Blood on the Moon, A Journey of Discovery Options

[Black Hand]

So learn the spells and that will be one less thing for me to worry about. No doubt you will find some other creative way to get yourself injured or killed, but you won’t drown.”

Hah. Classic.

[Olen]

Great to see you back at this. As usual I loved the dry humour and very real feel you give it and was delighted to see more of Athlain.

The use of resist frost spells was a nice touch, another area the game failed in was ignoring effects of cold (especially cold water which is very fatal very quickly), again it adds to the realism of the morrowind Trey inhabits.

More?

[Acadian]

As always I am transported to Athlain's world by your magnificent first person intimate writing that is so rich with creative description, poignancy and even subtle humor.

This truly was the Song of the Earth. As it sounded, I could hear the mountains rising up from the seas, only to be worn by wind, water, and ice. I could feel the slow breathing of the very stones themselves- a single exhalation every few thousand years.

I could hear and feel this too.

I loved that you graced us with a brief explanation of Athlain's water breathe/walk skill via flashback.

You packed so much goodness into this!

[minque]

So learn the spells and that will be one less thing for me to worry about. No doubt you will find some other creative way to get yourself injured or killed, but you won’t drown.”

Hah. Classic.

YESSSS!!!! Wonderful, so darn wonderful!! I was so happy to see this ..but the proverb says; If you wait for something good you can't wait too long...

I wish my dear boy good luck with his stone-project and I hope he will get back to Thyna in good shape..and soon!

[mplantinga]

Thanks for another update. I don't post here as often as I used to, but I still read every update in this great story.

I particularly enjoyed your description of how the song of the earth affected Athlain. It is intriguing to contemplate knowledge so vast and deep that the mind almost explodes in the perception of it.

[treydog]

Many thanks for all the wonderful comments, my friends. I am glad the Song of the Earth resonated with you- I have lived near the mountains my whole life and my father was a geologist... so I hoped to put into words the idea that the world itself is alive. As to Baria's brand of parental advice, I think of my own long-suffering mother- and of the rather, umm- (gets ready to duck)- acerbic nature of women with Baria's hair color. Special greetings to Dr. Planty- I am so glad you are still reading.

Finally, this installment is dedicated to Trey the dachshund, loyal friend and faithful companion for 19 years. Rest now, free from pain and sorrow.

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I surfaced just long enough to renew my water breathing spell and then dove toward the cave entrance. The passage was a twisting maze, and I soon began to doubt my sense of direction. At least there was a sort of low light, which was fortunate, as all my potions were in my pack- which was resting at the base of the Water Stone. Still, something drew me onward, and I at last sensed a patch of brighter light overhead. I kicked upward and just had time to see that I was in a small chamber. Hard on the heels of that revelation, a silver claymore whistled past my head, barely missing me. With a startled cry, I ducked back under the water, scrabbling for my mace with frozen fingers.

Peering up through the water showed that the sword was in the hands of a large skeletal warrior. The guardian did not immediately attack again, seemingly content to let the water take care of me. And it surely would if I did not surface soon- I could feel my spell beginning to wane. This was a situation that did not allow for any clever tactics- there was only one way for me to go- forward. All I could do was come out of the water as quickly as possible, limiting the time that I would be vulnerable.

Despite the urgency of the situation, I felt myself relax and give in to the battle trance. I had all the time I needed- time to get things right. A claymore was a terrible weapon, especially so when I had no shield. So I needed to get close and neutralize the weight and reach of the sword. Holding my mace close to my side, I placed my feet against the tunnel wall and pushed up and forward, landing lightly in front of the undead guard. The skeleton raised its silver sword high, preparing for a blow that would cut me in half if it landed. Instead of waiting and trying to block or dodge the down stroke, I reached out with my free hand and grasped one of the creature’s prominent ribs. I ignored the unpleasant greasy feel of the bone and the tingle of eldritch magic that animated the warrior and pulled with all my strength.

