Blood on the Moon, A Journey of Discovery Options

[treydog]

There may be some new story later today... Depends on whether I fall off the roof cutting trees or not...

Doommeister! Welcome to the forums and to my story! As to SGM, it is an old forum convention that came from a comment I made on minque's story. (She is Swedish = Nordish). I noted that her wonderful prose had reduced me to "Nord-speak"- "Story. Good. More." Became abbreviated to SGM.


And here is a new picture while folks are waiting. This is Basks-in-the-Sun's ship at the Fort Frostmoth dock.

[mALX]

WHEW!!! Not only your depiction of Julian...the insight into Julian as we see her now in "Old Habits Die Hard" - but the werewolf in the last scene - WHEW !!!

This was a riveting write, I felt the tension of Julian's questioning breaking into areas Athlain hoped to avoid...I couldn't tear myself from it and have made myself late for an appointment !!! WHEW !!!!! Gobble...gobble gobble!!!!


PS: One wonders how "Basks in Sun" does with his ship basking in fog...a gorgeous screenshot though!!!!

This post has been edited by mALX: Oct 23 2010, 08:31 PM

[minque]

Hi! yes, I'm alive....just have had so much on my mind...mostly cat-stuff.

Now I'll try, yes try because I'm not sure I'll manage, to catch up a bit...so I start with Athlain.

It's too late to read properly just now, so I'll just say: Hey! I'll start reading tomorrow!

[treydog]

SubRosa- If prophecy was easy, any idiot would do it. Oh, wait…

Or maybe it was Duran Duran.

Werewolf sighted! Silver deployed.

@Black Hand- I used a PlaceatPC command to get this werewolf to show. There was a show with Jack Palance as “Janos Skorzeny” (I think) back in the 70’s or 80’s.

@Doommeister- Thanks so much for reading and commenting.

@mALX- Yep, it was time to step up Julian’s involvement to more than “passive listener.” Although, even when she isn’t doing anything, it’s hard to see Julian as “passive.” The fog is most likely an artifact of short “view distance” due to lack of powerful graphics.

@minque- YAY! You are back! Kitties require major investments of time- just ask the kitties! So happy to hear from you again.

@All- The screenie at the end of this one is not great. It is not easy to get a good one in the circumstances, with no “pause” function.

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

The Nord glared at me and then a red light surrounded him and he—changed. Where before a naked man had crouched, there was a creature covered with coarse fur. The head was that of a large wolf, but it stood like a man, hands and feet tipped with ebony claws. The worst though, was the mad intelligence that shone from those yellow eyes. And that was all I had time to see, for the werewolf was bounding toward me with great strides.

I had fought wolves and I had fought men, but never had I seen or fought an opponent that combined the most deadly characteristics of both. Against a wolf, an armored fighter has to guard only against the teeth; against most men or elves, he has only to watch a single weapon. But the werewolf possessed claws on all four feet, as well as a mouth with dagger-like fangs. Worse, he retained some sense of how to most effectively use all those weapons.

When I raised my shield to fend off the werewolf’s first charge, he did not simply slam into it, but grasped the edges with his hands and pulled. I had been set to take a blow that would drive me backwards- the tremendous force dragging in the opposite direction nearly threw me off my feet, as well as seeming likely to twist my shoulder from its socket. I could see the intent; if I fell atop the wolf-man, he would rake my legs and abdomen with his feet, while snapping at my right hand with his teeth.

The thing about fighting, at least the way Senior Trooper Carbo taught me, is that it’s much like dancing. The most important things are knowing where to put your feet and being able to read your “partner.” Of course, the analogy breaks down when you get to the whole “trying to kill each other” part. At least I hoped that was true of anyone I would ever want to dance with. But the point was, I needed to flow with the movement of the werewolf, rather than trying to resist. He was far stronger than I, and could quite literally rip my arm off.

So, as he tugged on my shield, I spun, using my trapped arm as a pivot. The movement relieved the strain on my shoulder and allowed me to slam my mace into the monster’s lower back. The silver spikes seemed to do more damage than the heavy ebony head- blue flame spurted from the wounds and the werewolf howled and released my shield. He turned in place, seeking the source of his pain, looking like a guar chasing its tail. Any humor I might have felt at the situation was mitigated by the horror. It is one thing to hear or read about werewolves- it is quite another to be attacked by one, all alone in the dark.

