Ahh. Sorry I missed this one Trey. The new subfourms overlap one another so its hard to tell when there is a new update. I liked it quite a bit, not quite the ending I was expecting, but thats a good thing. Keeps me on my toes.

I have my theories on Athlain, about the little clues that you are dropping along the way. Then again I had my theories about this shrine.

Of my sea voyage to Solstheim, the less said the better. I discovered that I was not a good sailor, and that even the gentle motion of a calm sea had an unfortunate effect upon my digestion. Therefore, I spent almost the entire transit hanging over the side, “feeding the fish,” as the captain so delicately phrased it. But even in the midst of my misery, I sensed the dropping air temperature and blearily noticed large chunks of ice in the water. At one point, while I was curled up in my cloak, trying to snatch a moment’s rest, a crew member remarked, “Horker.” I roused myself to respond to the perceived insult, only to see the sailor pointing ahead of the ship, to a sleek head that bobbed in the waves.

“Horker,” he repeated. “Means we’re getting close to Solstheim. Glad we didn’t have any weather this trip.”

Quite soon thereafter, we came in sight of a low smudge on the horizon that meant land. It grew steadily to reveal a rocky, ice-covered coast, and slopes dotted with trees such as I had never seen before. Even more welcome was the stone wharf and the Imperial fort that protected it. Almost before the ship’s lines had been tossed and tied, I staggered down the ramp to blessed, solid land. It mattered not that it was wind-swept, frozen, and battered with salt spray from the sea- it was land, and it did not move under my feet.

The first person I met on Solstheim was Basks-in-the-Sun, an Argonian who seemed even more troubled by the cold than I.

“All I ask for is a pair of boots,” he moaned through chattering teeth. “How hard could it be?”

It was an unfortunate fact that no cobbler or shoe-maker catered to the needs of Argonians or Khajiit. Partly, it was because their feet bore claws that made traditional materials problematic. But there was also an element of bigotry involved- most representatives of the “beast” races had been brought to Vvardenfell as slaves and they were still viewed as subhuman by most Dunmer. Even so, I had to wonder at the perversity of the shipping company that had assigned a fur-covered Khajiit to humid Vvardenfell and a cold-blooded Argonian to chilly Solstheim. My thoughts were more than idle speculation- I had a feeling the same sort of planning might involve me.

While I considered that possibility, Basks-in-the-Sun continued, speaking in a dry voice, interrupted by occasional shivers:

“Welcome to Solstheim, jewel of absolutely nowhere. It’s a miserable place, even for you warm-bloods. If you want to leave, I’ll be happy to arrange passage back to Vvardenfell. If you feel you must stay, speak with Captain Falx Carius in his chambers at Fort Frostmoth. He’s the commander here. Not a bad man, but he is a fool for remaining in this place.”

The Argonian huddled deeper into his cloak and moaned, “So cold, so cold…,” then went on, “If you are here about the colony, Carnius Magius is the man to see. You can find him at the Imperial Cult shrine.”

If I had been more experienced, I might have taken the time to make further inquiries about the garrison and its commander. But I still labored under the naïve certainty of youth. I was an Agent of the Imperial Legion- I had my orders, and I would carry them out.

Shouldering my gear, I headed for the fort, excited about this new opportunity and hoping to succeed. I could not completely suppress a slight thrill as I remembered General Darius’ words: “…might be a knighthood….” My happy daydream was soon shaken- the troopers I encountered were slovenly, unshaven, and surly. They showed no particular respect for my rank, not even saluting as I passed. Instead, they stood around in pairs or small groups, looking like nothing so much as a bunch of thugs considering the merits of starting a riot. But then, I was not yet in their chain of command; their rudeness could be overlooked for the moment. I couldn’t help recalling Carbo’s remarks about the rank of Agent- that it was “stupid,” which was the most polite thing he had to say on the subject. Possibly troopers throughout the Legion agreed with that assessment. And, in truth, I still felt too queasy to properly correct the troopers’ conduct. I had a feeling that retching in the middle of a dressing-down would tend to negate any disciplinary value. After entering the keep, I made a few false turnings, but at last reached Captain Carius’ office and made my best effort at a salute before handing over the sealed packet from General Darius. The Legion captain returned the courtesy, and then spent some moments studying me. He surveyed my uniform, complete with blood-stains- my own and those from the Daedra; my armor, still showing the tooth-marks of the Daedroth; and my somewhat greenish complexion. During his silent inspection, I subjected him to a more guarded review. In most ways, the commander was a typical Imperial, brown-haired and brown-eyed, with a round, somewhat heavy face. He also appeared as fit as one would expect from the commander of a fort. Gray hairs among the brown and deep lines beside his mouth showed that the burden of command rested heavily upon him. When he finally spoke, his distaste for my appearance was obvious.

“I asked for a competent sub-officer to investigate our problems, and this is what I get.”

He paused and then shook his head.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll fit right in. Welcome to Fort Frostmoth. Find a bunk and see about getting yourself cleaned up. Once you’ve managed that, report to me for your first assignment. Dismissed.”

Awww, what a "nice" welcome, Athlain being seasick and all! Well well that impy didn't know who he was addressing..haha. The legendary Trey's one and only son and heir!

I'm sure he will very soon take some serious measures..oh aye!

We're finally on the frozen Island!! Yay!!

“I asked for a competent sub-officer to investigate our problems, and this is what I get.”

This line was priceless. I'm sure that Athlain's appearance in that office was quite unbecoming an officer of his rank, even if "Agent" is a rather stupid rank for the Legion. Perhaps he won't have it too much longer, and he can get a more sensible rank.

I feared that it was too late to correct the Captain’s first impression of me, but I had to make the attempt. Besides, I preferred cleanliness in my clothing and my person whenever circumstances allowed. Therefore, I spent several hours laundering my uniform and repairing the worst damage to my armor. I also managed to indulge in a hot bath- a luxury I had not had in some time. The only comfort I lacked was a good meal, but my stomach still seemed unsettled, enough so that I decided to abstain from food for the moment. Nevertheless, I felt restored enough to seek out the Captain and learn what orders he might have for me.

I found Carius in his office; the packet from Fort Darius open upon his desk. My improved appearance seemed to have some effect; my new commanding officer nodded his approval and was marginally less gruff. He rose from his seat and began to pace about the room, hands clasped behind him.

“So. Agent Treyson. Darius speaks well of you, and I trust his judgment. In any event, Fort Frostmoth has a problem. And, since I am the commander, that means I have a problem.”

He stopped to give me a humorless grin and added,

“And might you care to guess what that means for you- Agent?”

“That I have a problem, sir?”

“Good man,” he grunted. “Got it in one.”

He resumed his pacing. “The problem is low morale. This is a hardship post and most of the troopers here have managed to… ahhh… ‘step on their spears,’ somewhere else to get sent here. Add to that the weather, the isolation, and the local wildlife- and, well it’s no surprise that the men are unhappy. But that’s normal. Unhappy is something I can deal with. Lately, it has gotten worse. Enough worse that I’m concerned about a mutiny.”

He fixed me with a fierce glare and bit out the next words one at a time,

“That. Will. Not. Happen. Not on my watch.”

With a weary sigh, he sank back into his chair.

“I need to find the source of the trouble and fix it. Or rather, you need to find it.”

He paused to shuffle through the reports and papers General Darius had sent before giving me another probing look.

“Darius says that you are flexible and willing to take orders- even orders that you don’t much like. That’s good, because I’m about to do something that you won’t care for. I need someone who can talk to the troopers, gain their confidence. Because you are new, they might talk to you, but, then again, they might not, what with you being a sub-officer and all.”

Again, he gave me an unfathomable look.

“Athlain, I need you to pretend to be what I thought you were when you first walked in that door- a drunken disgrace to the uniform. And I need the men to feel like you are ‘one of them.’ So, I am going to demote you, which is standard practice for most of the ‘volunteers’ Fort Frostmoth receives.”

He held up a hand to stop the protest I had not voiced.

“It won’t be a real demotion- I will delay the paperwork. But I want you to walk out of this office as a trooper, not an officer, and looking like I just tore several strips out of your hide. I’m counting on you…do you think you can do it?”

I drew myself to attention, saluted, and said,

“Trooper Athlain Treyson, reporting for duty, sir!”

Then I removed my rank insignia, hunched my shoulders, and muttered in a low, resentful slur:

“Busted me back to trooper, all because I like a taste of brandy now and then. That’s not what I call fair.”

Captain Carius gave me the first genuine smile I had seen and waved me out of his office.

Whatever dreams I had entertained about service in the Legion, they had so far not been matched by reality. Even the fights I had been in seemed anything but glorious. The smugglers’ cave I could not remember… and Ashalmawia… I did not want to. And now, when I was on the verge of achieving knighthood, I seemed to be going backwards. Captain Carius had promised that the demotion was unofficial, simply a ruse…. But, what if it wasn’t? Everyone I had spoken with pointed out that Frostmoth was the basket for the Legion’s rotten eggs, its “problems.” Perhaps I was one of those problems, someone who needed to be quietly shuffled off to an out-of-the-way post where I would not cause trouble. Maybe the hierarchy was afraid to deal with me directly, concerned over how Father might react. If so, they did not know him very well. If I managed to get myself drummed out of the Legion, he would assume that I deserved it. Even though he detested the Empire and its military, he had an unyielding attitude about honor and responsibility.

If you take a job, you finish it. Even if you realize taking it was a mistake. You hold your honor in your hands; no one else can tarnish it or take it away. But you can, if you get a reputation for giving up or for not keeping your word. Learn from your mistakes; learn when to keep your mouth shut; learn how to say No. But finish what you start.

