I really enjoyed this latest update. The slaps actually caught me off guard. Guess it's a tough love...

Heh, welcome home Athlain. And I bet I can guess what Mr. Beauchamp will be saying. Methinks Athlain could have invested his hard-earned money better... but I'm getting ahead of things. Athlain still has to survive the Sarethi's upcoming visitation!

*BANG BANG* I love you, son!

Err.....love you too, mom.



Well, Athlain did invest with the wrong guy. If he wanted an airship, he should have paid the Dwemer spectre below Mournhold a visit. Or the fat guy in his Dwemeric wheelchair below Tel Fyr. At least then he would have invested in someone who has some knowledge about Dwemeric technology.

Survive the Sarethi´s visitation???? oh dear, are they so scary? Hmmmm will be interesting to hear about that...

Haha....you´re funny Jackie!

Anyway I´m so glad to read more about Athlain, especially now when he visits his family....and perhaps old friends?

Wonderful update treydoggie! Me likey very much..

Yeah, it never pays to cross small, red-haired women. I had fun writing that scene. Now back to the story

We were barely seated when a great banging of doors and clattering upon the steps announced the arrival of my sisters. They burst into the room, two whirlwinds of red hair and blue eyes, nearly identical despite the two years that separated them. Mae started immediately, fixing me with a glare:

“Athlain! You rat! How could you just sneak off like that? We thought the Telvanni had grabbed you for some strange ritual.”

At a withering look from older sister Cai, she mumbled,

“Well, some of us thought so.”

My youngest sister had an unhealthy appetite for the more lurid sort of romances, the ones filled with heaving bosoms, stalwart heroes- and evil Telvanni wizards. Taking advantage of Mae’s momentary silence, Cai jumped in, cooing

“Oh your armor is just gorgeous! All the Redoran boys will be so jealous.”

Mae recovered from her fleeting embarrassment and chimed in: “Especially since the Temple doesn’t recruit Buoyant Armigers anymore.”

Cai picked up the thread again: “Not that they’ll admit it- they’ll just pretend that the Legion’s for brainless, muscle-bound lummoxes.”

After a thoughtful pause, she added,

“Not that you’re one of those. Muscle-bound, I mean.”

I had almost forgotten how the two of them completed each others’ sentences and how they worked together against a hapless victim- usually me. Sometimes, they could be a real trial, but just now, I didn’t mind at all. Not even when they begin to bombard me with questions:

“So, is it exciting? Have you rescued any elven princesses or fought hordes of Nord pirates? Did you get hurt? Is that why you’re home?”

They eyed me critically, taking in my complete complement of arms, legs, eyes, and ears. Somewhat disappointed, Cai complained:

“Hmm. You don’t have any visible scars. Scars can be so interesting. Did you get a tattoo?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at their hopeful expressions and jumped up to sweep them into a hug.

“And ‘hello’ to you, too, Large Nuisance and Smaller Nuisance. How have you been?”

I released them and subjected both to the same sort of scrutiny they had given me.

“Well, neither of you has any new scars. Did you get any tattoos?”

Even Mother burst into unrestrained laughter at that, and we all sat down to recover our breath. The hours that followed were wonderful and all too quickly over. As it got on toward evening, I began to feel somewhat restless to go to Ald’ruhn and see Louis Beauchamp. Mother, ever alert to such things, saw my fidgeting and brought the impromptu reunion to a close.

“Caia, Maesa, I believe you have lessons to complete?”

My sisters’ usual rapid-fire chatter came to a full stop as they endeavored to appear completely innocent, a sure sign that they were up to something. Cai made the first attempt:

“Lessons? We…um, that is I….”

Mae jumped into the breach: “We finished up at school. All of it.”

Her triumphant smile lasted only as long as it took Mother to reply,

“Splendid! That will give me more time to look over your work.”

The would-be partners in crime exchanged a glance and then shrugged. They were caught and they knew it. Mae stuck her tongue out at me and complained,

“It’s Athlain’s fault. If the sneaky rat hadn’t showed up unexpectedly, we would have had time to come up with a better story. I mean time to finish our work.”

She went back to trying to look angelic. Mother did not relent, saying,

“I’m sure I know what you mean. And I imagine your brother wants to go into Ald’ruhn and see some old friends.”

As identical crafty expressions appeared on Cai and Mae’s faces, she added,

“And I am quite certain he can find his way without assistance; the town hasn’t moved in the last few months. And I am also certain that whatever you might have left at school will keep until tomorrow.”

Having established her authority again, she softened the blow:

“Besides, I need you two to help me plan the party.”

That got their attention. Even though I was supposed to be the guest of honor, I was soon as forgotten as last year’s Winter Fest gift. Smiling, I silently withdrew. Tiber Septim himself had never planned a campaign as carefully as my mother planned a party. Ald’ruhn would likely never be the same.

Mother had been correct- I did want to go into Ald’ruhn- and I would probably meet with some of my friends…eventually. But the first stop I wanted to make was at the Ald Skar Inn, where Louis Beauchamp was staying. At least, I hoped he was still staying there, and had not simply disappeared with all the money I had donated to his project. In the weeks since I had received the fussy Breton’s last letter, I had spent a great deal of time contemplating stories of investors who had been gulled by fast-talking tricksters. In truth, the loss of the money was of less concern to me than my potential embarrassment over being taken in. On the other hand, no one who had ever met Louis Beauchamp would refer to him as “fast-talking.” Such was the state of my mind as I entered the common room of the Ald Skar and looked around. To my relief, the richly-dressed inventor was seated at a table near the back, staring pensively into space, and occasionally looking at some papers scattered in front of him. He did not notice my approach until I drew out a chair and seated myself across from him. His first startled reaction was to guiltily fold up his papers and then blurt out,

“Your pardon, Captain, but I am doing n-n- nothing wrong. I purchased these materials from a reputable Imperial broker. I know nothing about any s- s- stolen goods.”

He swallowed convulsively and peered at me near-sightedly. New lines of worry had been etched upon his face and his hair seemed to have receded even further in the time since I had last seen him. I reminded him of who I actually was and pointed out that; first, I was not a captain; and, second, I was here as a private citizen and investor. He blinked at my words and then seemed to finally recognize me.

“Oh. Oh yes. Young Athlain. I didn’t realize it was you. Please, have a seat.”

A rather sickly smile crossed his face when I pointed out that I was already seated, and he lapsed into silence. I prompted him with,

“The airship, Mr. Beauchamp? What has happened to the airship?”

“Yes, well. The…ah, the airship. It flew quite beautifully. A clever bit of magic if I do say so. The crew… hmmm, yes, well…. You know it can be difficult to find trustworthy people for an expedition of this sort.”

He again fell into a distracted silence, staring at the ceiling and seeming to lose the thread of the conversation. Again, I had to prod him.

“Mr. Beauchamp?” I waved a hand before his face. “The airship, Mr. Beauchamp? What happened after you launched it? Where did you send it?”

“Oh yes. They were to go to the north, to Solstheim, away from all this dust. I wanted them to locate Hrothmund’s Barrow and retrieve a certain…oh, item.” At last, some animation returned to the depressed inventor as he began to explain the expedition.

“Hrothmund's Barrow is a grave...well...crypt. It is said to lie...that is, the barrow is at the eye...of the wolf. There's a formation, you see. Rock...ice...that sort of thing. Shaped like a wolf...the wolf that killed Hrothmund! He's said to be um....entombed...at the wolf's eye. It's only visible from the sky...or, well...an airship. That's why I...built it. So...if I may say so...the airship was a brilliant idea. Build the airship, hire the crew, they find the barrow and recover the amulet. Then they bring it to me! Perfect plan, I thought....”