I had faced death before, many times. But an attack by a lycanthrope carried a far worse fear- what if I was not killed? What if I became a monster myself? So I fed that fear into the cold flame of my rage, and I smashed the mace into the werewolf’s muzzle, shattering teeth and bone. When it raised a clawed hand to retaliate, I slammed a blow into the elbow. And so it went, as I silently, methodically beat that walking nightmare to death. White bone and black blood made strange patterns on the moonlit ground, and my mace rose and fell until my strength was spent. Fortunately, by then the lambent light of the creature’s eyes was extinguished and I was safe- I hoped.

I moved several yards away from the awful shape on the ground and dropped my mace and shield. With shaking hands, I undid the buckles on my armor and began to frantically look over my arms and legs for any wounds. I knew it was possible to sustain a serious or even life-threatening injury and not be aware of it. But that was not my first concern. A healing potion would stop any bleeding and close up a wound- but what about disease? My careful examination discovered no bites or scratches and I sighed with relief. My armor had not fared so well, and I took the time to make repairs.

By then, dawn was beginning to lighten the eastern horizon, and I waited for the sunrise. When the rays of the sun struck the body of the werewolf, it transformed back into the battered, naked corpse of a Nordic man. Grimacing with disgust, I used a silver dagger to cut off his head and cast it far away. As I did so, a large black bird silently took flight and winged north and west, toward the center of the island.

What I most wanted to do at that moment was go back to Fort Frostmoth, to the dock, to Basks-in-the-Sun’s ship. And I would ask him to take me home- to Vvardenfell and my mother. But I could not. I was bound by a long chain of duty and responsibility, each link forged by a promise I had made, leading all the way back to the oath I had taken to defend the Empire. So I settled my gear upon my shoulders and turned north once more.

The rest of the journey was blessedly uneventful until I was almost to the isolated house beside the rivers. As I approached, I heard shouting and the sounds of weapons striking armor. When I could see what was happening, I paused for a moment to assess the circumstances. A red-haired Imperial woman was attacking a large Nord man, while two other Nords looked on with distressed expressions.

I hate walking into situations like that, because you can’t always be sure that what you are seeing is as simple as it appears. For example, you see a large fellow grasping a little fellow by the arm, roughing him up and shouting. Maybe the bigger man is a bully…. Or maybe the smaller fellow is a Bosmer pick-pocket who just got caught plying his trade. Still, my instinct was to help the smaller, Imperial woman against the hulking Nord. Except- she was wearing netch leather armor dyed black and using a poisoned dagger. As my father was fond of saying, “When you hear hoof-beats, you don’t immediately think ‘unicorn.’” And no, I have no idea what that means, either, but it sounds good.

The issue was settled when I stepped between the two combatants and the woman snarled a curse and tried to stick her dagger between my ribs. I said, “Thanks for simplifying my decision,” and smacked my mace down on the wrist of her blade hand. She screamed and grabbed the injured arm, then collapsed a moment later. I looked at her in puzzlement; I knew I had not hit her that hard. Then I saw the throwing knife protruding from the back of her neck- and the Nord woman holding its twin poised in her right hand.

When I looked a question at her, she shrugged apologetically and explained, “I couldna try before- I didna want to chance hitting Graring.”

Unspoken was the fact that she had no similar compunction about me. But I let that pass and turned to the luxuriantly bewhiskered Nord who had been identified as Graring and said,

“My name is Athlain, and I hear you know something about the blue-white ice found in the barrows.”

The painful and prolonged silence that followed was similar to what you might expect if you announced that you enjoyed unnatural relations with cliff-racers.

Just as I was considering how best to extricate myself from the situation, the Nord I had “rescued” raised a hand and asked,

“Did ye say yer name is ‘Athlain’? I have heard of ye.”

That announcement allowed me the opportunity to remember to breathe again, and caused a general lowering of weapons around the clearing. When I offered him a healing draught, things became almost friendly. Graring accepted and introduced his companions, Hidar and Aenar. Then he crossed his arms and said,

“Ye seek to learn the secrets of stahlrim, then? And ye come peacefully, wi’ no threats or falsehoods? Well, that makes ye different than the rest.”

