I really enjoyed this chapter, but after having read it I find that I am freezing!


This was my favorite sentence. I was right there with Athlain, looking for another skeleton to smash!


This is slightly confusing, it is implied that there was a question here.

I was holding my breath! Even, or maybe especially knowing the outcome! Awesome Write Treydog! Woof!

The Mantle of Woe lay at my feet, crumpled and torn, but still pulsing with a magicka that made my teeth ache. My Breton blood was drawn to the evil garment; its power calling to the magic within me. But I had seen the effect it had had on Tymvaul, so I very much wanted avoid physical contact with it. If it could call to someone through so many feet of ice and soil, it was too dangerous to be left lying about, waiting for another victim.

At last, I retrieved a sword from one of the skeleton warriors I had defeated and used the tip to raise the robe from the floor and stuff it into a bag. Even that indirect contact allowed me to “read” the magical properties of the aptly named Mantle of Woe. It would give the wearer a vast reservoir of magicka upon which to call, as well as significantly improve his skill as a conjurer. At the same time, its evil nature made the user vulnerable to standard weapons and unable to endure direct sunlight. In other words, it was the perfect apparel for someone who wanted to become that darkest of all mages- a necromancer. And now it whispered its insidious song to me.

After I had pulled myself from the icy water at the bottom of the well, I had been cold and angry. The fight with the skeletons and the emotional battle to free Tymvaul from the robe’s influence had drained the anger out of me, and now I was simply cold- and frightened. It was all very well to say “destroy the robe,” but accomplishing the task would be more difficult. An artifact, especially a powerful one, stored unimaginable amounts of magical power. It also absorbed something of the nature and the desire of its creator. Destroying the artifact released all of that power and will in a cataclysmic instant.

Had I been on Vvardenfell, I would have dropped the thing into a lava pool, trusting the elemental fires of Nirn itself to unmake it. But I was not, and did not know when I might return. Perhaps Korst Wind-Eye could provide some guidance. For now, I had saved Tymvaul from the robe, and that would have to be enough.

I followed the passage the young Nord had taken and found an opening onto the east bank of the Isild. The slope of the land told me where the Skaal village stood, and I turned towards it and the warmth of the half-timbered dwellings. Lassnr opened his door at my knock, a guarded hope in his eyes. His expression clouded as he looked past me and did not see anyone else.

“He is not with you, then? I had hoped….”

I interrupted, reassuring the old man: “He lives, and he is… well. He had a- ah, difficult time, but is much stronger now. He has decided that he would like to study magic and said he was going to Vvardenfell- and perhaps to the Imperial City after that. He wanted me to tell you that he would not have survived if not for your love. I think that he will do well.”

Lassnr’s face cleared and years seemed to drop away from him. He even smiled, though the expression was tinged with regret.

“Well, I will miss him…. He always was mad for anything to do with magic- or with books. He lives, and he knows that I love him. It would be selfish to ask for more.”

He stood for a time then, lost in thought, perhaps remembering the past or envisioning the future. But then he shook himself and took in my condition. He placed a strong hand on my shoulder and guided me to a seat near the fire.

“Forgive me, Athlain. Warm yourself and I will make us some stew.”

He paused and added. “If it is not too much to ask, would you guest with me? You could have Tymvaul’s bed. It would be pleasant to have company.”

I considered his words. In truth, I had no better place to stay, saving perhaps the great hall. Thirsk was too far to walk, and I did not wish to return to the fort until my task was done. And then a wave of loneliness washed through me, an awareness that it had been many months since I passed a night in anyone’s home. Except for the weeks in Uncle Sweetshare’s cabin, I had rarely been alone, spending my sleeping hours in Legion barracks and at Thirsk. But those places were transient, somewhere to wait until moving on, soon or late.

So I found myself hanging up the damp furs that had kept out the worst of the cold and unbuckling my armor. When I stood in the quilted under-tunic, Lassnr handed me a wolf-fur robe and a mug of mulled cider. Waving me back to my seat, he busied himself with a pot, which gave off a wonderful aroma.

“It’s just fish stew,” he said apologetically. “Venison comes from Skyrim or Tamriel, so we don’t see much of it. And it has to be dried or frozen for shipping, anyway. But fish we have in plenty, and carrots and leeks travel well enough.”

He tossed some feathery green leaves into the mixture and gave it a gentle stir, then carried the pot to the table. As we ate, he spoke of his son and their life together in the village.

“His mother, bless her, taught him his letters, and he read every book he could find. Mostly, he liked stories of magic and lost treasures. He was never interested in being a hunter, like the rest of us. He only brought in enough furs to earn coin to send off for more books. Maybe if we had been able to give him brothers or sisters, things would have been different. But he’s a good boy for all that, and even if he’s not like me, he is still my son. But what about you? Do you have any family?”

And so I found myself telling this man who I hardly knew about growing up near Ald’ruhn with two sisters. He laughed when I described some of the elaborate pranks Mae and Cai had played on me, and smiled when I spoke of Mother and her garden. If he noticed that I did not mention Father, he kept it to himself. We settled into a comfortable silence, each lost in our own thoughts.

At last, Lassnr spoke quietly, his eyes on the jumping flames in the fireplace.

“We always hope our children will turn out better than we did. And we try to keep them from making the same mistakes. Sons have a hard way to go, trying to live up to their fathers. But you know, fathers have a rough path as well, trying to be everything their children think they ought- fair and strong and brave. Good night to you Athlain- and thank you for saving my son.”

