Blood on the Moon, A Journey of Discovery Options

[mALX]

Not caught up yet, but getting there!!! Yeah!!!

[treydog]

Since I have several installments written for a change, I decided to jump my posting schedule just a bit.

@SubRosa- We will have to hope Athlain knows his mother’s mind- and heart- as well as he thinks he does. The little snipe at Apronia Alfena was one of those things that just came to me as I was typing Athynae’s dialogue. Usually, when I actually start putting her words on the page, I just let her take over. It’s safer that way….

You know, the idea of many levels of vision-quests is an interesting one- I wish I had thought of it! But, as you noted, it is there, whether I intended it or not.

@haute- “Athlain has a plan. Everybody hang on to their--- er, hats.”

@Black Hand- Well, Athynae’s- ah, tendencies- are probably at least partly Sethyas’ fault- one way or another.

@Olen- Thank you so much. Baria’s history is largely blank space- I only began thinking seriously about it in response to a question minque asked. Thus, her first marriage is itself a new wrinkle. But it begins to explain her presence in Vvardenfell- and why she called Serene “cousin.” The good news- no singing- at least, not yet.

The “spaces between” is an interesting point. I was listening to an interview with Connie Britton regarding Friday Night Lights (the series), and she mentioned that the “silences often say as much as the dialogue.” That is harder to convey in writing- no visual cues, etc. But- it fits with my preferred style, which is to pare things down to the essentials.

@minque- I have had so much fun “borrowing” Athynae, and bringing in her “extended family,” as well. Besides trusting Baria, perhaps we should have some faith in Serene?

@Acadian- My blushes…. Athlain actually does have a brain- he just tends to forget to engage it most of the time. And anyone would look like a plodder when surrounded by such luminaries as his parents- and his god-parents (Athyn and Serene), not to mention Athynae. Again, the footprint scene was one that came to me through free-writing… I tend to be very “visual” when I write- that is, I actually try to conjure up an image of the scene in my mind (or on screen when possible). That is one of the biggest reasons I still write the first draft longhand, and then transcribe into Word- it allows me to expand on the initial impressions.

@D. Foxy- Sorry to have robbed you of the visceral pleasure of Athlain going mano a mero with Duke Dren. (Note- I DID NOT say “mano a merino,” which would be an entirely different sort of story- and a different sort of pleasure, too).

@mALX- Take all the time you need. We are thrilled beyond measure to have you back with us.

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

Saying a last prayer for Captain Jodoin and his crew, I left the airship behind. With Athynae gone, there was nothing more for me there, and I had promised her that I would go to the Skaal village to rest and recover my strength. In truth, I had little need to go to the village; the hot meals she had prepared had done wonders for my condition. Poets talk of the sustaining power of love; I imagine I got more from Athynae’s stew and other travel rations. Best to keep that thought to myself, I quickly decided. Meanwhile, the snow was falling and the wolves were howling; it was an altogether wonderful day to be in love, and all alone in the wilderness of northern Solstheim. But what did a blizzard or a few dozen wolves matter, when Athynae had said she loved me? Certainly, there was the small matter of Duke Dren to overcome- and the significantly more formidable obstacle of Aunt Serene. And finding Captain Carius, and dealing with whoever or whatever had attacked Fort Frostmoth. I mentally waved away those concerns- mere details, hardly worth the effort of worrying over.

Although my body and spirit were healed, my armor was in a sorry state. I was glad Senior Trooper Carbo could not see me; he would have had some pointed words about my lack of consideration for the “Legion’s property.” I could almost hear his growl:

What, Recruit? You think the Empire would just give this fine equipment to a fumble-fingered lackwit like you? No, Recruit. You’re only borrowing it until you stab yourself with your spear or drown in a rainstorm when you look up to see what’s hitting the top of your helmet. Now, make that bright-work SHINE!

Besides prompting memories of my Legion trainer, the condition of my gear warned me that I would do well to avoid any fights until I could see about repairs.

The falling snow helped with that task; many of the predators had gone to ground to wait it out, and I endeavored to stay out of sight of the few that were desperate enough to be moving around. Still, it was a relief when I scented the wood-smoke that heralded the village, and I made straight for the shaman’s dwelling.

