Yes indeed, good good Doggie! Wonderful to have another brilliant update here! Now I second seerauna here, does really Athlain need more complications? Well as usual the issues are drawn to him like they are magnetic...

He'll be fine I'm sure, but I hope he considers to get some help from his beloved ones.....

Anyway I'm happy to see this continued, Athlain has a special spot in my heart!

Over the next couple of days, I made my preparations, ensuring that my equipment was in good repair and that I had the necessary supplies. I wanted everything in place so that I could move quickly once I solved the problem of weapons smuggling- and whatever task Carnius Magius gave me. I would be venturing into the wilderness of Solstheim and might be gone for some time. In fact, it was possible that I would not be coming back to Fort Frostmoth at all. In furtherance of my orders from Captain Carius, I asked around about the troopers he had suggested I command in the search for the smugglers. What I heard was encouraging, but still left me with a decision to make- which one would best complement my own skills. And more important, which would be most likely to survive.

Regarding Gaea Artoria, one of the more eloquent troopers said,

“She’s one of the most powerful soldiers here. Never seen her bested in combat, and her skill with weapons is legendary.”

A more typical response was- “Tough fighter. Short temper. She can be a bit thick, but there's no one I'd want more on my side in a fight.”

As for Saenus Lusius, the consensus was- “Smart as they come, that's Lusius. Everyone around here likes him, too. Real easy to talk to. Not the most handy guy with the steel, but he makes up for it in smarts.”

I would have to talk with both of them myself, and evaluate them using the techniques Carbo had tried to teach me. Fort Darius and Gnisis seemed terribly far away, and I realized with some amazement that I was actually homesick for those days when things were so much simpler.

At last there came the moment I had awaited with anticipation and dread- Carnius Magius sent a note demanding my presence. I did not waste any time, but went directly to his office. When I entered, he was in an even worse temper than usual, and grunted a terse greeting.

“Took your time getting here. Perhaps I should reconsider our arrangement.”

The first statement was a lie and the second was a threat- there was no useful response to be made to either, so I remained silent. Seeing that I would not be goaded, Magius moved on. He buried his hands in the stacks of paper that covered his desk and grumbled,

“The Empire floats on a sea of paperwork- or at least the East Empire Company does. Yet the lack of a single blasted sheet can bring everything to a halt.”

He gave me a flat –eyed stare and continued,

“Anyway, you can make yourself useful. It's a menial task, but it needs to be done. I've spent a great deal of money ensuring that supplies are delivered from the mainland, and I'd like you to go make sure everything is in order. The supply ship arrived this morning according to my schedule. Get me a copy of the shipping manifest from Falco, will you? On your way, then.”

He turned his attention back to his papers and I stepped out of the office, more determined than ever to free myself from his grip.

The good news was that it would take me less time than Magius supposed. I quietly congratulated myself on having set a teleportation mark at the colony site, a bit of information which I had neglected to impart to him. I was not certain why I had not told the Company man; it just seemed best to keep him in the dark as much as possible where my activities were concerned.

Once I had reached a deserted hallway, I activated the Recall amulet and was transported to the outskirts of the colony. The growth of Raven Rock had not abated in my absence- new storehouses and additional housing had been completed. Given the amount of money being spent on construction, I could understand why Carnius Magius seemed to be under so much strain. That knowledge did not make me like him any better, but it did provide some insight. As I considered these things, I sought Falco in his usual spot beneath the trees. If the pace of construction was having a negative effect on Magius, Falco seemed to be thriving on it. He gave me a cheery wave and called,

“Athlain! What brings you here? Just looking over our progress- or do you have a task?”

“Actually, Carnius Magius needs the manifest from the last supply ship- it should have arrived in the last day or so.”

Falco scratched his head in puzzlement.

“Shipping manifest? I'd give it to you if I had it, Athlain. But no ship has arrived; it may have something to do with the fact that Carnius never said anything about putting in a dock, so where would a supply ship land? I'm of little help; I've spent all my time making sure the construction proceeds smoothly, so I haven't seen anything. Check with the men; perhaps one of them can tell you more.”

I wondered if Magius had broken his rule against using the drug with which he had enslaved me- his control of the situation appeared to be slipping. But that did not matter. What I needed to do was discover the whereabouts of the ship. To that end, I located Gamin Girith, one of the Dunmeri miners I had escorted to the colony site. When I asked if he had noticed anything unusual in the last couple of days, the elf gave a raspy laugh.

“You mean besides the wolves and bears and other creatures that would like to make a meal out of us?”

He waved a hand in apology and continued,

“Not your fault, Athlain. I took on the job of my own accord; it’s a little late to complain now. As to your question, maybe I did see something, now that you mention it. Night before last, I saw a light off to the northwest. Thought maybe it was a reaver boat, or a raiding party or something, and I wasn't about to go check it out, but maybe it was our supply ship.”

There wasn’t much point in consulting Falco or Magius- either one of them would simply send me to investigate the sighting. That being so, I simply set out on a westward course, planning to reach the coast and then head north in hope of finding something- preferably before something found me.

The wind grew colder as I neared the sea, and snow swirled and blew in my face. I could only hope the inhospitable conditions discouraged the local wildlife as much as they did me. Fortunately, I was able to avoid any unpleasant encounters, and the snow stopped as I began my northward trek. Several miles up the coast I spotted a low shape rising from the rocky shore- it looked like a dismasted ship, driven hard aground and heeled over. Several figures appeared to be gathered on the ground below the wreck, and I wondered if they were members of the crew. But something in their movements made me cautious, and so I stayed under cover as I moved closer. It was well that I did so, for a gust of wind brought me a sudden unpleasant stench- a combination of frozen earth and rotting flesh. The figures’ shambling gait and emaciated form made sense- they were obviously some sort of undead. That suspicion was confirmed moments later, when they somehow sensed my approach and turned toward me with eyes that glowed like coals in the furnaces of Oblivion.

As the foul creatures turned their attention toward me, a rapid succession of thoughts crossed my mind. First, I now knew what had happened to the ship- that should be enough for Falco and Carnius. Second, dealing with the undead was a matter for priests or crusaders, and I was neither. Finally, I had no idea of the exact nature of these necromantic beings, and it was a wise adventurer who did his research beforehand, rather than charging blindly into battle. Pleased with the logic that proved me to be thoughtful rather than frightened, I prepared to activate my Recall amulet. And then I heard the scream.

I'm loving this. You really draw the reader on, I want more now.

I like the storm just beginging to brew with the East Empire Company too, makes me wander which side Athlain wil take.

Nah, the right side of course.

Ufff! A cliffie! You just had to treydoggie, huh? Young Athlain have a knack for getting into trouble, like his dad, no doubt. I remember Trey once stating very clear that he did not like undead thingies, especially not to try to take things from them...hehe. So now let's see how Athlain copes with this situation. I gather he's not more fond of undeads than his dad

When is the next update coming up you think? it's not that I'll press you or anything...oh noes!

Yes, he has definitely inherited his father's feelings about undead- as Trey once said "...they scare me."

I actually have about 2/3 of the next part written. Just need to add another page, run it past my "first reader", and it will be ready to go.

And here it is:

Having found the missing supply ship and discovered that it was beset by undead of a type I had never before seen, I decided that the better part of valor was to retreat and work out a plan- preferably while sitting in front of a warm fire with some mulled wine. Perhaps, if I were fortunate, formulating that plan would take long enough for the undead to go elsewhere. But then I heard someone scream from the direction of the shipwreck. I knew it was not the deep roaring of the undead, nor the sound of the wind in the trees. It was the scream of a human female. And knowing that reduced my choices to one- I had to attack. Just to make things better, the snow had begun again with renewed fury.

There were three opponents that I could see, and possibly others hidden by the blowing snow. The main thing was to keep them from getting behind me, so I edged as close to the icy water of the sea as I could. Undead were often tied in some way to the ground that held their graves, and were therefore reluctant to enter or cross water. And even if that restriction did not apply to these, I could always use a water-walking spell or potion to stay out of their reach. In the meantime, I gripped my mace and shield tightly to combat the fear that roiled my stomach. The creatures I faced were skeletally thin, but rotted leather and fur armor padded their forms. The fleshless skulls were not the usual ivory color of old bone, but seemed more a dark gray that absorbed what little light there was. And then the time for observation was over, for they were upon me. Whatever manner of creatures these were, they fought without weapons, using clawed hands and powerful kicks of their booted feet. Fortunately, they seemed quite unwilling to touch the water, and I used that advantage to hold them off. The icy water swirling about my feet was a reminder that I was not impervious to the cold, either. If my feet became sufficiently numb, I would be easy prey. I rather wished that I had attained my father’s skill with a bow; it would have been much easier to levitate or water-walk and turn these awful constructs into so many smelly pin-cushions. Instead, I spun and blocked and bashed, hammering them down in an efficient but inelegant manner. At last they were defeated, and I was no worse for the encounter. But there remained the mystery of the scream that had attracted my attention. Now, but for the wash of waves and the moan of the wind, there was silence.

No one moved on the deck of the ship, a shattered hulk which appeared to be good only for firewood now. Weapons ready, I moved toward the bow, which was driven deeply into the shore. There I discovered the body of an expensively dressed Bosmer. From the odd angle of his head, it appeared he had been thrown from the ship and had his neck broken when he impacted the shore. I continued my investigation, moving to the north side of the wreck, where I discovered the source of the screams I had heard. A young Imperial woman stood, backed against the planks of the wreck, the body of an undead sprawled before her. Hearing my steps on the sand, she suddenly shouted,

“Get away! Horrid things!”

She held up her hands in a warding gesture and pressed further back against the hull.

Now this was just the sort of situation I had imagined when I joined the Legion- a helpless young woman beset by evil creatures, with the gallant Athlain riding- well… striding… to the rescue. I put away my mace, removed my helm, and executed a low bow.

“Glad to assist you, milady. Athlain Treyson, Agent of the Imperial Legion, at your service.”

She recovered quickly and gave me a measuring look.

“Are they all gone? Have you defeated them? In that case, don’t just stand there; take me away from this awful place.”

As I struggled to keep up with her rapid manner of speaking, the woman picked up a cloth bag and started to walk inland. When I did not immediately follow, she stopped and glared at me, folding her arms and tapping her foot.

“What? I suppose I didn’t introduce myself? Very well. I am Apronia Alfena. Thrilled to meet you, I’m sure. Now can we go?”

I cleverly answered, “Go?”