He turned down the lamps and rolled himself in his furs, from whence there soon issued a gentle snoring. I tried to follow suit, but sleep would not come. As I tossed and turned, I recalled Tymvaul’s request that I “remove some items” from the house. Moving quietly, I arose and went to examine the bench and shelves where Tymvaul’s possessions were stored. What I found was chilling: a copy of Darkest Darkness, several human skulls, and a ghoul heart. Anyone with the slightest knowledge of magic would know these items indicated a study of necromancy. And I was also certain that I must get rid of this evidence.
While I considered how to do it, a voice spoke from behind me:

“I knew what Tymvaul was doing, but I feared driving him away, so I said nothing. But then, I’m about as magical as a lump of mud, anyway.”

It was Lassnr, who had obviously heard me moving around in the dim cabin. I should have realized that such an experienced hunter could move quietly at need. I turned to look at him and explained:

“We need to be rid of all this; it would not do for anyone to find it. The ingredients and the book can be burned, and I will place the skulls inside a barrow when I can. Tymvaul has taken a different road now, and he should be allowed to follow it.”

I always jump when he comes up behind him - scared what his intentions were, lol. (by always I mean I jumped when I read it before...didn't he put his hand on his shoulder before? Have you edited it to keep me from a heart attack this time? ROFL !! Awesome Write Treydog !!!!!

Yup, seconding the awesome write comment. I like the emotion there is in the story, it's so much more than just someone going on a quest, you give a feeling of the wider picture and deeper drives. I'm sure I've said it before but I've bough published books which didn't balance all these things nearly so well.

I also like the atmosphere the piece has. The melancholy is offset by a certain optimism which sits well with the other themes and actons.

Really great stuff

I always liked this chapter. I like any post that is about characters interacting rather than action (there goes my estrogen again). This one always shines for me because of the parallels between Lassner and Tymvaul, and Athlain and Father. This one part always stands out to me:

I haven't commented before now, since I see you're not caught up to your thread over on the Unnamed Forum.

However I wanted to mention that I finally had time this week to catch up and read the entire Blood on the Moon from the beginning, and point out what a delightful story this is from the beginning! Now the chapters I have already read are so much richer!

Love this story and your characters even more than evah!

Thanks, everyone. I still have a couple of "old" installments to post here to complete this chapter. And I have the next Interlude written- I think. And then my posting schedule will resume its normal glacial pace.

After my late night conversation with Lassnr, I was able to sleep, untroubled by dreams or doubts for a few hours at least. When morning came, we dined on bread covered with honey, along with strips of meat the Nord hunter identified as horker. The flavor was strong, but not unpleasant, so I ate my fill. While I sipped a mug of cider, Lassnr fiddled with his pipe and gave every sign of having something say, but not quite knowing how to start. At last, I decided to help him:

“I have partaken of your hospitality, and guested in your home.” Then I dropped the formal phrases and said, “You aren’t going to offend me; please speak your mind.”

He drew on his pipe and then brought his clasped hands down on the table with a gentle thump.

“We always pay our debts,” he said abruptly. “Food and a place before the fire are simply the due of any traveler who is friendly. I know you did not save Tymvaul in hope of payment, yet payment is owed. I have some snow-bear pelts that I was saving; Brynjolfr down at Thirsk can make some good armor from
them, if you want.”

His face flushed with embarrassment and I understood his difficulty. He had just offered me the most valuable thing he possessed- and he was afraid it was not enough. If I refused the offer, it would shame him, make it appear that I thought he was destitute or unwilling to honor a debt. But even if I accepted, he would feel that he hadn’t paid enough. I searched for a solution that would keep his honor intact- something he would know to be valuable to me. A casual phrase from the previous night came back to me- Lassnr describing himself as “magical as a lump of mud.” There was the answer.

I went to my gear and handed him the bag containing the Mantle of Woe. He looked at me oddly but took it and did as I bid when I asked him to open it and tell me if he felt anything. With a bemused smile, he glanced at the robe and then back at me.

“Perhaps if you explained what you mean by ‘anything’? Because anow, all I feel is like a man holding a bag of someone’s washing.”

“That’s good- in fact, it’s perfect. That robe is evil, and its malign influence is what caused Tymvaul to… do the things he did. I need you to keep it safe until I can figure out how to be rid of it permanently. Will you do that? It might be dangerous- the robe has a way of drawing people to it.”

Lassnr frowned, but with determination rather than concern. “Yes, like those creatures that try to call sailors to their doom. I have just the thing- a box I picked up when I was a young man and went a-roving.”

He reached under his bunk and drew out what appeared to be a plain wooden chest, reinforced with iron straps and a lock. I looked at it doubtfully.

“Lassnr- that robe called Tymvaul all the way through 60 or 70 feet of ice and rock. I don’t see how a wooden trunk will help.”

He drew a key from around his neck and opened the lock, a smile on his face. “You are right. But this is no ordinary sea-chest.”

When he raised the lid, I saw that the interior surfaces were all covered with a dull grey metal. But what drew my gaze was the blue crystal that rested on the bottom of the box, radiating a light the color of a clear winter sky. It was the size of a large kwama egg and altogether beautiful.

Lassnr rapped the metal sheeting with a knuckle. “Lead. There were times when we needed to move things that the wizards would have given their eye-teeth to get. The captain, he had these chests made to keep anyone with a nose for magic from discovering our cargo- like that elf-stone.”