With a glance at the drying herbs hanging from the porch rafters, I shook the snow from my shoulders and knocked at the door. At Korst Wind-Eye’s invitation, I stepped inside the warmth of his cabin and paused for a moment to enjoy the sensation of being indoors. The respite was brief; the Nord shaman gave me a sharp-eyed assessment and said, not unkindly:

“You were to perform the Ritual of the Gifts. I hope your way has been easy.”

I ruefully indicated my battered cuirass and torn greaves and responded:

“I would not say that it has been easy; nor have I finished, although I have completed several of the quests.”

I then recounted my experiences with the Stones I had visited, as well as describing some of the things I had seen.

Korst raised an eyebrow when I spoke of the guardian in the Halls of Penumbra, but said nothing until I was finished. When I stopped speaking, he looked at me keenly and said,

“I am somewhat surprised that you have done so much in so short a time. The Ritual is arduous and not to be undertaken lightly. While I admire your determination and courage, might I ask why you felt the need to move so quickly?”

The question reminded me of the scolding I had gotten from Athynae, and so it stung a bit more than it might have otherwise. Nettled, I gave the shaman the same answer I had given her, hoping to gain his endorsement of my decision:

“Sir, Aevar’s Story did not mention that he rested between the quests, so….”

I trailed off as Korst began to shake his head with a bemused smile. Finally, he spoke carefully:

“Aye, well. And it does not say as how he used the- ah- necessary, either. Although I am fairly certain he did so- especially when he encountered some of the perils of the Ritual. But the skalds tend to leave that sort of thing out- usually.”

He chuckled and added, “It is best not to read the old tales too literally; the spirit of the thing is more important than the exact words.”

I flushed at his amusement- and at the fact that Athynae had been right.

Hoping to change the subject, I asked the shaman about some of the creatures I had encountered, and he grew serious.

“I have heard of beasts such as you encountered in the Halls of Penumbra. Some call them ‘grahl.’ We do not know what they really are- perhaps evil spirits or else great beasts. Whatever their origin, they are dangerous, and you did well to defeat that one.”

He paused then and lit his pipe, blowing smoke toward the fireplace. “As to the boar-riders, we know of them from old. They are vile beasts, but not so mindless as some might think. A few among them have the power of speech and all are capable of great cunning. They are called ‘rieklings,’ and it has been claimed that they are the descendants of the Falmer- a lost race of elves. As to that, I cannot say- but they are foul and dangerous. Avoid them if you can.”

He knocked the ash from his pipe and said.

“And now it grows near the time for supper. You are welcome to my hospitality….”

He stopped as I shook my head. “Thank you, but no. I believe I will see Lassnr and make sure he is well. And, if he will have me, I will guest with him again.”

Korst gave a single nod of acknowledgment and replied, “I am sure he will be glad of the company. A hot meal and a night’s sleep would not go amiss. And do take some thought to yourself as you prepare to visit the rest of the Stones.”

He reached for a book that lay on the mantel and I left him reading beside the fire.

Lassnr answered my knock with a hopeful expression; his smile slipped just a little when he saw that it was I. But he recovered quickly and stepped back, waving me inside.

“Athlain! Come in, come in and warm yourself. I hope you will share a meal with me, though I am afraid it is thin fare tonight.”

I swung my pack to the floor and clasped his hand, saying: “Perhaps I can add something to the board. What do you have?”

The old Nord went to his pantry and set out a few dried apples, some carrots, and a couple of reasonably fresh onions. There was also a crock of honey in the center of the table. I looked over the items and reached for the provisions Athynae had split with me, saying,

“I have just the thing, if you don’t mind waiting a bit.”

When he indicated his agreement, I drew out some salt, pepper, a few spices, and several cuts of bristleback.

“Why don’t you see to slicing up those apples and glazing them with honey, while I season this wild boar for roasting with the vegetables?”

One of the pleasures of studying alchemy, at least as taught by Aunt Serene, was that you got lessons in cooking, too. As a result, Lassnr and I ate very well that night, and I did not feel that I was imposing on him.