He smiled for the first time and took a sip of his wine., then continued,

“They were to recover...that is, bring me a special amulet. According to stories...legends and such...Horthmund was quite the...well...he had plenty of lady friends! He was ugly, too...ugly as a troll! But he had a magic trinket...he wore it. The Amulet of Infectious Charm, it was called. By...all records...he was buried with it. That's why I built the airship...hired the crew. I just...I must have that amulet, Athlain. But...there's been no word. I worry...I fear the crew has failed me.”

He fell back into a gloomy silence and then heaved a sigh.

“I...I suppose I should have...well, you know...gone myself. But all that...flying, and cold weather and...well, maybe danger! That's what I...what I get for trying to do...you know, hire...someone else to do the job...well, expedition, really.... I just wish I knew what happened. Did they fly off course? Or maybe...maybe they found the amulet, and...and flew away! To meet women! No fair maiden could resist a man with the...the Amulet of Infectious Charm...in an airship, no less! Say...Athlain.... I...I don't suppose you're...well...for hire? I would even...pay you...greatly...to find my airship. Your initial investment… plus… interest. I'd need proof of what happened to the airship, of course! Evidence, as it were...just...just to be sure. And...of course...for you to bring me the...the amulet! I NEED that amulet!”

Excellent. I'm really glad to see this back up and running

Will Athlain agree to further help Louis Beauchamp, despite the financial outlay he's already given, so Beauchamp can achieve his goal of becoming...a ladies man? Will he be tempted to use the amulet himself (or is that a different kind of story )?

I don't know the answers yet, I'm just glad that I have questions to ask once more. This really is a terrific story, and I can't wait for further updates.

Your eager reader,

Burnt

"I must have it! My PPPPRREEEESSSSIIIIOOOOUUUSSSS!"

Okay, now that's the kind of thing Beauchamp is going to say if this gets any worse. Speaking of which, why didn't he try to get a charm amulet of his own enchanted? Or why didn't he just stock up on Telvanni Bug Musk? It's both cheaper and more foolproof than inventing a bloody airship.

On the other hand, beyond this amulet, what other charm items do we know of? Moon-and-Star, Sheogorath's signet ring. Neither of those two are mundane items, so maybe the ability to enchant charm items yourself is a game-thing and not a lore-thing. That still doesn't rule out Bug Musk though.

Oh, and I loved the antics of Athlain's sisters.
"Got any new scars? A tattoo? Lost an arm? No? llllaaaaammmmeeee...."

Hmmm, mayhaps this will be the motivation for Athlain to take a trip to the frosty north. We shall see I suppose. Great work Trey!

uhhhh sweet Azura! TWO updates and not a single comment from me? Outrageous...

Anyway Athlain will have a go with his entire female family hehe, younges sisters really can be a pain in the...ehh somewhere. We'll just have to wait and see right? And the encounter with Louis B...hmmm well that will be interesting, will he send Athie up north? To that wretched island of Solstheim? i guess we'll await that as well....

can't wait, actually

For long seconds, I simply stared at Louis Beauchamp, my mouth hanging open in amazement. It was almost more than my mind could absorb- he had obtained the airship plans, possession of which was technically a capital crime; invested untold time and money to build and enchant the Dwemer craft; hired a crew…. In order to get an amulet that would supposedly make him attractive to women? Why didn’t the fool just invest in Telvanni bug musk? He probably could have purchased a manufactory with what he had put into the airship project. Failing that, anyone with his obvious magical ability should certainly be able to craft a personality-enhancing charm. For one of the few times in my life, I found myself absolutely speechless. Beauchamp must have taken my incredulous silence for refusal; he blinked rapidly a few times and then said,

“Oh...well...that's fine. I understand...I....suppose I will be able to find someone to continue the search. I just fear that I will not get anyone… reliable. Most of those who I asked simply laughed at me. And some of them even threw me out.”

I held up a hand to stop his babble as I tried to think. Despite the foolishness that had been at the heart of this scheme, the idea of locating and entering the barrow of a Nord pirate was very appealing. One characteristic I shared with my father was an affinity for our northern brethren. I knew that the Empire had only recently taken an interest in Solstheim, sending representatives from the East Empire Company to search for marketable resources. The small island was still very much the frontier, largely unexplored. It was just the sort of adventure I had been seeking when I left home. I would have to come up with a way to conduct the search for the airship while still honoring my obligation to the Legion- I was determined to make a success of my enlistment. Well, one thing at a time.

“Mr. Beauchamp, I will be glad to search for the airship and Hrothmund’s Barrow. It might take some time before I can get free….” With a gesture, I indicated my uniform and then continued, “But I promise that I will do my best.”

It took a moment for my words to register. Beauchamp said,

“Yes, I know it must seem very silly to a young man like you…. I will just get someone else, or go myself…I…. Wait. Athlain, did you say you would help me? Why that's...that's...splen...I mean...oh, wonderful! As I said, the airship is...was...headed north, to Solstheim.... The Amulet of Infectious Charm is...well, it's supposed to be at...that is, in...Hrothmund's Barrow. At the eye of the beast...the wolf, I mean. But you must...must say the wolf's name! To enter! Say, ‘Ondjage.’ Answer wrong, and the barrow will be sealed...forever!”

As I left the Ald Skar, Louis Beauchamp was thoughtfully tugging at what little remained of his hair. I realized that if I did not find an answer for him fairly soon, he would be completely bald. My next stop was the Rat in the Pot. It was still a rather seedy tavern, which explained its attraction to my friends. They somehow thought it was daring to drink there, not realizing that the Redoran Council made sure that nothing bad would happen to anyone. The worst one might expect would be a bad hangover or a few coins lost at one of the games. Still, I was happy to see my old school-mates, and they were as impressed as I could have wished with my new status. I was not allowed to pay for my drinks, and every word of my stories of “life in the Legion” was given avid attention. It hardly mattered that there was little real “action” in those stories- it was still more than anyone else had done. But somehow, the envy and adulation did not cheer me as I had thought it would. Rather, I felt somehow distant and apart from my friends and their day-to-day concerns. It was as if I had changed in the months away while they had remained the same. Even as I felt the melancholy threatening to overwhelm me, I realized that this was all the more reason to make sure Mother and my sisters enjoyed the party tomorrow evening. After a final drink, I made my excuses and left the others to their gossip and bickering, feeling suddenly quite old. As I exited the tavern, a tall figure detached itself from the shadows and halted in front of me.

Startled, I reached to my belt for the mace that was not there, that was in fact propped against a wall at home. The person before me made no threatening movement, simply reached up to lower her hood and uncover her face. It was Serene, head of House Redoran and wife of Athyn Sarethi. I went into a near spasm, trying to bow while at the same time pretending I had not just been scrabbling for a non-existent weapon. She laughed softly and said,

“Peace, Athlain. Stand still before you do yourself an injury.”

When I straightened, automatically assuming the position of attention, she surveyed me carefully. At last she spoke again:

“You know, diligent observation and awareness of your surroundings is sometimes more useful than any weapon- especially when you don’t have one.”

There was a serious undertone to her teasing and it came to the fore with her next words,

“Athlain, it is not wise for you to go abroad unarmed. Whether you intended to or not, you chose a side when you joined the Imperial Legion. Not everyone is happy with that choice- and some will act on their unhappiness.”

She stopped and looked at the star-speckled sky above us.

“And there are other, darker forces in motion as well. The wind is from the north tonight and it carries a scent of ice. What the signs and portents mean, I cannot say, but my heart tells me that malice is abroad in the world. Best be prepared lest it find you.”

With those words, she drew her cloak around her and disappeared into the darkness. More aware than ever of my lack of weapons, I hastened homeward, where I fell into a troubled sleep. My dreams were disjointed, seeming to involve pursuit by unknown foes across a snowy landscape.

So, despite the utter ridiculousness of the whole situation, Athlain has still agreed to go on with it. Must be wanderlust or something. That's the only reason I can think of.