When I reached out a tentative hand, he nodded good-naturedly, and I touched the shining object. Despite the light it cast, it was cool to the touch and exuded a soothing magic. I reluctantly removed my hand and asked, “ ‘Elf-stone?’ “

Lassnr replied, “That’s what we called them. They come from the ruins where the old elves lived- and died- over on the mainland. Needless to say, it isn’t exactly legal to buy or sell them without an Imperial contract. But I don’t care for the magic, nor for the gold it might bring. The color reminds me of the ice of Skyrim- and of my Ragnild’s eyes. They were just that shade of blue, and seemed to shine just that way.”

He stopped speaking, and gazed into the depths of the crystal, back to a happier time. Then he shook himself and placed the Mantle of Woe inside the box, closing the lid and cutting off the tranquil glow. It was as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. But I also realized that I could no longer “hear” the dark whispers of the robe.

Experimentally, I raised the lid- the Mantle’s influence seeped out and coiled inside my brain. I shut the lid, and the sensation ceased, cut off as if by a knife. I smiled at Lassnr and told him:

“If you can keep that robe locked inside the chest until I can dispose of it, I will be the one who owes you a debt- along with every other person who might be influenced by its evil magic.”

We shook hands and then I impulsively reached out and hugged the old man.

“Tymvaul will come back to you,” I promised. “How could he not?”

This is what stands out to me in this piece 'o chapter. Again, because of the similarities between the pairs of fathers and sons. Of course Athlain would not sense the symmetry, at least not yet. But it is delicious nonetheless.

As I stated the first time I read this chapter, I love Athlain's understanding of the concept of the 'burden of obligation' (giri to the Japanese). His ability to find a way for Tymvaul to show his gratitude that allows him to keep face is almost chivalrous.

What can I say? That's not been said already...I can't but agree with the other readers, this is a sheer joy to read and a wonderful piece of work.

I loved that last line the first time I read it, and it still sits so well. Athlain ROCKS!! Awesome Write Treydog!!!!

The warm feeling from my parting with Lassnr disappeared as soon as I stepped out into the biting wind and swirling snow. Hunching my shoulders against the cold, I trudged to the shaman’s hut and knocked. Korst swung open the door and waved me inside with his free hand- the other held a book, a finger marking his place. Once we were seated before the fire, I told him of my experiences, first noting that Ingmar had not required my assistance. The shaman nodded thoughtfully and replied:

“True. But on the other hand, you did quite a lot for Lassnr and for Tymvaul. Better still, you found a way to limit the malign influence of the Mantle of Woe. And that task was almost left too long.”

My surprise at the angry tone of the final sentence caused me to start, prepared to defend myself, but Korst raised a hand to forestall me and shook his head.

“You see, I knew there was something in Rimhull, and I had some idea of what it was.” He indicated his library with a gesture. “However, until it- possessed- Tymvaul, I believed it was safe where it lay.”
He paused and stared into the hearth for a time and then went on, “And I did not wish to test my own will in close proximity to such a powerful artifact.”

With a keen look at my face, he asked, “How much do you know about shamans- or about Ashlander wise-women?”

I wondered at the seeming change of subject, but nevertheless answered the question as well as I could:

“They maintain the lore and act as the healers for their people. They remember the prophecies and interpret their meanings. There is more, but those are their primary responsibilities.”

Korst nodded and said, “You are correct. But we are also… ‘gate-keepers’ is perhaps the best term. We assist with birth- seeing new life into this world. And we ease the dying- seeing our people into the next world when it is their time. So, frequently, we are in contact with the places where the barrier between is thin- where life and death, sanity and madness- are poised on a razor edge.” He smiled and added drily, “As you might imagine, that can be a rather dangerous place to stand.”

I was still not quite certain where this conversation was going, but it was beginning to sound suspiciously like one of Father’s lectures on “The Dangers of Power.” I struggled to keep my mind from wandering and to maintain an attentive expression. As if sensing my impending boredom, Korst stood suddenly and pushed back the sleeves of his robe. His arms were corded with muscle- and deeply marked by livid scars- some old, some new. He had never gotten those sitting by the fire reading books of poetry.

“Sometimes, Athlain, the dead do not wish to stay dead. And sometimes magic is used with ill intent to bring back those who should have been left in peace. I have felt the claws of the draugr more than once. And I have seen worse evils.”

With a sigh he covered the scars and sat once more.

“Healing is closely akin to necromancy. The use of magicka opens… pathways in the one who wields it. And an artifact like the Mantle of Woe can make use of those pathways for its own purposes, can twist the magicka. The deeper the pathways, the stronger the influence. I admit that I used you- sent you to do that which I dared not. I make no excuses- all I will say in my defense is that it was necessary to protect my people. And, as it turned out, I was right. You succeeded far beyond even my expectations, for which you have my thanks.”

He made a brushing gesture, as if clearing away unpleasant things, and said,

“But now to current matters. Tharsten Heart-Fang has tasked you with completing the Skaal Test of Loyalty and so you should. However, if I might presume to advise you…?”

He lifted a questioning brow and waited for me to say, “Please, go on.”

