Hmmm you guys already quoted what I wanted to quote....so ok I won't repeat it..hehe

Treydoggie my friend, you are just awesome, I really loved this update, the dry humour made me laugh several times...oh dear oh dear

But I didn't see that coming; Athynae's unability to sing! Heh she must have inherited that from her father (who he might be? ) because Serene can sing, and she's darn good at it...

>.>

<.<

Hmmm. Never thought about whether certain people could sing or not....

No?? hehe Well Dunmers can probably not sing...I mean just listen to their voices...Athynae's father is Dunmer, now that's for sure anyway!

HEY TREY OLD MAN!!!


HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!

Happy Birthday Treydog !!!


Hope it is a great one!! (And may your tail always wag!)

All, thank you for your comments- and especially your patience.

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When I had at last composed myself, I decided that Aevar had either been more mature than I, or that his saga had been “cleaned up” over the years. Suppressing decidedly unwarrior-like giggles, I experimentally tapped one of the rock formations. When I did, the pattern of the … sounds… changed accordingly. Considering the story, I realized that I was supposed to repeat the original song, and that I would be well-advised not to do too much random banging around. I breathed deeply and relaxed, allowing myself to enter a near-trance state as I let my memory replay the four-note song I had followed to this place. When I was certain I had the correct sequence, I tapped the stalagmites with my mace and waited.

After a moment, a new pattern of notes presented itself, and began to repeat. Again, I held myself still and allowed the sequence to etch itself upon my mind. When I tapped out the new pattern, the song became full and strong, completely losing the humorous aspect it had originally exhibited. This truly was the Song of the Earth. As it sounded, I could hear the mountains rising up from the seas, only to be worn by wind, water, and ice. I could feel the slow breathing of the very stones themselves- a single exhalation every few thousand years. I at last knew in my soul that Nirn herself was alive, just as I was. And when it seemed that I could not contain that knowledge any longer, that I must surely explode from it- the cavern fell silent. But within that silence was the certainty that I was connected to the land- that I had come from her and that I would return to her in the fullness of time.

The human mind is too fragile to hold onto that sort of knowledge for very long; I soon came back to myself and my immediate surroundings. As before, I would need to return to the Stone to complete the ritual. With a last inappropriate thought- I dubbed the rock formation in the Chamber of Song “The Farcicals”- I left the caverns and turned to the south and west. Although I was pleased by my continued success, the snow seemed to drag at my feet as I walked, and my breathing seemed more labored than it should. With a shrug, I drank a restore fatigue potion and pressed on. There would be time to rest when I was finished.

When I reached the Earth Stone, and stretched my hand to touch the symbol inscribed upon it, the stone began to glow with a green light. The color mystified me for a time, until I decided that it was meant to represent the fact that green plants grow from the soil- it seemed as good an answer as any. From where I stood, I could smell the cooking fires and see the lights of Raven Rock. But that was not my destination, not yet, at least. According to the map, the Water Stone was along the western slope of the Moesring Mountains, almost directly north of my current location. Although there was no scale, I could tell it was some distance away. With the setting sun on my left, I began the journey.

Darkness fell before I found the Stone, and I decided it would be better to stop for the night, rather than risk missing it. I looked for one of the needle-leafed trees whose branches grew close to the ground and crawled under it. I scooped out a hollow close to the trunk and then removed some of the smaller limbs to line the depression. I did not try to build a fire- I feared its light might attract reavers or worse. My furs kept me warm enough, though it was not a pleasant night by any means. I had no food, not even Legion biscuits, and had not paused to hunt. At last, I quieted my stomach with a couple of potions.

The early sun woke me from a fitful sleep, and I crept out of my shelter to greet it. My limbs were stiff, and putting on my cold armor was no treat. But the stamping and cursing as I fought the frozen straps and buckles served to warm me enough that I was able to turn back to the north again in a short time. The snowy ground revealed the tracks of a number of creatures- some prints I recognized, and many I did not. Fortunately, the creatures again seemed oblivious to my presence and allowed me to pass without hindrance. I crossed a shallow arm of the sea that stretched inland for some distance, and began to see the first evidence of the mountains. Finally, on a steep slope quite close to the shore, I saw the familiar shape of a standing stone.