And after that came a rather unexpected cameo. (Well, I did expect her to pop up, just not there. I was expecting her at the party, honestly.)

Neat, though I've got to wonder just why Serene picked the spooky 'come from the shadows' aproach.

Ohhhh greatness! We're proceeding here and that is good! Naturally Serene can't just walk about in Ald'ruhn just like that! She's gotta be mysterious it's in her!

Now I naturally wonder what arms she meant for Athlain......oh and how the party will go on tomorrow night, with Athlains dear mom and annoying sisters!

But maybe Trey himself will put some oil on the water as we say in the north...


And I'm naturally very honoured that Serene appears in this story....truly honoured..

Jack- I shamelessly stole your ideas about Beauchamp to illustrate Athlain's disbelief- thanks. Motivation? Hmmm- he's a kid; it's an adventure.... As for Serene- she sensed something on the wind and immediately assumed her role of protector- a role she played for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (Trey), as well. And it was an object lesson for our young Legionnaire that he isn't a civilian anymore and can't just obliviously wander around in the dark. Serene has had Legion training too, don't you know. Legion NCOs are always sneaking up on the recruits...

A most satisfying update, treydog. The young folks really have no sense of their own mortality, nor what "adventure" really means.

(As a young "folk", I speak from experience, of course.)

I haven't commented in a while, but have been trying to keep up with some of the stories here (there are too many to keep up with them all). I enjoyed the last few updates, and am intrigued by the manner in which you are setting up Athlain's time in Solstheim. I usually enjoy seeing how people portray Beauchamp, and this story is no exception to that. The warning given my Serene is quite ominous; you make it seem like you are trying to set an even darker tone for this story than for those you have written previously (or perhaps I'm simply over-interpreting; I guess only time will tell).

Despite the doubts and disappointments of the previous evening, the next day dawned fair, with pleasant weather and the comfortable bickering of Cai and Mae to cheer me. To their immense delight, Mother had granted them a holiday from school so that they could help prepare for the party. That amnesty earned me a reprieve from my status as a “rat,” but I knew the suspension of sentence was only temporary. My services in the arrangements were needed only infrequently, and I was often more in the way than of actual use. It was rather like being a boulder in the midst of a rushing torrent. Feeling at loose ends, I took myself off to Father’s alchemical workshop, a place which held many happy memories amongst the pungent aromas. I could not help but smile as I looked upon the many bins and bottles, all labeled in his distinctive script. My gaze fell next upon his cluttered workbench, covered with scattered glassware, formulae, and other bits and pieces of apparatus, looking as though he had just stepped out for a moment. Finally, I turned to my own area, a corner he had furnished and given to me when I was still quite young. There I found a surprise. Instead of the dust of neglect I had expected after months of disuse, everything was polished to a high shine, all the tools of the alchemist’s trade carefully arranged and ready for use. And centered on the bench was my own laboratory journal. My heart beat painfully in my chest; I knew whose scarred hands had polished every vial and tube, who it was who had brought order to my chaos. I held my breath, waiting for his touch upon my shoulder and his deep voice to guide me. The moment passed, and I reached for the journal, not seeking answers in the pages, but perhaps escape. The book opened to reveal a folded paper and a small cloth bag. The paper had no salutation or seal, but when I opened it, it was covered with my father’s precise writing. It was a long discourse on the value of the spells Mark and Recall. Interspersed with the dry, almost academic language were bits of advice: “Recall can literally save an adventurer’s life….” and “Successful casting of the circinate spells requires great skill in Mysticism; therefore, potions or amulets are to be preferred.” At the bottom of the page were carefully inked illustrations of paired amulets used to cast the spells. When I opened the bag and tipped the contents into my hand, I was not surprised to see two amulets that matched the drawings exactly. With controlled movements, I refolded the note and place it back inside my journal, which I also closed and centered again on the work table. It was time to prepare for our guests.

Because the celebration was not a formal gathering, guests were free to arrive at their own convenience, rather than following the strict protocol dictated by the formidable Redoran matriarchs. The lack of formality also meant that I did not have to go through the ordeal of standing in a receiving line with Mother and my sisters, greeting each guest according to their rank, all the while trying to ignore the remarks the two nuisances made in barely detectable whispers. However, as my presence was the nominal reason for the gathering, I was expected to speak with each guest for at least a few minutes. That wasn’t too bad; most of them were folk I had known all my life- friends, relatives of friends, and the like. By unspoken agreement, the usual factional squabbles of House politics were set aside in favor of eating and drinking. Business could be conducted; but it had to be kept on a friendly basis. So the party proceeded nicely; groups of people coalesced and broke apart, carried along on currents of conversation. As darkness fell, paper lanterns cast a festive light over the gardens, and many of the guests took advantage of the pleasant weather to slip outside. I had unfortunately been cornered by a minor connection of the Andrano family, an elderly Dunmer who held very strong opinions about the Empire, the Nords, the other Great Houses, the quality of current beverages…. I should say, he held very strong and negative opinions. He took in my uniform with a disapproving snort and asked petulantly,

“Why didn’t you become an Armiger, if you wanted to go into the service? Now they’re a sharp outfit, no mistake. Why, when I was just a youngster, we….”

I groaned inwardly and resigned myself to a long, dull evening. Once old Sedrim got started, he was like an ancient Dwemer machine- able to run seemingly forever, without need of fuel or rest. Salvation came in the form of a flurry of activity at the front door. I pressed my glass of wine into his hands and excused myself, saying,

“Sorry. Must go. Might be a Nord invasion.”

In fact, my jest was closer to the mark than I knew- the Sarethis had arrived. It wasn’t that they were loud or that they demanded attention- they simply had enough presence between them to still an arena.

I comported myself with much greater dignity than I had when Serene surprised me the previous night, shaking hands with Uncle Athyn and managing a respectable bow for the great lady herself. Just as I was congratulating myself on my performance, it all fell apart. Serene and Athyn went in search of Mother, and the third member of their party stepped in front of me. It was Athynae, sure enough; I had seen her nearly every day of my life. But she was … different. She had done something complicated with her hair that seemed to defy gravity, as well several other laws of physics. And there was something new about her eyes, too. They were violet, just like before, but seemed larger somehow and luminous, as if they contained an inner light. All my previous calm fled, and I simply stood there, staring, trying to say something. What I finally managed was a strangled, “Urk.” A voice from my right said,

“Don’t mind Max, here…” followed by an answering voice from my left, which finished the sentence, “…we figure he did too much blunt weapon practice without a helmet.”

Mae and Cai. They had homed in on my struggles as silently and efficiently as two slaughterfish after a wounded guar. Now my misery was complete, or so I thought. With a dazzling smile that did strange things to my stomach, Athynae asked,

“'Max'? I don’t understand.”

My dear, sweet sisters stepped forward and each took one of her arms, explaining as they led her away,

“Oh, that’s our new name for him. It’s short for ‘Maximus Rattus’.”

The three girls departed, their heads bowed in a conversation laden with giggles and sidelong glances at me. For my part, I decided that the gods clearly hated me. There could be no other explanation for why I had been given not one, but two sisters. I glowered after them and gave serious thought to proposition that the education of females was not only overrated, but also dangerous.

Maximus Rattus? BWAHAHA!!! Man, I loved that. Those sisters sure are a handful.

I liked everything else as well, such as the gift of the two amulets, old dudes droning on about how the legion sucks. Nice stuff.

Wonderful! "Urk" he said spotting Thyna! Now isn't that just cute? haha...she will be so utterly amused....or will she?

I want to read more about that party....it's gonna be so funny, I can well imagine Baria fuzzing about Serene and Athyn..ohlalaaa And Athlain being so startled about Thyna!