So it was that when I arrived back at my bunk, I ruefully took my freshly-laundered uniform and rolled it in the dust and dirt of the floor before putting it on. If I was going to be a disgrace, I should look the part.

Niiiice.

“Busted me back to trooper, all because I like a taste of brandy now and then. That’s not what I call fair.”

Priceless.

Oh yay! Athlain's back! Niiiiiiice!

A sweet quote:


Gave me a good laugh!

But he better write to a certain young woman....she's expecting it....Ah she can write to him by all means though!

Nice Doggie!

True to my usual preferences, I liked the introspection near the end the most. I especially liked the apparent quote from his father, and its obvious meaning to him. He takes his duty seriously, which is quite commendable. I'm sure it is not a coincidence (on the author's part) that his comment about being busted down to trooper included alcholol -- nice touch.

If my assumed role was to work, it would require more than a soiled uniform and the appearance of bad hygiene. Fortunately, Carbo had trained me in other things than the use of weapons.

If you want to gain a man’s trust, have a drink with him. Most troopers figure anyone who will drink with them is all right. If you want him to be your friend, pay for the drinks. Always keep a jug or two of sujamma in your gear; it can be good for trading in a place where you don’t want to flash gold around. Besides that, it can knock the rust off your armor or disinfect wounds. Worst case, you can always drink it- although I don’t recommend that.

I had never acquired a taste for the raw Dunmer beverage, so the bottles I carried were full. I tucked one under my dirty cloak and went into the bailey to see if I could find the source of the trouble at my new station. Captain Carius’ talk of low morale and smoldering resentment confirmed the impression I had gotten when I first entered the fort. The clusters of Legionnaires still shivered in the cold, warming their hands around fire pits and speaking in low voices. Wanting to avoid a scene, I selected a trooper who stood off by himself. Forcing a smile, I said,

“Say Troop, where can a fellow get a drink around here?”

The Legionnaire gave me a scowl in return and muttered,

“Well, if you can find one, let me know. There ain’t a tavern here, nor a corner club, neither. Legion’s supposed to send a supply ship regular, but I haven’t seen a drop in a guar’s age. Let me tell you, I got a thirst- and not for that Nord crap, either.”

I motioned the trooper closer and said,

“I might have the cure for that. But take it easy; we don’t want a mob running us over.”

Then I let him get a glance at the crockery jug I carried. He wet his lips and said,

“That’s the real stuff? You wouldn’t be fooling a pal, would you?”

By way of answer, I cut the wax seal with my dagger and pulled out the cork, then passed the jug to the trooper. He sniffed the awful aroma rising from the open neck and a happy smile replaced his previous dark expression. He raised an eyebrow in inquiry and I said,

“Go ahead. In fact, keep the whole thing. I’ve got more.”

The thirsty Legionnaire needed no further encouragement- he took several massive gulps and then belched in satisfaction.

“Oh, that’ll fix what ails me for certain. You’re a trooper and a saint, friend. My name is Nathan.”

I took his hand in a warrior’s clasp and responded, “Athlain. Used to be an Agent, but I guess I’m a trooper now…. Carius broke me a couple of ranks- said it was normal for new arrivals. Listen, I’d really like to get my bars back and you might be able to help.”

I looked around carefully, as if to make sure no one was listening.

“I couldn’t help noticing that the garrison here is in a pretty foul mood. So what’s that all about?”

Nathan gestured with the sujamma in his hands.

“You seem okay, so I’ll tell you what I know. This here drink is the trouble. Or, more to the point, the lack of anything to drink. I heard from Antonius Nuncius that the Captain placed a ban on all alcohol at the fort. And, sure enough, there was none to be found.”

“Antonius Nuncius? Who’s he?”

“The Imperial priest. He's not bad, I guess, for a priest. You'll find him at the Imperial Cult Shrine here at the fort, though he keeps an office upstairs near the Armory. Could be in either place. Seems to understand us soldiers pretty well. He was telling me just the other day how it seemed unfair that the Captain had cut us off from the drink. He figures that's one of our few pleasures on this dung heap of an island.”

My mission was going well; the problem was the ban on drinking. Legionnaires were famous, or perhaps notorious, for their affinity for distilled spirits. It was a bit surprising that an experienced officer like Captain Carius had made such an obvious mistake as banning alcohol. But he would no doubt correct the error once I made him aware of it. I thanked Nathan for the information and headed off. Before I left, the trooper offered me the sujamma, asking,

“Sure you don’t want a taste?”

I shook my head and admitted that the sea voyage had not been kind to my stomach. My new friend nodded his understanding and said,

“Oh, I know how miserable a belly-ache can be. And the usual potions don’t seem to touch it. If it doesn’t go away, check with Carnius Magius, the East Empire Company man. He has a way with cures. You’ll most likely find him near the Imperial Cult shrine- he has an office there.”

The mention of potions reminded me that I been too preoccupied to even try a simple Cure Disease potion. Perhaps that would be all my stomach required. First, though, I needed to let Captain Carius know that I had found the root of the garrison’s morale problems. I climbed the stairs to his office, feeling my legs burn with the exertion. When I told him what I had discovered, he frowned and said,

“Hmmm...I imagined that the lack of alcohol might have some effect on morale, but I didn't ever actually ban it. Personally, I didn't even care about the alcohol; it was the priest, Antonius Nuncius, who was worried about the effect it was having on the men. I disagreed, but the question became moot: our shipments stopped coming in months ago. And more than that, I have a feeling someone is actively stirring up discontent. Speak with the soldiers a bit more, and see if you can find the source of the trouble.”

I was a bit disappointed that my first attempt at intelligence-gathering was not enough- but I could see the Captain’s point. The information I had gleaned so far indicated a “point of convergence”- the priest, Antonius Nuncius. According to the trooper, the priest had commiserated with him over the alcohol ban. According to the captain, the priest had insisted that alcohol be banned. Neither Nathan nor Carius had any reason to lie to me. But I was assuredly getting two different stories, and only one of them could be true. Although my instinct was to confront the priest immediately, Carius had told me to seek more information from the soldiers first, so I sought out another lone guard. Nathan had apparently shared my “gift” with this man, so he was more than willing to talk. When I asked him if the lack of refreshments was behind the low morale, he immediately confirmed it:

“That's right...no liquor at all allowed at Fort Frostmoth these days. Captain's orders, I guess. Odd, coming from him. Captain Carius seems like a fair enough guy, as long as we carry out our duties. Guess he figured we weren't up to his standards, so he cut us off. Since then, everyone's been in a pretty bad mood.”

When I asked him if anyone had actually heard Captain Carius announce the ban, he paused and ran a thoughtful hand across his scalp.

“Now that you mention it, no; not any of the troops, at least. Seems like the priest, Antonius Nuncius, was the one that told us. He said as how it was an insult to us troopers, and that he wouldn’t stand for such treatment. Really took our side. Said if it was up to him, he’d make sure every trooper got a drink.”

Excellent! Nice to see you writing again Trey!

Seems like a confrontation with the priest is likely to be imminently forthcoming. Athlain may have been able to befriend the troopers with a simple drink, but avoiding violence in confronting the priest may take a little more effort. I'm very curious to see how he proceeds from here.

Ahaha.....hilarious! Athlain lurking around in Fort Frostmoth with a bottle of Sujamma in his pocket!!! I too like the honoured Doctor wonder how he will proceed and how he will approach the mighty Priest.

As usual the you produce some really good work here, I read it with utmost pleasure.

I wonder what will happen from here. The priest will either take alot of cunning or some violence. At least that's what I think. I don't know how I missed for three entire days! Must of been asleep whenever I got on...

Now that a second soldier had confirmed that it was the priest who was fanning the flames of discontent, I felt confident enough to return to the captain. I entered his office and saluted, then said,

“Sir, it grieves me to report that the Imperial Cult priest, one Antonius Nuncius, is promoting discontent and disobedience among the men.”

I expected the captain to thank me for my efforts and then order that the priest be brought before him. The Empire gave its commanders broad discretion in the discharge of justice, especially in the remote outposts. Instead, the silence stretched as Carius paced the chamber for several minutes. Finally, he seated himself and stared at the opposite wall. When he spoke, his voice was so low that I was not sure the words were intended for me.

“This troubles me. I wish for these soldiers to be the most excellent in the Empire, and I have long believed that one among them is poisoning the minds of the others. Perhaps it is a reflection on my leadership that this has occurred, but regardless it must end soon.”

He then pinned me with a stern glare and spoke more forcefully:

“If there's reason to suspect Antonius Nuncius, find the proof. If you feel you have it, confront the man himself. Then report to me. Let's do this right, Athlain.”

I must admit that I was somewhat puzzled by the captain’s reaction. It was obvious to me that the priest was the problem; surely Captain Carius could see that, too. Why wasn’t he doing something, taking direct action? Then I remembered another of Carbo’s lessons, a lesson on the difference between soldiers and officers.

Some people think the only difference is a matter of social status- peasants become troopers and nobles become generals. Sometimes that’s true, especially back in the heart of the Empire, where the soldiers don’t have to do much besides march in parades and collect tolls. But out here, at the sharp end, the officers have to think. A trooper can just charge right in, once someone has pointed him in the right direction. But an officer, a good officer anyway, has to figure out what the right direction is. He has to study all the angles and make sure before he commits himself- and his men.

And that was what Captain Carius was doing- he was studying all the angles. Right now, he had the gossip of some troopers- as passed on by a new sub-officer he did not know- me. Balance that against the status and power of a priest of the Imperial Cult, and it was awfully thin. Priests were usually from noble families- and they frequently had imposing political connections. If Nuncius really was stirring up a mutiny, it was a serious matter, serious enough that people could be hanged if it went much further. The captain needed proof before he acted, and he needed me to provide it.