I had some difficulty climbing up to the Water Stone, and was able to maintain my position only after I kicked footholds into the rocky soil. The inscription, three wavy horizontal lines one above the other, was almost out of reach. Before I reached to touch the pictograph, I considered the form the task would probably take. The story indicated that Aevar had followed a horker into the sea, swimming “very far, and far again.” With that in mind, I removed my armor, caching it at the foot of the Stone. Then I reached up to touch the Water symbol.

The deep voice echoed inside my head, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere-

Travel west to a small island off the coast, and follow the Swimmer to seek the Waters of Life.

The cold wind swirled around me, finding its way through the spaces in my tunic and thin trousers. I rummaged through my dwindling stock of potions and finally downed one that provided some resistance to the numbing cold. Even so, my thoughts seemed to be slow and laborious, and it took me some time to extract a couple of additional vials marked with the symbol for frost. My bare feet slipped on the icy rocks as I turned to the west and faced the sea.

Walking on the ice that lined the coast was a new and unnerving experience. It was slippery beneath my feet and shifted alarmingly. Worse, the brittle surface groaned and popped at every step. It was almost a relief when I crossed the stretches of open water- I at least knew what to expect. The frost resistance potions kept me from freezing completely, but they could not protect me from feeling as if I were turning into a block of ice. After some struggle, I found the island I sought, somewhat more north than west. I knew it was the correct island, for it was occupied by a massive black horker.

The beast did not move away from me, nor acknowledge my presence in any way; it simply looked to the north, over the sea. When I was a few steps away, I asked- “Are you the Swimmer?” The horker still did not look at me, but lunged in an ungainly fashion towards the water. I followed and watched as its former clumsiness was transformed into grace as the water supported the great body. I feared that it would swim out of sight, but it stopped, as if waiting for me.

In that moment, as in so many others, I had cause to thank my mother for her foresight and her determination. One of the reasons she had insisted that I train with the Mages Guild was to learn two Alteration spells- water breathing and water walking.

“We live on an island,” she had said. “And I will not allow any child of mine to die by drowning. So learn the spells and that will be one less thing for me to worry about. No doubt you will find some other creative way to get yourself injured or killed, but you won’t drown.”

With a brief nod of thanks to my distant parent, I spoke the words of the spell that would allow me to breathe underwater and waded into the sea, where the Swimmer patiently waited. When it saw me enter the water, it dove and began swimming to the north. The journey was long, and I had to surface more than once to renew my spell. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the black horker stopped, hanging motionless in the water, with its front limbs pointing down, toward a rock spire that rose from the sea floor. A cave entrance was visible in the side of the spire- clearly, that was my destination.

Woo Hoo! I've never heard of this before! ARGH! Now I will be eaten up by curiosity wondering what is in that cave and whether Athlain will be able to hold his breath long enough to get down there and get inside! ARGH! What a great surprise to find you have updated Treydog! AWESOME !!!!!!!!!!!!!

Woof! Athlain has returned!

I especially liked his realization that the world was alive, and that he was a part of it. It makes the Witch in me smile.

I decided that Aevar had either been more mature than I, or that his saga had been “cleaned up” over the years.
Perhaps both!

“We live on an island,”
To quote Chief Brody, it's only an island if you look at it from the water...

I had to restrain myself from jumping up and down when I saw Bloody Moon at the top of the forum again!
It was more important to read the new update!

I loved the description of the song of the Earth. It captures the feeling mountains always give me perfectly. I don't know about hearing a song, but I know about feeling it!

Now I'm curious about the rock spire! Do strange and wondrous creatures live on it?

Please don't leave me so high and dry again!

Please don't leave me so high and dry again!


My dear, if you are high you won't be -

*someone knocked Foxy on the head before he could continue*

Hah. Classic.

Great to see you back at this. As usual I loved the dry humour and very real feel you give it and was delighted to see more of Athlain.

The use of resist frost spells was a nice touch, another area the game failed in was ignoring effects of cold (especially cold water which is very fatal very quickly), again it adds to the realism of the morrowind Trey inhabits.