The ambulatory collection of bones might once have been a large man, complete with flesh and sinew. But now, it seemed to weigh almost nothing, especially in my frenzied state. Holding tight to the rib, I spun quickly to the left, slamming the skeleton against an icy wall. I used the momentum of my rotation to hammer the other side of the rib-cage with my mace. Against a normal opponent, I would have stepped back, opening distance and allowing the injuries I had inflicted time to further weaken my foe. But against a claymore, I had to stay close- and undead, skeletons, at least, seemed unable to feel pain. To stop such a construct, you had to utterly destroy it. And so I did, systematically turning the walking anatomy lesson into a pile of dust and shards. I think I can be forgiven if I was a trifle- enthusiastic- undead have always frightened me.

Fortunately, that lone warrior was the only guard in the small cavern. Once I had caught my breath, I looked around, and soon saw a potion bottle of an ancient style resting near the back of the chamber. I picked it up and haltingly translated the runic inscription that circled the body- Waters of Life. Placing it carefully inside my tunic, I turned back to the submerged tunnel that would take me out of the cavern. Perhaps I could have used an intervention or recall spell, but it did not seem right to do so. This was a test, after all. So, using my dwindling store of magical energy, I cast water-breathing and swam out of that place. When I reached the surface, the Swimmer was gone, having served its purpose. It was up to me to find my own way back to Solstheim.

I almost gave in then, almost surrendered myself to the cold, featureless water that surrounded me. With my head barely above the surface, I could get no sight of land, no sense of the direction I should take. I might swim for hours, going in aimless circles or further out to sea. Conserving my energy while I tried to find a solution, I lay on my back staring up at the darkening sky. The stars began to shine, and I recognized the constellation that had marked my birth- The Lady. And seeing her, I knew which way I must go.

Upon reaching the shore of Solstheim, I did not immediately try to find the Water Stone, fearing that darkness and exhaustion would bring me to grief. Instead, I made a cold camp, chewing a few hackle-lo leaves to quiet my hunger. The sun rose to find me shivering, my skin almost blue with cold. But daylight also revealed the shape of the land around me and showed that the Water Stone was only a short distance to the north. I knew that I would freeze long before I starved, so I set out at a slow run, trading my dwindling energy for badly-needed warmth.

I may have actually dozed off for a few moments when I finally stood before the Water Stone; I am certain that I stared at it in dull incomprehension for some time before recalling my purpose. With some difficulty, I broke the ancient wax seal on the mouth of the flask and poured the contents over the glyphs and down the face of the Stone. It began to glow, the color reminiscent of deep ocean water.

Perhaps I should have been pleased with my progress, and I did feel a sense of accomplishment. But I also felt a bone-deep exhaustion from the long swim out and the long swim back, plus another night without fire or shelter. After wrestling my aching limbs back into my armor, I swallowed a couple of potions without tasting them and drew out the map of the Standing Stones. Again, I might have slept on my feet for a time, only to be awakened by the booming and grinding of the ice. And what drives the ice? I wondered. My eyes found the place marked “Wind Stone,” and I felt somewhat better.

The Wind Stone appeared to be more or less to the east, and fairly near to the Skaal village. I pulled myself upright, thinking that I might visit the village and then find the Stone. As events transpired, I found something else first.

This post has been edited by treydog: Jun 23 2010, 01:04 PM

[Captain Hammer]

Well written yet again.

Mostly though, sorry to hear about your faithful hound. Man will never a better companion than a true and loyal dog devoted to its master.

[haute ecole rider]

the fight with the skelly, especially the comparison between the walking anatomy lesson and a flesh-and-sinew man, felt really gritty. The greasy bones, the tingle of magic, the light weight all hit home for me.

The tactics used in the face of a claymore were also pretty realistic.

Another well-done chapter!

[SubRosa]

Brilliant idea of grabbing a rib! I never would have thought of doing that, although in retrospect, it is rather obvious. I liked the description of the bones being greasy, the tingle of eldritch power under his fingers, etc... It all made the skeleton come alive (come adead?).