I could simply confront the priest with what I had heard…. And he would deny it or claim that the troopers had misunderstood. Worse, he would be alerted to my interest, and I would be no further along. Nathan had told me that Nuncius maintained an office near the Armory; that was the most likely place to search for the proof I needed. If I was fortunate, he would be elsewhere when I showed up. If he was inside, I could make some excuse about needing counseling after my recent demotion. Perhaps he would let something slip that I could take to Captain Carius. Searching the office seemed a good plan- but for what would I search? The only villains who wrote carefully detailed and specific criminal plans were those who appeared in the pages of my youngest sister’s overwrought romances. I really did not expect to find a packet of papers labeled “Evil Plot Dry Fort, as conceived by Antonius Nuncius.” On the other hand, proof could take many forms- I just had to be perceptive enough to recognize it. I followed the corridors to the Armory and from there to Nuncius’ office, walking resolutely, as though I was on official business- which I actually was. The room was unoccupied, for which blessing I was grateful. It was a bare, sterile space, containing only a massive desk, a chair, and a cupboard, all made of rough lumber. The surface of the desk was littered with papers and books, none of which provided any clues. The desk drawers were locked, which was not necessarily suspicious. It did, however, present me with a problem.

Although my motives were forthright, I was uncertain about methods. I had never been good at misdirection or sleight of hand- nor had I ever practiced those skills. That was one point on which Father had been absolute. He had preferred that I not learn the use of weapons, but he had forbidden me from learning or using the arts and tools of the thief. His words were engraved upon my soul:

It is honor rather than “morality” that concerns me. Morality is what you do when you think someone else might be watching. Honor is a matter of being true to yourself and your values, whether or not anyone else is there to see. The day you steal, no matter the value of the thing you take, is the day you will feel the weight of my disappointment. I have lived with the name of thief for most of my life, and I deserve it. But I do not wear it with pride. It matters not that I have stolen nothing for many years; nor that I have performed other acts more notable. I will forever be known to some as “Trey the Thief.”

When I had set out to become an “adventurer,” I had known that I might have the need to get into- or out of- locked places. Since my abilities were more magical than physical, I had taken pains to learn a reasonably powerful unlocking spell. After all, there were reasons besides larceny to need to open locks. The spell should be sufficient for Antonius Nuncius’ desk, but only if-

“If you ever stop dithering over the propriety of your actions,” a dry, familiar voice seemed to whisper in my mind.

With that thought, I shook myself and suited deed to word, speaking the command- Inviga- while touching the lock. A glow of magic briefly surrounded the desk and then I felt the drawer loosen under my hand. When I slid it open, it took me a moment to understand that I had, indeed, found the proof I sought.

As I had expected, the Imperial Cult priest had not been so foolish as to write down his plans and leave the incriminating manifesto where anyone might find it. But what he did have hidden in his desk was a truly astonishing assortment of alcoholic beverages- almost certainly the “missing” shipments from months past. As I reviewed the information I had gathered, the pattern became clear: Nuncius had first tried to convince Captain Carius to ban alcohol at the fort. When that failed, he diverted the shipments, all the while telling the troops that the lack was due to the commander’s orders. I now understood how the priest had incited a near-mutiny, but what I did not know was why. And only one person would be able to tell me- Antonius Nuncius himself. As I crossed the bailey, I considered how best to approach the plotting priest. After discarding a number of overly-elaborate schemes, I decided that simple was best- I would tell him what I had found and see how he reacted. Mother had often used that technique on my sisters- and on me.

Even if I had not known of his misdeeds, I would have viewed Nuncius with disdain. He was a heavyset Imperial, with a jowly face and rather ridiculous side-whiskers, which served to draw unfortunate attention to his dissatisfied mouth and weak chin. He greeted me with a perfunctory gesture of blessing and asked,

“How can I be of service, my son?”

His voice was of a piece with the rest of him- oily, overfed, and entirely too pleased with himself. That being the case, I dispensed with courtesy and got right to the point:

“You can explain to me why you have been fomenting rebellion and how it is you come to have stolen liquor in your desk.”

My words stunned him and his face went through a number of interesting transformations as he sought to regain his balance. He first attempted bluster,

“Well, I have no idea.... You've been in my desk? My desk? You've been in there? Why...that's an outrage!”

The effect was rather ruined as his tone rose to a squeak. Then the rest of my words caught up and he continued in a miserable mutter,

“Stolen liquor? I have no idea.... All right. Perhaps I have been hiding the alcohol. It was for their own good! And... I had hoped that if the soldiers got fed up and revolted, I'd be able to justify going home to my superiors.”

I waited a few moments to see if the man had anything else to say, then turned and left him standing there. On my way back to the commander’s office, I removed a selection of the bottles hidden in Nuncius’ desk and took them with me.

For what I hoped would be the final time, I reported the results of my investigation to Captain Carius. There might have been another choice, another way to proceed, but I was amazed by the selfishness of the priest’s actions. He had been willing to cause a mutiny, during the course of which people would almost certainly die…simply as a way to get sent home? The captain was as surprised as I- when I had finished detailing my findings and turned over the alcohol, he responded:

“You say that Antonius Nuncius started this whole thing because he wanted to go home? The twit! I could have had him reassigned, had he just asked me.”

He paused and thoughtfully rubbed his chin before continuing,

“Now, though, I think he might do his best work here, saving the souls of my men. With the new abundance of liquor at the fort, someone will have to deliver their salvation. Thank you for your help, Athlain. You did well.”

With those words, he presented me a silver sword imbued with magic, as well as three potions. As I thanked him, he commented,

“You look like you could use those. There are some diseases here that aren’t seen elsewhere and that are hard to shake. We have more fort business to discuss, but it can wait until you are feeling better. Dismissed.”

Very nice, Treydog. Funny--and so appropriate--how Trey would forbid his son from thievery.

Haha....so old Trey didn't want his son to go in his footsteps huh? Ah I mean thievery....Hmm very wise I'd say.

So he found his proof, well honestly I didn't expect anything else. The interesting thing is now about those diseases mentioned in the last paragraph, I wonder......yes I wonder.


Anyway its just so great to read about Athlain.....I like that boy, indeed I do

Haha! That made me laugh. Great update. I want more now!! Oops, uh I mean more please?

Excellent update, as always. I particularly liked these lines, almost as much as I continue to enjoy Trey's almost palpable presence in this story about his son. It seems that Athlain has a very deep respect for his father, and has taken his wise advice to heart.

As soon as I reached my bunk, I followed Captain Carius’ advice, downing one of the Cure Disease potions he had given me. Normally, the effect of such a curative is immediate; a sense of health and vitality infuses one’s whole being. But in that instance, all I felt was a fresh wave of nausea. I was not discouraged- potions can lose their effectiveness over time, or even go bad. Besides, I had brought along some potions of my own, which I knew were still fresh. After waiting half an hour, I tried one of my own concoctions- and achieved the same result. Given the failure of the potions, I was ready to try something else. Like all Imperial forts, Frostmoth had a shrine dedicated to the Nine Divines, the gods of the Empire. I made my way to the chapel, donated the amount of gold necessary to receive a blessing, and waited. As with potions, the effect of a blessing is usually instantaneous. Usually. Perhaps the gods recognized my lack of faith- I was not terribly devout- or perhaps they simply had more important things on their minds. In any event, the only response I got to my prayers was a fresh round of stomach cramps. When they passed, I decided that I must seek someone to help me. If I had been in Ald’ruhn, I would have gone to Serene, the greatest healer in all of Vvardenfell. But home was far distant, and I needed a solution right now. I could not expect assistance from the priest whose mutinous plot I had just exposed- he certainly had no reason to wish me well. In fact, I had probably made an enemy for life. Perhaps there was someone else.

I made my painful way up the stairs, stopping to lean on a table at the end of a corridor. There, another spasm seized me, so severe that I collapsed in a heap on the floor, taking the table and its contents with me. The resultant clatter was loud enough to cause a well-dressed Imperial to open a door to one side of the hall and look out. Upon seeing me, he curled his lip in disgust and said,

“Take your drunken carousing elsewhere, lout! How can I be expected to get any work done with you crashing about out here?”

But then he got a look at my face and his demeanor changed. He reached me in a few strides and helped me to sit up.

“It isn’t drink at all, is it? You’re sick and none of the usual cures have worked.”

That last was a statement rather than a question. He continued,

“My name is Carnius Magius and I have something that will help. It is an infusion of my own devising. It works best as a tea, but almost any transport agent will do. Come with me and I’ll fix you right up.”

Carnius assisted me to a chair in his office and turned to a small burner nearby. As he mixed and heated the tea, I asked him about the ingredients, thinking I would prefer to create my own potions rather than depend on someone else. His answer was somewhat oblique:

“As I said, the base is an herb tea made from bittergreen. But the key is to stop the cramps and spasms in the stomach and abdomen.”

So saying, he poured the tea through a cloth filter and handed me the cup.

I was desperate enough to try anything, so I took a cautious sip of the proffered drink. I grimaced at the taste- bittergreen was certainly the dominant component. There was another, more elusive flavor underneath, one that I did not recognize. Nonetheless, I downed the rest of the tea in a few swallows and handed the cup back.

The results were… odd. To the good, the painful cramps in my stomach eased almost immediately. For the first time since the ship from Vvardenfell had reached the open sea, I felt as if the prospect of my continued existence was a good thing. But with the relief came a strange lassitude. All the problems and worries that had occupied my thoughts receded and became of no importance. At the same time, I seemed to be more aware of myself, of my breathing and heartbeat. It felt almost as though I could enter my own body and study the systems and processes at first hand. Carnius Magius broke the spell by clearing his throat. When I looked at him, he explained that I might feel somewhat tired and that it would be wise to rest for some hours. I followed his advice and returned to the welcome sanctuary of my bunk. My sleep was filled with vivid dreams and a peculiar, detached euphoria. When I awoke some time later, the specifics of the dreams vanished, leaving me with the feeling that I had come very close to grasping essential truths about the nature of the universe.