More?

As always I am transported to Athlain's world by your magnificent first person intimate writing that is so rich with creative description, poignancy and even subtle humor.

I could hear and feel this too.

I loved that you graced us with a brief explanation of Athlain's water breathe/walk skill via flashback.

You packed so much goodness into this!

YESSSS!!!! Wonderful, so darn wonderful!! I was so happy to see this ..but the proverb says; If you wait for something good you can't wait too long...

I wish my dear boy good luck with his stone-project and I hope he will get back to Thyna in good shape..and soon!

Thanks for another update. I don't post here as often as I used to, but I still read every update in this great story.

I particularly enjoyed your description of how the song of the earth affected Athlain. It is intriguing to contemplate knowledge so vast and deep that the mind almost explodes in the perception of it.

Many thanks for all the wonderful comments, my friends. I am glad the Song of the Earth resonated with you- I have lived near the mountains my whole life and my father was a geologist... so I hoped to put into words the idea that the world itself is alive. As to Baria's brand of parental advice, I think of my own long-suffering mother- and of the rather, umm- (gets ready to duck)- acerbic nature of women with Baria's hair color. Special greetings to Dr. Planty- I am so glad you are still reading.

Finally, this installment is dedicated to Trey the dachshund, loyal friend and faithful companion for 19 years. Rest now, free from pain and sorrow.

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I surfaced just long enough to renew my water breathing spell and then dove toward the cave entrance. The passage was a twisting maze, and I soon began to doubt my sense of direction. At least there was a sort of low light, which was fortunate, as all my potions were in my pack- which was resting at the base of the Water Stone. Still, something drew me onward, and I at last sensed a patch of brighter light overhead. I kicked upward and just had time to see that I was in a small chamber. Hard on the heels of that revelation, a silver claymore whistled past my head, barely missing me. With a startled cry, I ducked back under the water, scrabbling for my mace with frozen fingers.

Peering up through the water showed that the sword was in the hands of a large skeletal warrior. The guardian did not immediately attack again, seemingly content to let the water take care of me. And it surely would if I did not surface soon- I could feel my spell beginning to wane. This was a situation that did not allow for any clever tactics- there was only one way for me to go- forward. All I could do was come out of the water as quickly as possible, limiting the time that I would be vulnerable.

Despite the urgency of the situation, I felt myself relax and give in to the battle trance. I had all the time I needed- time to get things right. A claymore was a terrible weapon, especially so when I had no shield. So I needed to get close and neutralize the weight and reach of the sword. Holding my mace close to my side, I placed my feet against the tunnel wall and pushed up and forward, landing lightly in front of the undead guard. The skeleton raised its silver sword high, preparing for a blow that would cut me in half if it landed. Instead of waiting and trying to block or dodge the down stroke, I reached out with my free hand and grasped one of the creature’s prominent ribs. I ignored the unpleasant greasy feel of the bone and the tingle of eldritch magic that animated the warrior and pulled with all my strength.

The ambulatory collection of bones might once have been a large man, complete with flesh and sinew. But now, it seemed to weigh almost nothing, especially in my frenzied state. Holding tight to the rib, I spun quickly to the left, slamming the skeleton against an icy wall. I used the momentum of my rotation to hammer the other side of the rib-cage with my mace. Against a normal opponent, I would have stepped back, opening distance and allowing the injuries I had inflicted time to further weaken my foe. But against a claymore, I had to stay close- and undead, skeletons, at least, seemed unable to feel pain. To stop such a construct, you had to utterly destroy it. And so I did, systematically turning the walking anatomy lesson into a pile of dust and shards. I think I can be forgiven if I was a trifle- enthusiastic- undead have always frightened me.

Fortunately, that lone warrior was the only guard in the small cavern. Once I had caught my breath, I looked around, and soon saw a potion bottle of an ancient style resting near the back of the chamber. I picked it up and haltingly translated the runic inscription that circled the body- Waters of Life. Placing it carefully inside my tunic, I turned back to the submerged tunnel that would take me out of the cavern. Perhaps I could have used an intervention or recall spell, but it did not seem right to do so. This was a test, after all. So, using my dwindling store of magical energy, I cast water-breathing and swam out of that place. When I reached the surface, the Swimmer was gone, having served its purpose. It was up to me to find my own way back to Solstheim.