[Olen]

Woo another update. A good one too, as ever you take what the game offers and make it so much more without really conflicting with the cannon at all. Other's have said how well done the skeliton was so I'd only be echoing them.

I enjoyed how you conveyed his tiredness at the end, very much shown and very effective for it.

Good to see you continue this, and with a cliffy

[Acadian]

This one hurt. As always I somehow manage to feel just about everything Athlain feels. Hitting that darn skellie a few more times than necessary, pounding heart. Mostly though, stone, bone cold exhaustion. Insult to injury was the cold camp. I'm just exhausted treydog! I need a fire. The hackle-lo leaves have worn off so I'm hungry too. Whew!

Oh, did I mention, your writing is as powerfully immersive as ever?

Well done friend. May memories of little Trey brighten your path and ease your burden.

I may have actually dozed off from a few moments when I finally stood before the Water Stone;

Did you perchance mean 'for' here?

[Remko]

Sorry to hear about your dog Trey. I know what it's like to have to say goodbye to a beloved pet.

On a more joyful note; I loved your latest installment. But then, I always do

[minque]

what a great update! I'm so happy to see you're back updating, and the dedication to the little doggie was really touching!

I was thrilled about the cliffie......

But naturally it makes me anxious to learn more

[treydog]

Writing has been slow to the point of ceasing lately. That is due in part to old dogs (sigh) and new kittens (smile). But I have a feeling that it goes deeper. Somehow, this seems to be a time for doing things which may later become the basis for stories, rather than a time for the stories themselves. It is as if some atavistic part of me knows that winter is the time to draw nearer the fire and spin a long yarn of distant places and heroic people…. Or maybe I simply need to seek the guidance of a certain red-haired half-elven lass to bring me back to the proper path.

Captain Hammer- My thanks- for your continued reading, and for your kind words.

Haute and SubRosa- I am glad the fight worked for you… I often “choreograph” Athlain’s fights, stepping through the movements myself to help visualize them. As I was doing this one, I suddenly thought, “Why not use one of those convenient ‘handles’?” Having done so, I wanted the contact to have a feel- rather like touching an electric fence.

Olen- It is good to hear that the weariness came through- I wanted to convey it without jumping up and down on the point. And I am also glad that my “expansion” of the game rings true- I have tried to do more along those lines with this story than the previous ones.

Acadian- More than once, my wife the artist and I have agreed that the point of art is to make the viewer (reader, consumer, etc.) feel. It may make them feel happy or horrified or uneasy, but it does not leave them unmoved. That is something you and Buffy also seem to understand at a cellular level- I often find myself saying, “Be careful!” as I read her adventures. Therefore, if my words make Athlain and his environment come alive for you, then I am well-pleased. Prepositional problem repaired, eagle-eyed Acadi-editor.

Remko- As ever, my thanks for your support. I never say as often as I should how much I enjoy your writing.

Minque- And thank you, too, one of my first and most faithful readers! This installment has a little surprise for you, based on a conversation we had some time ago. I think you will approve.

All- The last chapter saw Athlain choosing sides in the East Empire Company, and seeking answers regarding the attack on Fort Frostmoth. To gain the trust of the Skaal, he must complete the Test of Loyalty. Meanwhile, there are other forces and other players at work, two of whom are revealed in the following Interlude.

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Interlude 12

A note posted from Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim to Louis Beauchamp, Ald Skar Inn, Ald’ruhn (a portion):

The airship met with disaster. I will provide a full report when I am able. However, I feel confident that the… enterprise… we discussed will soon be in hand. I cannot return to Vvardenfell myself, but may be able to persuade a trustworthy courier….


The visitor to Sarethi Manor was received with all due ceremony- meaning she was able to make her way to the private quarters without interference from the staff. Once she arrived in a particular sitting room, she removed her cloak and sat in a favorite chair. Her hostess poured tea, which was sipped and savored- a bit of “civilized behavior” always observed before business was discussed. Custom satisfied, she carefully placed her tea cup on the table and drew forth a well-worn letter.