“The quest Tharsten has set before you is an arduous one, and will carry you over most of the island.” He reached to a shelf and removed a rolled piece of hide. “This is a map showing the locations of the standing stones. But before you begin, it might be well for you to see to any unfinished business. For example, you might want to return to the fort and let them know that the “barbarous Nords” had nothing to do with the disappearance of your Captain- and that neither did they kill nor eat you.”

He surveyed me with a piercing look and added, “And you should perhaps conclude any other dealings you may have at the fort- or the new mining colony.”

I started in my seat- what could he know of Carnius Magius- or of my skooma problem?

And then I recalled something else about wise-women- and shamans. They were seekers of truth and keepers of secrets.

You're caught up!!!!!! Just one more to go!!!! Yeah !!!!!

Once again, I liked the reasoning behind why Korst did not go after the mantle of woe himself. Just as Gandalf dared not even touch a certain ring, it stands the test of critical thinking.

I am also wondering if we are going to see Ingmar again, perhaps out in the woods? Or if you decided to gloss over that part of the game for the sake of brevity? I suppose we shall see...

And EYE have caught up, too, Trey, and I have even forgive you for bloodying my moon....

Just kidding. MORE, more!!!

There seemed to be little more to say- Korst’s advice was good, especially the part about letting Gaea Artoria know that I still lived. But as I made to rise, the shaman stopped me, saying,

“There is no need to rush off without some sort of a plan. Although you must finish the entire Test before Heart-Fang will speak what he knows, each part can be completed in its own time.”

He gestured for me to unroll the map showing the locations of the standing stones, and leaned over it, pointing to two on the southern end of the island.

“Look you, the Sun Stone is near to your fort, and the Earth Stone only a bit north and west of the place where your Imperial brethren dig at the bones of Nirn itself. You must visit each Stone, but the order in which you do so does not matter. The Test of Loyalty is hard enough; careful planning will save you many a step.”

He paused then and looked at me seriously.

“One thing more- I would give you my blessing, if you will have it.”

Though I was still not terribly religious, I knew that only a fool refused help that was freely given. So I nodded my assent.

Korst Wind-Eye placed both hands upon my bowed head and intoned:

“All-Father, keep this man cradled in the palm of your hand. Though he carries the visage of an Imperial, the blood of Skyrim is in him, so you will know him as one of yours. He must follow a dangerous path, and no man can see its end. Therefore, guide his steps, strengthen his arm, sharpen his wits, make his eye see truly. By your will, may it be so.”

A long silence followed, and I felt… something… pass through my scalp and down into my body. Whatever it was seemed to fill a void I had not known was there. And I did not fail to notice that statement that I carried the “blood of Skyrim.” I have no more to say about it- some experiences defy description.

Perhaps some of the shaman’s wisdom had passed to me with his blessing- rather than walk from one end of Solstheim to the other, I cast a Divine Intervention spell, which transported me directly to the bailey of Fort Frostmoth. I stood quietly, waiting for the magicka-induced nausea to subside- and to make sure all of my component parts had arrived in their proper places. I took the opportunity to look around the damaged fort.

Some desultory efforts had been made to repair the tumbled walls, but they were more cosmetic than serious. That was not surprising- after the attack, no officer was going to divert enough soldiers from duty to make a real difference in reconstruction Besides that, it would take a company of Legion engineers and their equipment to raise the destroyed walls. Whether that would happen or not was an open question.

Travelers who had visited the mainland said that most of the ancient Imperial forts were long abandoned, serving as lairs for bandits and worse. I wondered if the Empire was truly crumbling beneath my very feet. Then I considered the fact that an officer as junior as I had been sent- alone- to treat with the Skaal, and I feared I knew the answer.

But none of that mattered. Senior Trooper Carbo had taught me about my responsibilities:

“Even if you are the last one left, you are still a member of the Legion; you have the duty until you are relieved- or killed. That goes for every one of us, from a Knight of the Imperial Dragon down to rawest recruit- as long as you wear that uniform, you ARE the Empire, and you have the duty.”

With that thought, I entered the main quarters and located Gaea Artoria. Her lined face lit up at the sight of me, but when she saw that I was alone, it settled back into a frown. She spat a stream of hackle-lo juice into her a cup and said,

“Back again? So what news?”

I assumed the posture of a soldier giving a report- back straight, helmet in the crook of my arm, eyes focused somewhere past Agent Artoria’s left shoulder.

“My mission to the Skaal village was a partial success. I have gained their confidence, and believe that they will provide me with intelligence regarding the whereabouts of Captain Carius and the nature of the- creatures- that took him. However, before they will divulge that information, they require me to complete a- test. That test will take some time and will entail travelling over most of the island.”

She stared at me thoughtfully from beneath furrowed brows, taking in the furs that covered my armor, waiting with an expectant expression. But I knew better than to speak first- I had given my report; what happened now was up to her.

“You sure you haven’t gone native? The uniform isn’t starting to chafe is it? Or maybe some blue-eyed Skyrim sweetie has turned your head?”

I maintained my stance with difficulty, keeping my gaze on the wall behind her. The silence stretched and I finally said,

“With respect, Agent, my ‘sweetie’ is from Vvardenfell. And her eyes are lavender.”

The emphasis on her title was intentional- because I held the same rank. She grunted as if I had struck her, but then sighed and waved me to a chair.

“Dammit, Athlain, sit down and quit acting like a schoolboy reciting a lesson.”