I almost gave in then, almost surrendered myself to the cold, featureless water that surrounded me. With my head barely above the surface, I could get no sight of land, no sense of the direction I should take. I might swim for hours, going in aimless circles or further out to sea. Conserving my energy while I tried to find a solution, I lay on my back staring up at the darkening sky. The stars began to shine, and I recognized the constellation that had marked my birth- The Lady. And seeing her, I knew which way I must go.

Upon reaching the shore of Solstheim, I did not immediately try to find the Water Stone, fearing that darkness and exhaustion would bring me to grief. Instead, I made a cold camp, chewing a few hackle-lo leaves to quiet my hunger. The sun rose to find me shivering, my skin almost blue with cold. But daylight also revealed the shape of the land around me and showed that the Water Stone was only a short distance to the north. I knew that I would freeze long before I starved, so I set out at a slow run, trading my dwindling energy for badly-needed warmth.

I may have actually dozed off for a few moments when I finally stood before the Water Stone; I am certain that I stared at it in dull incomprehension for some time before recalling my purpose. With some difficulty, I broke the ancient wax seal on the mouth of the flask and poured the contents over the glyphs and down the face of the Stone. It began to glow, the color reminiscent of deep ocean water.

Perhaps I should have been pleased with my progress, and I did feel a sense of accomplishment. But I also felt a bone-deep exhaustion from the long swim out and the long swim back, plus another night without fire or shelter. After wrestling my aching limbs back into my armor, I swallowed a couple of potions without tasting them and drew out the map of the Standing Stones. Again, I might have slept on my feet for a time, only to be awakened by the booming and grinding of the ice. And what drives the ice? I wondered. My eyes found the place marked “Wind Stone,” and I felt somewhat better.

The Wind Stone appeared to be more or less to the east, and fairly near to the Skaal village. I pulled myself upright, thinking that I might visit the village and then find the Stone. As events transpired, I found something else first.

Well written yet again.

Mostly though, sorry to hear about your faithful hound. Man will never a better companion than a true and loyal dog devoted to its master.

the fight with the skelly, especially the comparison between the walking anatomy lesson and a flesh-and-sinew man, felt really gritty. The greasy bones, the tingle of magic, the light weight all hit home for me.

The tactics used in the face of a claymore were also pretty realistic.

Another well-done chapter!

Brilliant idea of grabbing a rib! I never would have thought of doing that, although in retrospect, it is rather obvious. I liked the description of the bones being greasy, the tingle of eldritch power under his fingers, etc... It all made the skeleton come alive (come adead?).

Woo another update. A good one too, as ever you take what the game offers and make it so much more without really conflicting with the cannon at all. Other's have said how well done the skeliton was so I'd only be echoing them.

I enjoyed how you conveyed his tiredness at the end, very much shown and very effective for it.

Good to see you continue this, and with a cliffy

This one hurt. As always I somehow manage to feel just about everything Athlain feels. Hitting that darn skellie a few more times than necessary, pounding heart. Mostly though, stone, bone cold exhaustion. Insult to injury was the cold camp. I'm just exhausted treydog! I need a fire. The hackle-lo leaves have worn off so I'm hungry too. Whew!

Oh, did I mention, your writing is as powerfully immersive as ever?

Well done friend. May memories of little Trey brighten your path and ease your burden.


Did you perchance mean 'for' here?

Sorry to hear about your dog Trey. I know what it's like to have to say goodbye to a beloved pet.

On a more joyful note; I loved your latest installment. But then, I always do

what a great update! I'm so happy to see you're back updating, and the dedication to the little doggie was really touching!

I was thrilled about the cliffie......