He toed the corpse at his feet and rumbled, “Ye be not the first. Outsiders like this dead ‘un have been here afore; always demanding, always offering payment that is useless to us. But they get nothing. The Skaal give them nothing because they say it is sacred; we give them nothing because we know they would misuse it.”

I replied carefully, knowing that I was still being weighed and tested,

“I know something of the Skaal; I have met Korst Wind-Eye, the shaman and Tharsten Heartfang, the chief. But they never spoke of ‘stahlrim.’ Please tell me, if you would.”

Graring glanced at his companions and when they nodded, he admitted, “I had heard that there was an outlander living among the village Skaal. It is said he activated the Standing Stones.”

When I agreed that I had done that, Graring nodded once and said,

“The Skaal consider the stalhrim to be holy. During the great war with the Dark Elves, many heroes fell in battle. Some could not be returned to Skyrim, and were buried here. Great magicks were worked on their tombs to protect their belongings from grave robbers, and their corpses from worse things. Energy was drawn from the land itself, and our heroes were encased in tombs of ice. That ice is stalhrim.”

He looked in the direction of the Skaal village and a pained expression crossed his face.
“Some of us learned that stalhrim can be forged much like iron or steel. We were made outcasts for it; the Skaal are too narrow-minded to understand its practical value. Some, like yon woman, hear of it and come seeking it, but will not get it from us. Ye, however, have earned my respect. We will now see if ye can truly be trusted.”

He waved over Aenar and took a strange looking tool from him, then presented it to me.

“We made tools that allow us to work the stahlrim. Take this pickaxe, and use it to chip off a piece of stalhrim. Bring that piece to me. Then we will see.”

http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc473/...r3/werewolf.jpg

This post has been edited by treydog: Oct 24 2010, 10:17 PM

[Captain Hammer]

Finally got caught up with this. Excellent as always.

Only issue is with Athlain after the fight with the Werewolf. Why not chug a cure disease potion or cast a spell? Why not visit Fort Frostmoth for a quick pit-stop at the Nine Divines' Shrine?

That said, the overall excellent quality remains. I especially liked your handling of Thormoor, Geilir, and Oddfrid, as well as the grave decorations of our ill-fated Bosmer ship captain. And your description of the Stalhrim-forgers is excellent, particularly how they weren't too worried about accidentally killing Athlain.

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Oct 24 2010, 11:36 PM

[haute ecole rider]

Tense combat with the werewolfie - those beasts are always nasty! I'd rather take on a mean Rottie or pittie any day! Yes, Athlain is right about only having to worry about the teeth. Though, on second thought, all those purse-canines whose feet never touch the ground have some nasty claws to go along with what teeth haven't yet rotted out of their heads. Ugh!

Whew, I'm glad there was silver on Athlain's mace! That was a close one!

[SubRosa]

The most important things are knowing where to put your feet and being able to read your “partner.”
Very nicely put!

As I did so, a large black bird silently took flight and winged north and west, toward the center of the island.
Hmm, is this Teresa's friend Raven? Somehow I do not think Athlain will be so lucky...

“When you hear hoof-beats, you don’t immediately think ‘unicorn.’” And no, I have no idea what that means, either, but it sounds good.
I love this!

All in all, a very cool episode! Story, Good, More!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Oct 25 2010, 12:06 AM

[D.Foxy]

I see that you have now understood the foundation of all martial arts, Trey. Yes. Footwork and stance is the foundation of all moves, and the strike or hold is the icing on the cake.

[mALX]

This chapter had so much in it that I loved - that I have to spam your thread with it!!

I loved the fight scene, especially this part - a huge surprise move!

When I raised my shield to fend off the werewolf's first charge, he did not simply slam into it, but grasped the edges with his hands and pulled. I had been set to take a blow that would drive me backwards- the tremendous force dragging in the opposite direction nearly threw me off my feet, as well as seeming likely to twist my shoulder from its socket.

…“it's much like dancing. The most important things are knowing where to put your feet and being able to read your "partner." Of course, the analogy breaks down when you get to the whole "trying to kill each other" part.

Obviously never danced with me…or Maxical for that matter.