“Well of course. I mean, you can't just leave me. No one would be that heartless. I'd freeze to death out here! I don't know what I was thinking, hitching a ride on a supply ship in the first place. Who appoints a Wood Elf captain of a ship? I should've known better. And then that horrible crash.... And now they're all dead, and the supplies are ruined, and I just want to get warm. Oh, please take me with you....”

My wits finally came back to me as I remembered Mae and Cai worrying that I would fumble any chance I ever got to rescue an elven princess. Mistress Alfena was not elven, nor did she seem to be a princess, but I was doing a spectacular job of fumbling the rescue. I cleared my throat and responded,

“I will certainly be glad to escort you to Raven Rock or to Fort Frostmoth.”

The not-princess gave me an engaging smile and replied,

“Oh, thank you! There isn't even any food left to survive on - most of the supplies are gone....”

Then she looked at me a bit doubtfully before adding,

“Well, I guess you should just take me to whomever your boss is. I mean, I hope you're not offended that I'm assuming that you're not the boss; it's just that people that tend to be bosses of things don't usually wander around the countryside looking for people to help. They send other people out to do that sort of thing, don't they? Hey, how come we're not going anywhere yet?”

Somehow the stories I had read did not mention the feel of icy water freezing inside your boots, the graveyard stench of the undead corpses strewn on the shore- nor the impatience of rescued damsels. Of course, in a story, I would have had a trusty horse or even a well-insulated carriage in which to whisk her away to a conveniently deserted hunting lodge. What I actually had were my own two feet, which were currently freezing and considering secession from the rest of my body.

I shook off my increasingly fanciful thoughts and told Mistress Alfena:

“Stay close; we’re going to move fast. I intend to avoid trouble if possible, but if it comes to a fight, stay out of the way. I’m a trained soldier, and I don’t need you crowding me.”

She made no response, but simply nodded briefly. We stayed near the shore- partly to avoid the wolves that haunted the forest, but mostly because it was the only way I could be sure of finding Raven Rock again. I was beginning to think we would reach the colony without incident when a great brown bulk rose from behind a pile of rocks and began snorting and snuffling. I reached out a restraining hand toward Mistress Alfena and said,

“Don’t be frightened. It’s just a bear. Probably looking for fish. If we move slowly, it should….”

That was as far as I got- the woman and the bear charged at the same instant, as if they were blood-enemies. With a muttered curse, I drew my mace and ran after the mad-woman. Before I could get to the bear, the damsel I was “guarding” drew a sword from somewhere and made short work of the grizzly. She at least had the good grace not to say anything; instead she cleaned her blade and replaced it in the scabbard hidden beneath her skirt. What I had taken to be a pocket was actually a slit in the fabric designed to allow quick access to a concealed weapon. As for me, I simply slammed my mace back into its loop and shook my head. It seemed as if every woman I met was better with a sword than I. I had a sudden memory of Athynae, practice blade in hand, laughing as she chased me around the training room at Sarethi Manor. The chill wind froze the moisture that came to my eyes, and I shook my head again, this time in regret. I gruffly told Mistress Alfena,

“We’d best get moving- the blood will attract attention.”

The irony was delicious: he tells her to stay out of the fight, but she finishes it before he even has a chance to engage. If she is that good as a fighter, I wonder why she didn't take on the draugr herself?

Well, she did kill one draugr. Beyond that, I mean, they are undead, and nobody (save for necromancers) likes undead. Even Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun (who kills people for a living) generally avoids them.

Yes, it was rather meant to be a commentary on several levels...(not to be too satisfied with my own cleverness or anything).

First, it is about the game's (necessary) NPC-foot-nailed-to-the-floor quests. They can fight, they can move, but they can't leave the spot until you invite them (sort of reverse-vampires, I guess)...

Second, every escorted NPC seems to attack everything in sight, even when the NPC is unarmed and the creature is ignoring them.

Apronia Alfena is a bit of a mysterious girl- she wants to reach Solstheim so badly that she takes a ride on a supply ship (with a Bosmer captain, no less). She is expensively dressed, carries a sword, has (apparently) defeated at least one Draugr. And yet...who is she and what is she doing there? Athlain, despite his recent experiences, is too naive to wonder.

Finally, just couldn't resist making Athlain come off as a bit silly (and throwing him a poignant reminder of Athynae).

Ah yes....that was amusing, I agree on the mystery Apronia....that one is quite som lady..hehe that Pronie! See how Athlain will handle her!

Soo Athynae did beat him back in the "old" days huh? that was most interesting, most interesting indeed!

More please??

The rest of the mercifully brief walk to the colony passed in near-silence. The usually talkative Mistress Alfena kept her thoughts to herself and I too, had little to say. In truth, I was feeling a bit put upon and sorry for myself- but the real difficulty for me was the company of a young woman of Imperial heritage. She reminded me of my sisters and of my mother- and I realized how terribly I missed them. Nevertheless, when we reached the outskirts of Raven Rock, I still felt that it was only right to offer to lead her to Fort Frostmoth, which might be somewhat safer. Mistress Alfena gave me a look which I could not quite interpret and answered:

“Oh, don't be silly. You've already brought me here; where else would we go? I think I've seen quite enough of the woods, thank you, and one can only look at snow and rocks and dirt for so long before one decides she's seen enough to last her the rest of her life.”

When I started to protest, she smiled sadly and patted my hand, saying,

“Of course, I'm desperately trying to politely tell you that I'm not going anywhere else on the island; you do understand that, don't you?”

With that, she turned and walked away, stopping to talk to the miners and laborers, showing a polite interest in everything they pointed out in the new town. I felt an inexplicable sense of loss as I watched her departing figure, then straightened my shoulders and approached Falco. He gave me a wise look and said,

“I’m guessing you don’t have good news? Although it isn’t just anyone who can go into the howling wilderness and bring back a pretty girl….”

“Falco, I am afraid Mistress Alfena is all I brought back- and all that is left of the supply ship. I found it wrecked a ways up the north coast; she was the only survivor. And most of the supplies are ruined, too. There were some peculiar undead swarming around- I don’t think they had anything to do with the wreck, though. Probably just scavengers, attracted by the bodies.”

At each sentence, Falco’s expression turned more and more grave. When I ran out of words, he closed his eyes and leaned against a tree. Without changing his expression or posture, he spoke softly:

“Wrecked? Are you sure? Well, then there's little more that can be done. At least you saved the girl. I told Carnius it was a bad idea to take the lowest bidder, and that this was too important to not take seriously. Well, at least you've solved that mystery, Athlain. Thank you for looking into it; you just need to make sure word gets to Carnius. From your description, it sounds like those creatures you met were draugr. Never heard of them? Well, imagine an angry Nord. Now imagine a dead, angry Nord with a taste for human flesh. Get the picture?”


He opened his eyes and added, “We can get by without the rest of the supplies, but we were expecting some pick axes. If Carnius didn’t forget to order them, they should have been on that ship. And they probably weren’t damaged in the wreck…. Listen, Athlain, I know it’s asking a lot- could you escort a party back to the ship to collect any supplies that can be salvaged and bury the dead? I don’t feel right just leaving them out there for the animals.”

I glanced at the sun to gauge how much of the day was left, then promised to start at first light the next morning. I passed a chilly night wrapped in a blanket in one of the storehouses, and was happy to see the dawn. True to his word, Falco sent a couple of laborers with me, and we reached the nameless hulk without incident. The experienced miners made a quick job of burying the dead captain and crew in the rocky soil while I stood guard. As for the bodies of the draugr, I cut off the heads and threw the corpses onto a bonfire we built some distance down the beach. Although I was not given to strong religious feelings, I did believe that the dead should stay dead, and not get up from their graves to wander about. Finally, we loaded the usable supplies and made a fast journey back to Raven Rock. Falco thanked me for my efforts and gave me a heavy purse of gold. He explained,

“That would have gone to the captain of the ship- but he isn’t likely to complain. And we can’t make money if we can’t mine. If I don’t give it to you, Carnius will just find some way to waste it.”

There seemed to be nothing left to say, so I stepped behind a cluster of boulders and activated the amulet that transported me to the Imperial Cult shrine. Though I heartily despised Magius, it gave me no pleasure to bring him bad news. His reaction was a predictable scream of outrage:

“WHAT? It's gone? This is unacceptable! After the money I spent on this venture.…”

Then he stopped shouting and stared at the wall, as if some answer might be written there. After a long, uncomfortable silence, he turned back to me and spoke briskly,

“ Fine, fine. Another ship will have to be sent for. Well, don't just stand there; the longer I look at you, the longer I have to think about it.”

He then thrust a large flask of his special “tea” into my hands and waved me out the door, growling:

“ Just take this and go away. Come back in a few days.”

I had what I wanted; now all that remained was to discover who was behind the weapon smuggling and begin my exploration of the wilderness.

Great stuff. Looks like things should get interesting soon too...


Excellent line.

Well, I came to Chorrol for something good to read... and I didn't have to look very hard before I found it!

Ok, so it's way past time I had some quality Treydog reading time. Although obviously I'm familiar with you and your works (who isn't?), I don't think I've ever sat down and read a whole story through before. And wow, was I missing a lot. I wish I'd done this years before.

First person narrative is so hard to pull off that I can't believe I've found someone who's done it without a hitch. The problem with first person is that while it gives a unique insight into the object's thoughts, it can often be difficult to stop it getting insular, and shutting out the rest of the world. Well, at least, that's why I've always avoided it... but you didn't seem to have those problems at all! Although we're seeing the world through Athlain's eyes only, there was no part in his narratives that made me feel cut off from everything and everyone else. I love the way you used clever plot devices like the interludes to interject a more omniscient viewpoint and catch a glimpse of what Trey is actually doing about Athlain's disappearance.

Another thing I'd like to mention is realism. I talk about it a lot in my reviews, but that is because it's so important to me, and I find that the best stories always have it in spades. Throughout this whole story, I was subtly aware of the fact that you're an awfully knowledgeable person in many areas, not only ES lore. Little things make such a big difference - for example, mentioning how the humid air of Seyda Neen is detrimental to keeping weapons in good repair; how adventuring is expensive and not always yielding; what ingredients are needed for poisoning, and what for cooking. Another big plus is that while Athlain's goal is to get to Solstheim, that doesn't happen for a long, long time. You can't just start off on an adventure and get from A to B in a matter of days. You need money, and preparation, and provision. The little details add such a lot, and people don't always give them the time they deserve.

I really like your description of Legion life. It reminded me a bit of Jon Snow's induction into the Black Brothers in A Game Of Thrones, or perhaps Arthur Penhaligon's training in Sir Thursday. Have you had any military experience, maybe? Your descriptions are so detailed that they indicate personal experience.