Mind you, that girl deliberately fixed herself up just for Athlain...oh aye...Now she won't be happy seeing him leave for Solstheim, so she might take actions ....mmmmm mind my words

My cheeks burning with embarrassment, I escaped to the welcome darkness of the garden. I slumped dejectedly onto a bench and stared unseeing at the lanterns. As I tried to grasp just what had gone wrong, the scents of Mother’s flowers came to me on the breeze and I distracted myself by cataloging them. Gold kanet, heather, black anther, even coda flowers in the pond Father had built. The scents teased me, seeming to add an aromatic counterpoint of glee to the real laughter which had driven me outdoors. Then a different scent began to grow, elusive and enticing, and I heard a quiet step on the gravel path.

“Athlain? You shouldn’t be sitting out here in the dark. At least…not by yourself. May I sit down?”

It was Athynae, mercifully unaccompanied. Even so, my usual facility with words had left me. I continued to sit in strangled silence, which my childhood friend apparently mistook for surliness. She stamped her foot and said in a low voice,

“Athlain, if you don’t talk to me right now, I’m leaving. And I’ll never speak to you again.”

The threat was enough to shatter my paralysis, and I gasped,

“No! Please stay.” Some of my wits came back and I managed to venture, “Is that a new dress?”

The question broke the tension and she quickly sat beside me on the bench.

“Oh yes. Mother had it sent from the Imperial City, along with the perfume I’m wearing. She has a catalog and contacted one of her friends in the Mages Guild, who teleported it here. We spent most of today getting it fitted.”

She stood and twirled to show off the gown, which seemed to sparkle in the star- and lantern-lit night. The pause allowed me to opine that I thought it was very nice. That set off another rush of words,

“Do you really like it? It’s just that I saw you when you came in on the silt-strider and you looked so amazing in your Legion uniform. And then when Aunt Baria told Mama about the party for you, I just HAD to have something new to wear, something that would look wonderful. Because I wanted to impress you.”

There was a sudden stop, and she fidgeted with her fan and said in a much quieter voice,

“Oops. Mae and Cai told me not to say anything about that.”

“Mae and Cai told you?” My tone was brittle.

Her reply was nearly a whisper, “I’m sorry. It’s just that nothing ever happens here, and you didn’t answer my letter, and you’ve been away, doing things. And…and… probably seeing all kinds of girls, girls who are just interested in your uniform, who don’t really know you. And so I had to ask somebody what you liked.”

That last was almost a wail. “’Thyna,” I said, using her nickname, “The only ‘girls’ I’ve met are female Orc Legionnaires. And my ‘adventures’ have mostly consisted of patrolling the eggmine and running up and down hills.”

Impulsively, I reached for her hand. “And what I like is you.”

She snuffled a little and stole a glance at me. “Really?”

I squeezed her hand and said, “Yes, really. And now we should probably get back inside.”

Athynae stood and gave me a quick kiss, saying “You’re so sweet. And I promise I’ll never call you ‘Max.’” Then she scampered off toward the house, leaving me again in stunned silence. This time, however, the sensation was not in the least unpleasant.

The moment passed and I followed the scent of Athynae’s perfume back to the house. Mother was waiting near the door and pulled me into a quiet corner, where she gave me a searching look.

“Athynae Sarethi came in just a little ahead of you and she was smiling, but her eyes looked like she had been crying. I know she went to look for you- what happened?”

“I’m not quite sure. But I think everything is fine.”

Her expression did not clear. “You ‘think’? I’m afraid that’s not good enough. Athynae is a nice girl and you are a …” I could see her mentally editing, “…nice young man. But wine and moonlight can have quite an impact.”

At last, my befuddled brain understood where she was going. I raised my hands in protest and said, “No! Oh no! It was nothing like that! I mean, I told her I liked her dress and she kissed me- once. And then she told me she wouldn’t ever call me ‘Max,’ and, by the way, if that name ever gets out, I’m going to kill a certain pair of too-clever-by-half blabbermouths. But I never…why are you laughing?”

I really enjoyed the ending to this latest installment. It was quite a long string of complex, powerful emotions. Athlain certainly does seem to be the target of much laughter lately; maybe he'll be glad to go back on Legion duty.

Very good story you have here treydog. I'm looking forward to reading more.

Mother did not explain her sudden burst of humor, simply patted me affectionately and said,

“Sometimes I forget what it is like to be so young. I will deal with your sisters in due time.”

Most of the rest of the night passed in a fog, and is quite hazy in my mind. I do know that at one point as I watched Serene making her graceful way through the press of people, Mother remarked in quiet voice, pitched so that only I could hear:

“It is hard for her, you know, being head of Redoran. Her innate kindness makes it difficult. But her sense of honor will not let her do less than her duty. Yes, that blasted Redoran honor…. Of course, she saved you father, saved him from himself and from his black despair. And she did it by reminding him of what it means to be Redoran…and to be human.”

Although I tried, I did not see Athynae again; somehow, the Sarethis managed to slip away without my noticing or having a chance to bid them good-bye. Even so, when I slept that night, I seemed to still taste Athynae’s lips and to smell her perfume.

The dawn came all too soon, the morning of the day that I must report back to Gnisis and my service with the Legion. Father had still not returned from Tel Fyr and I found myself saddened by his absence. It was Loredas, so Cai and Mae were free to linger over breakfast, during which they quizzed me intensely regarding Athynae. I knew better than to respond- anything I told them would be used against me. Mostly, I put them off by maintaining that they knew her better than I and had certainly spent more time with her during the party. Cai responded waspishly,

“Yes, but she wouldn’t tell us anything, either. And she said that we had to quit being so mean to you.” She added darkly, “I find that highly suspicious.”

Fortunately, Mother arrived in time to save me from the interrogation, and I breathed a sigh of relief. If ever the Emperor had need of inquisitors, I knew two excellent candidates for the job. On further reflection, though, I decided that even the Emperor would consider subjecting someone to my sisters excessively cruel. After she had poured her tea, Mother asked if I had everything I needed for my return trip. When I assured her that I did, she sighed a bit and then turned to another matter.

“Athynae forgot her shawl last night- why don’t you take it to Sarethi Manor before you leave? And I have some cuttings from the garden that Serene asked for; you can take those, as well.”

Those instructions set off a sudden spasm of fidgeting in my sisters; if they had had antennae, they would have been quivering. Mother raised an inquiring eyebrow and calmly asked,

“Are you two sitting on a scrib-nest, or did you need something?”

Her dry tone quelled their twitching, but not the avid pleading on their faces. Mother made an elaborate show of not quite understanding their unspoken question for some time, and then said,

“Oh, I suppose you two would like to go to Sarethi Manor, as well?”

My sisters’ triumphant smiles died as Mother shook her head and said,

“Unfortunately, I have need of you here today, so Athlain will just have to go alone. I imagine that he would be glad to carry any messages- if you asked him nicely.”

I decided that it would be easier to say good-bye to my family and then stop by Sarethi Manor, so I embraced my sisters and told them to try and avoid burning down the town while I was gone. Cai tried to remain stoic, but I saw a suspicious shine in her eyes. Mae was less restrained; she cried openly as she hugged me and admonished me to stay safe. Then she broke the mood by adding,

“And if you rescue a princess or something, be sure to have her write to me with all the details. Yon know you always leave out the best parts.”

Though they were often a trial, at that moment, I forgave them for all of their teasing. Mother said nothing, just held me for a long moment and then waved me away. I knew that she would spend the rest of the day in her studio, losing herself in her painting.

When I reached Sarethi Manor, Serene herself escorted me to the dining area and made sure I was seated comfortably. After providing me with a cup of tea, she took the plants I had brought and disappeared deeper into the dwelling, promising to send Athynae out. Even though I had been in this room hundreds of times, I felt more nervous than I had when I joined the Legion. My breathing was ragged and I kept having to dry my hands on my trousers. I seemed to hear my heart racing in my ears. Maybe it was some kind of disease- if so, I was in the right place; Serene could heal anything. And then Athynae walked into the room and my symptoms redoubled. I knew now what afflicted me and also knew that there was no cure.