She ran a hand through her iron-gray hair and continued,

“Look, I’m sorry. But it’s more than I can handle, trying to be in charge of a whole fort. That’s a job for a Knight. Do I look like anybody’s idea of a bloody damned Knight? And I don’t think the brass on the mainland is in any hurry to send a replacement. Their attitude seems to be: ‘You had a commander. It’s your bad luck that you misplaced him. Deal with it.’“

“You did fine, getting the Skaal to talk to you. Go on and do their test. They know more about the Cap’n than they’re saying, I can feel it. Get yourself something to eat and rest up; you look like you could use it. Then get back out there and find the Captain.”

I left the room and followed Gaea’s advice, at least as far as getting something to eat. Legion rations were designed to promote stamina and to “keep” for long periods of time. The first requirement was met by being almost impossible to eat if one was not already in top condition, especially as regarded one’s teeth. A standard Legion ration- dried meat, dried fruit, and biscuits that could serve double-duty as deadly projectiles at need. The usual practice in camp was to throw everything into a pot of warm water and let it soak for a while. That could include the biscuits, unless they were to be used as shot for the slingers. As I gulped my “camp stew,” I thought longingly of the fresh bread- and honey!- I had feasted upon at the Skaal village.

Thoughts of the Skaal inevitably reminded me of the Test of Loyalty. Korst had warned me that I should plan carefully; and I knew he was talking about more than just the order in which I visited the standing stones. I considered the tasks before me: find Louis Beauchamp’s airship- and the amulet he desired; deal once and for all with Carnius Magius; complete the Skaal test; find the Captain. And somewhere in there, find Athynae and make sure she never left me again, if I could. In the furtherance of that last, I wrote a letter to the wisest person I knew.

Here Ends Chapter 10

Woo Hoo! Awesome Chapter!!! I couldn't guess who the smartest person was, and was very surprised, lol. Great inner dialogue on Athlain throughout!

This gave me a chuckle:
You had a commander. It’s your bad luck that you misplaced him.

Yet in spite of the mirth, you did get it across that things are not what they used to be in the Imperial Legion. Understaffed, poorly led, allowing the infrastructure to fall apart, etc... You conjure up images in my mind of the Roman Empire in the 3rd and 4th Centuries.


This is hardtack alright:
That could include the biscuits, unless they were to be used as shot for the slingers.

It looks like you did your research on it. One thing U.S. Civil War soldiers did with hardtack was to put in their coffee. The weevils would float to the top (so they could sweep them off) and the hot liquid would supposedly soften the biscuit up.

I love the back and forth between Athlain and Gaea Artoria. I feel for her, thrust into the burden of command without the faintest idea of what to do or how to do it. It seems that all that she can do is sit around and wait for reports from the only person in the whole fort who seems to know what he’s about, Athlain. The fact that they share the same rank can’t sit well with her.

To quote an old Army (U.S.) song-

"Oh the biscuits in the Army, they say they're mighty fine,
One fell off the table and killed a pal of mine."

I absolutely agree on the suitability of both historical and present day army food for projectile ammunition.

grumblemumble.glacierspeed...grumble... get on with it!
Loved it Trey!

@MALX- I did not think I had revealed who the "wisest person" is? (Which is about to be remedied.) I always appreciate your continued reading.

@SubRosa- Oh yes. Army food. Almost certainly designed to give the troops something to complain about. "Canned bread?! From 1952?!!!" And the description of hardtack is very much based on the American Civil War (and my reading of Forester, as well). The state of the Legion- I wanted to bring in a small Oblivion connection- as much to show that Athlain's vision of Cyrodiil is far different from the reality as anything else.

@Destri- Again, examining the "command structure" (or lack of same) at Fort Frostmoth seemed important- and something the game rather ignores. Seemed important to explicitly talk about what might happen to a garrison of, ah- less-than-dedicated- soldiers when their commander goes missing.

@D. Foxy- Belated welcome and well-met. (Whispers to moderators- "Hide the liquor. The women are on their own.")

@Remko- Your wish is my (glacial) command-

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




A letter posted from Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim to Indarys Manor, Vvardenfell (selected portions):

Mother:

You are always in my thoughts …..

Some things happened which I cannot commit to paper….someone took a hand, and found me, and healed me. I am speaking, of course, of Athynae.

Yes, she was here, and for all too brief a time, we travelled together.

…she returned from Ebonheart, and …disappeared soon after, leaving a note that raised more questions than it answered.

…she inquired about marriage contracts….

…tell Athynae that, as far as I am concerned, we are “betrothed,” just as she told Svenja. Tell her that I miss her. And that I love her.


Selected notes on the Raven Rock enterprise and the East Empire Company. Prepared by Athynae Sarethi and preserved in the Indarys Manor archives:

…clear that Carnius Magius is more interested in his own immediate profit, rather than the colony’s future. You should work with Falco Galenus, who has proven trustworthy.

…Magius is dangerous! He has previously hired- and “disposed of” mercenaries and paid killers.

If it becomes clear he has been thwarted, Magius may use a multi-layered trap. The exact nature of the trap is unclear, but seems to involve magicka of some sort. He is also an expert with blunt weapons.


A note posted from Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim to Louis Beauchamp, Ald Skar Inn, Ald’ruhn:

Success.

That's IT????

*goes hunting for rest of post*

A bit like that interlude then. Excellent stuff, but you already know I love it and want to know what happens next.



I love the occasional brilliant one liners you put in and this is mst certainly one.

I can't see anything to criticise, except that I need more.