Your interludes are a masterpiece. I want to state right now that I had no idea we were using the same device - I actually have nearly exactly the same thing written myself, saved on my harddrive for a later chapter - an outtake featuring an exchange of letters. I promise I didn't take the idea from you! But your interludes are much more faithful to the real idea of them, which is to take snippets of information and use them to imply what's happening in the greater world. The humour you worked into the letters between Athlain and his mother, and the Imperial Legion Incident Form, were just wonderful. They were a joy to read.

There is a great tenderness, too, to the way you describe first love and the intense feelings that go with it. Athlain and Althynae have a very innocent connection. You can really feel it when he leaves her to return to Gnisis, and in the humour of her parting letter to him. Young love!

Your battle scenes are close and intense. The one that really struck me was Athlain's fight with the Daedroth. Your line, "And then I did what Carbo had taught me to do- I took the pain and I put into a box and I shut the lid." I found it to be very powerful. I also like the fact that you don't glorify battle. It is bloody, tiring, depressing and draining, and Althain'd exploits prove that you cant just kill someone and then forget about it, even if they are on the wrong side of the law.

All in all, I have really enjoyed reading this - demonstrated by the fact that I have just sat for four hours and read the entire thing I'm really looking forward to the next installment. Thanks for sharing!

Such a thorough and thoughtful review deserves a response- and I do love the sound of my own voice (keyboard?)- so... in no particular order-

I had the idea of using the "documentary interludes" long before I actually started the story; in fact, I had written the Seyda Neen handbills, the Legion report, and the East Empire recruiting poster as much as a year before I sat down with the first narrative text. My approach has always been to write whatever I know is going to be in the story immediately, then work out how to get there later. The Legion report is a bit of an homage to Pratchett's Night Watch books.... As far as the device of using letters to provide expository material, I would hardly claim that as my original concept- I know of at least a couple of fiction books that consist entirely of correspondence between the main "characters".

Realism, even in a fantasy setting, is very important to me. I prefer to play characters that have to plan carefully and use skills/resources wisely to survive. Being able to kill anything with one hit gets dull very quickly.... And, if I want people to believe in my characters, I have to provide believable situations....

I have always liked first-person narrative- when it is done right. In my original story, you can definitely see some Raymond Chandler influence. It can be limiting- only one character gets to have a real "voice," but that just means I have to write dialogue that reveals the others.

No personal military background- my dad was a sergeant in WWII, and I have known several folks who served. I borrowed shamelessly from their stories and turns of phrase.

Thank you for your kind words and now let's hope we start seeing The King and I posted here....

After such a thorough comment from another professional writer, what can I say? More than I agree with her...completely

While I had been off at Raven Rock, I had spent some time considering which of the troopers I would recruit for the smuggling investigation. On the one hand, Gaea Artoria was said to be a top-notch fighter- and my own martial skills were still only middling. Having a strong right arm could make the difference. But Saenus Lusius was friendly with most of the garrison, and could probably find answers quickly, and speed was important to me. Besides, it was possible this mission could be accomplished without fighting. I could not control the length of time it would take to find the moon-sugar poisoner, so I needed to save steps anywhere else I could. Therefore I crossed the bailey to the general quarters and asked for Saenus. One of the guards pointed me toward a bunk, where a young trooper was repairing his armor. I took a moment to study him before I approached. What I saw was encouraging. As his name had implied, Saenus was an Imperial, but his red hair hinted at Breton blood. He was not much older than me, and had an open face, with laugh lines around the eyes and mouth. In short, he looked like someone with whom I would get along well.

When I introduced myself, he stood and saluted in a competent but not overly formal fashion. I waved aside the salute and shook his hand. Saenus gave me a grin and explained,

“I find it’s usually best to observe the courtesies when dealing with a new officer. Most of them are friendly enough, but every now and then you get one who seems to think he’s the Dragon himself. So, Captain Carius said you might want to talk to me- what’s the situation?”

“It seems that someone is smuggling weapons out of the fort- probably to sell on Vvardenfell. The captain wants us to find out who it is and put a stop to it.”

Saenus nodded slowly. “Yes, the smuggling ring. Captain Carius mentioned something about that. I would be glad to join you. Though I'm admittedly not the most handy with my blade, I believe I can help.”

I clapped him on the shoulder and said,

“I can’t think of anyone I would rather have along.”

Saenus picked up his weapons and said,

“Excellent! Gaea will have to handle the other work the captain assigned us, but she won’t mind. Of course, if it comes to a fight, she’ll complain about not getting in on it. That trooper surely enjoys cracking heads- I think she must have some Nord in her.”

I motioned him to walk with me, waiting until we were out of earshot of the rest of the guards. Then I said,

“Saenus, I’m new here and don’t know my way around. That’s one reason I chose you. How do you suggest we start?”
Saenus again gave me that engaging grin and clapped his hands enthusiastically.

“We should speak with some of the troopers here at the fort. A motley bunch, to be sure, but some of them are fair soldiers. I've developed quite a rapport with a few, in fact. Why don't we begin by speaking with Zeno Faustus? He's an interesting character- and he works in the Armory.”

Together, we crossed the bailey to the Armory, which was housed in a separate tower and could serve as a strongpoint at need. Of course, on this day, the doors were unlocked and open, allowing air- and soldiers- to move freely through the structure. I entered the Armory itself with Saenus at my heels. Once inside, I spent a moment looking with longing at the bright swords arrayed in racks along the walls. In spite of all of Carbo’s training, I still felt regret that I would never be a swordsman. But I set that dream aside and looked instead at the beefy Imperial who sat scowling at a ledger opened on his desk. He ignored my presence until I ventured,

“You are Zeno Faustus, the Armorer?”

He gave an annoyed grunt and replied, “What is it you want? Unless you’re a new recruit, which we never get at Fort Frostmoth, you should have all the gear the Legion says you need. You won’t get as much as a single arrow from me without an authorization.”

Throughout the surly speech, Zeno never looked up. My response certainly got his attention, though.

“I am glad to hear you say so, since what I want is to find out who is smuggling weapons out of the fort- and where they are taking them.”

The burly armorer slammed his ledger shut, reared up, and fixed me with a glare. Then, noting my rank insignia and, even more, Saenus standing behind me, he deflated and sat back heavily. A few moments passed in silence as he ran a calloused hand over his scalp. Finally, he spoke in a quiet voice:

“I see you're with Lusius, so I figure you must be okay. Listen up. I overheard some of the soldiers talking about a place, the Gandrung Caverns, a bit northeast of the fort. Something about weapons being stashed there. I didn't want to know more than that. Maybe you should check that place out. But if you find them, you'll have to kill them...unless you can find some other arrangement. And one more thing- you didn’t hear it from me.”

I had a feeling Zeno probably knew more than he was saying, but the information he had provided was enough to get on with, so I exited the Armory without comment, beyond a wave to Saenus to follow me. Outside once more, I arched an eyebrow at the young trooper. He understood my unspoken question immediately, and responded:

“I think we have what we need. Zeno wouldn’t give bad information. He’s about as friendly as a grizzly with a hangover, but he won’t lie. If he didn’t want to tell, he’d have just closed up.”

He looked thoughtfully toward the gate. “Gandrung isn’t far from here. It’s a cavern, but the Nords have used it for hundreds of years. Hope you don’t mind getting your feet wet- it’s on a little arm of the sea. Of course, that makes it perfect for smugglers- boats can come right up to the entry.”

I shouldered my pack and started for the gate. If Saenus was curious about the fact that I seemed to be carrying more equipment than was necessary for our assignment, he managed to keep it to himself. The more I learned of the Imperial trooper, the better I liked him. I regretted that we had to meet just as I was preparing to leave Frostmoth, but I was learning that life is seldom fair. With Saenus in the lead we soon found the entry to the cavern. The doorstep showed signs of recent traffic. I waved for silence and carefully set down all my extra gear. Then I leaned close and whispered,

“This is just a job- not a matter of honor. Watch my back, don’t charge ahead, and don’t get yourself overmatched. If we work together, we should be able to handle anything we meet.”

I had half-expected to surprise a sentry near the entry, but we found nothing beyond the overlapping tracks of Legion boots. Perhaps the phrase “bad soldiers” had more than one meaning. The architecture of the man-made sections was noticeably different from the few tombs and caverns I had entered on Vvardenfell. The shoring timbers were massive and built in such a way as to resemble Nordic trilithons. Wood fires burned in stone basins spaced along the passage, giving a smoky, flickering light that threw dancing shadows on the walls. Saenus and I were tense as we walked side by side deeper into the cavern. We stayed silent, communicating with gestures- the penalty for smuggling was death, and we weren’t going to be providing warning. Carbo had been blunt on that point during our first patrol out of Fort Darius-

“These characters know they’re headed for a long drop- they aren’t going to surrender. So if you want to yell, ‘stop, in the name of the Legion,’ or ‘you’re under arrest,’ do it after the fight is over. Because if you announce our presence and get me killed, I promise I will come back and kick your sorry backside.”

After a dozen steps, we encountered our first opponents- a pair of giant rats. Our coordination was good, and the rodents died without giving so much as a squeak. My confidence was buoyed as we turned into a side passage on the left- perhaps the smugglers had abandoned the cavern. If that was the case, we could recover whatever equipment remained and I could get on with my plans. That wishful thinking ended when a figure in Legion armor rounded a corner and immediately attacked with an axe that glittered with malevolent magic.

I'm glad to see this is still going. I like it.

Can't say I really have any comments, its quick moving and flows well and I want more.

Back! Excellent!

Another really enjoyable update to this fine tale.

There's nothing I can say that hasn't already been said. Enjoyable update, hope Athlain doesn't get in too much trouble this time!

Athlain my dear! glad you found a friend to accompany you in your forthcoming task...

I'll keep my fingers crossed, you bet!

It was a kind of "place-holder" update, after a too-long absence.... Just had to do some stuff to move the story forward. I think the next one will be more satisfying... at last I hope so.

"Place-holder" or not, I really enjoyed this update. It was nice to see Althain interacting with Saenus; I really appreciated the detail you put into that trooper's personality. I especially enjoyed the quote from Carbo; for some reason, it made me laugh.

Saenus and I split up, forcing the rogue Legionnaire to make a choice as to which of us he would face. The fight was difficult- it quickly became clear that our opponent was more experienced than either of us. But he still had only one axe and one shield. I discovered that the axe was enchanted with a paralysis charm, fortunately one with a short duration. I took a few painful wounds, but in the end, the enchantment worked against him- he managed to strike me a glancing blow and turned to face Saenus, who was menacing him from the right. As his concentration left me, the magic holding me frozen wore off. Rather than try to strike a decisive blow myself, I bashed the axe aside, leaving Saenus with the opportunity to put his sword through a gap in the smuggler’s armor. He fell with a gasp and lay still. Saenus flipped the fallen man’s helm off with the tip of his sword and contemplated the corpse.