But naturally it makes me anxious to learn more

Writing has been slow to the point of ceasing lately. That is due in part to old dogs (sigh) and new kittens (smile). But I have a feeling that it goes deeper. Somehow, this seems to be a time for doing things which may later become the basis for stories, rather than a time for the stories themselves. It is as if some atavistic part of me knows that winter is the time to draw nearer the fire and spin a long yarn of distant places and heroic people…. Or maybe I simply need to seek the guidance of a certain red-haired half-elven lass to bring me back to the proper path.

Captain Hammer- My thanks- for your continued reading, and for your kind words.

Haute and SubRosa- I am glad the fight worked for you… I often “choreograph” Athlain’s fights, stepping through the movements myself to help visualize them. As I was doing this one, I suddenly thought, “Why not use one of those convenient ‘handles’?” Having done so, I wanted the contact to have a feel- rather like touching an electric fence.

Olen- It is good to hear that the weariness came through- I wanted to convey it without jumping up and down on the point. And I am also glad that my “expansion” of the game rings true- I have tried to do more along those lines with this story than the previous ones.

Acadian- More than once, my wife the artist and I have agreed that the point of art is to make the viewer (reader, consumer, etc.) feel. It may make them feel happy or horrified or uneasy, but it does not leave them unmoved. That is something you and Buffy also seem to understand at a cellular level- I often find myself saying, “Be careful!” as I read her adventures. Therefore, if my words make Athlain and his environment come alive for you, then I am well-pleased. Prepositional problem repaired, eagle-eyed Acadi-editor.

Remko- As ever, my thanks for your support. I never say as often as I should how much I enjoy your writing.

Minque- And thank you, too, one of my first and most faithful readers! This installment has a little surprise for you, based on a conversation we had some time ago. I think you will approve.

All- The last chapter saw Athlain choosing sides in the East Empire Company, and seeking answers regarding the attack on Fort Frostmoth. To gain the trust of the Skaal, he must complete the Test of Loyalty. Meanwhile, there are other forces and other players at work, two of whom are revealed in the following Interlude.

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

The airship met with disaster. I will provide a full report when I am able. However, I feel confident that the… enterprise… we discussed will soon be in hand. I cannot return to Vvardenfell myself, but may be able to persuade a trustworthy courier….


The visitor to Sarethi Manor was received with all due ceremony- meaning she was able to make her way to the private quarters without interference from the staff. Once she arrived in a particular sitting room, she removed her cloak and sat in a favorite chair. Her hostess poured tea, which was sipped and savored- a bit of “civilized behavior” always observed before business was discussed. Custom satisfied, she carefully placed her tea cup on the table and drew forth a well-worn letter.

“Cousin, I fear we may have miscalculated,” said Baria, wife of Trey and mother of Athlain.

With a raised eyebrow and small gesture of her open hand, Serene Sarethi indicated that she was listening.


An excerpt from The Prophecies of the Hunter:

Tested, tormented, the child of the blood of the hunter
Becomes predator as well as prey

Fleet, remorseless, and deadly
A worthy foe

The cold forge burns doubt
Reason is cast aside for certainty- hard and brittle as ice

Welcome back treydog. Again, condolences on old Trey and congrats on the young kit.

Best of luck, I know you will sort through things and continue to regale us - at your own pace. And we will be here for you.

A brief interlude. . . I am not an expert on the long term history of Trey, so let me see if I am clueless: This involved a meeting between the mother of Athlain and the (minquish) mother of Athynae.

I'm not clear what they are plotting, but somehow I know it has something to to with the wannabe young couple that we all adore.

Now, let me really risk looking foolishly poor at following bread crumb trails. Why do I have visions of a werewolf with red fur?

Oooh! You MUST continue this!!!

ooh more breadcrumbs!

I will file this interlude away for future reference. I'm sure the aha! moment will come eventually! I do love these interludes, as they provide some sense of foreshadowing.

I know how it is to lose a long-term friend (three times for me, two cats and a horse). Still, may the new kits bring you plenty of joy and make the void in your hearts more bearable.

Serene returns! I have to say, after reading her in minque's story, seeing her here gains a whole extra wow factor.

Ah, if only Gonzo were a real dog, and had puppies, I would give one to you, Trey.

