries he had suffered upon striking the rock, his body bore no marks of violence. There were no signs of a freak wave that might have washed him up there, either. Finally, I simply sketched his markings in my notebook on the chance that they might allow me to identify him and then continued on my way. It seemed that the more I learned, the less I knew.

Although I did not want to delay too long, I turned inland at the point opposite where I estimated Thirsk must lie. I reached the mead hall and shook the snow from my boots before stepping inside. I removed my helmet so the Nords could see my face and glanced around for Athynae. She was not in sight, so I climbed the stairs two at a time, waving a cheerful greeting to Svenja as I went. The door to Athynae’s room swung open at my knock, but she was not there and neither was her pack. In fact, the room was empty, save for a folded piece of notepaper propped against the pillow.

For long moments, I did not move. I held on to the slender hope that if I did nothing, perhaps this would not be real. If I did not touch the note, the words it contained would remain unread, would remain an unrealized potential. If I stood there long enough, she would appear behind me, ready with a joke about my blocking the doorway. But the silent minutes passed and no footsteps sounded. The rays of the sun came through the window and moved across the floor, picking out motes of dust that danced in the air. At last, I moved my feet, one and then the other, crossing the short distance to the bed. I reached out a shaking hand to grasp the note and raised it as carefully as I would one of the butterflies that lived in Mother’s garden. Even so, my trembling caused two amulets to fall from the folds of paper, jewels glinting as they tumbled to the floor. I ignored them, unfolding the note to read the words I did not want to see. As I did, a hint of Athynae’s scent wafted upward and I almost turned to look for her. But my eyes scanned the lines of the note and I knew. She was gone.

[Captain Hammer]

What can I say, Trey? Just more of the high quality material we've come to expect from you for Athlain.

I was pleasantly surprised to see you talk about the ecologically faulty nature of Solstheim's high predator population. You never seem to lack those mundane observations that make your stories all the more believable.

[minque]

Lovely update, the plot thickens, Athlain has to deal with the problems at the Fort, then of course he's puzzled about that wretched girl, what she's up to! I can't believe Athynae would do such a thing as just leave! That is really not kind considering she very well knows he loves her....hmm I wonder

So I sit here staring at the screen....hoping for more of this brilliant story!

[treydog]

Interlude 10

A letter from Fort Buckmoth, Vvardenfell to Sarethi Manor (a portion):

Serene:

My contact reports that they arrived at Thirsk and appear to be well….
There is one bit of news I feel you should know- Athynae introduced Athlain as her “betrothed.” She is probably not aware of the potential political issues, but I know that you are.

Your friend,

Imsin


A letter from Sarethi Manor, Vvardenfell to Duke Vedam Dren, Ebonheart:

Your Grace:

I am writing to request your assistance in a delicate matter. I would appreciate your approval of the attached formal declaration of betrothal between my daughter Athynae and Athlain, son of Trey and Baria of Indarys Manor. I have enclosed a letter from Trey and Baria granting their permission. However, I would prefer that this arrangement be kept confidential at present. Circumstances (and girlish whims) may change.

Thank you in advance for your kindness and discretion.

Sincerely,

Serene Sarethi

* * * * *

In an office in Ebonheart, one of Duke Vedam Dren’s clerks leaves his desk and his paperwork for a few moments. He is conscientious, as are all of the Duke’s people, but the luncheon he just consumed at the Six Fishes is not sitting well. He considers some strong words for that new serving girl. But before he can complete the thought, his digestive troubles demand his full attention.
He hurries out, leaving the office door open, and a slender girl with mixed Dunmer and Imperial features topped by startling red hair slips inside. She quickly locates the files regarding the East Empire Company’s Raven Rock enterprise- and Carnius Magius, the factor in charge of the venture. What she reads causes her to hiss in triumph. She smiles and puts the files back in order. Turning to leave, she sees a paper lying on the desk, a paper that holds several familiar names. Curiosity comes as naturally to her as breathing- she pauses to read. And as she reads, the triumphant smile fades and her face grows pale:

In re: Athynae S.

Contract of Betrothal- per Serene Sarethi via Duke Vedam Dren

Duke accepts your proposed arrangements in full

Look forward to seeing you, etc., etc.