She sat at the table and took a quick look around before saying,

“We don’t have much time. Mama is not terribly happy with me. In fact, she has been in full “Arch-Mistress” mode ever since she found out I was taking sword lessons. I don’t see the problem- I paid for it with my own money. And the sword master said I was a ‘natural.’ That annoyed Mama even more.”

I could well believe that Athynae had impressed a sword master- she had usually won the mock battles we staged growing up. She muttered something that I didn’t quite catch, and, from the look on her face, I decided I was just as glad. But her expression cleared and she reached up and unknotted her scarf, saying,

“Anyway, I am so glad you came to see me; you must write to me and promise to please be careful.”

She then thrust the scarf at me and said,

“And… here. I read about this in one of those silly books Mae is always mooning over. It’s called a ‘favor’. You keep it with you all the time and think of me when you look at it.”

A brief frown of anxiety returned and she added,

“If you want to think of me, I mean….”

I quickly folded the scarf and placed it inside my cuirass, promising that I would certainly think of her. Then I removed one of my bracers and slipped it onto her arm.

“And now you have something of mine, as well. Of course, Carbo will probably make me run to the eggmine and back about 50 times for ‘losing’ it, but I won’t mind.”

I had just taken her hand in mine when Serene returned and we guiltily broke our clasp and began to studiously look anywhere but at one another.

Serene said nothing for a moment, but a faint smile came to her face as she looked at us. Then she seated herself and spoke to me with great seriousness.

“I expect that you will take care of yourself. I am quite fond of your mother, and I will be most annoyed if you do anything else to upset her. I think I understand your reasons for leaving home, though I cannot say that your manner of leaving was the best.”

I stood to go and Serene unexpectedly gave me a fierce hug.

“I say again- take care of yourself. Come home to Baria and Trey- and to us. I imagine Athynae will be glad to walk with you to the silt strider.”

I found nothing to say as we made the short journey to the platform, but Athynae seemed content to just walk beside me. I shouldered my pack and turned to say good-bye, but she stopped the words with a kiss. As I climbed the ramp, she waved and called,

“Promise you will write to me!”

As the great insect moved across the hills, I looked back to see her slender figure growing ever smaller until it was lost in the distance. It was the first time I had really felt as though I was leaving home.

Very good update, this story seems to be getting better and better. Looking forward to more.

"Those instructions set off a sudden spasm of fidgeting in my sisters; if they had had antennae, they would have been quivering." like that line.

By the by, I have been following your updates trey-baby! Nothing to worry about! And this piece is far exceeding your last, IMHO.

You've been building a wonderful sense of emotion and characterization, trey. It is simply a treat to be able to read this stuff.

At last! I should be ashamed of myself, so many times being around and not commenting on this one! Then again I'm sure Treydog knows how I feel about it....the wonderful interpretation of "my" girls! Somehow Serene is more impressive and powerful when she appears in other stories!

Athlain is also very sympathetic and his interaction with his two annoying sisters is so amusing to read.

So now what will happen next?????

Well, since you ask... here is a brief teaser



From the records of the Imperial Legion, Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim, Captain Falx Carius commanding.

Transferred from Fort Darius, Vvardenfell- Agent Athlain Treyson.

Contents of a letter posted from Fort Darius (a portion):

Athynae:

I have been transferred to Solstheim. I do not yet know how long my assignment will be. It was pleasant to visit with you, and I appreciate your courtesy and kindness. I shall certainly write again when I have news. Until then, I

Wish you all health,

Athlain

Contents of an undelivered letter drafted at Sarethi Manor, Ald’ruhn (fragmentary):

Athlain:

You “wish me all health?” Really? And what exactly does that mean? You’re off to Solstheim to have more adventures, and probably meet a bunch of those blonde-haired, blue-eyed Nord hussies, and all you can say is you wish me all health? I… ohhhh… you just….

Athynae

P.S.- I begin to see why Cai and Mae called you “Max”.

Hey, Treydog, this is really good. I just started reading it recently, and it's very professional-looking. Keep it up, man.

My return to Fort Darius was troubled by questions. Had I made a mistake joining the Legion? Would Athynae forget about me, now that I was gone? Why had Father gone to Tel Fyr? Was he ill? I comforted myself with the thought that Gnisis was not that far from Ald’ruhn- once I achieved sufficient rank, I could spend more time at home. But, as it turned out, the Legion had other ideas.

Senior Trooper Carbo was waiting for me at the strider landing; he returned my salute perfunctorily and said,

“Just drop your gear right here. The General wants to see you immediately.”

He answered all of my questions with a single word: “Orders.”

When I entered General Darius’ office, he for once did not pretend to be occupied with other work. Instead, he stared at me speculatively for quite some time as I stood braced at attention. At last, he waved me to a chair with a gruff,

“Oh, at ease, already. Sit down.”

Then he picked up a paper from his desk and looked at it with marked distaste.

“Athlain, you’re a good soldier and I will be sorry to lose you. But they’ve got themselves a situation at Fort Frostmoth and orders are orders. That goes for generals just as much as for troopers.”

With those cryptic remarks, he fell silent once more. Despite my usual reserve in front of Darius, questions tumbled out in an unstoppable flood.

“Sir, I don’t understand. ‘Lose me?’ ‘Frostmoth?’ ‘Orders?’ Sir, what does this all mean?”

“It means that your reward for doing a good job here is to get handed a nastier job somewhere else. You have heard of Solstheim?” At my nod, he continued, “Well, you probably haven’t heard enough; it’s a bad spot, a little speck of misery between here and Skyrim. However, the East Empire Company is trying to open a mine, which means that we have to protect them. The Legion established a fort- Fort Frostmoth. Usually, assignment there is punishment duty- it means the officer or trooper screwed up. Personally, I question the wisdom of putting all the screw-ups and shirkers in one place, but the higher ups didn’t ask for my opinion. In any event, the result has been what I expected- trouble. Captain Carius has asked for help, and you are it. Find out what’s happening and fix it. I’m counting on you to use your judgment more than your weapons. The good news is that the job does come with a promotion; congratulations, Agent Treyson. If you do well, there’s a knighthood in it for you. Good luck. Dismissed.”

I left the tradehouse to find that the ever-efficient Carbo had already packed up my few remaining possessions and moved them to the silt-strider landing. He was as blunt as always, telling me,

“Be careful up there on Solstheim. I’ve heard stories…. Don’t forget everything I’ve tried to teach you- and don’t let that promotion go to your head.” He grumbled, “I still say ‘Agent’ is a stupid rank for a soldier. Anyway, you have an hour or so before the next strider for Khuul. If you want to write some letters, I’ll post them for you.”

He stopped talking and turned his back to me as he stumped off a few paces. After noisily clearing his throat, he continued,

“You’re a good troop- try not to get yourself killed.”

With that, he disappeared into the tradehouse, leaving me with my thoughts.

I followed his advice to the extent that I could- writing letters home. However, given Mother’s probable reaction to my new assignment, I wasn’t sure I could heed the part about not getting myself killed. In a display of bravery, I committed pen to paper and told her the truth, knowing that she probably would not follow me all the way to Solstheim. The letter to Athynae was even harder to write; it wasn’t as if we really had an understanding. I pulled out the scarf she had given me and inhaled the scent of her perfume, the same as she had worn that night in Mother’s garden. All that did was further disorganize my already chaotic thoughts. In the end, I fell back on my training in rhetoric and composition and wrote a formal letter, explaining that I was being stationed further from home. I sealed the letters and gave them to a passing trooper, who promised to see that they got to Carbo. And then the strider was at the landing, and I climbed aboard. The giant creature carried me north, toward Khuul. From there, I would take a boat to Solstheim. That was the name that had started me on this path, the place Louis Beauchamp wanted me to go, the place the Legion was sending me, the place I had believed that I wanted to go. So why did it feel now as though every step was carrying me away from all that I loved?