Bread-crumbs indeed. I will not say much as to your surmises- partly to maintain the suspense- but also because I have not yet completely decided. The well-worn letter was Athlain's last, in which he detailed his rescue by Athynae- and her sudden departure. A change from the outline I have been carrying in my head all these years is the fact that Serene and Baria are cousins- in this case by marriage. It all has to do with Baria's first, deceased husband and the truly convoluted genealogy of the Cyrodiilic military families. So, to reinforce the earlier point- I might tell you what would happen next if I knew, but I am rather making it up as I go along. Thanks everyone for your condolences- Princess Juneipurr Cheezit the First has filled our home and our hearts. She is not a replacement- one can never replace a friend like Trey- but she is a wonderful four-footed furry person in her own right.



The Wind Stone was north and east from where I stood shivering upon the coast, but the terrain was not conducive to taking a direct route. I might have attempted Levitation, but did not trust my ability to cast the spell. A potion would solve that problem, but I had already fallen asleep- or at least into a daze- on my feet. What would happen if I fell into another stupor and the potion’s effect wore off while I floated high above the ground? My feet would simply have to carry me a little further, north around the steep slopes of Hvitkald Peak, and then east along the ice of a frozen stream. Such was my plan, at least.

But streams do not concern themselves with the plans of mere frozen, foolish humans, and their courses follow a logic much older than we. Had I been rested and fed, I could have bypassed some of the loops and turns, climbing the banks at need to survey the land and to adjust my direction. As it was, all I could do was move forward one step at a time, hoping that the weather would hold for however long it might take me to reach the Skaal village. So I found myself going north and then south, but tending always to the east, until something broke through the fog in my brain. A shape loomed up from the white ground and icy rocks, a vision that had no business in the middle of this landlocked waste. It was a construct of human hands, consisting of wood and Dwemer metal. Here at last, was the airship on which Louis Beauchamp had rested his hopes- and spent my money. And it was a wreck, surrounded by drifted snow and discarded cargo.

It should not have surprised me- the search for this vessel had been one of the things that brought me to Solstheim. The airship was in a sad state, and I felt the melancholy that always overcame me when I saw the ruins of something that had once been beautiful. The ship had literally fallen from the sky, and the ground was unforgiving, despite the blanket of snow. Mysterious bits of equipment were scattered around the site; other, more sadly familiar shapes also lay where they had been thrown by the impact. They were the bodies of the crew- apparently killed in the crash, or shortly afterwards from exposure and injuries.

I examined each of them in turn: a pair of young Dunmer who looked enough alike that they had to be brothers, and a single Breton, who even in death had a look about him that said he had been willing to try his hand at anything. Sheltered beside the ship itself was the last body, another Breton, lying upon a bedroll and clutching a book in his frozen hands. By his age and his clothing, he had been the captain. His unseeing eyes stared north, toward the slope of a hill. And his face bore a look of terror. When I read the final entries in the journal he held, I understood why.

Entry 12: Dead. All of them ded. Most of the crew were killd instantly when the aiship went down. the few that made it soon sucummed to the cold. I alon survived. Need to make a camp. Snow is blocking my way into the ship's hold. I go to the barrow in the murning. I can harly write. My hands arr nearly frzen.

Entry 13: so cold so cold. So huNgry...madness takKIng me I can feeeel ite. I see eyes night eyes wolf eys. Here them...so hungry. Eye of wlf coming! White wolf! So col...

Despite the captain’s final entry, there was no sign that anything had disturbed the bodies. I could only assume that the “madness” to which he referred had produced hallucinations, perhaps prompted by having seen some of Solstheim’s many wolves as he sailed above the island.

Still, the journal held the key to other mysteries, not the least of them how Swims-in-Swells had come to his lonely end atop a rock on the east coast- a madness had taken him, unreasoning fear at the unnatural feat of sailing through the air rather than upon the sea. The captain had been forced to slay him before he wrecked the machinery that powered the ship. And just before the crash, they had found Hrothmund’s Bane, the supposed resting place of the object of this ill-starred enterprise. It lay only a short distance to the north- a burial mound formed into the shape of a great wolf.