For the first time in days, I felt rested upon waking. Better yet, my appetite had returned, and I breakfasted on kwama eggs and scrib jerky. My gratitude was such that I sought out Serjo Magius in his office and thanked him profusely. He accepted my praise and then raised a cautioning hand:

“Please be aware that the tea is not so much a cure as a treatment for the symptoms- a way to allow the body to heal itself. It would be wise to continue the infusion for another few days; once in the morning and once at night. I would also caution you to avoid strenuous activity during that time.”

When Captain Carius had reinstated my rank, he had also told me to take as much time as I needed to recover my health. With the morale problem solved, he felt confident that the routine at Fort Frostmoth had been restored. Therefore, I told the East Empire man, “I am in your hands.” At that, a strange, almost predatory look seemed to pass over Carnius Magius’ face, but was gone before I could be sure. With a shake of my head, I reminded myself that I was not at my best; that strange fancies and imaginings had bedeviled me since the previous day. I gladly accepted a fresh infusion of the tea, and spent the rest of the day walking about the fort and visiting the waterfront.

Whatever the cure contained, it was effective. I did feel somewhat light-headed immediately after each dose, and became somewhat anxious as the time for a new one approached. But I comforted myself with the admonition that those effects were to be expected when the body was repairing itself. The next several days passed without any notable incident- my dreams continued to be both vivid and elusive, and my health continued to improve. Then on the third day, as Serjo Magius handed me my morning medicine, he gave me a long, thoughtful look.

“Your recovery has gone well, Athlain. Therefore, I feel it is not too much of an imposition to ask a favor of you. I am, after all, a businessman; which means I like to see a return on my ‘investments’.”

He smiled at his metaphor and then lifted a paper from his desk,

“As you know, I am the factor for the East Empire Company here on Solstheim. As such, I have been given the task of setting up a colony and ebony mine at Raven Rock. The first workers have arrived, and they need a reliable escort to take them to the colony site. I have no doubt that you, as a Legion officer, will handle the assignment with speed and diligence. What say you?”

Ah, that Carnius Magius is crafty one. Athlain best be on his toes.

I considered Magius’ request for a moment. It was true that my health had improved considerably, and that I had grown somewhat restless. A journey to the colony site would allow me to explore some of the island and to look for signs of the missing airship. And it was also true that I was in Serjo Magius’ debt- his tea had helped me when nothing else worked. For all of those reasons, I nodded firmly and told him,

“I would be happy to assist you.”

The East Empire factor clapped his hands together sharply and said,

“Excellent! I knew that I could count on you. Now, the men are good workers, but none of them are skilled with a blade. Go down to the dock and speak to Gidar Verothan, then escort the crew to the Raven Rock colony. Once you get there, find Falco Galenas. He may have some more work for you. I would consider it a favor if you would accept any small task he might require of you. I intend to see to it that the colony turns a profit. Safe travels.”

After a brief stop to put together a pack and gather my weapons, I walked down to the dock. I savored the scent of the air, a mixture of wood smoke, sea salt, and the evergreen forests that covered most of Solstheim. Once I reached the stone pier, I immediately sighted a pair of Dunmer standing with a lone Imperial. As there was no one else about, I quickly deduced that these three were the group I was supposed to escort. I inquired which one of them was Gidar, and the taller of the Dunmer spoke:

“That would be me, soldier. Why do you ask?”

“Carnius Magius asked me to take your party to the Raven Rock site. Are you ready to go?”

The dark elf nodded his assent and then pulled out a map showing the southwestern portion of Solstheim. A square labeled “Raven Rock” had been marked in red ink some distance to the north of Fort Frostmoth. The colony site appeared to be located along the coast, at the head of a long inlet or “fjord”. Once I had fixed the location in my mind, Gidar folded up the map and explained that we had a choice.

“We can walk- or we can take ship to Raven Rock. The only thing is, if we go by ship, you’ll have to pay the fare for all of us. Serjo Magius says he is here to make money, not to spend it.”

Although I had used up most of my ready funds financing Louis Beauchamp, money was not really a major concern. I could have afforded the fare easily enough; however, the fact was, I would rather fight a Daedroth barehanded than climb back on board a ship. We would be going overland. When I announced my decision, Gidar and his crew picked up their possessions and fell in behind me as I began the northward trek. The others introduced themselves- Gamin Girith was the second Dunmer; Sabinus Oranius was the Imperial. None of them had been to Solstheim before, but they had heard that the EEC would pay well for skilled miners.

In a short time, we had left the fort and all signs of civilization behind. It was for this that I had left home; a chance to walk over ground my father had never seen. Whatever deeds I accomplished here would be mine alone. Although the sky was overcast and the air held a chill, the ground was clear and dry. I was grateful for that, but wondered if we would encounter snow. What I should have wondered was why a party of two Dunmer and one Imperial, all strong and healthy, needed an escort for a journey of a few hours. And perhaps I should have wondered why Carnius wanted me to provide that escort. And I should have asked more questions about why everyone on Vvardenfell had referred to Solstheim as a “terrible place.” But, as happened all too often, I did not ask the right questions. If I had, the answers that were revealed might not have surprised me. But then again, if I had not done all of the things I did, I would not be the person I was. I leave it to others, wiser than I, to decide whether or not that is a good thing.

We had not traveled very far when I began to hear odd roars and howls which seemed to come from every side. Gidar and the others moved closer together and surveyed the scattered rocks and trees with uncertain eyes. I reassured myself with the thought that the sounds were generated by the wind in the tree-tops and the grinding of ice against the rocks of the shore. That doubtful comfort lasted only until I glimpsed shapes moving at the edges of my vision. When I turned to look, I saw only shadows. But the howls were closer and no breeze stirred the branches. I called a halt and drew my mace, concentrating fiercely on the shadowed patches. Now I began to catch sight of low, dark shapes ghosting through the trees, paralleling our course. We were well into the Hirstaang Forest, and I tried to remember if I had heard anything about it, other than the name. A snatch of overheard conversation came to me, and I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold. Two troopers had been talking about seeking treasure in the old burial mounds that dotted the island when a veteran interrupted them, saying,

“What you idiots will find is your own burial- in the belly of a wolf or a bear! The Hirstaang is full of them.”

And here was an uncomfortable fact, one that I had not given much thought. We all have fears, terrors that are not rational or reasonable, but that are very real. Some people fear the darkness- or what it can hide; some fear all manner of spiders and other arachnids, no matter how small; some- suffice to say, the list is endless. And I? What did I fear, who dreamed of being a true knight of the Cyrodiilic Empire, with blazing sword and shining armor? In my imaginings about my Legion career, I had acknowledged to myself that I might be wounded, might even lose a (nonessential) body part, perhaps a finger or two from my left hand…. And I had even had my courage and resolve tested at Ashalmawia, and found myself to be as brave as I had hoped. I had the physical and spiritual scars to show for my encounters in that Daedric ruin. But I had grown up knowing the beasts of Vvardenfell- nix hounds, kagouti, and alit. And I had been aware of the Daedric summonings. Terrible as they were, they were familiar to me, creatures whose dangers I recognized. But there were no wolves or bears on my home island. All I knew about those predators I had read in traveler’s accounts and adventure stories set in other parts of the Empire. And all those sources agreed on several points- first, these beasts were consummate hunters, able to follow a scent for miles; second, they feared nothing in the forest, not even men or mer; and finally, they would gladly devour anyone who fell to them, be he dead or still living. In fact, it was said, some of these creatures developed a positive preference for the flesh of men, and found them easy prey. And I remembered one of my most vivid recurring nightmares.

I was in a dark wood, where I was pursued by a howling pack. At last I fell, exhausted, no longer able to run. My heart pounded as if ready to break free from my chest, and my breath came in great, tearing gasps. Yellow eyes appeared from the darkness on either side of me. The howls subsided, replaced by low snarls and growls. I knew the wolves were communicating, planning their final attack. They need not have waited; I was unarmed, helpless. The moment stretched- and then they fell upon me, biting and rending. I closed my eyes, praying for the final darkness, the endless sleep…. But it did not come. I was being eaten alive.

And then something bumped into me from behind.

Eeeeeeeviiiiil! A cliffie!!!!!, it just can't be....treydoggie, I'll treat you with three pounds of doggiebiscuits if you please continue this, I really wanna know what bumped into his side.

Now I could imagine of course but I'd rather wait and see. Lucky thing Thyna doesn't know of this...

Ah yes, the cliffhanger. Keeps stringing us along, addicts that we are... begging for more.

I stifled a most unheroic scream as I realized that the impact to my back was one of the miners; the entire crew had crowded close as they noticed the shadowy shapes beneath the trees. Their obvious fear gave me the strength I needed to shove my own terror down into the darkness.

“If you all don’t mind, I need a bit more space to whip these curs back to their kennel.”

Gods, that speech sounded pompous even to me, but it had the desired effect; the workers edged a few feet away from me with nervous chuckles and some shuffling of their feet. Scanning the forest, I sighted a black wolf that had approached somewhat closer than its fellows. Readying mace and shield, I advanced on the creature, which responded by baring its fangs and crouching lower. In what must have been a fit of insanity, I threw my arms wide and shouted,

“Come and get me then, you skulking lapdog!”