“Well, well. Mus Roscius. I always knew you would come to a bad end. And if you’re here, that probably means….”

He stopped for a moment and then said, “I shouldn’t speculate- after all, I could be wrong.”

We treated our wounds and waited to see if the sounds of fighting had attracted any attention. No one approached us, so we moved deeper into the cavern. Eventually, we found a stone ramp leading down, guarded by a few more rats of the four-footed variety. At the end of a side passage was a small chamber with a roughly-built wooden platform. Based on the barrels and chests, it appeared to be a minor storage area. The containers held some provisions and an assortment of armor, but nothing of any real significance. Remembering the feeling of helplessness that had overcome me when I was paralyzed during our most recent fight, I sorted out some willow anther and shared it with Saenus.

“Try to swallow the powder before we get into close quarters,” I said. “It’s not as good as a potion, but if we aren’t up against a paralysis enchantment, it won’t hurt. And if we are, it might keep us alive.”

I had just closed the last chest of stolen goods when a voice shouted,

“You have found your grave.”

I turned to see a Redguard clad all in shining steel armor, except for his peculiar helm. It looked rather as if a skeletal bear was trying to swallow his head. Although the man was clearly a warrior of some skill, he did not immediately attack, but spoke the words of a spell. His fluency and speed showed that he was no stranger to the use of magic. As a sputtering ball of electricity sped toward us, Saenus and I finally shook off our surprise and dove to opposite sides of the chamber. Even though we avoided the worst effects of the spell, it brushed both of us, and I felt my muscles spasm in reaction. The warrior did not hesitate, but spoke another enchantment. A clannfear appeared at his command; however, it was behind him in the narrow passage and could not get past. I used the moment to struggle to my feet and wave Saenus back as I charged, hoping to reach the battlemage before he could invoke another spell. I knew that trying to fight an accomplished caster at long range was a formula for certain defeat, unless one had magical protection or immunity. The only hope was to keep him off balance so he could not concentrate well enough to complete the words and gestures needed for his spells. Those thoughts on fighting against magic-wielders prompted another idea, and I stopped to swallow a potion along with the willow anther powder. And then I was within reach of the axe my enemy handled with obvious dexterity.

He struck the first blow, and I felt the bite of the blade- along with a peculiar sensation as if something had struck me and rebounded. Which indeed it had. The potion I had imbibed gave me a temporary chance to reflect hostile magic back upon the caster. So it was the Redguard who stood paralyzed, victim of the enchantment on his own weapon. I wasted no time, but smashed him repeatedly with my mace. I ignored the clannfear- the Daedra reptile could not easily reach past its summoner, and I knew that killing the Redguard would dispel the creature. By the time the self-inflicted paralysis wore off, Saenus was at my side. Together we kept the mage from casting any more spells, and were also able to block most of his attacks. When he collapsed at last, the clannfear disappeared with an unhappy squawk- returned to its native Oblivion. Saenus identified the dead Redguard as a man named Sorian, and confirmed that he was a battlemage.

“I recognize that trollbone helm. He hung around the fort for a while, playing dice and drinking with Mus… and some others. Then, when the booze ran out, he disappeared. From what I could tell, he was a mercenary- for sale to the highest bidder and not too delicate about the nature of the work.”

The next two smugglers we met were Orcs- the first I had seen on Solstheim. I had learned a great deal about the green-skinned, warlike race while I was at Fort Darius- or so I thought. The difference between an Orc who is your comrade and one who has gone rogue is the difference between a big puppy and a rabid dire-wolf. They have superficial similarities, but the important facts are these: the rogue Orc wants nothing so much as to kill you… and he is superbly equipped to attain that desire. It was fortunate that we came upon them one at a time, else our survival would have been doubtful. The sword-wielding natives of Orsinium again had weapons imbued with paralysis charms; worse yet, their strength and skill meant the wounds we took were more severe than those dealt by Mus and Sorian.

Nevertheless, in each case, the fact that Saenus and I could support one another, could provide crucial seconds for recovery, kept us alive. When the second Orc had fallen, we leaned wearily against the cavern wall, breathing deeply and giving the restorative potions we swallowed time to work. When I had recovered enough to speak, I panted,

“Still...glad…I picked you…’stead of Gaea Artoria?”

Saenus just flicked his sword to one side to clear it of blood and grinned at me.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for anything. If we live, I might get a promotion. Better yet, I’ll probably never have to pay for another drink on the strength of this story. Two Orcs defeated by the valor of Legion arms- and the talents of Saenus Lusius!”

His grin grew wider.

“Of course, I will try to mention that you provided a bit of help, here and there.”

I would treasure that moment of light-heartedness- it was the last I would experience for some time.
After taking a few more minutes to recover, we explored further, coming at last to a chamber piled high with crates. Seated on one of the crates was a large Imperial wearing Legion armor and holding an axe casually across his knees. His brown hair was speckled with gray, and his nose showed the broken blood vessels of a heavy drinker. When I went into a defensive stance, he heaved himself to his feet with a sigh and said,

“Wait. There’s no need for that. My name is Gualtierus Spurius, and I don’t want any trouble. I see you’re working with Saenus, and everyone at the fort knows he’s a reasonable fellow. Maybe we can make a deal.”

When I did not respond, he licked his lips and continued,

“It’s like this- I’m in this racket for the money. Since my little operation here is a bust, I’ll just get off the island and leave all the weapons behind. You let me go peacefully and don’t cause any trouble with Carius, and I’m gone. I’ll even give you this nice axe as a little bonus for keeping my name out of it. Carius will never miss me and I’ll just disappear. Ask Saenus- he’ll give you good advice.”

I risked a glance at Saenus, whose normally cheerful face was an expressionless mask. Suddenly, I was very tired. Tired of so-called “adventure,” tired of fighting, tired of deceit, tired of Carnius Magius and his damnable “tea.” Most of all, I was tired of myself. I had just waded through a sea of blood, dealt death to people who wore the same uniform as I did, been grievously wounded…. And now this sorry excuse for a soldier wanted to offer me a bribe- a “nice shiny axe,” so I would let him go. And what if I did? What did it matter, that a few moments go, he would have cheerfully buried that self-same axe in my head? If I let him go, it would save me having to kill him, free me of the burden of another death. And, if he was true to his word, Gualtierus would leave Solstheim- and set up shop somewhere else, where some other wet-behind-the-ears Legion officer would have to deal with him. I glanced once more at Saenus’ youthful face, still wearing that wooden expression, and I made up my mind. I spoke none of my thoughts, simply turned back to the smuggler and said,

“No, I don’t think so.”

And then I hit him as hard as I could.

The fight was short and brutal and did not make me feel any better. I doubted that anything ever would.

When it was over, as I bound my wounds, I spoke to Saenus:

“You disagree?”

He looked uncomfortable, then finally said,

“It’s not the way I would have handled it, but the job’s done, right?”

“Yes, but it’s more than that. I suppose I could have let him go- what’s one more smuggler? After all, Vvardenfell is infested with them. So maybe it doesn’t matter. But there are those dead men, Mus and those others. They should matter, to me if to no one else. And someone has to take responsibility for them. You can argue that they knew the risks and took their chances, but Gualtierus was their leader. He was responsible- just like I would be responsible if you got killed. It’s not enough to call yourself the boss and give orders; a leader has to hold himself accountable. Or someone has to do it for him.”
I stopped and waved a vague hand,

“Don’t worry about it. I just make speeches when I’m tired. Look, I’ll clean up here. Please go back to the fort and let Captain Carius know of our success.”

Saenus may have seen something on my face, because he looked at me closely and said,

“Very well- if you’re sure….”

I sent him on his way and gathered the stolen weapons, after which I stripped the smugglers of their Legion gear. They had dishonored their uniforms, and I would not have them wearing them when they were buried. And what of me? Was I not also dishonoring my uniform with my addiction? I knew the answer, and so I carefully removed that which I had fought so hard to earn. As I shed each piece, I remembered the day it had been issued. Tears fell from my eyes as I quietly recited the litany- “Greaves, steel, left and right, one each…” Finally, I stood in my own clothes, holding the scarf Athynae had given me. I moved to place it with the armor, but I could not. She had given it to me, to Athlain, not to Agent Treyson of the Legion. I wrapped the token carefully about my neck, at once comforted and bereft by the faint scent of perfume that still clung to it.

Solstheim was a dangerous place, though, and it would not do to go unprepared into the wilderness. Therefore, I put together whatever bits and pieces of the smugglers’ loot would fit me and picked up the enchanted mace I had brought from Bal Isra. Saenus seemed to be in no hurry to return, so I took a moment to write a note to Captain Carius and another for Athynae. These I placed atop my uniform, and then I left the cavern, pausing at the entry only long enough to pick up the rest of my equipment. Shouldering the burden, I turned my back on Fort Frostmoth and walked north and east, into the forest.

Oh, wow. Rather rash of him... but then he seems to have thought about this a lot, hasn't he?

Ooooh, I didn't see that coming. Certainly not, but equally it's completly believable and in character, in fact now it's happened it's not a surprise. Genius.

A most enjoyable part, as ever, and the story moves on... I like this, a lot. Great to see it fully revived.

Well that was unexpected, but as Olen said, in keeping with Athlain.

A good part here Trey, and a realistic description of the fighting, but this part rankled me slightly.


A mace is a big spiky ball with metal bits on it. It is heavy. It is extremely hurty. One blow to face would surely be enough to simply smash that Redguard's brains out through his skull, and even with armour chances are his ribs would shatter. The fact that he survived even a few blows doesn't seem realistic, and 'repeatedly' strikes me as more than one or two. Mace+person=dead.

First, thank you for reading and commenting. As to the fight, I tend to agree with your analysis. What happened was, Athlain was really underpowered for that mission, and I had to struggle to keep him and Saenus alive. In game mechanics, paralysis really does "freeze" the player character or NPC for some duration. In "reality" one could then simply cut the paralyzed victim's throat = end of fight. I may consider fiddling with the paralysis effect in my story and make it more like a major "slow" spell- reactions and movement are impeded, but not completely locked.... In any event, it is certainly a place where my desire for realistic portrayal of combat and the game's magic system are in conflict- and I did not even notice.

The paralysis worked fine for me on that front, after all Mus would have been too distracted by Saenus to finish off our hero, but it was just the bit with the redguard surviving multiple mace blows.