I am going to be really mean here: no matter how much I like the way you write you are not Nerevar reborn, I am Nerevar Reborn - Azura Told Me So. therefore at the moment your young character declared that his father was Trey, Nerevar Reborn I knew him for a liar, and therefor insane Maybe he is a follower of sheogorrath?

However ooc - this is a story based on an autobiography whichj is therefore not fiction. And if you have played this in-game it is also an autobiography ...

Solstheim, right? So be it then.... . Athynae will be.....well if not sad, angry....very angry indeed. She will most certain take some measures, maybe not the expected ones.

As usual we learn how sweet Athlain feels about what happens to him....awww poor boy! Yet there is a hint of adventurous mind in him (inherited from his dad, no doubt) So we'll see.....he'll probably get in some kind of trouble!

Autobiography? Somewhat- to the extent that Athlain (and Trey) are somewhat based on my values and philosophy. More accurate to say "first-person" perhaps.... Which is the type of story I prefer to read and also the easiest for me to write....

Minque- thanks for allowing me to "borrow" your characters. On a previous comment- Serene may "seem" more powerful and mysterious as viewed through young Athlain's eyes; she knows herself to be mortal.... Thanks for all the nice comments and encouragement.

What are you going on about? For the sake of my sanity, please try to keep comments actually about the stories...

Umm.....of course it's fiction. Even if this was an 'autobiography' of sorts, it is one of a 'fake' character, meaning 'not' real. I'm pretty sure that sums up to being fiction.

Great job here Trey, there's alot of emotion going on in deeper levels if you look closely. I also liked the dialogue in the last post especially, the part where they're rewarding him for doing a good job by handing him a job in solstheim...amazing work as usual.

I cannot say whether it was because of my dark mood when I arrived or because the place really was that dull, but I was unimpressed with Khuul. Like many of Vvardenfell’s fishing villages, it was mainly a dock and a collection of shacks that seemed to avoid collapse only by the vigorous application of ropes and fish glue. The odor was mitigated only by the fact that the wind seemed to blow constantly, which had the effect of causing all the houses to lean tiredly in the same direction. House Redoran had gone so far as to establish a crab-shell trading post, which architectural anomaly actually gave the appearance of a giant crustacean that had heaved itself onto the shore in order to devour the wood plank hovels that huddled together for protection. “Join the Legion and see the world!” Right, as in “see the most poverty-stricken, vermin-infested, mud-covered parts of the world. Generally populated by people who want to kill you.” Of course, my sour musings didn’t really mean anything- it wasn’t as if I was planning on settling there. My goal was simply to book passage on the next boat for Solstheim, to which end I aimed myself in the direction of the docks. Before I could reach them, however, I was intercepted by a Redoran guardsman. He was not one of the House retainers I knew; I wondered if his exile to this forsaken place was due to incompetence or some other misfeasance. He apparently did not recognize me, either- for which fact I was profoundly grateful.

“You there, you are in the Legion, yes?”

I looked at my uniform with some bemusement, checking to ensure that it had not somehow been transformed to Telvanni robes, and agreed that I was, in fact, an Imperial Legionnaire.

“That’s good, good. You can do something about the infernal Daedra worshippers that have taken over the Ashalmawia shrine. I would do it myself, but I’m the only guard here in Khuul. Anyway, stopping Daedra worship is the Legion’s job, so go right ahead. It’s southwest of here, near Ald Velothi.”

His peremptory request put me in a difficult position. On the one hand, he was right- it was part of the Legion’s mandate to suppress Daedra worship, or at least worship of the more…difficult Daedra princes, such as Sheogorath, Molag Bal, and so forth. But on the other hand, I had my orders to report to Fort Frostmoth “forthwith,” which was Legion-speak for “don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” What finally decided the issue for me was pride- pride in my uniform, in my decision to join the Legion, in myself.

I knew that, as the warrior house, Redoran had more respect for the Legion than did most Dunmer, but even their acceptance of the Imperial soldiery was grudging, at best. Carbo and Darius had reminded me time and again that I was a representative of the Empire. If I simply ignored this guard’s request and took the boat to Solstheim, the story would be all over the island in a day or two. A story told in mocking, raspy Dunmer voices about how a Legionnaire had turned and run, rather than face Daedra worshippers. So it was that I told the guard,

“Let me drop off my extra equipment at the dock and check the schedule. Time permitting, I will be glad to deal with your minor problem.”

My words expressed more confidence than I felt- Daedra cultists tended to summon fairly formidable creatures from Oblivion, both to serve as guardians and as part of their rituals. Still worse, a great many of those summoned creatures were immune to weapons of iron or steel. Fortunately, I had not been completely idle during my time at home; I had put one of my childhood memories to good use….

Every child has spent a great deal of time exploring his or her parents’ house, looking for secret doors, hidden treasures, places to get away from annoying siblings….

I was five and had just “discovered” a storeroom behind a musty tapestry in the basement. The door was not locked, so I took a lamp and went in. There were barrels and boxes, looking as if they had been there since the beginning of time. Some held armor, looking like shells sloughed off by strange sea creatures that went about on two legs instead of swimming in the sea. Others contained swords and daggers, which I left strictly alone; Mother and Father had both warned me about playing with edged weapons. But in one barrel was an object that fascinated me; it was made of a brownish-yellow metal and felt heavy enough to be gold. But it did not have the deep, rich glow of gold, and felt much harder. In shape, it was rather like a torch or perhaps a scepter; I spent some time pretending to be the Emperor, waving my “badge of office” around and issuing orders to my imaginary subjects. When I tired of that game, I took my new toy outside, where I discovered that it was wonderful for cracking iron-wood nuts and smashing comberries into a paste. Thus I was able to engage in two of the favorite activities of small boys: smashing things and making a mess. Father discovered me at this pastime and asked me what I was doing. I replied,

“I borrowed the nut-cracker from the basement. Is that all right?”

He saw what I held and burst out laughing, and then picked me up, saying,

“Yes, son, it’s all right.”

From then on, the object became known as “Athlain’s Nut-Cracker.”

Of course, when I became older and began to spend some time in other houses and to visit museums, I realized that the device was actually a mace crafted by the Dwemer and probably worth more than its weight in gold. When my Legion training shifted from swords to blunt weapons, I remembered my “nut-cracker.” Thus, when I made ready to return from my leave, I asked Mother if I could have it. She gave it to me with some reluctance; not because she did not wish to give it up, but because she would have rather that I had no need of any weapon at all. I enhanced the mace’s properties still further by bespelling it with a minor enchantment to absorb health when it struck an opponent. It was a comforting weight on my belt as I headed for Ashalmawia. I believed I was prepared for anything I might meet. In that, as in so many other things, I was quite mistaken.

Hehehe.



BWAHAHAHAH!!

I'm sorry for any immature chucklings. This update is quite good, and seems as though our boy Athlain has another misadventure ahead of him, as well as a chance to perform some chivalry perhaps?

Blackie! You quoted exactly what I was going to quote! Hahaha that's hilarious....In fact I have a file where I've saved all the funny stuff I've laughed about during my explorations of trey's stories, and I laugh every time I look at it.

So sweet treydog now we see that the pear doesn't fall very far from the apple-tree! (old swedish proverb, ) Athlain so resembles his father and I guess he'll get himself in a lot of trouble.....that's more or less expected huh?