After we cleared up, he sat before the fire with a contented sigh. Pointing with his pipe stem, he indicated a folded paper on his desk. “Got a note from Tymvaul. It just appeared there on the desk; he said it was ‘mage mail.’ Not much in it; just that he had gotten to Mournhold and was heading from there to the Imperial City and the University. I reckon his mother would be proud, though it still seems a bit uncanny to me.”

We sat in silence, watching the leaping flames, and recalling those who were away from us, but never far from our thoughts. I reached idly for my greaves and a repair hammer, and set about smoothing away the worst of the damage. It was really a job for a fully equipped forge, but caring for my own gear was a deeply ingrained habit. Lassnr watched me without saying anything, then picked up my Legion cuirass and winced in sympathy at the dents and gouges. He set it aside and puffed on his pipe a few times before commenting:

“I reckon there be worse things than going off to be a mage, for all that.”

[SubRosa]

A good meal and good company. Perhaps not Athynae's company, but good nonetheless. Athlain's lovestruck musings as he walked through the blizzard were priceless. It takes me back to those time when I was also so head-over heels that nothing else in the world mattered.

Poets talk of the sustaining power of love; I imagine I got more from Athynae’s stew and other travel rations.
Yup, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach alright!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Aug 20 2010, 04:17 PM

[haute ecole rider]

“Aye, well. And it does not say as how he used the- ah- necessary, either. Although I am fairly certain he did so- especially when he encountered some of the perils of the Ritual. But the skalds tend to leave that sort of thing out- usually.”

QFT! This, and the line Sage Rose quoted, made me laugh out loud.

An enjoyable visit with some old friends, and a terrific meal to top it off. Honey-glazed apples? Auggie Doggie, I'm so there!

[Black Hand]

It really is the little touches like ideas for meals and comments from side characters like Lassnr looking at the Cuirass that makes this story.

[Olen]

More dry wit and humour bring this to life, and he's gone back to see a character from another quest and hear what comes after which really gives a feeling of cause and effect and continuity to your world. Still I suspect there are still some hard times ahead, for all he thinks they hardly matter. I also wonder whether the poor state of the armour and his lack of a forge to properly mend it may be foreshadowing something...

“I reckon there be worse things than going off to be a mage, for all that.”

This line says a lot, and also makes me wonder how Trey, who thus far has only really been glimpsed, is feeling. As I recall Athlain is yet to see his father since he ran off.

[Acadian]

But what did a blizzard or a few dozen wolves matter, when Athynae had said she loved me?

What indeed?

Thanks for bringing me out of the cold - brrr - you always portray it so well. Despite the fact that Lassie misses Timmy, I was pleased that Athlain was able to contribute to, and share a wonderful meal - and a warm fire.

[mALX]

Chapter 12:

Reading the Captain's journal made me turn the AC off, and we are having a heat wave here! But my fave paragraph of all is this:

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.

ARGH! Poor Athlain, and how many of us haven't been at this type of crossroads IRL at least once. I agree with Remko, I think Athynae's absence is bringing on the morose thoughts.

***

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.

Winter Wolf! ARGH! - I was bowled over by your description of the wolf attack - very realistic Treydog!

Something Nordic-sounding…. Was it Jagermeister?

ROFL !!!

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.

Awesome write!

......... AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHH !!!!!!!!!!! ATHYNAE IS BACK !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Why, oh why did you go away...Athynae?
I've sought your return for many a day...Athynae!
And now that you're back I pray you'll stay...Athynae!
For without you Athlain can't find his way...Athynae!!!!!!
YEAH!!!! ATHYNAE !!!!!

***


Caught up !!!

[treydog]

@SubRosa- Those were fun scenes to write- I wanted to show that Athlain is truly enthralled, but also a man… Meaning food is never far from his thoughts.

@haute- You and the talented SubRosa have made TES food into an art form; I wanted to contribute something to the menu that seemed to fit the setting.

@Black Hand- Again, having watched others skillfully draw the “minor” characters in their stories (yes, I’m looking at you, minque)- I decided to steal- um, borrow the idea.

@Olen- Solstheim is not quite as bad as Mournhold for unrelieved darkness (in my experience), but it is a harsh place. Humor is my (and Athlain’s) way of coping with that. See my remark to B.H. above about recognizing the value of what others have done in terms have having recurring characters. And your comment regarding Lassnr and Trey is very perceptive- Athlain is unconsciously seeking a surrogate father to replace the one he feels alienated from.