[minque]

Oh dear me! What is now this all about? What thoughts whirl around in Thyna's mind? What does she think? This was an appetizer I presume?

Looking sooo much forward for the continuation!

[Olen]

The interludes are very well executed. I very much like first person but by it's nature it limits the reader to a narrow part of the story and, while I've read other things with background and third person bits between chapters I think yours might be the best exectuted (and thats up against some big names). They fit very well and while drawing my attention the the bigger picture are incomplete enough to keep it blurry without seeming in any way artificial or condecending.

Very very good stuff.

[treydog]

Chapter 10

My first impulse was to crumple the letter and toss it to the floor, but I could not. First, because it might be the last thing I would have from Athynae’s own hand; second, because of the final words:

I will look for you in Ald’ruhn when the flowers bloom.

For the rest, it read rather like a conversation with Athynae- darting and swooping from one topic to the next- with only a passing nod to conventions of logic, grammar, and punctuation. Under normal circumstances, her thought processes were convoluted; under duress, they were positively labyrinthine. A careful reading brought several points to the fore: she had discovered some useful information regarding Carnius Magius (enclosed); she had also discovered something unexpected (and unnamed) regarding herself and her family; the unnamed discovery placed her in a difficult position related to her honor and her feelings for me; she was sorry for some unspecified sin she had committed against me, and hoped I would forgive her.

What the flood of words did NOT contain was any indication of where she had gone. There was a postscript, informing me that I “must see Brynjolfr before leaving Thirsk.” The word “must” was underlined three times. Moving slowly, I folded the note and tucked it away inside my cuirass, my fingers brushing the scarf that I had wrapped around my throat. Then I stooped to pick up the Mark and Recall amulets; she had suggested a way I might use them to deal with Carnius. I looked around the room, wanting to do nothing so much as throw myself upon the bed in which we each had slept, although never together. But I could not. Honor had compelled Athynae to leave this place; honor pressed upon me to do the same.

I descended the stairs to find Svenja waiting. She looked at me with sadness in her eyes and said,

“She left not long after you. And before you ask, she did not say where she was going or why. It was better if I did not know, she said. That way I would not have to decide whether to tell or keep silent.”

She gave a small smile, “Maybe she let something slip to that writer-fellow- he was interested in what she knew of the Nords and the Skaal. But first, she insisted that I send you to the smith.”

She put a friendly hand on my shoulder and pushed me toward the door:

“So go see Brynjolfr. And when you come back, I will have some mulled cider for you.”

The smith was hard at work when I entered his forge, and he struck the sword he was shaping a few more times before quenching it in a tank of water. Then he stretched his back and nodded to me. He went to a shelf and picked up a cloth-wrapped bundle which he brought to the front of the forge.

“She was here,” he said. “And then she left. But she brought me this and watched while I put it together. She said you would have need of it.”

He slowly picked at the cord that tied the bundle, an odd expression on his face.

“My granny had the Sight. And when yer girl handed me this, she got a look as if the telling was upon her. ‘Ye make this, and ye make sure Athlain takes it. Tell him,’ she said, ‘tell him I expect him to stay alive.’”

He looked up with a grin: “If I was ye, I’d do as she says. That ‘un is just as like to follow ye into Oblivion and drag ye back by the scruff a’ the neck.”

Then he pulled away the cloth to reveal a mace. How plain those words look on the page. It was more than a weapon; it was a thing of beauty. The head was dark as a starless night sky, and I realized it was made of ebony. The spikes gleamed in stark contrast, and Brynjolfr pointed to them with pride:

“Silver, they are. That was her idea. I bored holes in the ebony and threaded them; the spikes are threaded, too. The handle is ash; it willna shatter.”

I also detected the glow of magicka on the weapon and reached out my hand to touch it. The spell was one that would transfer an enemy’s life force to me. That would certainly help me obey Athynae’s admonition to stay alive, especially since the spell would cause me no harm if it was reflected. The mace was a masterpiece of craftsmanship and was also worth a king’s ransom. I lifted its Dwemer cousin from the loop at my side and handed it to the smith.

“Keep this safe for me, if you would. I… took it from home, and would like to be able to return it one day.”

Brynjolfr wrapped my old mace in the cloth that had held the new one and stored it behind the forge.