“Cousin, I fear we may have miscalculated,” said Baria, wife of Trey and mother of Athlain.

With a raised eyebrow and small gesture of her open hand, Serene Sarethi indicated that she was listening.


An excerpt from The Prophecies of the Hunter:

Tested, tormented, the child of the blood of the hunter
Becomes predator as well as prey

Fleet, remorseless, and deadly
A worthy foe

The cold forge burns doubt
Reason is cast aside for certainty- hard and brittle as ice

[Acadian]

Welcome back treydog. Again, condolences on old Trey and congrats on the young kit.

Best of luck, I know you will sort through things and continue to regale us - at your own pace. And we will be here for you.

A brief interlude. . . I am not an expert on the long term history of Trey, so let me see if I am clueless: This involved a meeting between the mother of Athlain and the (minquish) mother of Athynae.

I'm not clear what they are plotting, but somehow I know it has something to to with the wannabe young couple that we all adore.

Now, let me really risk looking foolishly poor at following bread crumb trails. Why do I have visions of a werewolf with red fur?

Oooh! You MUST continue this!!!

This post has been edited by Acadian: Jul 10 2010, 06:23 PM

[haute ecole rider]

ooh more breadcrumbs!

I will file this interlude away for future reference. I'm sure the aha! moment will come eventually! I do love these interludes, as they provide some sense of foreshadowing.

I know how it is to lose a long-term friend (three times for me, two cats and a horse). Still, may the new kits bring you plenty of joy and make the void in your hearts more bearable.

[SubRosa]

Serene returns! I have to say, after reading her in minque's story, seeing her here gains a whole extra wow factor.

[D.Foxy]

Ah, if only Gonzo were a real dog, and had puppies, I would give one to you, Trey.

[treydog]

Bread-crumbs indeed. I will not say much as to your surmises- partly to maintain the suspense- but also because I have not yet completely decided. The well-worn letter was Athlain's last, in which he detailed his rescue by Athynae- and her sudden departure. A change from the outline I have been carrying in my head all these years is the fact that Serene and Baria are cousins- in this case by marriage. It all has to do with Baria's first, deceased husband and the truly convoluted genealogy of the Cyrodiilic military families. So, to reinforce the earlier point- I might tell you what would happen next if I knew, but I am rather making it up as I go along. Thanks everyone for your condolences- Princess Juneipurr Cheezit the First has filled our home and our hearts. She is not a replacement- one can never replace a friend like Trey- but she is a wonderful four-footed furry person in her own right.

Chapter 12

The Wind Stone was north and east from where I stood shivering upon the coast, but the terrain was not conducive to taking a direct route. I might have attempted Levitation, but did not trust my ability to cast the spell. A potion would solve that problem, but I had already fallen asleep- or at least into a daze- on my feet. What would happen if I fell into another stupor and the potion’s effect wore off while I floated high above the ground? My feet would simply have to carry me a little further, north around the steep slopes of Hvitkald Peak, and then east along the ice of a frozen stream. Such was my plan, at least.

But streams do not concern themselves with the plans of mere frozen, foolish humans, and their courses follow a logic much older than we. Had I been rested and fed, I could have bypassed some of the loops and turns, climbing the banks at need to survey the land and to adjust my direction. As it was, all I could do was move forward one step at a time, hoping that the weather would hold for however long it might take me to reach the Skaal village. So I found myself going north and then south, but tending always to the east, until something broke through the fog in my brain. A shape loomed up from the white ground and icy rocks, a vision that had no business in the middle of this landlocked waste. It was a construct of human hands, consisting of wood and Dwemer metal. Here at last, was the airship on which Louis Beauchamp had rested his hopes- and spent my money. And it was a wreck, surrounded by drifted snow and discarded cargo.