Interlude 7

A note addressed to Captain Falx Carius, Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim (undelivered):

Sir:

At this time, I wish find it necessary to resign my commission as an officer of the Imperial Legion. I am aware that this is highly irregular, and I apologize. Nonetheless, circumstances make it impossible for me to carry out my duties in a professional and exemplary fashion. Please inform Champion Severia Gratius that I will do all in my power to discharge my orders from her as regards the moon sugar poisonings.

Respectfully,

Athlain ap Baria Treyson


A note addressed to Athynae Sarethi, Sarethi Manor, Ald’ruhn, Vvardenfell (undelivered):

Athynae:

You have been a friend and more than a friend to me, and it pains me to write this letter. I had hoped that we might… illegible…

…not the person I should be, nor a fit person for you to know. So it is that I bid you a fond farewell and ask that you remember me as I was, not as I have become. Find…illegible… you happy.

Illegible….

Athlain

Report on the Attack at Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim, Vvardenfell District, Morrowind (a portion):

Appendix D: Casualty Report

Killed: None
Wounded: Champion Severia Gratius, Guard Nathan Linnaeus
Missing: Captain Falx Carius, Agent Athlain Treyson

OMG....Now you really done it, my Canine friend....that entire post is a cliffie! How do you expect your readers to have the patience and wait for the continuation?

If Athynae finds out Athlain is missing she'd go bezerk, I promise. She'd immediately set out for >Solstheim trying to find him oh dear oh dear .....

So now I sit here, nope I wont get a good nights sleep until you tell me what's going to happen...

Nice, been playing a bit of catch-up here. Must say, I am rather enjoying it! Keep it up!

My choice of direction was not based on impulse, nor did it originate from any sense of foreknowledge. The simple fact was that both Fort Frostmoth and Gandrung Cavern were on the southern coast and Raven Rock was to the west. My strongest desire was to avoid places where I might encounter anyone who knew me- I wanted to lose myself in the interior of the island. I also wanted to find the source of the moon-sugar used in the poisonings, because I had agreed to do so… and for other reasons. And it seemed that a person in a white Colovian helm, singing a silly song would have generated some interest at the fort or the colony. No one besides the priest had mentioned such an individual. I felt the loss of my Legion armor acutely, and kept shrugging and twitching as I tried to adjust the fit of the cast-offs I wore in its place. Yet, despite my discomfort, I also felt a sense of relief as I passed into the tall trees. I had performed my duties to the best of my ability and had not left any unfinished business behind me. Except for, perhaps my informal and unacknowledged resignation… and Carnius Magius… and… Athynae. I loosed a sigh fit to match the wind that slid amongst the needles of the trees and wondered when my life had grown so complex.

Before long, I came to a river that flowed down from the north. If my sketchy map of the island were to be believed, this was the Iggnir, and had its origin at Lake Fjalding. The river was icy, and I decided to follow it upstream in hopes of finding…. Well, I was not sure what I hoped to find. A place to cross? The moon-sugar poisoner? Some clue to Louis Beauchamp’s airship? A solution to my problems? Perhaps I mostly stayed beside the river because the fast-flowing water reminded me of the slower and warmer Odai and Samsi back on Vvardenfell. However much Father and I disagreed, on one point we were alike- nothing calmed the mind like being in the presence of moving water. Whenever I was deeply troubled, I would find my way to a quiet spot on the riverbank and consider the paradox- the river was constantly changing, yet always the same- and always perfect. The petty problems of people- love, war, self doubt-- none of those made any difference. The water flowed into the sea, providing life to the plants and animals along its course. I should have perhaps paid closer attention to that last part- and to the fact that I was on Solstheim, rather than Vvardenfell.

If you ever find yourself in a place that is home to large predators, it would serve you well to consider exactly how those predators are able to become so large. A carnivore requires a reliable source of protein, preferably protein that can be obtained with only minimal effort. One of the best such sources of protein is fish. And a great source of fish is… that’s right, a river. Some people like to compare bears to big, shaggy dogs. I wouldn’t know- I have never seen a dog outside of illustrations in books. However, if they are anything like the mountainous, smelly mass of fur, claws, and teeth that erupted from amongst a nest of boulders and tried to eat me- I can’t imagine why anyone would keep such a creature in the house. The quick way Mistress Alfena had finished the bear we encountered on our walk to Raven Rock must have been an anomaly- I had almost as great a struggle with this one as with the Daedroth back on Vvardenfell. I blocked a swipe of the right paw only to be buffeted from my feet by the left. Fortunately, I fell on my back and was able to interpose my shield between the fetid jaws and my throat. Frustrated, the bear again rose up on its hind legs, perhaps to contemplate how to remove this tasty crustacean from its shell, or perhaps intent on crushing me with its massive weight. I rolled to one side, reaching my mace out to strike a rather weak blow to one leg. Then I kept rolling, closely followed by the hot breath of my attacker. When I fetched up against a rock, I knew that was where I would have to make my stand. In the event, it was more of a kneel than a stand; I was able to come to my knees, where I crouched beneath my shield rather like a tortoise. Unlike a tortoise, however, I had the reach and weaponry to do more than passively defend myself. It was no doubt undignified, but I really did not care- the point of a fight was to win, not to look good while losing.

When the bear at last collapsed, I dragged myself to the chill water of the river and bathed my wounds, then drank deeply. A healing spell took care of my aching head and stopped the flow of blood; the claw- and tooth-marks on my armor would have to be remedied at some later time. Although I felt refreshed, I moved a prudent distance from the river, just keeping it in sight as I continued north. My care was soon rewarded- I espied a person wandering among the trees in a rather addled fashion. As I approached, I could see that it was a Nord woman, a woman who was barely dressed in animal hides and seemed to be arguing with someone only she could see. I called out softly, asking,

“Mistress? Are you well? Has someone or some creature attacked you and left you in this state?”

Her response was to pull a huge, rusted hammer from beneath a tree and attempt to brain me with it, shouting:

“You call this fighting?”

I had no clever response, nor did I think any reply, clever or not, would have mattered. My attacker was apparently bereft of her senses. She swung the hammer wildly, spinning herself around with the force of her blows. To my benefit, the strength of her attacks was not matched by her skill. And, even though I was fighting a woman, reflex took over, and I slew her as I would any other wild beast. Only when it was over did my conscious thought catch up with the reality of what I had done, and I trembled as I stared at the broken body.

The bear I had left lying, confident that scavengers would soon dispose of the flesh. But what was I to do here? This corpse had been a person, regardless of the fact that she had attacked me. I could not just leave her out here to be squabbled over by wolves and worse. Then too, there was the problem of necromancy. A body left unburied and unhallowed could very well be reanimated and become a greater danger than when it had lived. I had only to consider the Draugrs that had beset the shipwreck to know that the possibility was all too real. I knew that the Nords sometimes sent the dead off to the afterlife in blazing ships, launched out into the sea. But I had neither the skill nor the time to build a boat for this unknown woman. Another option was interment in a barrow, an earthen mound raised over the fallen warrior. But that was generally the work of a clan or crew, not of one person. I had a disturbing vision of myself, doomed to forever drag the corpse along with me, a symbol of my bad judgment. That solution might feel like justice, but it would also have a… quelling… effect on anyone I met.

Soon enough, I reached the conclusion that I already carried a sufficient metaphorical burden of shame and guilt, and that adding a physical component was a trifle excessive. There was a crevice among the boulders that would serve as a grave, and enough loose stones lying about to cover it over. Knowing something of Nord custom, I enclosed her meager possessions with her, so that she would not go into the next life empty-handed. When I was done, I considered what sort of eulogy to give someone whose name I did not know; about whom, in fact, I knew nothing; except that she had tried to murder me. Noting the aching bruises where her hammer had gotten through my defenses, I spoke clearly:

“She was a warrior.”

That should be postscript enough for anyone, especially a Nord who ran around wearing animal hides and attacking strangers in the wilderness.

It was becoming clearer with every passing moment why some folk on Vvardenfell had referred to Solstheim as a “terrible place.” Besides the usual run of smugglers and deadly fauna, the northern island had the added attraction of battle-crazed warriors and freezing cold. I had not realized how sheltered I had been while residing at Fort Frostmoth; my use of magical transport had also protected me more than I knew. But now I was truly adrift in the wilderness, with only the thin reed of my own wits and strength to keep me alive. Nevertheless, I had made my decision and must see it through. As one path seemed no safer than another, I returned to the bank of the river and followed it north. If nothing else, I would eventually see Lake Fjalding, said to be covered with ice. I was not sure if that story was true, or if it was just a tale to fool the unwary, but it was worth finding out. And I suddenly seemed to have a great deal of free time- until events changed again.

I was passing a low mound on the river bank, a snow-covered lump that appeared no different than any of a thousand other massive boulders, except that I could hear the sound of a woman weeping- and it seemed to come from inside the mound. My first impulse was to discover what was wrong, and whether I could render assistance. A second thought followed quickly on the heels of that impulse- a reminder that my most recent dealings with women had not turned out well. I spent some minutes torn by indecision, but at last considered how this episode of my narrative would look on the page:

And so, frightened by his previous experiences, the bold adventurer ignored the heart-rending sobs, and bravely slunk (slinked? slank?) off into the wilderness.

Since I had already proved that I was not wise, I would have to settle for being courageous. After all, I knew of many brave warriors who had rather face the hordes of Oblivion than the tears of a woman. Unfortunately, the sagas were notably silent on how one accomplished such a daring feat. With no precedent to guide me and unable to delay any longer, I plunged into the dark entry.

What I had taken to be a mound was actually an ice-cavern- a narrow tunnel dug into the frozen ground. The tunnel carried me to a chamber lit by a fire and a single candle. A wood platform had been raised in one corner and held a few simple furnishings. In the midst of the primitive dwelling was a slender, red-haired woman, facing the fire. When I cleared my throat to announce my presence and she turned a tear-streaked face toward me, I realized that she was hardly more than a girl- certainly not much older than I. Despite her youth and the bizarre locale, she seemed to have some desire to act the proper hostess, for she apologized, saying,

“Forgive me. You have arrived at a bad time. Please warm yourself before the fire and I will make tea.”

My relief at the fact that she did not attack me on sight was such that I did as she asked, moving silently to stand nearer the fire pit. An uncomfortable silence stretched as she busied herself with the kettle, and I finally blurted out a question about the woman who I had killed in the forest. As soon as the words had left my lips, I cursed myself for a fool, thinking that this poor woman would now fear that I was a murderous brigand. However, she showed no surprise at my tale, but nodded seriously and asked a question of her own-

“Did you by chance find alcohol among her possessions?”