True to my word, I went to the dock, where I discovered that the next boat for Solstheim would not depart for several hours. I left my books and a few other non-essential items under the watchful eye of the Redoran guard, and set out for the Ashalmawia shrine. The walk was uneventful until the eye-watering shape of the Daedric edifice appeared on the horizon. It would perhaps have been wise to attempt to scout the area first, to go slowly and stealthily, but I had no talent for silent movement. Then too, my steel boots were not really designed for sneaking up on anything, except perhaps a deaf mudcrab trapped inside a Dwemer factory. Therefore, I simply walked up to the shrine, seeking the entry. Even so, I saw the first obstacle before it noticed me. The creature was large, vaguely human in shape and its hide was the tone of a stormy sky. I knew from my studies that this was an elemental or atronach, one of the servants commonly summoned by mages to act as a guardian. In fact, I knew more, knew that this particular summoning was a storm atronach, a Daedric creature that was not only quite strong physically, but also capable of casting lightning bolts. Armed with that information, a well-prepared adventurer would have imbibed a potion or activated an item that protected against electrical attacks. Since I was not well-prepared, I simply tightened the straps on my shield, drew my mace, and with a cry of, “For Cyrodiil and the Emperor,” charged the elemental creature.

That tactic succeeded in drawing the atronach’s attention, and it launched a crackling stream of magicka toward me. I dodged to the right and raised my shield high, protecting my eyes. Although the face of the shield was steel, the backing was of stout strips of wood. That meant that most of the electricity dissipated harmlessly- but only most. One bolt contacted my left arm, which instantly went numb. However, even as my shield dropped slightly, I had come within striking distance. The creature was much larger than I, and I knew I could not allow it to grapple me. Not only might it crush me with its greater strength, but it might also be able to transmit severe shocks directly to my armor. Therefore, I dropped to the ground and whipped my mace in a sidearm blow against the outside of its left knee. Despite its cloud-like appearance, the beast was quite solid, and the attack had the desired effect. The atronach fell and I scrambled to my feet and leaped over top of the sprawled monster. Carbo had often commented on my quickness, and I was grateful for the endless hours he had forced me to run while wearing full equipment. Before the creature could rise, I sent a series of blows crashing down upon its head. At the final strike, the summoning disappeared in a puff of vapor and dust, leaving only a scattering of salts in its place. I took a moment to heal my injuries and to quietly celebrate my victory. My self-congratulations, though, were premature. There was worse to come.

Weapon and shield at the ready, I continued to circle the ruin, looking for the entry. Instead, I found a bearded Breton, clothed in Conjurer’s robes. Before I could even begin to form a question, he cast a spell at me and shouted,

“I’m not giving up that easily!”

I was unable to dodge the spell and immediately felt as though the weight of my equipment had doubled. The effect was to root me to the spot, although I was still able to move my arms. And then the conjurer made a mistake, one that we would both regret. Rather than cast more spells at me or summon creatures to finish me off, the Breton raised his fists and ran close enough to begin throwing punches. Of course, that also brought him into range of my mace, which I swung to good effect. As should have been apparent even to a mage, a mace against regular clothing is far more effective than fists against steel. But I had no time for such thoughts at that moment; I was under attack and my training snapped into place. I took the punches on my shield and, when the mage recoiled in pain, I struck back. Even though I was unable to get my full weight behind the mace, the strength of my arm, combined with the mass of the Dwemer weapon, was enough. After only a few blows, the Breton dropped to the ground and did not move. The spell of burden he had cast upon me dissipated, and I fell to my knees, not due to a renewed attack, but in horror at what I had done.

I stared at the corpse, the shell that had, a few seconds before, been a man. And now he lay dead at my feet- a fellow human being, slain by my hand. A great void of despair opened inside of me as I wondered if this was the ultimate goal to which I had aspired. Intellectually, I had known that soldiers fought other men or elves. And I had believed I understood that they frequently fought to the death. Still more, I knew that I had been responsible for some of the deaths in Ashinabi. But I had mercifully had no actual memory of those events, no knowledge of the pathetic way a body sprawled in death; no longer angry, no longer moving, no longer- anything. Tears streamed down my face and I knelt by the body of the Conjurer who had just tried to murder me. I took him in my arms and whispered,

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

But that was a lie. Of course I had meant to kill him. That was what my Legion training had been for- to make me a more effective killer. Because the object of the exercise was to be the one who was still breathing when it was over. I stood and straightened my equipment, absently wiping the dead man’s blood from my hands. I wanted desperately to go home to my father, to run back to Fort Darius and Carbo, to be anywhere but where I was, standing over this body, this proof of my guilt.

Aww Athlain! It's hard to perform your first deliberate kill... I can assure you your auntie Serene would have understood you so well.

Now you're in Ashalmawia, just say that name out loud...it does have an evil sound, right? Yet it's beautiful... Let's hope Athlain's skills will keep him safe or else....someone will be very sad, not to mention his mom and dad of course.

It's great to read another "Athlain"...

Great update, I like how the Conjurer screamed “I’m not giving up that easily!” That was great.

Although what I most wanted was to be anywhere else, I still had my duty. I had taken on this task in the name of the Legion, and I would have to see it through. I carried the weight not only of my own honor, but the honor of the Legion, as well. Though the mage had attacked me, had even sworn that he would not give up, I felt anything but honorable when I killed him. In fact, I felt like a murderer. But before I could go very far down that path, my melancholy was interrupted by an earth-shaking roar and an orb of green fire that burst around me. As I felt the poison burning inside me, I spun to face a creature out of nightmare. At first glance, it appeared to be a fabled crocodile from Black Marsh, all green scales and snapping jaws. But no, this creature walked, or rather ran upright, and had elongated limbs. And then I knew- it was a Daedroth- one of the worst of the creatures of Oblivion- fast, strong, and cunning. But even as its magical poison seared my flesh, I felt the joy of combat come upon me, for here was an opponent whose death would not diminish me. So I rushed forward, shield and mace moving in the dance Carbo had drilled into me, working with reflexive precision to block razor teeth and raking claws. The Daedroth’s longer reach was a problem- it could easily hook my shield with one taloned hand and use the other to shred my armor and flesh. Therefore, I concentrated first on crippling the arms, smashing at the elbows and wrists. While that was an effective tactic, it left the yard-long mouth free. Just as I crushed the creature’s left arm into a useless ruin, its head darted over my shield, swift as a striking slaughterfish. The jaws clamped onto my shoulder, piercing the armor like so much paper. The pain was incandescent; I thought that I must surely be maimed for life. I started to close my eyes and give myself up to the agony- and then I thought,

“Well, I will surely have some ‘interesting scars’ now. It would be a shame if my sisters never got to see them.”

And then I did what Carbo had taught me to do- I took the pain and I put into a box and I shut the lid. I would have a chance to hurt later; for now, it was time to show this overgrown lizard that I was most definitely not on the menu. I began to pound my mace into the monster’s scaled side with the regularity and precision of a smith pounding a piece of steel. Even as I felt the massive ribs snap and hot blood bathing my arm, I kept slamming the Dwemer weapon into the same spot over and over. If the Daedroth had a heart, I was going to find it- the hard way. And then I felt the world turn underneath me and saw stars in the sunlit sky.

Some immeasurable time later, I became aware again, aware that I was lying on the ground, with a quarter-ton of dead reptile still clamped to my shoulder. As a fashion statement, I found it somewhat lacking, but the fact that the Daedroth’s jaws had frozen shut in death had probably saved me. The peg-like teeth had effectively plugged the deep wounds in my shoulder, preventing me from bleeding to death. Therefore, I swallowed several restorative potions to prevent blood-loss before working the haft of my mace between the jaws and prying them open. I hoped the boat trip to Solstheim would take a while- my armor needed major repairs, not to mention my battered body. But that was for later; I had yet to enter the shrine and put an end to whatever evil lurked within. A part of me felt that I had done enough and more than enough, that this was a job for a squad of Imperial troops instead of just one battered Agent. But…I was all there was. The reason this problem had gone unchecked for so long was precisely because there was no squad to deal with it. But just because I was alone did not mean I had to be foolish. I had no skill with silent movement, but perhaps I could do something with magic; this business of simply charging in with a shout and a shield was going to get me killed. With that in mind, I found a set of stone steps leading to the entrance and seated myself to recover a bit and to review my magical options. The few moments of rest were welcome, but my inventory of magic was less so. Because I had been so determined to become a swordsman- a knight, I had neglected to obtain much magical training, excepting a few spells from the healing arts. And I had not done any “adventuring for profit” either; which meant that I had not found many useful scrolls or enchanted items to help me in combat. In fact, all I had that might be of value was a scroll of Hellfire. I could only hope that would be enough to give me an edge.

