Blood on the Moon, A Journey of Discovery Options

[Olen]

Good to see this started again, and a good job of injecting some emotion into that quest. And now he plans to include Hrothmund's Bane, though as I recall he was never told the password to get in (though I may be filing to remember). Should be intersting either way, though with how worn out he is I wonder if he will manage.

I loved his musings about the journal and futility. Very in character with a very strong character to back it up. I look forward to more.

[haute ecole rider]

I echo both Sage Rose and Olen on the latest installment. It was good to see Athlain again. The despair and futility he feels on struggling through the frozen waste and finding the remains of the airship and its crew are enough to make me shiver on this 90+ degree day.

And congratulations on darling Cheezie! I can already see her purrsonality in my mind's eye based on just her full name! While she may be little now (didn't you mention she was a little kitten?), I have no doubt she will grow into that long multisyllablic name that has been bestowed on her.

[Acadian]

Darn. You have me shivering and reaching for furs again! Brrr.

I know not the quests of Morrowind, but it doesn't matter with Athlain as my guide.

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.

I pulled this to highlight because of the beauty and power of the words you have written. Imagine my surprise to, in the very next paragraph, find another jewel of equal beauty as Athlain contemplated his own diary. Wow.

[Remko]

Athlain feels like he's wasted his life? Hmmm... How dark. I suppose the disappearance of Athynea from his life might have something to do with his melancholic sentiments?

Loved it Trey and can't wait to read more.

[D.Foxy]

Welcome back Trey!!! And now I have more goodies to read...yes Im selfish I know but cant help it

[treydog]

I wanted to provide an update on where things stand. MW and Bloodmoon run fairly well on the new system. However, the saved games I was able to recover are old. As in before Athlain got to Solstheim old. So I will have to redo all those quests, and I also have to "grind" to get him to a place where he won't die 5 seconds after leaving Fort Frostmoth.

I am on PC, so I could cheat him to a higher level, but I do not remember his actual numbers, so I don't want to do that.

On a better note, I have around 2000 words of the next installment(s) written. But- I need some "bridging" material to connect those words to the end of the last piece. And to do that, I need to have Athlain at the right place in the game. So it may be a while.

He is no longer in electronic limbo, just experiencing deja vu all over again.

[haute ecole rider]

What wonderful news! Yes, it sucks having an old save that doesn't give you the capabilities you are used to! I have a bad habit of not saving nearly often enough, so I speak from experience!

I will look forward to seeing more of Trey once you get him buffed and back in fighting form!

[RavenMind]

Wonderful work! I'm not much of a commenter, but I'm an avid reader. Eagerly awaiting your next installment!

[treydog]

And- we’re back.

@SubRosa- Werewolf? There wolf. There castle. Sorry, I just have to throw that in every now and again. I like to think one of Athlain’s most appealing (and sometimes infuriating) traits is his sense of duty. The Captain’s journal entries are purely in-game- some of the better work Bethesda did, I believe.

@Olen- Thank you so much. Considering how well you write characters, I am doubly appreciative. As to the password… well, see below.

@haute- If I can so immerse you in Solstheim as to take your mind away from the heat wave, my work is done…. And as to the kitty, she is now about 6-8 months old. And she has personality to spare! She mostly demonstrates it by bouncing onto the bed at 5 a.m. to see why we are wasting all that time sleeping…

@Acadian- It seemed that the Captain’s journal (and Athlain’s doubt about his own chronicle), was just too good an opportunity to miss- especially with this group of talented journal-writers. And a Nordic setting seemed a perfect place to include a little existential angst…

@Remko- Very perceptive. Yes, losing Athynae just as he has realized how he feels was rather like losing a big piece of his soul… Then too, there is the way he has been driving himself, about which there will be more in the next installment.

@D.Foxy- How can I respond to a greedy fox, other than to provide another (tasty, I hope) morsel?

@RavenMind- Thank you, and your wish has been granted.

-------------------------------------------------

Before setting out, I wanted to see what Captain Jodoin had seen, so I risked a potion of levitation and floated up about 50 feet. I then turned north and “walked” until I could see the stone formation that depicted the Fell Wolf that had killed Hrothmund, original chieftain of Thirsk. The mound was quite large, with the “head” of the wolf facing west and lifted as if howling a challenge. That was my goal, as the barrow was said to be at the “eye of the wolf.”