I responded that I had, for there had been a bottle of sujamma beneath the tree where the warrior had stood. My hostess shook her head with a sad frown and explained-

“She was what we call a ‘berserker.’ They’ve been driven mad by the cold and the long darkness and roam the wilderness in a drunken state looking for someone to kill. Drink is the curse of my people. It is what caused the death of my Gustav.”

She trailed off and then seemed to recall her manners again, handing me a cup of tea and identifying herself as Kolfinna. I nearly gave my true name, as well, but realized that if “Athlain of the Legion” were to disappear successfully, he shouldn’t go around introducing himself. Therefore, I invented a false name and replied,

“Thank you for your hospitality. I am… Videlectus Peregrinus, a… free adventurer.”

Anxious to move the conversation away from myself, I took a sip of tea and asked,

“Gustav was your husband? Did he die in an accident?”

I pictured a drunken sprawl on the ice, an attack by wild animals, or some similar misadventure. She shook her head and said fiercely,

“It was no accident- he was murdered, struck down in cold blood by Sigvatr the Strong, in a foolish argument. He was my husband's friend. Sigvatr and Gustav were drinking, and Sigvatr...he...he slew my husband where he stood! There were witnesses! I demand wergild, the traditional retribution of my people. It is my right.”

Though I knew a bit about Nord customs, this was new to me, and I had an unfortunate curiosity regarding new words and concepts. Thus I asked,

“Wergild? What is that?”

Kolfinna’s face took on a determined look.

“Wergild is the traditional Nord rite of retribution. When a life is taken, that life must be accounted for. My Gustav is irreplaceable, but there must be compensation for his murder. I do not wish Sigvatr dead. I only want his family heirloom, the gem Pinetear. Pinetear is rather small, and not very valuable, but it means much to Sigvatr. If I were to gain possession of Pinetear, it would serve as fitting payment for Gustav's death.”

She paused then and surveyed my well-used arms and armor, clearly weighing me in some mental balance. Making a decision, she spoke persuasively,

“As you have enjoyed guest-right in my home, I will ask of you a boon. Will you help me extract wergild from Sigvatr the Strong?”

What had been an academic exercise suddenly took on an unwelcome reality as I stared at her wan, hopeful expression. But what had I really expected when I followed my conscience and investigated the sound of Kolfinna’s weeping? In part it was my natural inquisitiveness, but it was more than that. What I truly sought was redemption, to make payment for the death of the berserker and for my failure in the Legion. It seemed that the farther I tried to run from responsibility, the faster it caught up with me. I did not understand at the time, but it was far easier to give a false name than to be false to my own essential nature. My answer was far less equivocal than my thoughts-

“Yes, Mistress Kolfinna, I will gladly help you.”

For the first time, a smile lit the woman’s tired face. It was small and still tinged with sadness, but it transformed her harsh expression into one more appropriate to such a pretty girl.

“May Mara smile upon you. Sigvatr is hunting near the standing stones called the Altar of Thrond. It is northwest of here, on the far bank of the Harstrad. Again, I do not desire Sigvatr’s death, and would rather you find some other way. But be careful, for he wields the mighty hammer Rammekald. It can freeze a foe where he stands. He… he used it to murder my Gustav. Please, bring Pinetear to me, that I may have peace.”

There was nothing left to say, and so I took leave of her and turned north once more. I was pleased that she did not want me to kill Sigvatr, but I wondered how he would feel about giving up his heirloom. From the sound of things, he had a quick temper and no compunction about murder, not even when his victim was a supposed friend. I only hoped my persuasiveness would be enough to avoid a fight. As events transpired, my fears were well-founded, yet at the same time misplaced.

I continued my journey north along the river, considering how to approach Sigvatr. Offering a drink was usually a good opening gambit with a Nord, but it appeared that this particular Nord became decidedly unpleasant under the influence of alcohol. That reminded me of something Father had said regarding the effects of strong drink-

You will hear people say, “Oh, it’s just the matze that makes him act that way.” Don’t believe it. Alcohol doesn’t put anything inside a person that wasn’t there to begin with. All it does is release their inhibitions and allow them to act as they would like to act all the time. So a “mean drunk” or “melancholy drunk” is just being himself. He simply hides it better when he’s sober.

Just at that moment, I would not have minded a drink, myself, regardless of whatever inner truths it might reveal. But I did not want it so badly that I was willing to unpack my equipage to get to it. And I also knew that alcohol was not what I truly craved.

That introspection had carried me a few miles up the river, when my thoughts were disturbed by the sound of voices carried on the wind that blew out of the north. I soon saw a band of Nords spread out along the bank, and surmised that they must be a hunting party. Thinking that they perhaps had word of Sigvatr and his whereabouts, I raised a hand in greeting and called out. For response, one of them nocked an arrow and sent it flying past my head! A closer look showed that I had been right in my guess and wrong in my conclusion- they were indeed a hunting party, but their quarry did not go about on four feet. They were reavers, Nord raiders who preyed on other men. And I had just delivered myself into their ungentle hands. All that saved me was that the first reaver had reacted too quickly, perhaps assuming that I had recognized them for what they were and that my greeting was a challenge. Or perhaps Fortune simply smiled on me, and a stray gust pushed the arrow off its course. What was certain was that I could not face so many enemies alone. My only choice was to flee.

There are so many things the stories of combat don’t tell you about- the sounds of cursing, of weapons striking flesh, the peculiar snap of an arrow that passes close by. And, in their dry language about retreats and routs and defeats, they don’t mention how your breath rasps in your throat as you run for your life. They don’t talk about the fear that turns your legs to lead and your bowels to water; the absolute certainty that, this time, you are going to die. Most of all, they never describe how it feels to turn and run from a fight, all thoughts of glory and reputation so many ashes in your soul. In my headlong flight, I cast aside every bit of excess weight that I could. The shield went first- I wouldn’t be using it. Next was the pack that carried my provisions and my precious alchemy apparatus. I let it fall like so much trash behind me. And still, I knew, knew that an arrow was about to find my back, a sword or axe bite into my neck. I had only one thought- to stay alive. And one more- I could not lead these human wolves to Kolfinna. A lonely house with only a widow inside was just the sort of place the reavers sought. Thus, I drove myself north and west, deeper into a wilderness of which I had no knowledge. At the back of my mind was the thought- this is just like the dream.

After what seemed like hours, I heard no more sounds of pursuit. They had either tired of the chase, or decided to be satisfied with the trail of possessions I had left behind me. After all, though they were certainly murderous, they were in it for the profit- and I had given them plenty. To some, it would have been a fair bargain- I had taken no physical hurt and my reputation was no longer worth defending, anyway. But there was a problem, a problem that became clearer with every moment as the adrenaline finally left my body. The exertion had burned through the skooma fog in which I normally wandered- and I was going to need more of the drug, very soon. And my flask of damnable, wonderful, necessary “tea” was now in the hands of the reavers. I could hope they would not drink the potion- their taste tended more toward known alcoholic beverages, which my gear also contained. There was nothing else for it- I would have to go back. I would have to confront the reavers and take from them either my drug or my death. But there was more than one way to do what was necessary, and I was still no better able to face half-a-dozen armed men than I had been. But I was no longer a Legionnaire, no longer had any illusions of myself as a knight. Therefore I would not approach the problem as a knight or a Legionnaire, but as someone who planned to win- and to survive. The first step was to remove all my armor. And then I checked the dagger that hung in a sheath down my back inside my shirt.

Since I had been a child, I had possessed some abilities that my family never discussed. They were no doubt inherited from my father and reflected those parts of his past he most wished to forget. For one, I could walk close enough to a wild guar to touch its flank without it ever knowing I was there. And for another, although I had no ability with swords, that did not mean I could not use a blade. Daggers seemed to rest in my hands as if they belonged there; I could instantly find the balance and make an accurate throw with either hand. But a short blade was the weapon of an assassin or a thief, of one who lurked in shadows and struck his opponent unaware. So I never used them, never admitted that I had any such skill, tried to never even think about it. But I always kept one dagger with me, because it had been a gift, and because Sethyas had told me to.

It was not magical, except in the way that any superbly crafted item is magical, such that it performs its designed function seemingly without effort on the part of the wielder. And the function of a dagger is to kill- quietly and with great economy. That description is also a fair summation of Sethyas Velas, yet another of the heroic figures who populated my childhood. I will say little more about him for a variety of reasons- first, he is capable of speaking for himself; second, his story is told elsewhere; and finally, because he frightens me. When I was entangled in the physically and emotionally awkward period of my teens…

I was outside of Ald Skar, being bullied by a group of visiting Imperial nobles who were only a little older than myself. I had approached them, hoping to talk of Cyrodiil and the Imperial City, but they laughed at my accent and mocked my clothes. The verbal confrontation had just become physical when Sethyas appeared in their midst and spoke a single quiet syllable-

“Leave.”

They took one look at the tall Dunmer with a black hand tattooed on his face and scattered. I rose shakily to my feet and turned to go when his raspy voice stopped me.

“Not you. Not yet. I have a gift for you, but first you must listen to my words. I will not interfere with your father, whether I agree with him or not. He is your father and must do as he believes is right. And you must obey him, for a while longer, at least. But you are now of an age where what passes here is between you and me. There will come a time in your life when you will have to kill. Words will not save you, nor cleverness, nor honor. Your salvation will lie in the strength of your arm and the sharpness of your steel.”

He reached under his tunic and handed me a dagger. The hilt was wrapped with wire for a sure grip and the sheath was plain black leather. He locked my gaze with his red eyes and said,

“Keep it with you always, but tell no one. When it is time to use it, you will know.”

And then he vanished into a sudden swirl of ash.

I had kept the dagger with me, but had never used it- until now.

What a beginning of the new chapter! I'm utterly impressed, the plot really tightens up very quickly...OMG.

Now that letter...to Thyna, will naturally cause some immediate actions, I promise, she just won't let go of it...

And the appearance of my favourite assassin...was just wonderful...so well fitting...oh aye I like it very much..but as I mentioned, something will ...let me put it like this: happen!

I am truly honored and impressed with this latest update, dear Trey.

Your third statement reminds me of a discussion I had on chat, the jist of it was that I had Children of Morrowind Mod, but despite enjoying it, I uninstalled it. When asked why, I told them that I usually play darker characters and a sweet innocent child coming up to me and asking what I do for a living slightly unnerved me.

"I exchange blood for gold, have a teddy bear!"

Excellent work as ever. It looks like Athlain is well rid of all the glorious illusions of knighthood. That's the wilderness for you; that's Solstheim. Also love the Sethyas Velas cameo, of course. And Black Hand, that last sentence of yours was born to be a signature. Golden, says I.