I do not know that the wild animal understood my speech- but it certainly saw what appeared to be an opening. With a deep growl, the wolf launched itself, covering a good ten feet in a single leap. Instead of backing up, I stepped forward to meet it, swinging my shield across my body, and letting the gaping jaws snap shut on my steel-clad arm. Teeth that could have ripped flesh and crunched bone instead shattered on the forged armor. I did not hesitate, but brought my mace looping around to smash the stunned wolf aside. A couple of additional blows finished the beast, and I felt a triumphant surge in my blood. In fact, I was so euphoric at my victory that I wanted to howl myself- to send a challenge to the other members of the pack. But there was no need; the wolves that had paced us faded into the distance, and their voices grew fainter as they sought less daunting prey. Sabinus Oranius clapped me on the shoulder and let go a flood of words as reaction to his earlier fear set in:

“Oh, that was magnificent, sir! I thought you had lost your mind, I admit it. I thought you were done for, that you would be the main course, and we the dessert. I guess old Carnius knew what he was doing when he sent you with us, though.”

I made some vaguely polite acknowledgment of his babble and then said,

“We’d best be moving- the blood might attract worse monsters.”

In truth, that was the least of my concerns; I simply needed to start moving again lest standing still betrayed the trembling of my legs.

The rest of the journey passed without incident. When we reached a clearing ringed with boulders, an Imperial in silver armor approached and introduced himself as Falco Galenus. He directed the miners to some tents set up under the trees and then silently looked me over. I, in turn, examined the supposed “colony site”. There was little to see- a few shelters and some supplies constituted the whole of it. Beyond that, blaze marks on the trunks of several trees seemed to indicate the proposed boundaries. Whatever Falco thought of me, he kept to himself, finally giving a grunt that could have meant anything. Then he gave me a sharp glance and spoke:

“So Carnius talked you into joining our little venture, did he?”

There was a hint of something in his voice… sarcasm, dislike? But I did not know him well enough to be sure. The fact was I had little experience with Imperials other than my mother; Father’s antipathy toward them was well-known. I did not have the same facility for “reading” them as I did the Dunmer. And of course anyone could tell what a Nord was thinking. Best then to just ignore Falco’s tone and answer his question in a straightforward fashion:

“Yes, Serjo Magius asked me to escort these miners.”

To my relief, his answer was equally serious:

“Very well, I will be managing the site and answering to Carnius. Since you are here, I have an assignment for you, if you are willing.”

I recalled that Carnius Magius had requested that I accept any “small tasks” the site manager requested, so I nodded my assent.

“Good. Now that I have some workers to supervise, I need to live up to my job title. So you can finish the task I was working on before you arrived.”

He handed me a heavy, dark purple chunk of rock and continued,

“That’s raw ebony. It’s why we are here. Find me four more just like it. Carnius needs some proof for the investors that this venture is worth it, and the ore should do nicely. This is a good site, and you shouldn’t have any trouble. Carnius is in such a hurry to get started that he says he doesn’t really care where the ore comes from. I’m surprised he didn’t just bring some over from Vvardenfell. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

As it happened, I was quite familiar with the ore, since one of Serene’s first acts as head of Redoran had been to wrest control of the Caldera mine from the Hlaalu. Shortly thereafter, she had freed the slave laborers and brought in a paid workforce. Despite the higher cost of operation, the mine still made a better profit under Redoran control- the crippling corruption had disappeared along with the former Hlaalu management. Therefore, I was sure I could find the samples Falco needed. I was more troubled by his remarks and attitude toward Carnius; it felt like I had walked into the middle of an argument of long duration. And it was often the supposedly disinterested party who ended up getting hurt in those situations.

For now, it seemed best to simply carry out my assignment; I would be free of the EEC squabbling soon enough. After a quick look around the colony site, I espied some promising outcrops a dozen yards to the north. A bit of scrambling among the rocks and some work with my dagger were sufficient to acquire the ebony I needed. Of course, the raw ore was quite heavy, and I wasn’t sure I relished the idea of carrying it all the way back through the Hirstaang. And I truthfully did not care for the idea of making that walk alone- alone except for the wolves and bears, that is. But there was another alternative that would suit me. On my 14th birthday, Mother had given me an amulet that was enchanted to bring me to the nearest Imperial Cult shrine upon activation. There was nothing of a religious nature in the gift- she knew that I was already growing restless, and wanted to be sure I had a way out of whatever trouble I might find. Even better, Carnius Magius had his office near the shrine, so I would only have to carry the heavy ebony up a flight of stairs to be done with this job. I grasped the amulet and spoke the command word, feeling the familiar yet disorienting twist that came from teleportation.

When I arrived at the Imperial Cult shrine, I did a cursory inspection to be sure that all of my parts had completed the journey in the proper configuration. The Breton half of my heritage gave me an affinity for magic; the Imperial half tempered it with a major dose of skepticism. Carnius was in his office, frowning at some papers on his desk. My arrival did nothing to clear the clouds from his expression. Rather than spinning a long tale of my travels and my success, I simply displayed the raw ebony and waited for a response. Carnius’ frown changed to an even less-attractive sneer:

“Ah, so you have the ore I asked Falco for? He couldn’t even accomplish that much by himself, could he? No matter- the investors are waiting for proof, so hand it over. Here’s a couple of septims for your trouble.”

He carelessly dumped the ore into a cloth sack and handed me some coins, then turned back to his papers. When I did not immediately leave, he looked up impatiently.

“I don’t have anything else for you to do; come back in a few days once construction has begun. There might be something then. Oh, here. Take this stock certificate. It gives you a personal stake in the success of the colony. That will be all for now.”

He passed me a heavily decorated and sealed parchment, and waved a hand to direct me out of the office.

I was at a loss; he had previously treated me with courtesy and cordiality. And while I hoped to avoid becoming entangled in the obvious antipathy he and Falco held for one another, I needed to stay on good terms with Carnius. I cleared my throat and hesitantly inquired,

“Ah- Serjo Magius? What about the tea? I understand that you are a busy man, but… well, perhaps it was the teleportation spell…. Anyway, I am feeling a little nauseated and somewhat nervous. So if you could…?”

Carnius folded his hands on the desk and stared at me in an unfriendly fashion.

“Athlain, I told you before that I seek a return on my investments. It appeared to me that you had the potential to be useful to my efforts here on Solstheim. Therefore, I invested several days and some considerable resources in you. So far, I have profited from our relationship. The colony is about to begin construction, and I have the ore samples to show the investors. Well and good. But now, you seek an ‘advance’ in your pay, when you have done nothing to earn it. I find that disappointing. I am not without compassion, but even that has its limits. You see, the ‘medicine’ you require is expensive- and illegal.”

He reached into his desk drawer and produced a small vial, a vial whose wax seal bore the symbol of the crescent moon.

Oh dear; it sounds like our dear Athlain is beginning to have a bit of a skooma problem (although I could be mistaken). I hope he realizes what's going on before it is too late.

O_o....now what? I must confess I didn't understand the thing with the tea....Is tea really illegal or am I totally lost here?

NM a most exciting update, Athlain is really developing himself and I'm so curious to learn how he will manage the conflict between Carnius and Falco..and who he will choose...later on.


A funny quote:

Planty is correct as to what is occurring.... Sometimes, I am a little too cryptic. But...it will be explained in greater detail in Chapter 6- if I ever get to Chapter 6.

Ey'up Trey, just popping in to say I've read all of this through so far, and I must say I'm extremely impressed. Using Athlain as a character for the sequel to the story of Trey (which I've yet to read) is really rather clever, and you've managed to capture the feeling of his father's shadow hanging over him really rather well. Keep it up, old boy.

I think I understand exactly whats happening and I like it! This is really good, I'll have to read Trey when I have a free few hours. Athlain is filling out as a chatacter well now and the story is moing along well, in fact it has been well paced throughout.

Excellent stuff - I want the next part now.

One question - is EEC meant to be a joke? Either way it made me laugh.

From the records of the Imperial Legion, Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim:

21 Frostfall- Granted indefinite medical leave- Agent Athlain Treyson.

A letter posted from Sarethi Manor, Ald’ruhn, Vvardenfell (a portion):

25 Frostfall

…don’t understand why you haven’t written. I know you are busy with your duties, but surely you have time to scribe a couple of lines…. You haven’t met someone else, have you? But no, you haven’t written your mother, either. Aunt Baria is worried- you really should let her know you are all right. Unless you aren’t…. Athlain, you have made a real mess of things. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m going to have to do something….

‘Thyna

A letter posted from Sarethi Manor, Ald’ruhn, Vvardenfell (a portion):

27 Frostfall

To the Honorable Captain Falx Carius, Commandant, Fort Frostmoth

Dear Captain Carius,
I am writing to inquire about the welfare of one of your officers, Athlain Treyson. He is a… friend. I know that the Legion does not normally discuss the business of its members with outsiders, but perhaps you would be interested to know that my mother is Serene, Head of Great House Redoran, and a former Knight of the Legion…. I am sure she would appreciate your assistance.

Yours truly,

Athynae Sarethi

A letter posted from Solstheim to Sarethi Manor, Ald’ruhn, Vvardenfell (a portion):

2 Sun’s Dusk

Mistress Sarethi:

You do not know me, Miss, and I would prefer to keep my name out of it. I know of you through Athlain, who would be upset if he discovered that I had contacted you. Still, I feel that I must. If you care for him, or know someone who does… well, he is in need of help. I will not commit to paper the nature of the problem, as missives can go awry.

Okey now, that settles it! Someone just have to go to Solstheim, that's for sure. Thyna will certainly want to rush off immediately, but....but she's raised by Serene and Athyn, and she resembles her father in mind and common sense. She also has a lot of her mother's compassion. Besides she's definitely in love with Athlain.

I wonder....I have a feeling she will make a trip soon...she'd better pack some really warm clothes though!