The massive door opened silently at my touch; it was obvious that the cultists had spent some time oiling the hinges. Although I had to wonder why depraved Daedra-worshippers would bother with such maintenance, I nevertheless gladly took advantage of their diligence as it allowed me to enter the shrine unnoticed. The short entry hall was deserted, but the main chamber, dominated by a statue of Molag Bal, contained two Dunmeri mages. The pair walked a complex pattern around the statue, consulting ancient tomes and chanting in Aldmeris. I could not bring myself to launch an unannounced attack; the memory of the dead Breton was far too fresh in my memory. So I walked down the steps and called in a loud voice,

“I command you to stop, in the name of the Emperor!”

The closer of the two threw down his book and sneered in reply,

“Unfortunately for you, your n’wah Emperor isn’t here. That being so, I command you to die, in the name of Molag Bal!”

Considering that Daedra worship, especially worship of the god of rape, was a capital crime, the Dunmer’s response did not surprise me. Therefore, as the mage raised his hands to cast a spell, I read the words of my scroll, which worked quite nicely, not only scorching him, but also disrupting his attack. Meanwhile, his companion was also casting a spell, one designed to lower my ability to resist harmful magic, no doubt as a prelude to blasting me with a series of destructive spells. That might have been a problem if I had intended to get into a spell-slinging contest, but I knew my limitations- and my strengths. Therefore, I rushed the pair, using my shield to punch the left-hand mage off his feet and bashing the still-smoking caster on the right with my mace. The air crackled with magic for a few seconds, and then both Dunmer lay dead. Perhaps it was because I was still suffering from the earlier fight with the Daedroth or possibly due to the malign presence of Molag Bal, but I did not feel in the least apologetic or sorry for those new deaths. Carbo’s words regarding outlaws came to me in that moment, and I at last understood what he had meant:

“When someone decides to go against the Legion and the law, he might as well hang a sign on his neck, saying, ‘Dead man.’ Because that’s what he’s going to be, soon or late.”

Ok....a daedroth? Awesome..hehe those critters are so funny, just think about Baladas' tame one, who Serene once met!

Anyway the fact Athlain's wounds were severe, and the teeth sort of stopped him from bleeding out. Now that's interesting, and even more interesting is the kind of spell he would have to use to "heal" the wounds as the teeth are removed...hmmmm I wonder!

Will this be only the start of things to happen to him in Ashalmawia or will there be more?

I really enjoyed this latest update. I felt like you did a superb job of making Athlain seem somewhat normal, in that it was a tough fight that he barely survived, and that only by luck. It was satisfying, for some weird reason, for the fight to be so tough; perhaps it seems more real to me that way. I've also enjoyed a look at Athlain's feelings on killing, even in the name of duty; it's good to know that causing death isn't something he wishes to do.

Well I've just finished reading about Trey's adventures, and now his son's. I've just got to say, wow!!! Thank you so much Treydog for such wonderful stories! I eagerly look forward toward your next installments!

I've been reading the trey and athlain stories for awhile. All I have to say is that they are the best stories I've ever read here. Anxiously waiting for the next update. Keep writing trey!

That is not to say that I was happy to be the “instrument of justice,” nor that the deaths of the Daedra worshippers did not bother me. They bothered me a great deal. A part of me wanted to shed my Legion uniform and my responsibilities and take the shortest path back home. And I knew that Mother and Father would take me back in, would not argue with me, would even be happy to have me with them once more. But if I ran now, I would forever after be-- diminished. I had left home because I felt constrained and limited by those who loved me. If I limited myself, I would never overcome it, would always be lost in my father’s shadow. If I wanted to be an adult, I would have to accept adult responsibilities, no matter how unpleasant. So I cleaned my armor as best I could and tightened the straps on my shield and delved further into the horror of the shrine of Molag Bal. But instead of more enemies, I found a mystery.

As I searched a small room on the east side of the main shrine, I found a note hidden in a crevice, the paper yellowed with age, the words written in a shaking hand, but still legible.

Sason my love,

I fear that I shall never see you again. The cultists have locked me away as they prepare for the ritual. If ever this note finds its way into your hands, know that I died loving you. Someone comes; I must hide this. May Stendarr bless you.

Malexa

My mind reeled- I knew those names. Sason and Malexa were members of House Redoran; a Redguard couple who often came to our home. They had an inexplicable reverence for my father- had even named their son after him, just one of the many children burdened with that distinction. As a matter of fact, they had been at my “welcome home” party…which meant that this note was from some event that took place long ago. I wondered what that event might have been- they certainly never spoke of it in my presence. But it was obvious that Malexa had made her escape or else been saved by Sason… or someone else.

As was so often the case, I had no answers, only more questions. But I was at least satisfied that the shrine was empty- for the time being. Short of destroying the Daedric edifice so completely that no stone sat upon another, there was little more to be done. Such an effort of demolition was beyond the means of the Legion or of any other group on Vvardenfell, even if they had been willing to try. And so, the Daedric prince would have a focus, a place from which to send out his insidious call, luring those with weak minds or weak morals. They would filter back to the shrine and perform their obscene rites. And eventually, someone else, driven by a sense of adventure, a sense of justice, or maybe just a sense of greed, would come and fight the dark god’s minions. It all seemed terribly pointless and terribly necessary. While I could wish that evil did not exist, wishing would not make it go away. And that meant that I would have a job for as long as I had strength in my body and a will to fight. I had been hammered in the forge of Ashalmawia; I would be quenched in the icy wastes of Solstheim.







Contents of a letter posted from Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim (a part):

Mr. Beauchamp,

I have arrived on the island. I will make discreet inquiries, asking about strange aerial phenomena. Soldiers and sailors tend to be a superstitious and gossipy lot; I quite expect to hear something of the airship. I will have to await leave before I can begin the actual search.

Contents of a letter posted from Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim (a part):

Athynae,

I fear that my last missive was rather abrupt. Perhaps that is why I have not received a reply? Please forgive my inability to express myself in writing- I was taken aback by my sudden promotion and re-assignment.

Solstheim is quite different from home- there is snow on the ground, and even as I write this, more is falling…. I think you would find it quite lovely…

If the Legion and my health permit, I plan to do some exploring. There are certain to be some undiscovered sites.

Excerpt from the Prophecies of the Hunter:

The child of the blood of the hunter will come,
To contest with us in our fastness

The hunter’s treasure will become the prey
Mortal child of immortal sire,

Coursed by the true Hunter and his pack,
Red drops on white ground mark the meeting

Only one will remain.

Oh....! My my...So Sason and Malexa are acquaintances of the Trey-family? Great, now they're alive as well, that is you have given them life! Neat ending of chapter 4.

Now the prohecy in that interlude is creapy! Mortal son of immortal sire??? I have a pretty good guess who that is.

And yes Athlain you will get a reply....from Thyna, be patient sweetie!

Here I will once again show my bias on author style by saying that I continue to enjoy Athlain's introspection, most especially his profound desire not to take life combined with his willingness to do his duty and accept responsibility for his actions. I agree with Minque that the prophecy is a bit ominous. I wonder to what extent that prophecy will set the tone for Athlain's adventures in Solstheim?