@Acadian- Well, look at what Buffy is willing to do for love- even if she doesn’t yet realize that is her motivation. Makes Athlain look like a piker- wolves, blizzards, a few undead Nord warriors and grizzly bears? Pffft! The Buffster is raising the whole countryside AND going to school for Savlian! Now that’s dedication!

@mALX- A “crisis of faith,” in what he is doing, if not in some deity, seemed to fit. And it is very much because someone is missing from his life. I wanted the fight with the snow wolf to do two things- show that there was danger, but also that Athlain had developed the skill to prevail. The password- I had written that bad joke over a year ago- and finally got to use it. Poetry- from mALX! I can stop writing- my life is complete. Nah, I like the sound of my own voice too much to stop now.

All- And now we have more meetings with old acquaintances, thoughts on mixed blessings, and the threatened singing. Read on at your own risk!

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

After a peaceful night and a filling breakfast with Lassnr, I left the village, heading west to the confluence of the Harstrad and Isild Rivers. Perhaps I had not rested quite as much as some people would have preferred, but it was hard for me to sit idle while Captain Carius was still missing. I had my orders- I had to finish the mission. And, if I could find him, perhaps I could request leave to return home. But to find him, I had to pass Tharsten Heart-Fang’s test- which meant visiting the rest of the Standing Stones.

The ancient Skaal drawing indicated that the Wind Stone was nearby, on the western bank of the Harstrad, and it was easier to find than some of the others had been. As I sought the Stone, I again seemed to be in that strange, half-waking world, ignored by the usually aggressive creatures of the wilderness. The symbol on the Wind Stone was a set of complex curves, which in an indefinable way imparted a sense of moving air. For all that some people considered the Nords barbaric, and for all that they themselves cultivated that reputation, they were capable of incredible artistry.

When I touched the carving, a voice sighed and soughed through my mind, instructing me:

Travel south and east of the lake of ice to Glenschul’s Tomb and free the Winds from the Greedy Man’s bag.

That seemed straightforward enough- better yet, I believed I actually knew where it was. Given that Lake Fjalding was the only such feature on all of Solstheim, it had to be the “lake of ice.” I did not recall the specific tomb mentioned by the voice, but the island was dotted with caves and barrows, most of which I had avoided entering. There were worse things than cold and snow- and some of those things had claws and teeth.

For the moment, however, the snow had abated and I was content. Athynae had no doubt reached Indarys Manor, and was safe with my mother. My good mood faltered as I realized that she was also with my sisters. And I had not thought to extract a promise from her to keep the details of our meetings to herself. Oh, I was not concerned that she would say anything about the skooma- but there was plenty of ammunition for my clever sisters even without that. As the long list of the inanities I had uttered in her presence passed through my mind, I had a vision of three red-haired heads leaning close to one another, exchanging conspiratorial whispers and giggles. Perhaps it was still not too late to change my name and go to Akavir.

While these thoughts occupied me, I had been walking south and east, following the Isild to where it emptied into Lake Fjalding. I covered the entire circumference of the lake, starting from the western shore, and saw nothing but ice and snow, and rieklings and horkers. If there was a tomb, Glenschul’s or anyone else’s, I could not find it. Muttering to myself about the cryptic nature of directions in prophecies and rituals, I decide to stop in at Thirsk. Perhaps Svenja or Skjoldr could tell me how to find the elusive tomb. And it would be wise to see Brynjolfr, as well. Although there was a smith in the Skaal village, I had felt uneasy taking my armor to him for repair. If I was going to trust my life to my equipment, I needed even more to trust the person who repaired it. It was of Legion manufacture, after all, and the Skaal were still somewhat doubtful about the Legion’s intentions, and also a bit ambivalent about my presence.