Returning to the ground, I checked my dwindling supplies and then shrugged in resignation. I had my armor and the silver and ebony mace I had named Athynae’s Gift. For the rest, a few healing potions and my own small store of magicka would have to do. It was liberating to have shed so many of the things I had thought “essential” when I first decided to embark upon the life of an adventurer, but I reminded myself that death could be a form of liberation as well. And there were still numerous denizens of these snow-shrouded mountains who would be more than willing to grant me that final freedom.

With that in mind, I imbibed another levitation potion, my last, and went north once more. Previously, I had focused on the terrain, seeking the entry to the barrow. Now, I scanned the ground for movement or for enemies that might lie in wait. What I saw caused me to check the potion bottle to ensure that I had not swallowed sujamma or greef instead. There were several creatures moving about the slopes of the burial mound, and I recognized them as the savage and hardy boars known as tusked bristlebacks. That much was reasonable; I had several painful memories of previous encounters with the wild pigs of Solstheim. But what caused me to doubt my vision and my sanity were the small shapes that I saw riding the beasts.

They appeared to be no larger than children, with skin the color of blue ice. In addition, they wore armor fashioned from animal hides and carried shields and lances or large blades scaled to their own dimensions. And as I watched, they used those weapons to deadly purpose, riding down and slaughtering a wolf, which they then devoured- bones, fur, and all. Best to avoid these strange creatures, I decided, and began to “swim” through the air toward the western end of the barrow.

Rather than go directly to the “eye,” I decided to land in the narrow stone passage that formed the foreleg of the wolf and scout on foot. If I had been a competent archer or more skilled with ranged spells, I might have stayed in the air. However, I was neither- and I feared that the potion’s effect would wear off at a bad moment, dropping me out of the sky to sprawl helplessly before an enemy I had just annoyed with a badly-aimed arrow. My caution was justified- and useless.

Despite the time I had spent in the wilderness, I managed to forget that the creatures of Solstheim, especially the predators, had more senses than sight or hearing. Even if I was not clanking around in plain view, the wind could carry my scent to any beast with a better nose than my own. Such as, say, the snow-white wolf that came bounding down the stone corridor with its lips peeled back from fangs that seemed as long as my fingers. My feet had barely touched the ground before he was upon me, breathing a blast of icy air into my face. Even before his fangs clamped down upon my leg, I felt the bite of that cold breath at my very core.

The wolf’s jaws held my leg with crushing force, but I had a bare moment to do something before the situation became far worse. If I allowed him to shake his head, a move designed to tear the wounds open wider and cause the prey to bleed out, I would be finished. To prevent that from happening, I slammed the edge of my shield down on him and drew my arm in tight to my body, pinning the wolf in place. He was far stronger than I, so I knew I couldn’t hold him for long. But a few seconds were all I needed to hammer Athynae’s Gift down upon his spine once and then again. With the second blow, I heard a loud ‘crack’ and the wolf went limp. Better still, the mace’s enchantment transferred some of his departing life force to me, partly healing my wounded leg.

A potion and a minor spell took care of the rest, although I had to remove one of my greaves to smooth out the ragged bits of metal that would otherwise have injured my leg anew. There wasn’t time to completely fix the damage, nor did I relish the idea of attracting every enemy within a mile with the sound of a metal repair hammer banging on metal armor. Sometimes, you just had to do the best you could and go on.

Once I had put everything back together, I cautiously approached the stone formation that held the entrance to the barrow. The entry was covered with a bear skin, and I reached to draw it aside. When I did, a voice spoke from the empty air; a deep, growling voice filled with menace. And it recited a riddle:

Some they call me Hrothmund’s Bane, with midnight teeth and moonlight mane.
I am the wolf one soul may tame, by uttering now my given name.
But speak the truth; for those who lie, gain not the wealth beyond my eye.
Answer false, and evermore, closed shut will be my icy door.
What is my name?