Chapter 6

In the years after the defeat of Dagoth Ur, much of the Empire fell into a- call it forgetfulness. Because one great evil had been vanquished, we relaxed our vigilance and grew complacent. On Vvardenfell, the Great Houses squabbled over territory and privilege, the Legion waged an endless war on smuggling, and the Temple lost its ascendancy. The people devoted themselves to the business of living, delighting in the fact that children once again played in formerly barren streets and houses. And no one gave much thought to the fact that there were other powers still abroad in the world, other evils both lesser- and greater. So much for the blindness of the councils and king, of the leaders who should have known better. This story is not about them- it is about me- and about my own failure. When I joined the Legion, it had nothing to do with anything so abstract as “fighting evil.” I enlisted to support the Empire, to uphold the Law, and- it has to be said- to annoy my father. Ah, yes, my father. How easy it would be to claim that what occurred was his fault. After all, he had destroyed the most serious threat of his time- he had become “The Hero.” And now, all of that was over; it was old news. But Trey the Hero still lived, so it seemed only logical that if there came a new threat, he would again take on his appointed role. Simple logic seemed to imply that a crisis required a hero. Therefore, no hero = no crisis. Unfortunately, logic and truth are not always the same thing. And the logical answer is not always the right answer. And perhaps even the gods could have taken lessons in stubbornness from my father. Maybe it is even simpler than that- maybe it comes down to the fact that that we can’t depend on our parents to save us forever. Why the dissertation on the nature of heroes and evil? Perhaps because reporting the events which next occurred is painful to me, and I would rather not. In truth, I would just as soon dispatch them with a short paragraph and move on. Or talk in abstract and meaningless terms rather than take responsibility for my own actions. But to ignore those dark days would also be to ignore the bright, shining light that relieved them; to ignore the courage, honor, and strength of another. That, I will not do. But I get ahead of myself.

I stared transfixed at the vial on Carnius’ desk as if it were a deadly spider. I knew what it was- no alchemist’s apprentice or Legion recruit could fail to recognize that plague in a bottle. It was the illegal narcotic skooma, and Carnius Magius had spent the last several days making sure that I was addicted. I was seized by a storm of conflicting resolutions- first, I reached convulsively toward my mace; next, I made an abortive turn toward the door; finally, I simply stood, staring at the man who had ruined me. He seemed to read each of my reactions as I might read the leaves of a book; a faint smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

“You are correct, young Athlain. Though you are angry, it would not do to kill me. How would you explain it? And it would be a grave mistake to report this to your Captain. After all, if you accuse me of possessing the drug, you will have to explain how it is that you know. And that would most probably end your promising career, not to mention your supply. So- your best option is to do nothing. You will survive the next few days, I’m sure. You need not worry that your illness will return- skooma taken in tea actually does stop the spasms and cramping. I discovered that fact quite by accident. I don’t use the drug, myself. But I find it to be- useful- in maintaining the loyalty of my subordinates. That will be all; you may go.”

The following days were something out of a nightmare, except that there was no relief, no awakening. My craving for the drug grew with each hour, causing me to feel alternately hot and cold, ravenous and nauseous, lethargic and hyperactive. If I could have concentrated sufficiently, I might have attempted alchemical experiments to alleviate the addiction- or at least its effects. But I could do nothing except lie sweating in my bunk or pace frenetically, gnawing on a loaf of bread. And I could tell no one of my troubles, not without completing my downfall. I could not resign and cast off the uniform I had dishonored, for fear of the questions that would follow. Nor would I abandon my post, to have my name forever blackened with the epithet “deserter.” I admit that, in the depths of my despair, I gave thought to casting myself from the curtain wall or into the sea, thus ending my misery. But I could not. As the idea took hold in my mind, it was as if a window opened before me, and through that window I saw visions of home- Mother working at her easel, a frown of concentration on her face; Father in his chair, setting aside his book with a welcoming smile; my sisters with their heads together, planning some elaborate prank. Even if I could never return to my family, I could still warm myself in the glow of their love, the knowledge that they still thought of me, alive somewhere in the world. Exhaustion at last overcame me, and I slept a sodden, restless sleep.

Early on the fourth day of my ordeal, a trooper brought me a note from Magius, requesting my presence. I considered the note, knowing that I had no choice but to go to him. And the craving climbed still higher, aware that it might soon be satisfied. But I could still exert some control over my life- if I must go, I would go as a man, not as a whipped dog. Through a supreme effort of will, I took the time to clean my clothing, bathe myself, and shave. If the delay annoyed my tormentor, so be it. I would not kneel and I would not crawl. But my defiance was bravado rather than true courage. It was a brittle sort of resolve, with little strength behind it. My hands trembled as I made my preparations, and my head buzzed with desire for the drug. When I was at last satisfied with my appearance, I walked slowly to the East Empire Company office and opened the door with a hand that shook only a little.

Magius was seated at his desk and I halted before him, resolutely ignoring the kettle that steamed on the portable burner at his back. He gave me a false, apologetic smile and said,

“I am sorry that you had to suffer through these last few days, but I wanted to be sure you fully understood our arrangement- and the consequences, should you become, ah- difficult.”

With that, he turned and poured some of the infernal “tea” into a large mug, which he then handed to me. Cursing my weakness and my need, I drank the contents down in a long, shuddering swallow and placed the empty vessel on his desk. I still avoided looking at his face, maintaining my gaze at a point on the wall behind him. Seeing that I would not speak, Magius sighed and picked up a piece of paper from his desk.

“I don’t actually have anything for you to do, but Falco seems to be having some sort of problem at the colony site. Doesn’t surprise me in the least. Go out there and see what’s going on. I expect you’ll have to deal with it, since Falco is obviously out of his depth.”

My second trip to Raven Rock was quite different from the first. My earlier excitement was replaced by a numbing depression. The chill breeze that had invigorated me a few short days before now seemed simply cold and the air smelled alien- an odor of old snow and decay. The Legion armor I had learned to wear almost without thought was heavy upon my shoulders, and I constantly adjusted the straps and fittings, looking for comfort that did not come. I almost hoped for an attack by wolves or bears, but those creatures kept to the trees. Perhaps my scent warned them away, filled as it was with death and black anger. I barely saw the terrain that passed beneath my feet, dwelling instead on my troubles. But my self-absorption was finally shaken by the changes that had taken place at the colony site. The frames of several buildings rose from the rocky ground, and one finished structure loomed against the clouded sky. Yet despite the evidence of industrious labor over the last few days, the workers now simply stood around, looking worried and a bit frightened. Falco leaned against a large tree, and his hair line seemed to have receded since I had last spoken with him. Still, he greeted me warmly, and my spirits rose a little at seeing a friendly face.

“Athlain. It’s good to see you again. I wonder if you might assist me once more?”

I returned his greeting and admitted,

“Actually, that’s why Carnius sent me.”

The normally cheerful Falco frowned and snarled,

“Confound it all; I had hoped he wouldn’t catch wind of the situation! I had things under control until a short time ago. It’s that crazy Nord, Hroldar the Strange, as we’ve taken to calling him. He’s been hanging around since we started clearing the site, ranting about how we’re ruining the land, and that if we don’t stop, we’ll incur the wrath of Nature itself. I have no idea where he came from, but I can’t have him spooking the workers. He was just a nuisance, but now it looks like we’re going to have to get rid of him.”

No matter how far I had fallen, I did not like the sound of that. I cautiously inquired,

“How exactly do you intend to ‘get rid of him’?”

Falco’s response was not reassuring. He replied,

“That’s where you come in.”

Yay new update! Poor Athlain. Carnius will pay for this! And 'taking care of' Hroldar doesn't sound like it will be fun either.

Beautiful....you really have managed to let us creep "under the skin" of Athlain, his thoughts his nightmares, his feelings are all so well depicted.

Now I can't wait to see how he will handle Hroldar.....

Oh and another thing just struck my mind, if he's somewhat addicted to skooma, what will happen when the first Nord offers him mead??

This is great, you portray Athlain's conflicting needs and loyalties extremely well, I can't wait to see how all the internal (and external) conflict explodes. He's a really strong character, his reactions are just.. right.

This foray into Solstheim is inspiring. So inspiring, in fact, that I've been playing a bit o' Bloodmoon with you know who.

I feel very sad for Athlain and the mess into which he has fallen. I do hope he can find a way to break his addiction without having to leave the Legion in dishonor. But more importantly, I hope he can put this skooma problem behind him before it has severe consequences for his physical and mental health. Addictions have a tendency to effect the people around you as well, and I don't want to see Athlain accidentally hurt someone he loves because of it.

@canis: Thanks for posting that screenshot. It's one of my favorite easter eggs.

Falco either did not notice the reservations in my question or else chose to ignore them. And his muttered response did nothing to soothe my worries.

“I’m sure Carnius would want Hroldar killed. Anything standing between that man and his profits gets a death warrant, as far as he’s concerned.”

The colony supervisor shook his head in disgust and continued,

“But I feel sorry for Hroldar. It’s clear his own people have abandoned him- and I can see why. But my sympathy only goes so far, and he’s blocking the mine entrance. Don’t hurt him, Athlain; just try to talk to him. You’ve an honest face and a way with people. Reason with him if you can. If that doesn’t work, come back to me, and I’ll think of something else.”

I was only too glad to obey those instructions, and I reminded myself that not everyone was as ruthless as Carnius Magius. It was becoming hard not to see others through the distorted lens of the EEC factor’s manipulation; he held my future in his hands- and I knew he would crush me without a thought if it became necessary.