The denizens of the mead hall harbored no such concerns, and greeted me with rowdy enthusiasm. Ulfrun handed me a flagon of mead with a wide smile I did not understand until she waved to Bathmar Bold-Lute, who struck up a tune, and began singing a song called Athlain the Brave. It was not exactly an epic saga; prominently featured was my argument with Athynae, complete with tankards banged on tables to represent slamming doors and an extended chorus of the word “fine,” shouted back and forth from one side of the hall to the other. The singing at last came to a raucous conclusion on the verse:

Then said he to the maiden fair,
Dear, what happened to your hair?
The maiden fair did slam the door
And leave him there to pace the floor.
Athlain the Brave did pace the floor.

Which was followed by a last shouted exchange of “fines”.

I started to protest that the verse misrepresented what had happened, but realized that truth had little to do with bard songs. So instead, I acknowledged the joke with a weak smile and wave, then slipped out the door to find the smith. Akavir was looking better all the time.

Even the usually taciturn Brynjolfr had some fun at my expense, asking in his booming voice:

“And how be ye, brave Athlain? Fine, I hope.”

Then he looked out the door I had just entered and asked, “And what of the lass? Were ye so daft as to let her get away again?”

Sometimes, there really is nothing to say. As I tried to untangle the twisted events that had separated me from Athynae yet again, that seemed determined to keep us apart, I simply shook my head in resignation and regret. The smith read my expression as easily as he could gauge the color of metal in his forge and laid a massive hand on my shoulder.

“Aye, so that is the way of it, then. She’d be with ye if she could, or if ye could have her beside ye and still do what’s needful. But ye canna, and there’s an end to it.”

He blew out a gusty sigh. “Sorry that I made light, laddie. Ye know I set great store by herself- and by ye, as well. That said, what can old Brynjolfr do for ye this day?”

He pointed his hammer at my cuirass. “By the look of yon plate, ‘twould appear ye’ve been to the wars.”

Happy for the change of subject, I asked the smith: “Would you repair my armor? I did what I could, but… some of this steel needs to be replaced, rather than just beaten back into shape. I can feel some spots where it’s starting to thin and weaken. And- well, I could use that shield you loaned me again. My Legion tower is lying in pieces back in the Moesring Mountains.”

At a gesture from the Nord, I began removing my armor. He assisted me, grunting in dismay at some of the damage. When I stood in my quilted tunic and breeches, he indicated a pair of leather shoes in one corner.

“Slip those on so yer feet don’t freeze. Take ye a steam in the sauna, and I’ll have Svenja bring ye somethin’ ta wear. Come back after and we’ll talk about this.” His wave encompassed my equipment where it lay on the floor.

I welcomed the chance to sit in the steam bath, feeling the humid air loosening my muscles and easing the aches that had accumulated over the last several weeks. When I was relaxed almost to the point of sleep, I used the scraper to clean my skin and then dumped a bucket of cold water over my head. The air in the outer chamber was so dry that I hardly needed to use the towels at all before I donned clean clothing.

When I returned to the forge, Brynjolfr was frowning at my cuirass and greaves as he sorted through his bins of scrap for pieces to use in the repairs. He turned the scowl on me and grumbled:

“Ye know, ye ought to just let me fit ye a new set of Nordic mail. Our work is stronger’n that Legion crap and doesna weigh any more. Seems to me if a man is goin’ ta lug a’ that metal about, it oughta do ‘im some good, stead of just lookin’ shiny.”

Again, I had no answer. The Legion armor was a burden, true; but it was also something I wore with pride. Nordic mail was beautiful and strong, and I knew Brynjolfr would give me a good price. But it would not have the same meaning for me. In Nordic armor or Orcish armor or any other than Legion-issue, I would just be another nameless adventurer, out only for myself. I had put aside my uniform once before, because I felt I had dishonored it. The only way I would give it up again would be if I found a higher calling, a greater duty than service in the Legion. Rather than try to explain all that to this man who had a home and a position, I just clapped a hand on his brawny shoulder and said,

“I know you’ll do your best. When you’re finished, I’ll be in the great hall. Thank you for everything.”

Back inside the mead hall, I greeted Skjoldr Wolf-Runner and asked him about Glenschul’s Tomb. The Nord chieftan looked at me for a long moment before he answered:

“It’s not for me to meddle in another man’s business, but I feel I ought to find out a bit more as to why ye feel the need to muck about in an old tomb. I didna think ye were a treasure-hunter, nor,” his voice turned hard, “a grave-robber.”