The painful and prolonged silence that followed was similar to what you might expect if you announced that you enjoyed unnatural relations with cliff-racers.

SPEW!!! ROFL !!!


I know it’s already been quoted, but it deserves requiting:

"When you hear hoof-beats, you don't immediately think 'unicorn.'"

“We will now see if ye can truly be trusted."… “Take this pickaxe, and use it to chip off a piece of stalhrim. Bring that piece to me. Then we will see."

Something tells me this will not be easy, I see trouble ahead!!


Awesome Chapter Treydog !!!!

This post has been edited by mALX: Oct 25 2010, 05:03 AM

[Destri Melarg]

You will have to excuse the moment of giddiness that I experience in trying to compose myself. I have been waiting for this moment ever since Athlain made his first retching voyage to Solstheim. I love werewolves! To me, there are far too few good stories about them. Athlain’s fight with this specimen was one for the books. I love the idea of making something as basic and fundamental as footwork the undoing of the creature. I also love the fact that the creature only reverted to his human form at first light. I wonder if cure disease would be as effective in halting the spread of lycanthropy as it is in dealing with porphyric hemophilia?

[Acadian]

I've never seen a werewolf before - until now. Youch! I'm glad we don't see them in Cyrodiil!

I loved how Athlain won this fight. It was wonderful to see him so competently wield that wonderful mace that Athynae gave him.

By the Nine! Unnatural relations with cliff racers. Oh my. Much better to stick to natural relations with them I suppose.

How neat about the ice to entomb the Nord warriors. All this is wonderfully new to me!

[Ginner]

Oooooh, I would like to see much more of this, a very intresting piece it is set out to be.

[Olen]

Well I'm all caught up. Exciting stuff, though I remain interested to see the time at which the interview with Julian is...

And warewolves, after all the build up theyr'e here, and it was really just more build up. Exciting stuff and well written. Even over the past few parts there has been a noticable change in Athlain, I'm not exactly sure what but he seems more certain and (dare I say it) sensible, I can't see him running into the wilds living entirely on potions now, unless someting gives him a compelling reason. He seems to be more focused on others (and working his way out of the rather exciting situation he's in).

As ever the characters and interactions were bang on, the prophet and prophecy particularly so.

And it's been quoted but: “When you hear hoof-beats, you don’t immediately think ‘unicorn.’” And no, I have no idea what that means, either, but it sounds good. -- I love the dry humour in this.

[treydog]

Everything I did on Solstheim seemed to involve going from one end of the island to the other. But that was what feet- and magic- were for. Besides, one of my reasons for joining the Legion had been to see the Mundus. Of course, I had not expected so much of what I saw to be covered with snow- or with people who wanted to kill me. Still, if I used my mind, I might be able to save myself some steps- and avoid some of those folk with murderous intent. For one thing, I had seen an ice-encased body in Gandrung Cavern. From the description that “ice” was actually stalhrim. And Gandrung was very close to Fort Frostmoth. Once I obtained a piece of the ice, I could talk to Falco and let him know what I had discovered. There was one more thing I wanted to do before I left, though, so I went to the body of the dead Imperial woman who had attacked Graring.

As I had suspected, her silver dagger carried a debilitating poison enchantment, and the rest of her gear indicated that she had been a professional assassin. So I had an answer, one which gave rise to many more questions, as usual. Who would send an assassin to kill an obscure Nord living at the back of beyond? And why did they want Graring dead? From his remarks, this woman was not the first stranger who had appeared- it was likely that whoever had sent her had also sent others with offers of money. And when bribery did not work, this hidden figure had turned to violence. Again, why?

Unfortunately, a careful search did not turn up any telltale notes along the lines of:

“I, the Great High Evil Conspirator, do hereby send this woman to assassinate Graring, in order to further my nefarious plot. Said nefarious plot is helpfully detailed on the back of this note, complete with diagrams for the illiterate.”

She did have five newly-minted 100 septim coins in a pocket and the name “Coventina Celata” was embroidered on her scabbard.