Just wanted to pop in to say - Ten thousand views exactly, congratulations Trey.

What is there to say about the reavers? If you are reading this, you must know that I prevailed. That being the case, are the details so important? I suppose they are- after all, I have written of other things here which are not pleasant to recall and I must continue as I began. Free of encumbrances and armor, save for a pair of fur boots, I became as a shadow on the snow, a breeze that lightly brushed the trees and moved on. As I carefully followed my back trail, I effortlessly avoided bears and wolves, feeling as one with my surroundings. I was perfectly adapted to this silent movement, to gliding from one bit of concealment to the next. And I hated it. I hated the way the dagger fit perfectly in my hand, its sharpened steel blackened to prevent any telltale glint. I hated the quiet that marked my passage in place of the former creak of leather straps and rattle of metal armor. When I had worn the uniform of the Legion, I was a part of something, an avatar of order and justice- and I had been a visible representative of the Empire. Without that uniform, I was just another shadow. If I was glad of my innate skill, it was only because I did not wish to be seen skulking beneath the trees and hiding amongst the rocks.

All too soon, the scent of a cook fire and the sound of rough voices raised in argument and song told me that I was near the reaver camp. I found a spot beneath a tree and settled myself to wait for night and darkness. Even after night had fallen I waited, listening as the songs gave way to sodden snores. The reavers had posted no guards, believing themselves to be the most dangerous predators in the forest. That overconfidence was fatal- to them. I took the first when he stumbled away from the fire to relieve himself. A second died in the chill waters of the river where he had gone for a drink. With two of the party removed, the time for stealth was past and it became a matter of controlled speed and fury. A stone pitched into the fire scattered sparks and hot coals among the sleeping men, blinding them as I stepped out of the darkness. They leapt up, only to fall again as my dagger did its bloody work. I slashed the side of a neck, the back of a knee, a throat. As they fell, I danced away, letting the shouts and thrashing of the wounded and dying further confuse the survivors. The confusion soon gave way to silence and all was still, except for the crackle of the fire. I built it back up and searched the bodies, taking only those things that had been mine. The rest I left, including the bodies. When I was done, I opened the flask of tea and downed half of it at a gulp before putting the stopper back. I needed its warm, blurry haze as much to stop the chill that had settled into my soul as to quiet the craving that sang in my blood.

I had no desire to remain in the company of dead men, especially not those I had killed, so I turned west, seeking the Harstrad River and the Altar of Thrond. The walk through forest and snow gave me more time to consider how I might persuade Sigvatr- I was heartily sick of killing, and wanted no more blood on my hands if I could avoid it. No brilliant ideas came to mind, and I finally shrugged and determined that my approach would simply depend on the man himself, assuming I could even find him. What I mostly found were wolves and bears in great numbers, along with a particularly vicious type of wild pig. I was forced to revise my opinion as to which were predators and which prey after I observed a battle between boar and wolf from a safe distance. Several times I thought I saw small, man-shaped figures, only a few feet high- and once I even imagined I saw one riding the back of a large boar. But I concluded that such visions were a result of blowing snow, a lack of sleep, and an excess of skooma-laced tea.

At least I had Kolfinna’s description of Sigvatr to help me in my search. My encounters with the berserker and the reavers had taught me caution when approaching anyone in this wilderness. On Vvardenfell, frontier though it was, most travelers you met did not wish to murder you on sight. That was definitely not the case here. Still, while it was possible that Sigvatr might deal with me as he had with Gustav, he would perhaps be willing to talk first. Shortly after I crossed the river, I sighted a lone figure striding through the snow. A moment’s observation convinced me that this was indeed the man I sought. He was dressed in thick fur armor and had a war hammer in his hands. My trained eye detected an unmistakable aura of ancient and powerful magic around the weapon. I stepped into the open and spoke clearly,

“Hail and well-met. If you are Sigvatr the Strong, I would speak with you.”

I showed my empty hands to indicate my peaceful intent, and was pleased to see him rest the hammer against his shoulder. He did not approach me immediately, but scanned the area where I stood, making sure I wasn’t the bait for an ambush. Still not moving, he called back to me,

“I am Sigvatr, called the Strong. Why do you spoil my hunting? And what speech would you have with me, Imperial, that brings you so far from home? Best you go back to your mother before you are missed. Perhaps she will give you a bowl if warm milk to ward off the chill of Solstheim.”

I knew something of Nord ways and customs, and so did not take the insults seriously. They were as routine as an Imperial greeting of “good day.” On the other hand, I must respond in kind, or Sigvatr would not respect me, nor listen to my request for wergild. Therefore I made a broad gesture of holding my nose and said,

“Sigvatr the Strong, indeed. Rarely have I encountered so strong a stench. You have no need of weapons to hunt- your odor must knock beasts to the ground for miles around. But you might want to clean those furs before a bear mistakes you for his mate and makes improper advances.”

My reply apparently met with the hunter’s approval; although he did not laugh outright, I detected a grin beneath his luxuriant beard. At a gesture, I walked up to him, opening a jug as I did so. To show that it wasn’t poisoned, I took a mouthful of the raw sujamma and swallowed. It was either that or spit it out- I had never developed a taste for the vile liquor and had no desire to try. I offered the jug to Sigvatr, who sniffed it suspiciously, saying,

“This isn’t any a’ that thin brew you Imperials suppose passes for a real drink, is it?”

I indicated with a gesture that he should try it for himself, not trusting that I could speak just yet. The Nord took a good pull at the jug and swirled it around in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing.

“Not bad,” he allowed, then surprised me by corking the jug.

“Right then. We’ve insulted each other and shared a drink. The forms of hospitality are met. So what is it you want, that you come traipsing all this way after me?”

He folded massive arms across his barrel chest and waited impatiently. This was not what I had expected, and I tried to rapidly revise the speech I had planned. But it was no good- I just could not come up with a plausible story that didn’t sound completely contrived. Sigvatr’s countenance became more clouded with each passing second, and I finally blurted out,

“I… it’s… Kolfinna sent me. She wants….”

I looked on in dismay as the huge man lifted the hammer from his shoulder and asked in a dangerously quiet voice,

“Yes? Kolfinna wants- what?”

He swung the hammer idly at his side, the massive weapon making an unpleasant sound with each pass.

Wuh-oh.

I have a feeling this might not end too well...

Oh dear...I'll have to agree with Raunie...it's quite a possibility that this will not end in a pleasant way...But of course you never know with Athlain..

I wonder what Athlain will say?

Nice account of Athlain's slaughter (I imagine he would have to agree to the veracity of term, much as he might dislike it) of the reavers. The young man is full of surprises, it would seem.

Nice updates, the situation changes again. I like this story, a lot, the rapidly changing situations and attitude of Athlain flow well together and seem natural while keeping the reader off balance and never fully knowing what to expect. The darker side he's showing is unexpected but quite believeable, Solstheim is a fairly murderous place after all.

I'm really likeing this... more? Please?

Time seemed to slow, and I was aware of the dagger hanging down my back and the mace at my side. Even more, I felt the weight of the dead, a long chain that stretched from Ashalmawia to Gandrung to the reavers’ camp. I knew that I could fight Sigvatr, could perhaps even kill him- but that was not the answer to his question. Kolfinna had plainly said she did not desire this man’s death; she knew that one death could not be washed away by another. And I did not desire his death, either. There had been too much blood spilled, and I was weary of it. So I carefully raised my empty hands and said,

“She seeks wergild for Gustav. She asked me to speak with you and convince you to pay blood price with the gem Pinetear.”

The warrior grounded the hammer and leaned his hands upon the shaft, then shook his head.

“Wergild, is it? Never! Pinetear has been in my family for generations and will be for generations to come. Gustav had it coming. I did what I had to do, and Kolfinna wasn’t there. Neither were you. Leave off.”

A haunted look had come to his face and his hands opened and closed on the hammer spasmodically as he spoke. There was a story there, known only to Sigvatr, and it was gnawing at him. I held my words for a few minutes, watching his eyes, and then nodded.

“What you say is true. Neither Kolfinna nor I was there. If you will not pay wergild, can you not at least give her a true accounting of how Gustav died? Does she not have the right to know?”

His head dropped until his chin rested on his chest, and he muttered words almost too low to hear:

“We argued, Gustav and I. We had too much to drink and got into a foolish disagreement. Heated words were spoken, but it was just words until I saw him reach for his blade. I was only defending myself from his treachery, so there is no obligation, no wergild. I owe Gustav nothing!”

His final statement caught my ear and I swiftly replied,

“Again, what you say is true. You owe Gustav nothing. But what about his widow? She was not the one who held the knife… nor the one who dealt the fatal blow. She is simply the one who is left without a husband, without means to support herself.”

And then I was quiet. A man will often persuade himself, if you give him time to do it. At last Sigvatr looked up with tears in his eyes.

“I thought he meant to cut my throat, but what if I was wrong? What if I did murder my friend?”

With a convulsive motion, he reached into a pocket and produced a dark green emerald and handed it to me. In a hoarse whisper, he added:

“Take Pinetear and give it to Kolfinna. Perhaps it will ease her pain. But my guilt will never end.”

When he turned away, I again had the good sense to remain silent, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

I secured the gem inside my shirt and turned to the south, moving quickly and silently back to Kolfinna’s dwelling. The return journey was faster because I knew the way, but my steps were also lighter because I at last carried a burden that would ease pain rather than cause it. I was even content when I used my inborn skill to avoid the wild creatures that I encountered on the way. If a talent for moving unseen could help me avoid bloodshed, why should I find fault? Of course, I was also without the burden of the steel armor to which I had grown accustomed. Therefore, my appearance was much changed when I entered Kolfinna’s house, and she did not recognize me until I spoke. Even then, she took my lack of armor as a sign of bad news and sank into a chair with a sigh.

“I am sorry, master Imperial. Had I realized that you are still but a youth, I would not have sent you on such a perilous quest. But at least you have returned with your life, so that burden will not be on my conscience. On Solstheim, success is often a matter of survival, even if one fails otherwise.”

I lifted Pinetear from its hiding place and held it to the light, replying:

“Perhaps so, but I prefer more tangible signs of success.”

She straightened in her seat and reached a trembling hand for the stone. Lines of care disappeared from her face, and a smile lit her too-thin countenance.

“You have brought me Pinetear! How did you manage it? No, never mind- one should not question good fortune. Now that I have wergild, Gustav can rest peacefully.”

She raised her eyes to mine and spoke with great seriousness,

“You have acted as a man of my family would have done in this matter. Therefore, I name you ‘brother.’ You are welcome in my home and may treat it is if it were your own. If I can aid you in some way, speak, and I will do what is in my power to make it so.”