Meanwhile, there was the problem of Hroldar to engage me, and I looked forward to accomplishing a simple task. I had been blessed with the ability to talk to almost anyone- and it worked well when I bothered to exert myself. Better still, Nords were often simple folk, and this fellow probably just wanted a friendly ear. No doubt I could hear him out, all the while drawing him away from where he blocked the door. Such were my thoughts as I approached the great structure that housed the mine entrance. And then I got my first glimpse of the man I was supposed to persuade. Despite my youth, I was not a small man- I had inherited my father’s height, and Legion training had added muscle to my frame. But I felt like a child next to the figure that loomed in the doorway. For just a moment, I thought I had gone back to the days when giants had wandered the land. The man, if such he was, overtopped me by more than a foot. He was dressed in hides, and either they had not been completely tanned or else he was unfamiliar with the concept of regular bathing. Those impressions rushed in upon me as I moved closer- and then I saw his eyes. They were the ice-blue so often seen in those of Nordic blood, and reminded me uncomfortably of my father’s gaze when he was lost in memories of past events. They seemed to stare into some unfathomable distance, and gave the impression of a spirit haunted by burdens too great to bear. It was the pain in Hroldar’s eyes even more than his mighty stature that caused my steps to falter. But it did not matter; he had already seen me, and began to speak in a rumbling voice more suited to forests and mountainsides.

“You’ll not infect me with your devilry, Imperial. I am here to defend Nature, and I will do so at any cost. Now begone!”

After that pronouncement, he neither said anything more nor moved from the doorway. He paid me as much attention as a grazing guar does a wandering gnat.

I shrugged and returned to Falco, who was unsurprised by my report.

“He won’t move? Fine. I don’t have time for this. We can’t get any work done as long as he’s blocking the door.”

Falco tugged nervously at his hair and added,

“You have my permission to remove him physically. No weapons, mind you, wrestling or fists only. I want him to understand he isn’t to come back, but I don’t want him killed.”

I fought the urge to laugh hysterically and ask the colony supervisor if he had gotten a good look at the mountain of flesh and bone he had given me “permission to remove physically.” While he was at it, why not give me permission to relocate Masser and Secunda to more congenial positions? Still, I had to try. Partly, I had to make the effort because Falco was depending on me, but I had less admirable reasons, as well. If the mine stopped working, the Company stopped making money. And if the Company stopped making money, Carnius Magius would go elsewhere, leaving me bereft of my supply of the drug I hated- and needed.

I might have a chance against Hroldar, albeit a small one. He did not seem to carry any weapons- not that he would really need them- and Carbo had taught me some unarmed combat techniques. In fact, there was a type of hold, called a “sleeper,” that could render an opponent unconscious without causing any harm. I only hoped that I could apply the hold before the giant Nord squashed me like a bug. When I returned to the mine entrance, Hroldar had not moved, and he again greeted my arrival with contempt.

“Sent you to talk me out of this, did they? These devils won’t be so easily rid of me. Talk all you like, boy. The curse I place on you will be all the more painful for it.”

At that, I laughed. The laughter was from bitterness rather than good spirits. I wondered how this crazed Nord could possibly curse me any more thoroughly than I had already cursed myself. And my despair was fuel for my anger. I put all my resentment and loneliness and self-loathing into the hold I took upon Hroldar’s massive neck and shoulders. He did not fight back as I had feared, but roared his protest:

“I’ll not give in to you, you Imperial tick! Cease this violence before you bring death and destruction upon yourself!”

But I simply gripped him all the tighter, my steel-clad fingers clamped upon the nerve bundle to the side of his neck. Soon enough, the huge man went limp, crashing to the ground like a giant tree. I leapt away before I could be crushed in the collapse, and then recruited a couple of miners to help me carry the snoring madman beyond the boundary of the mining colony. I waited beside him as he slowly regained consciousness, shaking his massive head. He squinted a bleary eye at me and shook his head again.

“I don’t know what trick you used, Imperial, but I know when I am beaten. Give me a minute to collect myself and I promise I will leave.”

Falco met me as I came back to the mine entrance, and shook my hand.

“Good work. I appreciate your not being too harsh with him. Now things can get back on track, and not a minute too soon. Let Carnius know, will you?”

He reached into a pocket and produced a bag that made a pleasant clink.

“And here’s something for handling it so well. It’s not much, but I like to reward a man who can follow orders.”

Though I could always use some ready cash, the coins meant less to me than the praise- not that I could buy anything with either one on Solstheim.

And now it was time to return once more to my puppet-master. As I prepared to cast the teleport spell that would carry me to the Imperial Cult shrine, I paused. This constant shuttling back and forth was tiring, not to mention that I risked attack and injury from Solstheim’s unfriendly wildlife. More to the point, it was unnecessary. I drew out one of the paired amulets that had been hidden in my laboratory notebook back home, and contemplated the depths of the colored stone. My father’s gift would save me steps and time- if I used it. Holding the enchanted pendant, I found a clear area near the growing colony and made sure it was not intended as a building site. Next, I scribed a simple circle in the dirt with my dagger, and marked the elemental symbols for earth, water, fire, and air around it. Earth, to anchor the spell; water, to draw my physical being to the place; fire, to fuel the magic; air, through which I would travel. Such elaborate preparations were not really necessary; the amulet should function perfectly well without them…. But I was comforted by the ritual, and did not mind the extra time it took. It gave me the illusion that my life was still my own. I spoke the word that set the Mark, which meant I could use the Recall amulet to return instantly to this place. I still worried that all this teleporting might leave parts of me scattered in the Aether, but that seemed less daunting a fate than it had formerly, when my continued survival was something to be desired.

Hilarious!

Oh I liked the way Athlain "put him to sleep" very creative..hihi. But I'm a bit worried about his addiction to a certain drug.... Oh aye...

For some reason, the continued growth of Raven Rock had done little to improve Carnius Magius’ mood. When I entered his office, he asked me in a tone just short of a snarl,

“Did you solve that incompetent Falco’s latest problem?”

My answer was a polite but unadorned, “Yes.”

Magius’ response was unsurprisingly hostile, and also revealed that he had at least one informant at the colony site:

“Too bad you didn’t just kill the Nord crackpot, but fair enough, as long as the work can continue. I don’t have anything else for you right now, and it will probably be a few days before I do.”

He abruptly changed his tone, giving me a smile of false sympathy, and continued:

“You’ve earned a reward in any event. It should make the next few days more bearable.”

With that, he produced a large, nondescript flask and offered it to me. And I? I took it.

Some readers of this narrative may wonder why, if I could go for days at a time without the drug, I could not simply free myself completely from its malign influence. The best answer I can give to those well-meaning folk is that they should pray that they never become enmeshed in the toils of an addiction. Skooma took over my life; it was the first thought I had upon waking, and the last before sleeping. I measured my days by the doses I took, promising myself that I would wait an hour longer, a half-hour longer that I had the day before. But whatever promises I made (and broke), however long I managed to hold out- I eventually gave in to the craving. For the simple, awful fact was this: I felt better under the spell of the skooma than I did when my mind was clear. The drug whispered to me in the hours of darkness, promising me a perverse relief from the guilt I felt at my weakness in taking it. There is more to say, but that is enough for now. Despite the fact that my addiction had become the center of my existence, events around me continued to move at their own pace, and I still had limited duties, including standing watches and interacting with the other Legionnaires at the fort. And there was one other task, a task I had nearly forgotten, that forced its way back into my befuddled consciousness.

Garrison duty, especially in a remote outpost like Solstheim, is largely a matter of mind-numbing boredom. Small wonder that the troopers looked forward to their daily allotment of alcohol to blunt the monotony. For another fact of garrison duty is that the two main pastimes are drinking- and talking. Many of the stories I heard in those days were of the sort you often get when soldiers gather together- tales of battles, of women, of fantastical creatures encountered, of fabulous lost treasures. And of course, most of the stories bore only an accidental resemblance to reality. But one cold evening, as the snow swirled and I walked the guard posts, an old sergeant warming his hands over a fire-basket glanced at the sky and noted:

“Not much of a storm- just a dusting. Not like that blizzard a few months back- the night I saw the dragon-ship.”

He stopped expectantly, and I knew the next step of this dance. If I wanted him to continue, I would have to ask… and I would have to offer him a drink. A crafty story-teller could make one tale last through the night- and through a good many bottles as well. So I handed over a bottle of flin and prompted the veteran:

“Dragon-ship? You mean like the reavers use? I’m surprised you could spot something that far out to sea during a blizzard.”

The trooper took a healthy swallow from the bottle and smacked his lips.

“Well, you see, that’s the thing. This dragon-ship weren’t on the ocean- she was flying through the sky.”

A jolt of memory went through me- a flying ship. It was the story of Louis Beauchamp’s flying ship that had first sparked my interest in Solstheim. For just a moment, I forgot my troubles and felt the return of my enthusiasm. I nearly danced with impatience as the story-teller took another drink and looked admiringly at the bottle. Finally, I blurted:

“A flying ship? Where was it going? What else did you notice?”

He finished the flin and set the empty down carefully, saying:

“Another dead soldier. You know why they call ‘em that, right? ‘Cause the spirit has gone out of ‘em.”

He cackled at his own joke and then took pity on me.

“She was headed straight into that blizzard, to the north, and she didn’t look any too steady. I’d be surprised if she survived the storm.”

North. Unfortunately, north took in most of the rest of the island. And I was still tied to the fort- and to Carnius Magius. Still, I kept the story of the flying ship in mind, and vowed to find some way to explore whenever an opportunity presented itself. That chance came much sooner than I expected.

I woke early- there was no real dawn- not on Solstheim in the dying part of the year. But my craving for skooma kept me from sleep, so I dressed, allowed myself a miserly dose of the drug, and went out to the bailey. I was surprised to see a new officer talking to the troopers, and felt a momentary spasm of fear that my condition had been discovered and that a replacement had arrived to take my place. The newcomer wore the uniform of an Imperial Champion and her armor was a silver flame against the dull gray stone of the fort. My concern was redoubled as I got close enough to hear her words:

“…a problem with moon-sugar, and I have been sent from Cyrodiil to investigate.”