“Aye. It’ll be here when ye call for it.” He cleared his throat and swiped a massive hand across his eyes.
“Now be off wi’ ye, and let a man get on wi’ his work.”

There was no more to say; I returned to the mead hall to pick up my pack and to thank Svenja for all her help. She acknowledged my thanks and gave me some advice, along with the promised cider:

“Before you go, talk to Bereditte Jastal, the writer. He may have information that will be helpful.”

Her blue eyes darkened as she added,

“Be respectful to the Skaal in the village, but don’t beg. They appreciate courtesy, but they despise weakness. And they have little reason to love the Empire.”

[minque]

This,my dear friend was more than welcome! The tension builds up, slowly and delicate....a true masterpiece it is. And for us, your loyal readers it,s like christmas eve.

So Thyna wants him to stay alive..aye quite understandable, wht I really wonder is how she´ll handle the information she shouldn´t have had..hrmmm.

So sitting here in a very cold place (Norway) eagerly waiting...for more!

[Fiach]

Ah I loved Bloodmoon, easily one of the best expansions I've ever played

I never really liked the Skaal... I always played werewolf and wiped them out xD

great story

[treydog]

Everyone seemed to think that I should speak with Bereditte Jastal, the writer who had taken up residence in the mead hall. I decided I would take heed- the consequences of ignoring earlier advice were impressed upon my mind- and some had also left marks upon my flesh. But my reluctance was not a matter of stubbornness- or not only that. First, I wanted to be out and moving- doing something to take my mind from Athynae’s absence. And I admit that I was put off by the fact that his name was clearly Breton in origin- and that he was a writer. But one of the hunters mentioned that Athynae had engaged the author in some serious discussions- which might yield a clue as to her whereabouts. I would willingly face a Daedra lord if it meant having Athynae back; a whole host of Breton scholars should be no more frightening than that.

So I climbed the stairs again, much more slowly- and knocked upon the door to the guest room.

A tenor voice called, “Please come in,” and I did.

The young man who greeted me proved that my surmise had been correct; he bore the triangular face, high forehead, and sandy hair characteristic of his Breton origin. His ink-stained fingers and the lines around his eyes, signs of time spent reading in poor light, revealed his trade as much as the books and papers stacked all around the room. He seemed out of place in the mead hall with his elegant puffed sleeves and scholarly whiskers, but there was a light of determination in his eyes, hinting at a deep well of strength and stubbornness. While I had been assessing the man, he had been scrutinizing me in turn, and a broad smile stretched his features.

“You must be Athlain,” he enthused. “I understand you fought Erich a few days ago. I just wish I had been here to see it- the challenge, the acceptance, the battle itself!”

I thought, but did not say: “And what of the fear, the brutality, and the blood- not to mention the very real chance of dying?”

Meanwhile, the writer was rattling on: “It’s just so exciting, to be out here on the edge of civilization. But I am forgetting my manners. I am Bereditte Jastal, a bookseller by trade.”

He gave a low bow and added, “But my passion is writing. Most recently, I have been chronicling the history of the Nords on Solstheim- the ‘Skaal’ as they call themselves. In fact, I have just completed two scholarly works on the subject: Thirsk, a History and Sovngarde, a Re-examination. I have copies of both, available at a modest price, as well as a few other volumes that might be of interest. Athynae was particularly taken with the The Black Arrow, Volume II and The Posting of the Hunt.”

His spate of words stopped for a few moments and his eyes took on the look that those of the masculine persuasion often assumed when meeting, or recalling, Athynae- a rather stunned fascination. I guiltily stepped on the unkind thought that if the Nords simply allowed Athynae and Ser Jastal to talk, they would have no need of fires to keep the mead hall heated.

With an effort, I brought my thoughts back to my responsibilities, to my mission to the Skaal village. The Breton scholar must have some information about the settlement, so I prompted him:

“What can you tell me of the Nords of Solstheim?”