Her words and even the reddish tint of her hair reminded me of my own sisters, left behind on Vvardenfell, along with my former life. Almost, I told her the truth- my true name, my desertion from the Legion, my loss of honor and hope. But I would not cast such a shadow upon her happiness. The secrets I carried were my own, and she had no part in their making. It would be unwontedly cruel to ask her to share them now. So instead, I smiled and spoke carelessly, as if regarding a matter of small consequence:

“Now that you mention it, there is one favor I would ask- have you ever heard of a fellow who goes about in a white, pointed hat? And might you know where he makes his dwelling?”

She looked at me strangely, but answered quickly enough.

“Yes, Gustav spoke of such a man. He saw him once, wandering through the woods and singing a funny song. It was odd enough that he followed him to see what might be afoot. The fellow has a cabin north and a little east of here. It rests at the base of a hill and has red and green lanterns hanging from the eaves.”

She paused and then added,

“If you are determined to seek him out, please be cautious. A man who sings to himself in the wilderness is likely not completely sane, and could even be dangerous.”

I promised to be careful and politely refused her offer of a warm drink. What I needed was not tea, at least not the sort of tea Kolfinna could provide.

Nicely done, Senor Trey! Not all is violence and blodshed in life, nor should be in TES.

Right on. Now, I will be most interested to see how Athlain deals with our purveyor of moon sugar. I could see this working out in a number of ways, especially considering Athlain's drug problem.

Ooh, I've had a fair bit to catch up on here

Hard life I tell you...

I believe I said before (either here ot t'other place) that I was finding the company of young Athlain to be an even greater pleasure than that of his father, and that hasn't changed. If anything, I'm growing to like him more and more, and the character is really starting to progress. Whilst still retaining enough of his idealism, he's starting to accept some of his nature that he hid away. Also, I have to add, the way you smoothly add external characters is really skillfully done. The cameos of Serene and Sethyas could have seemed gimmiky, but instead felt like an entirely natural addition.

Oh, and I loved the traditional exchange of insults with Sigvatr the Strong - very, very amusing

As always, a real pleasure to read! Here's looking forward to the next installment.

Ooh good stuff. I'm lapping this up Treydog! I can't wait for the next bit.

Much as I wanted to stay in Kolfinna’s house, I knew I could not. I had made up my mind that I would exile myself from the warmth of human companionship, for a time at least. Where I had before worn the uniform of a Legionnaire, I now armored myself in solitude. The cold wind that blew upon my face was as nothing beside the cold that filled my heart. I was alone, outcast, nameless. I crawled across the snowy landscape like a wounded beetle on a plate. Following Kolfinna’s directions, I crossed the river and turned somewhat east of north. I studied the shape of the land, looking for a place where the terrain began to rise. Again, I avoided confrontations with Solstheim’s wildlife, slipping past bears and wolves unnoticed. When I smelled wood-smoke, I knew my destination was near. I followed my nose to the source of the smoke and soon beheld a well-built cabin nestled against the snow-covered base of a hill. As Gustav had told his wife, the cabin was brightly lit with red and green lanterns hanging from the eaves. The sight stirred something inside me, sparking memories of stories Mother and Father had read to me when I was a child- stories of the Jerall Mountains or of Skyrim, home to the Nords. I remembered how they struggled to explain snow to me- what it was, how it came to be, what it felt like. At the time, I was not absolutely sure it was not a joke at my expense- frozen water, falling from the sky? But not exactly like ice- softer and lighter. When I had first seen the snow-laden trees of Solstheim, I had delighted in them, had gone immediately to examine this phenomenon for myself. I had even written to Athynae about it, knowing she had been as doubtful as I. And none of that mattered. My musing on snow was simply a way of distracting myself and delaying whatever was next.

As I approached the cabin door, I noticed a dark shape off to the right and veered that way to investigate. A Khajiit lay crumpled in a deep drift. As I watched, a few snowflakes settled on his open, unseeing eyes. My Legion training asserted itself, and I searched the body, looking for clues to his identity and how he had died. In one pocket of his robe I found a crudely printed bit of doggerel entitled The Song of Uncle Sweetshare. There was also a small moon-sugar packet, missing most of its contents. I knew that moon-sugar was almost irresistible to the Khajiiti, and that they would indulge the habit without regard for property, health, or even life itself. As there were no marks of violence on the body, nor any signs of the more common plant poisons, I was fairly certain that this poor fellow had fallen victim to his weakness for the drug. The irony was not lost on me- and it made not the slightest difference. I straightened and walked to the door. From within, I heard an off-key voice singing. I put my hand on the door latch and stood for a long moment with my eyes closed, waiting for… something. Perhaps I hoped to feel a hand on my shoulder and to hear a kind voice telling me to come away, that what I sought would not be found within that particular door. But all I heard was the wind, and all I felt was the cold against my skin- and the need within. I shuddered and pushed the door open.

The interior of the cabin was as neat and well-made as the outside. It was a single large room, the walls lined with work tables. A fire burned on the hearth at one end, and a hammock hung nearby. The tables held rows of alchemy apparatus and an assortment of vials and jars. I saw all of those things peripherally, as my eyes were drawn to a brown-robed figure wearing a tall hat- a white Colovian fur helm. At the sound of the door opening, he turned toward me and I saw that he was a smooth-shaven Nord. He smiled a somewhat distracted smile and spoke a cheerful nonsense verse akin to the doggerel I had found on the dead Khajiit. Then he tilted his head to one side and regarded me, saying:

“Can it be? A visitor to my workshop? How can I help you, young fellow? I have candy treats to spare, if you are in search of happiness. And I don’t mean to criticize, but you look as if you could use some happiness, my friend.”

I had been prepared for an evil alchemist, prepared for a fight- but this…. I had no answer to this ridiculous figure from a children’s story. I latched onto the one comprehensible thing he had said and asked,

“Candy treats?”

The Nord’s smile grew broader, and he waved a hand at the small, colorful packets in front of him.

“My candy treats are tasty, they are! And filled with special sugar and love! They bring happiness! Happiness to everyone on Solstheim! That's what I do, you see! I give out my special sugary treats and spread happiness throughout the land! It's difficult work, but oh so very rewarding! M'nashi certainly thought so. Ahh, M'nashi, the dear lad....”

His smile faded and he looked sadly toward the door before continuing.

“M'nashi was my assistant! He helped me make my candy! He so loved his sugar, M'nashi did. Loved it a little too much, I'm afraid! He died, you see. His, ah, sweet tooth got the better of him. I buried him, just outside. We had a lovely little ceremony. The horkers came and sang for him, they did! He he he! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

His manic smile returned and he danced around the workshop, stopping in front of me with a bow.

“So, what brings you to my happy home? Do you want some of my candy treats- for yourself- or…” he winked conspiratorially, “for someone special who needs a little happiness?”

I shook my head to clear it- his obvious insanity seemed to be infectious. Adopting a serious tone, I responded,

“Actually, Severia Gratius of the Legion asked me to investigate a case of moon-sugar poisoning at Fort Frostmoth.”

At the mention of the Champion’s name, the Nord’s smile turned into a petulant frown. He muttered,

“That Severia Gratius is so grumpy! Maybe I should visit her next! Because that's what I do, young fellow! I visit the sad and miserable and spread all the happiness I can! It is the way of Uncle Sweetshare, you see! Now that Jeleen, there's a sad, sad boy. His true love has disappeared, don't you know. Very sad, very sad. That's why I sang to him! He needed something extra, something special! Sugar and a song! It cures all!”

His smile came back and he began dancing around the room again, singing in an uneven voice:

“That's me, you see! Uncle Sweetshare! Just like in the children's rhyme! When I found that old song the lyrics moved me like nothing else in my life! I knew at that moment who I truly was, and what I was meant to do! So I had this workshop built! I make treats here, you see! Delicious treats with the special sugar! Moon sugar! He he, ha ha! Then I spread my cheer throughout the land!”

He stopped in mid-whirl and looked around, placing a finger to his lips-

“But it's all a secret! Shhhhhhhh....”

His rapid changes of mood and his crazed dancing were making me dizzy- or maybe it was the moon-sugar residue that coated every surface and hung in the air…. I simply had to plow stolidly ahead, keeping myself focused on the task at hand.

“It would be a bad idea to ‘visit’ Champion Gratius. She is anxious to solve this case and return to Cyrodiil. Your description has been circulated and she has placed a bounty on you. If you want my advice, I would recommend you give me your helm- it is quite distinctive, after all- and then you should slip quietly away and cease this business.”

I paused as I contemplated my own bleak future and added quietly, “People are generally only as happy as they chose to be- you can’t give happiness to them as a gift.”

He grew silent and sat for a time on a bench, resting his chin in his hands, then removed the fur helm and turned it round and round in front of him.

“Give you my helm? Stop sharing...stop sharing my sugar? He...heh...ho...hmmm.... Distressing...most distressing.... But you WILL let me live? I do so love to live! All right, then. We have a deal! Here's my white helm, and you have my promise I will not spread any more cheer! And I will get to live! That won't be so bad, will it? He he he he! Ha ha ha!”

‘Uncle Sweetshare’ was as good as his word. He placed the helm on a table and stuffed some clothing in a satchel, humming happily as he did so. I pretended not to notice the packets of moon-sugar that found their way into his pockets- after all, who was I to judge? With a happy wave, he strode out the door and disappeared into the gathering darkness. And now I had the cabin all to myself. The cabin- and its contents.

I have little to say of my time in the tiny cabin- descriptions of squalor are rarely uplifting for either the reader or the writer. More to the point, it is not a period I remember with any clarity- nor do I wish to. I slept a great deal, rising only long enough to convert moon-sugar into skooma and skooma into tea, which I then drank. When my hunger became unbearable, I stumbled outside and stalked wild beasts or gathered edible plants. A few times, I ventured as far as the seaside, where I watched the hypnotic succession of waves breaking on the shore. I looked across the water, thinking of Vvardenfell lying out of sight below the horizon- Vvardenfell and home. I wondered if it might not be better to simply walk into the water and swim until I reached a familiar shore- or until exhaustion took me. But I always returned to the cabin. My hunting forays were frequently unsuccessful and I went without. My clothing hung loosely on my frame and I allowed my hair and beard to grow into a tangled mat. Time lost any meaning and days blurred into an endless parade of misery and befuddled self-loathing. I wanted to die, but lacked the will or strength to do anything about it. Even so, death would have come- from exhaustion, from starvation, from animal or accident- except that something else happened first.

Here Ends Chapter 7