It should not have surprised me- the search for this vessel had been one of the things that brought me to Solstheim. The airship was in a sad state, and I felt the melancholy that always overcame me when I saw the ruins of something that had once been beautiful. The ship had literally fallen from the sky, and the ground was unforgiving, despite the blanket of snow. Mysterious bits of equipment were scattered around the site; other, more sadly familiar shapes also lay where they had been thrown by the impact. They were the bodies of the crew- apparently killed in the crash, or shortly afterwards from exposure and injuries.

I examined each of them in turn: a pair of young Dunmer who looked enough alike that they had to be brothers, and a single Breton, who even in death had a look about him that said he had been willing to try his hand at anything. Sheltered beside the ship itself was the last body, another Breton, lying upon a bedroll and clutching a book in his frozen hands. By his age and his clothing, he had been the captain. His unseeing eyes stared north, toward the slope of a hill. And his face bore a look of terror. When I read the final entries in the journal he held, I understood why.

Entry 12: Dead. All of them ded. Most of the crew were killd instantly when the aiship went down. the few that made it soon sucummed to the cold. I alon survived. Need to make a camp. Snow is blocking my way into the ship's hold. I go to the barrow in the murning. I can harly write. My hands arr nearly frzen.

Entry 13: so cold so cold. So huNgry...madness takKIng me I can feeeel ite. I see eyes night eyes wolf eys. Here them...so hungry. Eye of wlf coming! White wolf! So col...

Despite the captain’s final entry, there was no sign that anything had disturbed the bodies. I could only assume that the “madness” to which he referred had produced hallucinations, perhaps prompted by having seen some of Solstheim’s many wolves as he sailed above the island.

Still, the journal held the key to other mysteries, not the least of them how Swims-in-Swells had come to his lonely end atop a rock on the east coast- a madness had taken him, unreasoning fear at the unnatural feat of sailing through the air rather than upon the sea. The captain had been forced to slay him before he wrecked the machinery that powered the ship. And just before the crash, they had found Hrothmund’s Bane, the supposed resting place of the object of this ill-starred enterprise. It lay only a short distance to the north- a burial mound formed into the shape of a great wolf.

As I held Captain Jodoin’s stained and tattered journal, I felt more alone than at any time since my drug-addled days in Uncle Sweetshare’s cabin. Here lay four men dead- five, counting the unfortunate Argonian who had been sacrificed in a futile attempt to save the airship- and all that was left were these brittle pages. The ink would fade and the paper would crumble to dust, and it would be as if none of them had ever existed, as if none of the events of their lives had ever happened.

Reverently, I set aside the captain’s journal and drew out my own. I looked with loathing at the worn cover, at the leaves that held my ridiculous words of hope and despair. What was the point of it? Why did I feel so driven to keep a record of my wasted life? And who was it for, anyway? Not my family- I had abandoned them for this “grand adventure.” And I dared not let anyone in the Legion read the truth of my failures…. Almost, I tossed it into the flames of my campfire. But I couldn’t- not quite. Because if I did, the next thing would be to lie down and die, to wait for the “white wolf” to come for me. I was not ready for that; I did not believe my story was over- not yet. I was lost, but perhaps not irredeemably so.

There was little I could do for Captain Jodoin and his crew, but there were two things, at least. First, I pulled their pitiful corpses onto the deck of the little airship and locked them in the cabin, warding the door with the symbols of Kynareth, patron of sailors and Arkay, god of funerals. Considering that I doubted their very existence, I hoped the Divines would overlook my hypocrisy. That was the first task, and the easiest. The second was harder, but it was still my responsibility. I owed a debt to these dead men and elves. Perhaps Louis Beauchamp would have hired them and sent them out and they would have found their deaths in any event. But it was my money that had been used to entice them, so in a way, they had been my employees. With that in mind, I turned north, toward Hrothmund’s Bane, to finish the job they had started.

[SubRosa]

First, let me say hurrah to Princess Juneipurr!

A poignant entry, showing Athlain's feelings of responsibility for the lost ship. With it an ominous shadow. A white wolf? Madness? Could this be werewolves?