He drew himself up and folded his hands behind his back, pacing across the floor as he spoke:

“I came to Thirsk all the way from Cyrodiil, by way of Vvardenfell. My father once visited Solstheim, you see, and as a boy I was intrigued by his exciting stories of the Nords. I was particularly fascinated with this very mead hall -- its residents and their adventures, things like that. I arrived here over a year ago, and have been living among the Nords ever since. I've been chronicling their lives, and recently collected enough data to complete my history of Thirsk. It is really quite a place- it may be as much as 500 years old, and was founded by a great warrior named Hrothmund the Red.”

I started at the name. “You mean Hrothmund was real? He actually lived?”

The Breton gave a firm nod. “There can be no doubt. And he was finally brought down by the great wolf and interred in a barrow somewhere west of here.”
He lowered his voice- “They say that the barrow is still guarded by a snow wolf. I don’t know- I have not seen it myself.”

So Hrothmund had existed, and he was buried on Solstheim. Louis Beauchamp had been right about that much, at least. And that meant, in addition to everything else, I still needed to search for the missing airship and for the burial mound.

Meanwhile, Ser Jastal’s darting thoughts had carried him onto another topic, and he again assumed the stance of an academy lecturer:

“Nord traditions regarding life and death and what comes after are another of my areas of interest. They talk of a place called ‘Sovngarde,’ which only the greatest warriors can find. The Nords believe that the god Shor constructed a magnificent fortress where valiant Nord warriors may live forever; feasting, fighting...basically doing everything Nords like to do. The trick is finding the way in. According to legend, the entrance to Sovngarde is hidden, and only those who take up the search may ever find the way in. But according to my research, which I've chronicled in a new book, the way into Sovngarde isn't quite what they thought.”

He stopped for a moment and stared pensively at the ceiling, a frown of concentration on his features.
I seized the opportunity to bring the conversation to a subject that was of more immediate interest, asking-

“You mentioned that Athynae had visited with you…. Would you mind telling me what the two of you discussed?”

The somewhat silly smile came back to his face and he was quiet for several minutes before responding:

“Athynae? Yes, she was interested in any stories I might have heard regarding werewolves, and how to combat them. It is a fascinating topic- and certainly has some basis in the Skaal hunting traditions and their reverence for the spirits of animals. And it may very well be tied in to the legendary Great Hunt, when the Daedra pursue mortal men.”

His eyes shone with scholarly zeal and I wondered if he had any concept of what it felt like to be chased across a winter landscape, knowing that to falter or stumble would mean a horrible death. But his mind had already leapt to a new subject:

“Later, she asked me about the legal implications of marriage contracts, especially the practice of families entering into a contract for a child who was not yet of age. I explained that I am no lawyer, nor even well-versed in the intricacies of Imperial law. However, my reading inclines me to believe that such agreements are binding upon the child, barring some extraordinary circumstance which would allow for voiding the contract.”

Marriage contracts? Why would she be concerned about marriage contracts, of all things? So much so that she would ask a relative stranger? And what did he mean by “extraordinary circumstance”? I spoke the last question aloud and he explained:

“Oh, things like a crippling or disfiguring injury, such as the loss of a limb or eye; proof of moral unsuitability; insanity; disease,” he waved a hand casually, as if those afflictions were of little real consequence.

True to form, I had sought answers and come away with more questions. Perhaps the Skaal village would provide greater enlightenment.

[Black Hand]

What the??!!....SERENE!!! Come out here now!!

[Olen]

Nice update I liked the scholar, you make him stand well as a character. I particularly liked 'darting thoughts', it worked nicely.

I want to know where ths goes... More?

[minque]

What the??!!....SERENE!!! Come out here now!!

Do I need to? You're already there, Seth, aren't you? Better you deal with it....

I want to know where ths goes... More?

Oh aye, me too! Maybe things aren't what they seem to be? I wonder...werewolves and...marriage contracts? Now I'm utterly curious so I beg of the sweet dachshund to grab a pen or something...ASAP

[canis216]

Werewolves and marriage contracts... this makes me think of some alternate-universe Gilbert and Sullivan show, or something of that ilk.

[treydog]

Note: I have included a link to the Story of Aevar Stone-Singer at the end of this installment. While it is important to understanding much of what will occur in the future, the words are not my words- and it is a longish story. So- it is linked rather than reposted here. T.