This post has been edited by treydog: Aug 23 2010, 02:20 AM

[D.Foxy]

Oh, delightful, Trey!! I think that you are actually going to turn into a Helena in your touches of humour if you continue like this!!!

[mALX]

Oh, you really hit on something there with:

The pride in the armor one stands for regardless of the fact is is heavy, klunky and offers little protection - but is a symbol

VS

The stronger and lighter one that can give better protection but stands for nothing


That was huge and shows the inner growth Athlain has achieved since I first started reading - AWESOME!!!!


PS: - it was hard to find anything that rhymed with Athlain (cane, wane, domain, refrain, disdain, etc. - Athynae rhymes with a hundred things, lol.


*

This post has been edited by mALX: Aug 21 2010, 01:43 PM

[D.Foxy]

What about Captain, abstain, chaplain, mad bane????

[haute ecole rider]

Oh Athlain misses Athynae - FINE!
Athlain finds the Wind Stone - FINE!
Athlain forgot to ask for directions to the tomb - FINE!
And our hero returns to Thirsk - FINE!
To hear the saga of the brave Athlain and the fair Athynae - FINE!
And gets a steam bath at the smithy's - FINE!
Only to find out his Legion armor's about had it - FINE!
And gets judged for being a grave-robber - FINE!

I never claimed to be a poet -

[mALX]

Oh Athlain misses Athynae - FINE!
Athlain finds the Wind Stone - FINE!
Athlain forgot to ask for directions to the tomb - FINE!
And our hero returns to Thirsk - FINE!
To hear the saga of the brave Athlain and the fair Athynae - FINE!
And gets a steam bath at the smithy's - FINE!
Only to find out his Legion armor's about had it - FINE!
And gets judged for being a grave-robber - FINE!

I never claimed to be a poet -

Oh Hauty!!! You have joined the ranks now!!!! This could be a rap song too, you need about seven strong men in the background to shout "FINE" each time.


@ Foxy ... stain? [censored] ? crane? mane? great dane?


Oh Athlain...you kiss like a Great Dane


*

This post has been edited by mALX: Aug 21 2010, 05:31 PM

[D.Foxy]

But Athlain is a land where he is SURROUNDED by Great Danes!!! Youll have all the locals thinking he's GAY!!!


BLECH...

[mALX]

But Athlain is a land where he is SURROUNDED by Great Danes!!! Youll have all the locals thinking he's GAY!!!


BLECH...

But they are Nords (some don't have swords)


Athynae said you left a stain, Athlain.
She could wash it out using the detergent Gain
But chooses to leave it and complain.

[Acadian]

Wonderful, treydog.

I enjoyed what you did with the uniquely feminine connotations of 'fine'. Brilliant.

Brynjolfr is a pleasure watch work, and even more so to listen too. You have painted him so very well, and do so again here.

As always, it is so interesting and insightful being inside the head of Athlain. What a neat character!

[Black Hand]

Hehehe. Nice reminders that in spite of the events that have hardened them both, their still a couple of crazy kids.

And nice that theres an attitude against the trade of the Player Character, I mean I know that thats where all the good loot is, but RPing!!!

[SubRosa]

Ahh, back to the mead hall. I loved the song about Athlain and Athynae's argument! You have such a good way of keeping your man character from getting too full of himself. This is certainly one of those!


There were worse things than cold and snow- and some of those things had claws and teeth.
So we have seen!


nits:
I had put off my uniform once before,
"put off" does not sound right. Perhaps "left off" or "set aside" would ring a little better.

[Olen]

Grand as ever, and now with singing. It went to show how Athlain has developed in a few ways, the song, the armour and pondering on duty. The choice of the legion armour was a particularly good device seeing as it made me consider how he was back in Gnisis and then when he gave it up before. He's certainly changed, though I suspect the rest of the quest will change him more. I've been considerng how his plan to keep Athynae with his mother is likely to fail, I have a theory (beyond him just having misjudged his mother that is).

As ever I loved the humour though I never saw Solstheim as particularly dark. A bit brutal but honestly so. The humour is quite dark in places though...

And now this cliffhanger ending. I want need more.