My reason deserted me. It was too much- I had been through too much- to have come this far and be thwarted by a riddle. How was I supposed to know the creature’s cursed name? All those months ago, when Louis Beauchamp had been babbling about the airship project, he had told me the password. But I could not remember. Something Nordic-sounding…. Was it Ondaatje? Jagermeister? Svenska Limpa? Why hadn’t I written it down? That thought was my salvation, for it gave birth to another- I had not written down the name of the fell wolf, but Bereditte Jastal had, in his History of Thirsk. Now, if only I hadn’t left the book lying about somewhere, along with my remaining wits…

Digging through my spare clothing, I felt a square object near the bottom of my pack and drew it forth with a triumphant cry. With chilled fingers, I frantically paged through the scholar’s long-winded pronouncements, seeking the one word that I needed. At last I found it and said aloud:

“Ondjage.”

There was a brief silence and then the skin covering the door swung inward as the growling voice that had queried me earlier intoned:

You spoke the truth and won the game
By speaking clear my rightful name.

As I stepped through the entry, all I could think was that I was grateful the early inhabitants of Solstheim were Nords rather than Dwemer. If I had tried to pronounce a Dwemer name, especially in this chill, I would have dislocated my tongue.

[Acadian]

treydoggone it. I needed furs again for this one. Cold. Lonely. Powerful atmosphere you wove through this.

Wonderful description of the white wolf and how Athlain defeated it.

Few things are richer than the treydog delivered ruminations of Athlain, and this was an excellent example of that.

You know I'm terrible with plots . . . especially if they relate to a game I have not played (MW). Is it my imagination that I want to link Athynae with wolves?

[D.Foxy]

And BRRRRRR!!!! Even in August I can feel the bone chilling cold of both the danger and the weather of this story...


... ahh!!! NOTHING is better to read a story of cold than in front of a screen, in a warm room, hot coffee cup in hand!!!


:thumbsup: Trey!!!

[haute ecole rider]

Was it Ondaatje? Jagermeister? Svenska Limpa?

Jagermeister? Jagermeister??

I loved Athlain cursing himself for not writing down the password, then celebrating the fact that he had the book with him after all! How handy!

[D.Foxy]

Hautmistess, the word is in german
Or Nordic, or Swedish, or whatever's germane,
Hautmistrees, the word is huntmaster
And now I leave this thread, faster!

[Captain Hammer]

Impressive work, particularly the fight with the wolf.

The relative weakness of Solthseim's upper-tier beasts always bugged me. Glad to see it modified appropriately for your story.

[Olen]

Jagermeister

I'm not sure solstheim would be quite cold enough to make that stuff palatable.

Great to see this continued though. I enjoyed his use of levitation to see where things were and to scout for enemies, it's clever and helps show how the magic affects the game world. The description of the absorb health enchantment is a nice touch too.

I still need more though.

[SubRosa]

Who let the dogs out? (sorry, could not resist!) Yay, my favorite canine writer has returned.

Another good segment. Athlain shows excellent situational awareness by avoiding the boar cavalry (are those Falmer riding them?) and sneaking around instead. Not the macho, muscle-bound hero way, but rather the "I have a brain and actually use it" way. Nice to see!

If I had tried to pronounce a Dwemer name, especially in this chill, I would have dislocated my tongue.
This gave me more than a faint smile.

[mALX]

I should go away more often, you became prolific the moment I left! I love these new chapters, these are things I never knew about in the game!!! Loving this!

[treydog]

I normally do not "post-machine" my thread, but for once I actually have enough work to provide another installment sooner rather than later. And, while I considered holding this one 'til the end of the week... nah.

@Acadian- Thank you as always for reading and for your kind words. I must agree with Destri, however, that you are hereafter barred from deprecating you own plot-weaving abilities…. I have, after all, read Buffy’s journals. As to the gist of your idea- hmm, perhaps something will be revealed in what follows.

@D.Foxy- Iced tea for me, with sugar and lemon… I am a U.S. Southerner, after all, and appearances must be maintained. And if I can make you feel the chill of that barrow even in August, I am pleased.

@haute- The fumbling for the correct password was a little (very little) joke that came to me months ago, and I just had to do it. The references are, in order: a Dutch author (Michael Ondaatje- The English Patient); a German liqueur of doubtful taste (as you knew); and a Swedish rye bread. So much for Athlain’s ability to come up with words that “sound Nordic.” Which may go some way toward explaining why he is so OCD about keeping a journal, although it was no help in this case.