There is one line that stands out to me above all the others. Being a chick, it will probably come as not surprise.
…tell Athynae that, as far as I am concerned, we are “betrothed,” just as she told Svenja. Tell her that I miss her. And that I love her.

The entire post was worth reading just for that.

Thanks, everyone. I hope to be somewhat more productive in the weeks to come. We will see....


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In Ald’ruhn, on Vvardenfell, on a day near the end of First Seed, a solitary figure made her way through the village to the great Emperor crab shell known as Skar, and entered. Once inside, her quick, confident step carried her across the walkways to Sarethi Manor. She did not pause to knock, but entered as one long familiar with the home of the head of Great House Redoran. As the door swung open, a wisp of reddish hair escaped from beneath the hood of her cloak.

Reviewing the tasks before me, I tried to decide which I should take up first. My heart said I should drop everything and search for Athynae, but I had already done what I could in that regard. And I knew that she was enough of a Redoran that she would not look kindly upon me if I abandoned responsibility for personal reasons. That left the East Empire Company or Louis Beauchamp.

Carnius’ office was nearby, above the Imperial Cult shrine, but I was not certain that I could face the man without doing my best to kill him. Murdering an official of the EEC, especially one who was obviously well-connected, did not strike me as the most prudent option, no matter how satisfying it might be. Satisfaction would be cold comfort in the Imperial Prison- or, more likely, on the gallows.

Once again, it was Athynae who came to my aid, for in her last letter she had recommended that I trust Falco Galenus, the colony manager at Raven Rock. When someone with a temper as fiery as hers suggested taking the wiser path, it was well to listen. As to the missing airship, I would soon be quartering the island to find the standing stones, and could perhaps locate the Dwemer craft during that search. So, it appeared that I would be going to Raven Rock.

As I sorted through my gear, trying to decide what to leave and what to take, Saenus approached me.

“Don’t mind Gaea. She’s trying as best she can with very little help. You know what a hard time Captain Carius had leading this bunch of odds and sods, and he was trained for it. The only good thing about the attack was that it stopped us from feeling sorry for ourselves and made us work together.”

He paused and looked at what I was doing. A frown creased his brow and he asked,

“Are you taking off again? Ah…, sir?”

Those last words caused me to swallow the curt response that had sprung to my lips. Instead, I treated the young trooper to a rather wan smile and said,

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ And yes, I have to go to Raven Rock- my business with the Company needs to be finished. I’m hoping I can work with Falco, and leave Carnius to go to…. .”

When he heard that I had no intention of seeing the corrupt EEC factor, Saenus’ expression cleared.

“Well. That’s all right, then. You know, they finished a boat landing at the colony several weeks ago. Old Basks-in-the-Sun can take you right to it- no more having to fight your way through the wilderness.”

The news caused mixed feelings- on the one hand, travel by ship would be faster and safer. On the other, I still had vivid memories of my last sea voyage. I would be of little use to anyone if I arrived at Raven Rock worn out from hanging over the side and “feeding the fish.” Still, it might be worth looking into; if things got bad enough, I could always throw myself over the side and swim for shore. Then I would only have to worry about drowning- or freezing- or being eaten by a wolf or a bear.

Undaunted, I walked down to the stone pier and approached Basks-in-the-Sun, who still appeared to be nearly frozen. With a smile, I rummaged around in my gear and presented him with a furry bundle, saying,

“I don’t have boots for you, but these snow-wolf gauntlets should help knock the chill off.”

The Argonian tugged on the gloves, and as their natural magical properties began to manifest, some color returned to his scales. When his teeth had stopped chattering, he rasped,

“A fine gift, indeed. I do not know how I can repay you. Is there any assistance I might give?

I was about to wave away his offer, but then I remembered the dead Argonian I had found, his body perched atop a rock spire near the east coast of the island- and I also remembered the calluses on his hands. Those calluses had looked like the ones most sailors developed from hauling ropes and furling sails. I pulled the sketches I had made from my pack and asked Basks-in-the-Sun, “Does he look familiar?”

“Swims-in-Swells,” he said immediately. “He was a sailor- and perhaps a smuggler; although that could be said of most sailors. The last time I saw him he told me that some rich Breton had hired him to sail on a new kind of ship…. But that was a long time ago. Why do you carry his likeness? Does the Legion want him for something?”

Up until that moment, the dead Argonian had simply been a mystery- a problem to be solved. But now he had a name. And with a name came everything else- a history, a personality, perhaps a family who wondered what had become of him. He was no longer simply a dead body, but a person who had lived and breathed and then died alone in the wilderness. It was becoming increasingly clear to me that knowledge did not always yield happiness, and that every step I took could lead me into a confused tangle of obligation. With a sigh I told Basks-in-the-Sun:

“No, the Legion has no interest in him. I am sorry to say that I found him dead some distance north of here.”

The Argonian shipmaster looked out to sea, his expression impossible for me to read. At last he spoke, still staring into the distance:

“These islands are not good for us, I think. On Vvardenfell, we were slaves, treated like animals. Until Serene and Trey put a stop to it. But the elves still do not care for our presence. And Solstheim- it is so cold that the water turns to stone and the plants are all wrong. I fear sometimes that I will never see Black Marsh again.”

His melancholy was contagious- I found myself wondering whether I would ever be able to go home. And what reception I would find there, if I did. Neither the sky nor the sea appeared likely to provide any answers, so I shouldered my pack and crossed the gangplank onto the ship.