For some time, I looked at the body, not really thinking, just—wondering. She was an Imperial woman, her red hair marked with grey. And she was dead. Her choices and her profession had brought her to this place, to this death on the bank of a frozen river. All for five gold coins. I did not know her history, her reasons, how her feet had been turned to this path- and now, I never would. But I did know that I must guard myself against ever thinking of life and death as mere commodities to be traded for coin or fame. I rose from the ground and turned to Graring and his companions, saying:

“I will bury her, if you don’t mind. Some distance from here, perhaps beside the river. I know she tried to kill you, and that she seems to have been hired to do it. Still, she was a human being, and I can show her that much respect.”

The Nords silently brought tools and we lashed together a litter to carry the body south. We dug a shallow pit in the frozen ground, and placed her in it as gently as we could. After a moment’s thought, I added the silver dagger and the gold coins. They were hers; and I still had no desire to rob the dead. Then we covered the grave with stones. I looked to the west, toward the setting sun, toward the place where Cyrodiil lay beyond the horizon. After a moment, I thanked Graring, promising I would return when I could. Then I cast an Intervention spell to transport me to the fort. I had learned the hard way that more than fear of the dark kept the troopers inside the fort at night, and I emulated their wisdom. With the dawn, I went to Gandrung Cavern. The previous day, I had supervised one burial and I was now preparing to desecrate another. The irony was not lost upon me.

The Legion had long since cleared the smuggled weapons- and the bodies of the smugglers- from the cavern. I was relieved that nothing else had moved in to the empty tunnels, though I knew something would, eventually. But for the moment, what I needed had been there for a very long time, since the First Era war that ended the Nords’ occupation of Morrowind.

The burial chamber was a short distance north of the entrance, and I found the wall niche which contained the body of a warrior encased in ice. The remains were visible inside the frozen cocoon, and I took a moment to ask the spirit’s forgiveness. I really wished I did not have to do this. But- my father had a saying about wishing. It was…. Well, let’s just say that spending the first seventeen years of his life in a stable had given him an— organic—view of things. With a last muttered apology, I wielded the strange pick-axe to chip away a block of the ice. I hoped one would be enough- the task was distasteful enough as it was. I feared the whole might crumble, but it remained intact beyond the bit I had removed.

Without thinking, I started to hold the strange material up to a torch to examine it more closely. Realizing that it was supposed to be some sort of ice, I quickly pulled it back, but it showed no sign of melting. Whatever magic created the stalhrim also allowed it to retain its solidity, regardless of temperature. Reassured that I would not show up with nothing but a handful of water, I tucked it into my pack and left the cavern.

When I reached Raven Rock, I found Falco and told him what I had learned about the Nord burials- and about the assassination attempt. He frowned at the news, but did not speak for some time. He just turned the stalhrim in his hands as if seeking answers in its depths. Finally, he handed it back to me and said:

“So that’s stalhrim. Carnius has mentioned the word before; I just never knew what he was talking about. He’s already heard about the burial cavern in the mine, and is expressing an unusual amount of interest in it. I’ll keep putting him off, while you take that piece back to Graring. And you had better hold on to that pick-axe, as well. There’s no way to be sure what might happen if you leave it here.”

He added with a lopsided grin, “That way, when I tell Carnius that we can’t get him any stalhrim with the tools we have on hand, it won’t exactly be a lie.”

Once more, I undertook the journey to Graring’s isolated house near the north coast. I was pleased to find the three outcast Skaal in good health; no more strangers or assassins had come calling in my absence. I produced the piece of stalhrim and offered it to the Nord, but he just shook his head and spoke in a satisfied tone:

“So ye ha’ some of it? I shall not take it from ye; that ye were willing to bring it is proof enough. Now that I know ye can be trusted, ye may come to us at any time, and we will construct armor and weapons for ye. Speak to Aenar and Hidar; they will do these things for ye with my blessing.”

My ears were filled with a peculiar roaring sound and my vision became clouded. Fortunately for Graring, I recognized the signs of impending rage, and stood very still as I counted my breaths. Still, I did not trust myself to speak; instead, I gripped the stalhrim in trembling hands. This had all been yet another bloody test. I had trudged from one end of the island to the other- twice; been attacked by a gods-forsaken werewolf; thwarted a murder; disturbed an ancient burial…. All of these things just so this grinning ape could pat me on the head and say, “Well done; now run along.”