My spirit had taken a chill that even the roaring fires of Thirsk could not thaw. Athynae’s absence was a void that nothing could fill- not food, nor drink, nor even the rough friendship of the Skaal. Still, Svenja and Skjoldr did their best- offering me furs to cover my armor and keep out the wind and mulled cider to warm me from the inside. It was no fault of theirs that they did not possess the cure for my affliction, so I thanked them for their many kindnesses and turned my mind to the only thing I had left- duty.

The wind howled and the snow swirled, obscuring the landscape and blotting out my tracks as I plodded northward. It was hard to believe that I had once found the frozen flakes exotic- now they were simply another obstacle to overcome, a hindrance that slowed my steps and weighted my clothing. In fact, it rather reminded me of slipping and sliding through the ash-fall that still covered the slopes of Red Mountain. Swiping the ice from my face, I pressed on- east and north. The only good thing about the weather was that it kept the wild animals- and the wilder humans- away.

Mingled scents of wood-smoke and curing hides alerted me when I was near the village, and I uncovered my head to better listen- and to make sure my face was visible. The wind carried faint sounds to me- an axe striking wood, a door slamming shut, the creak of a windlass. I turned slowly, trying to discern the direction from which they came, and saw dark shapes looming out of the snow. Moving closer, I recognized buildings with the steep roofs and crossed timbers of Nord dwellings. I eased my mace from its loop and then let it drop back- I was not sure what sort of greeting awaited me, but it would not do to appear hostile.

A windbreak of closely-spaced trees blunted the force of the wind and snow- creating a quiet space in which the village sat almost as if it had been plucked out of time and suspended forever between one minute and the next. The illusion was shattered when two burly figures in Nordic mail marched toward me and asked:

“Who be ye? And why do ye trespass here, stranger?”

The words were a standard challenge, no different than one might hear anywhere. But the tone carried a clear message- if I wanted a fight, these warriors would be more than happy to accommodate me. Holding my hands well away from my sides, I answered quietly:

“My name is Athlain, and I have come from Fort Frostmoth, seeking news of my commander. The fort was attacked and he was… taken.”

The Nords glared at me anew and muttered to one another in the language of Skyrim. I knew enough of that tongue to make out several insults, and even threats. At last, the older man shook his head at his companion and turned back to me.

“You will Speak to Tharsten Heart-Fang. He will decide what we should do with ye. Now.”

He stomped off through the snow, not bothering to see if I was following.

My surly guide led me to the doors of the largest building in the village, and pulled them open. We entered and he curtly gestured for me to wait while he went to speak to the leader of the Skaal. I took the opportunity to study the man I guessed must be Tharsten. His hair and beard were the color of steel, but age had not diminished the strength of his limbs. He wore an elaborate suit of Nordic mail and glanced at me keenly as the guard spoke to him.

At last, he waved me closer and asked gruffly:

“You are not of the Skaal- so what do you want here? And what is this I hear about an attack on the Imperial fort?”

I told him as much as I knew about the attack and the creatures behind it- and that some of the troops believed the Skaal had been involved. He snorted his contempt and growled:

“Soldiers...pfah! They cut their trees and dig their holes, and have little to show after a day's toil. They do not respect this land or its creatures, and for that, I find them offensive. But, though I have no love for them, the Skaal would never do such a thing. We prefer to let the Imperials kill themselves slowly. But these creatures that attacked...they were not wolves of this island.”

He sat back in his throne and asked: “Now, have you finished your business here?

I reached into my pack and produced the skull Gaea Artoria had given me. Placing it reverently on a pedestal, I said:

“This is the relic of a Nord warrior. I… we… wanted to return it so that it can be honored properly.”

Tharsten rose and examined the skull carefully, without touching it. At last he looked at me with a bit less hostility.

“You've brought the bones of one of our ancestors? Stupid Imperials. You need to learn to leave things as they are. Still, it is good that you have returned this to the Skaal. Perhaps there is hope for you and your kind. You are welcome here for the moment, but there is much to atone for.”

He paused for a moment as if gathering his thoughts and continued, pacing back and forth in agitation:

“You Imperials in that fort have brought nothing but harm to these lands. You cut the trees and dig the earth. You are wasteful, lazy, and careless. You have no comprehension of the Oneness of the land. It is this Oneness from which the Skaal derive our strength, and you Imperials have defiled these lands.”