@Captain Hammer- Good to see you back, and thank you for reading. It is true that once a character is strong enough to survive Solstheim, it’s hard not to be over-powered. I try to compensate in the story by not leveling too rapidly; limiting Athlain to a necessary, but not uber weapon; and trying to avoid potion abuse.

@Olen- In re the J word, see note to haute, above. Thank you for endorsing Athlain’s strategy- even though it will cost him later…. And, because you ask, more will be provided.

@SubRosa- Woof, woof, woof. Yes, despite what his sisters think, he actually did more during his training than engage in blunt weapon practice without a helmet… Although it might have taken such measures to get anything through his stubborn head. As to the Dwemer remark, I present: Arknghthand, Bthungthumz, Nchuleftingth. I think I have to go lie down now.

@mALX- Our very own minxtress, you cannot go away and leave us again. If more of my writing will keep you here, then I must away to my garret and put pen to paper at once.

----------------------------

Despite the elaborate ritual required for entry and the history of Hrothmund’s Barrow, once I entered, I found the interior plain, even crude. The icy vestibule gave way to rough-built stone walls that formed a passage to the left. The passage was illuminated by magical fires that burned without heat. After only a few steps, I was in the main chamber, which contained a large, intricately carved stone pedestal, into which had been driven a huge war axe. If I translated the inscriptions correctly, the axe was the very one wielded by Hrothmund the Red, founder of Thirsk. The markings also seemed to indicate that he had been the only man capable of using the great weapon. Beyond the remains of what appeared to have been a would-be grave robber, the chamber held only a body interred in a niche and encased in ice. What I did not find was any sign of a great treasure, nor the amulet that had cost so many people so much.

Thinking that the pedestal with the axe might have a hidden compartment, I went closer to examine the carvings. When I did so, I saw a rather drab piece of jewelry hanging on a cheap chain tossed carelessly atop the pedestal. I examined it as closely as I could without touching it; items in burial mounds could sometimes carry unpleasant curses for the unwary. I had only to look at the skeletal remains on the left side of the room to have my caution reinforced. After a moment I pulled out the creased and folded paper containing Louis Beauchamp’s sketch of the treasure he desired above all else. That confirmed it- this was indeed the Amulet of Infectious Charm.

Holding myself in readiness for a surprise attack, I hooked the fingers of my left hand through the chain and lifted it into the air. I paused for several slow, painful breaths and… nothing happened. With a sigh of relief, I dropped the amulet into a pouch and tucked it away inside my nearly empty pack. I did not know yet how I would get the trinket to the Breton inventor, a task that would require my return to Ald’ruhn. But that was a problem for another day. What I needed to do now was find some place warm, preferably with food. Else I was going to have to find out what raw snow wolf tasted like. In the event, that was not an option, either.

Leaving the burial chamber, I cast about for a way out of the maze of stones that formed the outline of Hrothmund’s Bane. As I did so, the wind brought a sound of enraged squeals and other, less definable noises. The source of the awful clamor made itself known with frightening speed- a group of the fearsome bristlebacks, along with their blue-skinned riders, burst into the clearing where I stood. Kicking up clouds of snow in their fury, they attacked. And by Talos, they hit hard! Tusks, lances, blades, and even the riders’ own oversized teeth all sought my flesh.

As the maelstrom of squealing boars and slashing weapons threatened to engulf me, I shouted, “Ondjage,” in hopes of being able to dart back inside the barrow for shelter. But that way was barred and I could not enter. With my back pressed against the immovable bearskin door, I vowed to make my stand. I knew that mobility, usually an asset in a fight, would be my downfall in this circumstance. I could not outrun the boars, and in these close quarters there were too many of them. All it would take would be one to slip behind me and slice the backs of my legs with razor tusks or metal blade. If ever I went to the ground, I would not rise again. So I must be a rock, and let the wave break over me. And pray that when the tide receded, I would still be standing.

I do not remember how I survived what followed; all I have are moments, frozen instants like woodcuts in a book.