But then I looked at it from his perspective. Strangers had been coming around, trying to bribe him, trying to kill him. He and his companions had been forced to live apart from the rest of the Skaal. And at the root of it all was this chunk of steel-hard ice I held in my hand. So, yes, Graring had tested me, and I had passed. But there was one more test, one that I set for myself. So I gave the pick-axe back to Aenar with my thanks. The stalhrim I would keep until I could return it to where it belonged.

This post has been edited by treydog: Oct 30 2010, 01:20 AM

[mALX]

Whew! Athlain has a depth that matches the Skaal's - he has to have it in his bloodlines!!!!! Awesome Write !!!!!!


His inner dialogue shows scruples that are at varience with a good portion of Tamriel - but are deeply ingrained in the Skaal of your story.

It makes me wonder if it is in his heritage somehow, and the roots of it are strong in him?

This post has been edited by mALX: Oct 29 2010, 11:55 PM

[Acadian]

“I, the Great High Evil Conspirator, do hereby send this woman to assassinate Graring, in order to further my nefarious plot. Said nefarious plot is helpfully detailed on the back of this note, complete with diagrams for the illiterate.”

Darn! There I is was with a cup of coffee, reading and. . . well you know.


It occurred to me how much I enjoy traveling with Athlain, despite the fact that the land he walks is foreign to me:

All for five gold coins. I did not know her history, her reasons, how her feet had been turned to this path- and now, I never would. But I did know that I must guard myself against ever thinking of life and death as mere commodities to be traded for coin or fame.

Here, I bask in the powerful wisdom so simply and truthfully expressed by Athlain.

The previous day, I had supervised one burial and I was now preparing to desecrate another. The irony was not lost upon me.

Here, you answer a nagging question that I didn't fully realize I had.

Whatever magic created the stalhrim also allowed it to retain its solidity, regardless of temperature. Reassured that I would not show up with nothing but a handful of water, I tucked it into my pack and left the cavern.

Here, you lead someone not familiar with stalhrim through what would be a very natural question - again, before it even occurs.

My ears were filled with a peculiar roaring sound and my vision became clouded. Fortunately for Graring, I recognized the signs of impending rage, and stood very still as I counted my breaths. Still, I did not trust myself to speak; instead, I gripped the stalhrim in trembling hands. This had all been yet another bloody test. I had trudged from one end of the island to the other- twice; been attacked by a gods-forsaken werewolf; thwarted a murder; disturbed an ancient burial…. All of these things just so this grinning ape could pat me on the head and say, “Well done; now run along.”

Here, believe it or not, you give me my Athynae fix. How so, you ask? First, this was magnificent restraint on Athlain's part. I know perfectly well that Buffy would have popped those hands onto her hips, lifted her chin defiantly and let loose with her big mouth. But Athynae. . . well it made me suspect she might well have whirled on her heel and stormed off, tossing an icy 'FINE!' over her shoulder.

EDIT: Let me add my appreciation to mALX's for the screenies below. They do indeed help us Oblivioners.

This post has been edited by Acadian: Oct 30 2010, 02:48 AM

[haute ecole rider]

Acadian already picked out all of my favorite parts, so may I just add:

S.G.M

[SubRosa]

Acadian already picked out all the parts I was going to highlight, but let me just do this one again:
The previous day, I had supervised one burial and I was now preparing to desecrate another. The irony was not lost upon me.
This was a good touch. Especially after just reinforcing Athlain's distaste for robbing the dead with the burial of the assassin.

Another good segment of the Athlain show. As much as I miss Athynae, I must admit it is nice to see Athlain doing his thing without distractions. He has a good heart, that continually shows with his every action. Once again I see the Arthurian similarities. Here is indeed a knight bold in true, rendered in a manner that is completely believable.

nits:
I had seen an ice-encased body in Gandrung Cavern{.} From the description that “ice” was actually stalhrim.
I think the period that was between Cavern and From melted.

[treydog]

I am going to try to do a couple of pictures- hopefully more successfully than the last few...

A stalhrim burial:



A werewolf (fully transformed- and annoyed):

[mALX]

Woo Hoo !!!! I love these screenies Treydog. Not having played the game - these help hugely with immersion in what you have described, and show what an awesome job you did with that description in bringing the scenes to life !!!!!