"...Then I would only have to worry about drowning- or freezing- or being eaten by a wolf or a bear."

In view of the watery context, perhaps "half - eaten by a slaughter fish and with a wolf or bear finishing me off for dessert" might be better?

But apart from that, your unique writing voice is delightful, as always.

And I too must confess, at the price of perhaps losing my testosterone badge, that fidelity in lovers is appealing to me, too.

PS I don't think it was fair of you to warn the mods to hide the alcohol that I was on the loose with females around...or wait...did you mean it the other way around?

(By the way, I'm straight edge. I don't touch alcohol or drugs)

He was warning the Mods about the women who may become loose females with the alcohol around. (and the Foxy in hot pursuit)

*I* don't need alcohol to turn into a loose-tongued Mae West when one such as D.Foxy is around!

Hauty FTW!

And that is a YES!

Er....I'm beginning to worry...


Just where are you planning to loose that tongue on me, Mae? And while I am putting on weight, I am not a round...or did you mean..

*sees mods coming*

..er...nothing! Nuffink et all Sir!!!

So the mystery of the dead Argonian was solved. I thought you did that well, portraying Athlain's humanity as he learned the Argonian's name, making him a real person rather than just a dead stranger. Likewise, Basks-in-the-Sun's longing for home, and obvious discontent was also touching.

I have often wondered about the Argonians. Are they cold-blooded, as reptiles? Or are they warm-blooded, like dinosaurs/birds? I keep thinking they must be warm-blooded, otherwise they could never survive in cold climates.

I didn't come to spam you this time, I finally got time to read, lol. Awesome Write....and I am finally going to learn something about Trey, since I haven't had time to dig in the archives yet!!!!!

Damn those inscruptable Argonians.

How long, oh doggy Trey will you continue to tease the world with Louis and his ship?
I want to know!!

As always, your Interludes alone are worth the price of admission.

Sage wisdom from someone called Basks-in-the-Sun? I think his melancholy has invaded Athlain and all of us to a certain degree. What could it be? Hmmm. . . I know,

STILL NO ATHYNAE!

(that opening tease was just cruel)

Another wonderful addition! Thank you for gracing us with this piece.
Honestly, I thought the part with the Argonians was superb!

Time seemed to be pressing upon me, so I forced myself to travel to Raven Rock on board the trading ship. Basks-in-the-Sun tried to reassure me by pointing out that we would not venture far from land on this run- not cross the open sea between Solstheim and Vvardenfell. All the same, I remained on deck, rather than confining myself in the small cabin. And, as it turned out, I actually rather enjoyed the voyage. Whether from Athynae’s healing or some other cause, my sea-sickness did not recur, and the singing of the wind in the rigging and splash of spray were invigorating. Better still, the trip was quite short.

Two rows of torches set in the ground marked the landing for Raven Rock, and I looked over the colony as we dropped the sail and used the sweeps to work in to shore. A great deal of work had been done in my absence- several buildings had been completed and the walls of still more reached skyward. Falco was in his usual place beneath a tree- and he still wore his accustomed frown of concern.

When I approached him, his expression did not clear, but became more cryptic than before. And I noticed that his hand went to the hilt of his sword, as well. I slowly shook my head and said evenly,

“Well met, Falco. What news?”

He had the grace to look a bit embarrassed and let go the sword, rather awkwardly putting his hand out to shake, instead. I accepted the offer and turned to survey the growing colony, as much to give Falco a moment to collect himself as for anything else.

“It appears that you have made progress. I imagine that the Company will be pleased.”

Falco cleared his throat and replied, “Yes. Well… Athlain, I apologize for my hesitation a moment ago, but… well, we are at a crossroads, whether you know it or not.”

He waved a hand at the buildings and continued, “I don’t mean all this- or rather, I do- but more to the point, I mean your place in Raven Rock’s success- or failure.”

When he fell silent, I prompted him: “How do you mean?”

“If he hasn’t already, Carnius will approach you. He will attempt to draw you into his plans for this enterprise, by fair means or foul. That is his pattern; I’ve seen it before. He works through intermediaries whenever possible. I do not know for certain what his plans are, but I do know they will be to the disadvantage of the people working here. I… hope you will see fit to aid me instead and make Raven Rock a better place.”

He paused then, but I sensed there was more he wanted to say, so I simply nodded. He looked around to make sure no one was nearby and lowered his voice:

“The true reason I took this position was to counter whatever scheme Carnius is planning. He has sabotaged Company projects before, but there was never any proof. It always appears to be a matter of accident, or circumstance, or bad luck. And he always ends up richer.”

He anticipated my next question: “The Company cannot get rid of him without proof- and he has enough friends among the Directors to continue receiving assignments. However, some others have recognized the pattern, and they sent me to put a stop to Carnius. So what do you say? I have to warn you that siding with me could be dangerous- he is a bad enemy. Of course, he is almost as dangerous to his ‘friends,’ considering how many of them have suffered ‘accidents’ once they were no longer useful.”

The results of our decisions are not always obvious at the time- there can be unintended consequences. For example, you could decide to leave home, join the Legion, and get sent to a frozen waste- only to discover that the girl that you love has always been right in front of you. And then lose that same girl almost at the moment you realized that you could not live without her. Just by way of an example….