I swing Athynae’s Gift like a scythe and sweep a rider and his mount into tumbled ruin against a boulder.

A boar gashes my right leg with a tusk. There is no time to uncap and drink a healing potion, so I crush the vial in my gauntleted hand and drip the soothing liquid over the wound.

In the midst of the mindless squealing, the wordless shouts of the riders, the sound of weapons striking armor and flesh- standing in the heart of that raging storm, I alone am silent, calm. Death may claim me, but not today. I am Athlain; I am a soldier of the Imperial Legion; I cannot fail.

And then blessed quiet came, broken only by the ceaseless wind and my own harsh breathing. I collapsed against the barrow entry, with my armor and my flesh torn, the snow around me turned red from their blood and my own. I slid slowly down until I was sitting on the ground, my shield a useless ruin that I absently shook from my arm, the mace across my knees the only bit of my gear that was still intact. I recalled Brynjolfr’s words regarding the weapon Athynae had him make for me: “The handle is ash; it willna shatter.”

Would that the same were true of my bones.

It took all of my healing potions and the last of my magicka to repair the wounds I had suffered. The effort of casting nearly exhausted me, but I could not stay where there was so much blood- not with the number of wolves and bears that roamed Solstheim. Therefore, I left Hrothmund’s Bane and floundered up the hill to the south, stumbling back to my makeshift camp beside the ruined airship. I was practically asleep on my feet, so, too tired for squeamishness, I settled on the dead captain’s bedroll and pulled out the amulet that had cost so much to obtain.

There was a hint of illusion magic, which made sense for a charm. There was something else, as well, but I was too far gone to delve into it more deeply. It was not terribly impressive, either in craftsmanship or magical aura, looking only slightly better than the cheap trinkets sold by wandering traders or given as “prizes” at the village fairs. A bitter laugh escaped me; I had succeeded, in part by climbing upon the shoulders of dead men, and it was of no consequence. I held the amulet in my hands, but lacked the means or the strength to deliver it to Louis Beauchamp. Perhaps another expedition would find the bauble with my frozen remains and carry it back to the Breton inventor, who could test its supposed power to attract beautiful women ….

For an unknown time, I was aware of nothing except the falling snow. It was hypnotic, and I felt myself falling, too, falling without ever reaching the ground. A sound roused me from my trance and I saw a vision of white fur approaching. Had Captain Jodoin’s white wolf come for me so soon? But if so, why did it walk on two legs? As the figure came closer, I saw that it was not a wolf, but a person in wolf-hide armor. In fact, it appeared to be Athynae, standing over me with her hands on her slender hips and a worried frown on her face. No doubt it was a dream or hallucination, but she seemed so real that I looked from her to the Amulet of Infectious Charm and mumbled in stupefied wonder,

“What do you know? The blasted thing actually works!”

If my remark amused Athynae’s phantasm, she hid it well. She continued to scowl at me, and then demanded abruptly,

“When did you last eat?”

It seemed an odd question for a hallucination to ask. Of course, I had heard some people say that ghosts and the like were just a result of over-indulgence in spicy food, so perhaps it made sense after all. Apparently annoyed by my continued silence, the apparition stamped its foot. I was interested to note that a puff of snow flew up as it did so. It was certainly a realistic bit of indigestion that I was experiencing. Except… and here my belief that this was imaginary stuttered to a stop… except that how could I be experiencing indigestion when I hadn’t eaten anything in days?

I reached out a trembling hand to grasp a very solid and very warm ankle and whispered,

“‘Thyna?”

This post has been edited by treydog: Aug 8 2010, 05:23 PM

[Acadian]

Great description of the cave. The battle outside was portrayed in a fascinatingly different manner that I enjoyed.

I recalled Brynjolfr’s words regarding the weapon Athynae had him make for me: “The handle is ash; it willna shatter.”

Would that the same were true of my bones.

I loved this for many reasons for it says so much on so many levels. I was content that my required ration of Athynae was sated. Little did I realize the joy to follow!

Athlain's ruminations in the snow were wonderfully rich and immersive. So gently they wove into the approaching furs. And so masterfully you revealed what the approach of those furs carried. Yay!!!

Don't let her get away this time Athlain!

[D.Foxy]

Hwut he said!