As I held Captain Jodoin’s stained and tattered journal, I felt more alone than at any time since my drug-addled days in Uncle Sweetshare’s cabin. Here lay four men dead- five, counting the unfortunate Argonian who had been sacrificed in a futile attempt to save the airship- and all that was left were these brittle pages. The ink would fade and the paper would crumble to dust, and it would be as if none of them had ever existed, as if none of the events of their lives had ever happened.

Reverently, I set aside the captain’s journal and drew out my own. I looked with loathing at the worn cover, at the leaves that held my ridiculous words of hope and despair. What was the point of it? Why did I feel so driven to keep a record of my wasted life? And who was it for, anyway? Not my family- I had abandoned them for this “grand adventure.” And I dared not let anyone in the Legion read the truth of my failures…. Almost, I tossed it into the flames of my campfire. But I couldn’t- not quite. Because if I did, the next thing would be to lie down and die, to wait for the “white wolf” to come for me. I was not ready for that; I did not believe my story was over- not yet. I was lost, but perhaps not irredeemably so.

There was little I could do for Captain Jodoin and his crew, but there were two things, at least. First, I pulled their pitiful corpses onto the deck of the little airship and locked them in the cabin, warding the door with the symbols of Kynareth, patron of sailors and Arkay, god of funerals. Considering that I doubted their very existence, I hoped the Divines would overlook my hypocrisy. That was the first task, and the easiest. The second was harder, but it was still my responsibility. I owed a debt to these dead men and elves. Perhaps Louis Beauchamp would have hired them and sent them out and they would have found their deaths in any event. But it was my money that had been used to entice them, so in a way, they had been my employees. With that in mind, I turned north, toward Hrothmund’s Bane, to finish the job they had started.

First, let me say hurrah to Princess Juneipurr!

A poignant entry, showing Athlain's feelings of responsibility for the lost ship. With it an ominous shadow. A white wolf? Madness? Could this be werewolves?

Good to see this started again, and a good job of injecting some emotion into that quest. And now he plans to include Hrothmund's Bane, though as I recall he was never told the password to get in (though I may be filing to remember). Should be intersting either way, though with how worn out he is I wonder if he will manage.

I loved his musings about the journal and futility. Very in character with a very strong character to back it up. I look forward to more.

I echo both Sage Rose and Olen on the latest installment. It was good to see Athlain again. The despair and futility he feels on struggling through the frozen waste and finding the remains of the airship and its crew are enough to make me shiver on this 90+ degree day.

And congratulations on darling Cheezie! I can already see her purrsonality in my mind's eye based on just her full name! While she may be little now (didn't you mention she was a little kitten?), I have no doubt she will grow into that long multisyllablic name that has been bestowed on her.

Darn. You have me shivering and reaching for furs again! Brrr.

I know not the quests of Morrowind, but it doesn't matter with Athlain as my guide.

I pulled this to highlight because of the beauty and power of the words you have written. Imagine my surprise to, in the very next paragraph, find another jewel of equal beauty as Athlain contemplated his own diary. Wow.

Athlain feels like he's wasted his life? Hmmm... How dark. I suppose the disappearance of Athynea from his life might have something to do with his melancholic sentiments?

Loved it Trey and can't wait to read more.

Welcome back Trey!!! And now I have more goodies to read...yes Im selfish I know but cant help it

I wanted to provide an update on where things stand. MW and Bloodmoon run fairly well on the new system. However, the saved games I was able to recover are old. As in before Athlain got to Solstheim old. So I will have to redo all those quests, and I also have to "grind" to get him to a place where he won't die 5 seconds after leaving Fort Frostmoth.

I am on PC, so I could cheat him to a higher level, but I do not remember his actual numbers, so I don't want to do that.

On a better note, I have around 2000 words of the next installment(s) written. But- I need some "bridging" material to connect those words to the end of the last piece. And to do that, I need to have Athlain at the right place in the game. So it may be a while.

He is no longer in electronic limbo, just experiencing deja vu all over again.

What wonderful news! Yes, it sucks having an old save that doesn't give you the capabilities you are used to! I have a bad habit of not saving nearly often enough, so I speak from experience!