Even so, some decisions were easy. Even if Carnius was not defrauding the Company, he had preyed upon my isolation and my weakness, almost causing me to die a lonely, dishonored death. With a smile that held no humor at all, I told Falco:

“I will be glad to help you in any way I can. What do you need me to do?”

My quick response seemed to surprise him; he made several false starts before admitting:

“There really isn’t any work you can do just now- I had expected you would need a day or two to consider your options. But, since you are so decisive, perhaps you can help with a small problem that has been troubling me.”

Falco indicated all the new construction, as well as the materials stacked ready for use.

“We have reached the point where we need to build something besides housing and storage facilities. There are sufficient funds for either a smith or a trader, but I am having a hard time deciding. I would like you to talk to the workers and think about it yourself, then get back to me.”

I nearly threw my hands up in frustration. To go from my deadly serious work with the Legion and the Skaal to this sort of mundane nonsense…. And how was this choice going to make any difference in stopping Carnius? But then I recalled how much of Mother’s time was taken up with the seemingly minor tasks of managing our home and the people who worked and lived there.

Once, when I expressed the opinion that a dispute between the cook and one of the guards was “silly,” Mother responded by asking me to sit down. “Perhaps it is ‘silly’- to you. But Soren is a long way from Skyrim and he misses familiar things- like food from his childhood. And Ranis takes pride in her cooking, which means she tries hard to please everyone. So how will it be if we lose Ranis and have to make our own meals- or if Soren is distracted from his responsibilities to provide security? The time to deal with a problem is while it is still small- and ‘silly.’ Far better I take a few minutes now than we all go without hot food- or protection, later.” And so she did- purchasing mead and honey, as well as other Nordic treats, and providing the cook with opportunities to try new recipes- which were generally met with unfeigned praise. Before long, Indarys Manor was back to being a harmonious, well-fed place.

With that memory to guide me, I swallowed my first, angry reply and instead told Falco that I would be happy to help.

The task was made somewhat easier by the fact that I already knew a number of the miners, including the three I had escorted from Fort Frostmoth. I located Gidar Verothan and Sabinus Oranius and explained the situation. They talked back and forth for a few minutes and came to an agreement- smith work could be done at the fort, but there was nowhere nearby to buy clothing or comforts. I thanked them for their time and started to turn away when I saw another familiar face- this one belonging to a certain sword-wielding female of my acquaintance.

Yay! A new update!

A few technical nits (all in one sentence!):

minutes lost its 's';
protection is exposed without its 'n';
and while the sentence is technically correct, I hate using that twice - maybe consider losing that both times: Far better I take a few minutes now than we all go without hot food - or protection, later. It's more a matter of personal preference, IMHO, and you decide if you want to consider my opinion or ignore it.

However, time for the things I liked:
This moment of introspection:
- QFT!

This so reminds me of some of Julian's quandaries in the MQ! This was particularly well done, as was the flashback that follows.

Not a typical cliffhanger, but still one nonetheless:
Oooh, I wonder who that could be!

I was moved by the same things that haute collie was. First Athlain's ruminations about his love life. How often just what you need has been sitting in front of you all along! Been there, done that myself.

Likewise, I particularly enjoyed Athlain's reflection on the importance of little things. The truth is that life is really just a bunch of little things all put together. Ignore them, at your peril.

this one belonging to a certain sword-wielding female of my acquaintance.
So I take it that Julian of Anvil has come to Solstheim? Oh wait, she is not acquainted with Athlain though...

I liiked this line, it catches his thoughts on the matter well. Not quite bitter but not all good either.

The thoughts of home seemed fitting as well. I enjoy how this piece can move from desperate fighting in the wastes to deciding what to build so seemlessly and all of it working so well with the character of Athlain.

Great stuff.

This was wonderful. FINALLY, we might get to see Athynae again, I hope, I hope, I hope. . . .

Yes, I am with Acadian!

Athynae, Athynae
Why, oh why did you go away?
I've waited so long for this day
You would once again come my way
Athynae, Athynae...

Oh dear! everybody seems to enjoy the fact that it just might be Thyna who's back! Makes me really happy...

I so enjoyed Athlain's attitude to more simple tasks as deciding what service facilities to be built! It made me smile... Athynae would probably have taken him by the ear and told him a word of wisdom...


Hilarious!

‘a certain sword-wielding female of my acquaintance’, eh? Why do I get the feeling that we are all being slightly played here? Last I knew, Athynae was clear over in Ald’ruhn straightening out this mess about the marriage contract. Perhaps she learned the truth from her mother and has returned to tell Athlain the news, but I doubt it. Unfortunately, other than Gaea Artoria back at the fort I can’t for the life of me think of another ‘sword-wielding’ female of Athlain’s acquaintance. I guess I’m just going to have to wait for the next update . . . Grrrrr!

Not only did she wield a sword, she's also quite talkative. I'll say no more; I've said too much already.

Oh aye..she resembles her mother....or her mother's creator?

Destri and Canis216 are too clever for me.... Although there is still at least one incorrect assumption. But time will reveal that- provided I ever get time to write the next part....

Fast-talking female with a sword at Raven Rock, and you've just committed to Falco?

Could only be Apronia Alfena. Remember, the talkative chick that was rescued from the crashed ship, who had killed a few draugr with the captain's sword?

Yeah, her. Man, I remember how she would not shut up pretty much the whole way back to Raven Rock. Useful though, unlike some people in the escort quests...(*mumbles* Urvel Dulni)