He seated himself again and stated: “The Oneness is what gives the Skaal power! It is the balance of our lands, the trees and the waters, wolf and bear. The Imperials have no respect for this balance, and we pay the price. Through your carelessness, you have upset the natural order, the Oneness of the land. It must be balanced once again, and the All-Maker appeased. I wish for you to make things right, Athlain. You will be the one to restore the power of the Skaal. Then we will return to the matter of your missing captain.”

He was silent for several moments, his eyes fixed on a vision only he could see.

“It is right that you do this, as it is your people who have caused the damage. Speak with Korst Wind-Eye, in the Shaman's Hut. He will give you further instructions. None in the village will harm you, but watch your manners- we have no love for Imperials.”

He waved me away, and I exited the Great Hall, pausing to survey the rest of the village. The eaves of the house just west of where I stood were hung with bundles of herbs, and the door posts were carved with stylized figures of wolf and bear. Those clues seemed to indicate that it was the shaman’s dwelling, so I walked over and knocked on the door. A pleasant voice bade me enter.

The interior of the house was sparsely furnished, with only a few hides on floor and walls, along with a few simple tables and benches. The one unexpected element were the books that filled several shelves. It was a varied collection, and I started a bit as I recognized copies of The Five Far Stars and The Chronicles of Nchuleft. What sort of Nord was this, who read Ashlander poetry and Dwemer history? The subject of my curiosity cleared his throat and said,

“Yes, Cyrodiil? Is there a reason you disturb my studies?”

I left my study of the books and turned to the home’s inhabitant- receiving another surprise. I had expected the shaman to be at least as old as Tharsten, with white hair and a wrinkled countenance. The man I saw was close to my own age, dressed simply in furs and a brown robe, which apparel set off an athletic frame. I flushed a bit as I realized I was staring and stuttered,

“Ah, I … that is… Korst Wind-Eye?”

He nodded and held out his hand in an invitation to continue.

With an effort, I remembered my manners- and my reason for being there.

“Tharsten Heart-Fang has said that I must restore the power of the Skaal before he will tell me what he knows of Captain Falx Carius. Captain Carius has been missing since a band of strange, wolf-like creatures attacked Fort Frostmoth. He- Tharsten, not the Captain- told me to come to you for instructions, so here I am.”

The Nord wise-man greeted my rather breathless explanation with silence and a slightly amused look. Finally he asked an odd question:

“Would you by any chance know a young lady named of Athynae?”

“Yes? I know her rather well, but what does that have to do with the task Tharsten has given me?”

Korst allowed a small smile to lift the corners of his mouth and said dryly, “No reason, really. It was just an idle thought.”

He quickly grew serious and added,

“The land is wounded, and I see that you are heartsick, as well. If you would heal yourself, you must heal the land. How can any person be truly complete if he cannot feel the rhythm of the world around him? If you would earn our trust, you must perform the Ritual of the Gifts.”

He held up a hand to forestall me as I opened my mouth to ask about this ritual.

“It is too much for one not of the Skaal to learn from telling. But I have the story in written form.”

He retrieved a scroll from one of the shelves and added,

"Before you begin the Ritual, I would ask that you go out among the people, speak to them, discover their needs- and help them as you can. The survival of the Clan depends on the honesty and dependability of all. I must test your truth before I place our fate in your hands.”

The Story of Aevar Stone-Singer

[mALX]

Awesome! I finally found where I can get updates on Athlain and Athynae!

[Acadian]

Yes, missing our girl 'Thynae. Snow, werewolves, marriage contracts indeed. Nice to find a place to stay updated on A&A.

[minque]

Ahh so Athlain has to go through all those stone-thingies? my my, not an easy task. Darn it, I think it would have been decent if that red head would have stood by him...but she's one-of-a-kind. Her mother would have put a spell on her if she'd knew!... Believe me ...I know!

[mALX]

Ahh so Athlain has to go through all those stone-thingies? my my, not an easy task. Darn it, I think it would have been decent if that red head would have stood by him...but she's one-of-a-kind. Her mother would have put a spell on her if she'd knew!... Believe me ...I know!

Athynae has inspired quite a bit of "poetry" - and that term is relative in this instance.