That seemed to settle it- the Legion had brought in someone from outside to deal with me. I wondered if I would simply be allowed to resign in disgrace, or if I might be subjected to a court-martial and a prison sentence. It really did not matter; in some ways, it would be a relief to confess my failure. And maybe a few years in prison would give me a chance to break free of the addiction. So I squared my shoulders and approached the senior officer. I saluted and took the time to study her as I waited for her to return the courtesy. What I saw was almost an ideal picture of a Legion Champion- a picture I had once hoped to embody myself. She was a slender Imperial, with short brown hair and intelligent eyes. Her face was too narrow and strong to be beautiful, but had a vitality that was compelling. She introduced herself as Severia Gratius and nodded to me in a friendly way that I found surprising, given the reason I thought she was there. Her explanation quickly cleared up my confusion.

“Agent Treyson, isn’t it? Glad to meet you. You’re new at Fort Frostmoth, so I guess you haven’t heard. Over the past couple of months, several people across Solstheim have been poisoned… with moon-sugar. Someone has been slipping it into their food and wine. They experience temporary euphoria, and then complete exhaustion. I’ve been charged with finding the culprit and bringing him to justice. Recently, the Cult priest Jeleen was poisoned, so it is now an official Legion matter.”

She paused with a frown of fierce concentration, then continued,

“If it were just the locals, the Empire couldn’t be bothered. But now one of our own has been poisoned! Last week, Jeleen was stricken with moon-sugar euphoria after drinking some wine. There wasn’t anyone available locally to deal with the problem, but the Legion is getting impatient. So they sent me to investigate. We want the person responsible caught. I understand from Captain Carius that you’re currently unassigned, and this is just the sort of task that calls for someone with your rank and skills.”

She placed a hand on my shoulder and said firmly,

“I call upon you, as a loyal member of the Legion, to bring the poisoner to justice. What say you? Are you ready to honor your oath and serve the Empire?”

Athlain just can't manage to stay out of trouble, and now he carried his own trouble with him. I wonder how his new addiction will impact his ability to carry out the upcoming investigation.

Good stuff. It should be interesting to see how he deals with this...

Great to see another update.

Ahhh, most welcome! Now what Athlain? You surely will help Severia, right? Well that may do you good, you can't possibly be under the bad influence of skooma while performing a task for the Legion, can you? Oh aye, can't wait to know more....

I can't seem to find chapter 3. Does anybody know where it is?
EDIT: Found it.

Great stuff Treydog. I only have to add this story to the mod now (as long as I find chapter 3).

Terrific, as usual. Is it my imagination though, or are we missing an update here compared to the official forums?

Not your imagination, BSD-IES. I've indeed seen a more recent update on the BethSoft forums.

WHAT??? oh my my.......that was most unfortunate!

Oops. I am a bad doggie. Did not mean to short-change my friends here at my web-home. Here is the belated addition:

I responded in the only way I could- I snapped to attention, gave a parade-ground salute, and declared:

“I am happy to be of service!”

Severia returned my salute and bestowed a smile upon me, then spoke formally:

“Excellent. You are a credit to the Legion, Athlain. I hereby authorize you to seek out, and if necessary, kill the person responsible for the moon-sugar poisonings. Jeleen was the most recent victim, and he actually caught a glimpse of the poisoner. It was a man, wearing a unique white Colovian fur helm. Bring me that white helm, and I’ll know justice has been served. Be sure to talk to Jeleen before you start your search. He is at the Imperial Cult altar.”

I saluted once more and turned away to seek Jeleen. Given my lack of religion, it was odd how many significant events of my tenure at Fort Frostmoth took place in or near the Imperial Cult shrine. It was almost enough to make me re-examine my unthinking skepticism. But a diversion into theology would have to wait- I had more pressing issues on my mind. My face was a picture of calm determination as I crossed the bailey, but my soul was in torment. As far as Champion Gratius and the Legion were concerned, I was acting as a dutiful officer, intent on following orders. I alone knew the truth of my motives, and that knowing burned like acid at my core.

Whatever my reasons, I needed to carry out my assignment, and so I sought the Imperial Cult altar, where I found a powerfully-built Redguard dressed in the robes of a monk. His face was lined with years and hardship, and some gray had begun to tinge his hair. Even so, his voice was deep and compelling when he asked me if I was in need of counsel or comfort. I longed terribly to shout,

“Yes, yes! Both of those. I am in desperate need of counsel and of comfort!”

But I stamped on that impulse with a ruthless heel, and said instead,

“I understand you were recently poisoned. Champion Gratius has ordered me to investigate the matter. Any information you can give me would be helpful.”

The priest nodded his understanding, and told his story as follows:

“Yes, I too was stricken with moon sugar euphoria. It was just last week, after a Cult service. I sat down to some wine, and moments later realized something was wrong. I am a law-biding man, Athlain, and have never experienced anything so...free, in all my life! The laughing, the dancing...it was horrible! And then, as I drifted off, I saw him. A strange man...old and frail -- certainly no Nord -- wearing a white Colovian fur helm. But even stranger was his silly song.”

I was uncertain of the significance of song, but decided to be thorough.

“Silly song?”

Jeleen shrugged and looked away before continuing,

“It's rather embarrassing, really. I mean, I was deeply affected by the moon sugar, and I'm not even sure I can trust my own recollections. But, well, I heard singing. It was a very strange tune, more like a nursery rhyme. Something you'd sing to a child, maybe. I only caught a little of it. Something about a workshop in the snow, and lanterns all aglow. And I remember something about candy. Oh yes, and there were lots of he he he's and ha ha ho's. It's all so absurd, I know.”

Beyond the vague description of the man and his memory of the song, Jeleen could tell me nothing more of value. But before I could leave, he stopped me with a hand on my arm, saying:

“Athlain, if you would be so kind, there is another problem I wish to place before you. I know it is an imposition, but… do you think you could find Mirisa for me?”

The request caught me by surprise, and I simply gaped at the priest for a moment, before asking, “Who?”

Seeming almost as distracted as I, Jeleen answered indirectly:

“She was headed north to preach the way of the Nine Divines. Surely she should have been back by now.”

Gathering my own wits, I spoke slowly and clearly-

“Who was headed north? And what is she to you?”

My calm disconcerted him even more than the admitted bluntness of my questions and he cleared his throat and looked around the shrine before responding.

“Mirisa. She means a great deal to me. That is, she...her work...is very important to the Imperial Cult. You are going to be exploring the island anyway, Athlain. If you could find Mirisa and return her to me, I would be most grateful. She left here over a month ago and headed north, toward Lake Fjalding. You should begin your search in that area.”


I considered Jeleen’s request briefly before agreeing. My decision was partly due to the real concern Jeleen expressed, but also because Lake Fjalding was as good a place to search for the moon-sugar poisoner as any other. Although the person the priest had seen was not a Nord, the island-dwellers might be able to provide information about his “workshop”. And that was information I was quite anxious to obtain. I would not be able to leave immediately, however; there were preparations to make. And those preparations depended on the whim of Carnius Magius. He would summon me when he needed something, not before.

I spent the interim in fruitless questioning of the garrison. None of them had seen anyone resembling the figure described by Jeleen, and I could tell that more than a few thought the priest was a bit addled. My efforts had another result, as well, one that was not necessarily welcome. The day after Severia Gratius had spoken to me, I received a summons from Captain Carius, requesting my presence in his office “at my earliest convenience.” That last bit of verbiage meant, “Why aren’t you already here,” so I wasted no time in seeking the commander. He greeted me in a friendly fashion and gave me a searching look before offering me a seat.

“I am happy to see that you are feeling better.” He paused and then cleared his throat, before continuing,

“Athlain, I understand Champion Gratius has asked for your help. Although I might have wished that she had consulted me first, Cyrodiil makes its own rules. And I expect that you will provide whatever assistance the Champion requires. Perhaps, in the course of your investigation, you could also look into a troubling matter which has recently come to my attention?”

Although, he phrased that last as a question, I knew an order when I heard one. Therefore, I responded without hesitation:

“How can I be of assistance, sir?”

He rose to pace his office, a habit I recognized as a sign of his agitation. Then he stopped and explained his concerns:

“I've noticed the store of weapons in the armory has been decreasing, and I know there is no official reason for it. My only guess is that someone is smuggling them off Solstheim to be sold on Vvardenfell. I want you to uncover this smuggling ring, and I will provide you with a bit of help.”

Of course there was no question of turning down the assignment, so I concentrated on a potential problem:

“Help, sir?”

He nodded vigorously.

“I would like you to work with another of my soldiers on this case. You have clearly demonstrated your ability to operate on your own, but a Legion officer also needs to be able to command others. It is past time you were given that opportunity. There are two soldiers available, and they are among the best here at Fort Frostmoth: Saenus Lusius and Gaea Artoria. You'll find Lusius in the General Quarters, and Artoria in the General Quarters, Upper Level. Speak with them and decide which will be your subordinate. When you have unearthed the smuggling ring, report to me. I leave how you deal with the smugglers to your discretion.”

I left the captain and took a few moments to ponder the joys of boredom, joys which I had so often disdained in the past. Now, I had almost more complications and excitement than I could rightly handle, and a definite feeling that I should have been more careful about what I wished for. Oddly enough, though, I actually required one more complication before I could proceed- an assignment from Carnius Magius.

Good doggie ! Great update as usual. Funny that, although Athlain has more than enough complications he still needs one more to continue. I wonder what this help can offer to Athlain?