I will look forward to seeing more of Trey once you get him buffed and back in fighting form!

Wonderful work! I'm not much of a commenter, but I'm an avid reader. Eagerly awaiting your next installment!

And- we’re back.

@SubRosa- Werewolf? There wolf. There castle. Sorry, I just have to throw that in every now and again. I like to think one of Athlain’s most appealing (and sometimes infuriating) traits is his sense of duty. The Captain’s journal entries are purely in-game- some of the better work Bethesda did, I believe.

@Olen- Thank you so much. Considering how well you write characters, I am doubly appreciative. As to the password… well, see below.

@haute- If I can so immerse you in Solstheim as to take your mind away from the heat wave, my work is done…. And as to the kitty, she is now about 6-8 months old. And she has personality to spare! She mostly demonstrates it by bouncing onto the bed at 5 a.m. to see why we are wasting all that time sleeping…

@Acadian- It seemed that the Captain’s journal (and Athlain’s doubt about his own chronicle), was just too good an opportunity to miss- especially with this group of talented journal-writers. And a Nordic setting seemed a perfect place to include a little existential angst…

@Remko- Very perceptive. Yes, losing Athynae just as he has realized how he feels was rather like losing a big piece of his soul… Then too, there is the way he has been driving himself, about which there will be more in the next installment.

@D.Foxy- How can I respond to a greedy fox, other than to provide another (tasty, I hope) morsel?

@RavenMind- Thank you, and your wish has been granted.

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

Before setting out, I wanted to see what Captain Jodoin had seen, so I risked a potion of levitation and floated up about 50 feet. I then turned north and “walked” until I could see the stone formation that depicted the Fell Wolf that had killed Hrothmund, original chieftain of Thirsk. The mound was quite large, with the “head” of the wolf facing west and lifted as if howling a challenge. That was my goal, as the barrow was said to be at the “eye of the wolf.”

Returning to the ground, I checked my dwindling supplies and then shrugged in resignation. I had my armor and the silver and ebony mace I had named Athynae’s Gift. For the rest, a few healing potions and my own small store of magicka would have to do. It was liberating to have shed so many of the things I had thought “essential” when I first decided to embark upon the life of an adventurer, but I reminded myself that death could be a form of liberation as well. And there were still numerous denizens of these snow-shrouded mountains who would be more than willing to grant me that final freedom.

With that in mind, I imbibed another levitation potion, my last, and went north once more. Previously, I had focused on the terrain, seeking the entry to the barrow. Now, I scanned the ground for movement or for enemies that might lie in wait. What I saw caused me to check the potion bottle to ensure that I had not swallowed sujamma or greef instead. There were several creatures moving about the slopes of the burial mound, and I recognized them as the savage and hardy boars known as tusked bristlebacks. That much was reasonable; I had several painful memories of previous encounters with the wild pigs of Solstheim. But what caused me to doubt my vision and my sanity were the small shapes that I saw riding the beasts.

They appeared to be no larger than children, with skin the color of blue ice. In addition, they wore armor fashioned from animal hides and carried shields and lances or large blades scaled to their own dimensions. And as I watched, they used those weapons to deadly purpose, riding down and slaughtering a wolf, which they then devoured- bones, fur, and all. Best to avoid these strange creatures, I decided, and began to “swim” through the air toward the western end of the barrow.

Rather than go directly to the “eye,” I decided to land in the narrow stone passage that formed the foreleg of the wolf and scout on foot. If I had been a competent archer or more skilled with ranged spells, I might have stayed in the air. However, I was neither- and I feared that the potion’s effect would wear off at a bad moment, dropping me out of the sky to sprawl helplessly before an enemy I had just annoyed with a badly-aimed arrow. My caution was justified- and useless.

Despite the time I had spent in the wilderness, I managed to forget that the creatures of Solstheim, especially the predators, had more senses than sight or hearing. Even if I was not clanking around in plain view, the wind could carry my scent to any beast with a better nose than my own. Such as, say, the snow-white wolf that came bounding down the stone corridor with its lips peeled back from fangs that seemed as long as my fingers. My feet had barely touched the ground before he was upon me, breathing a blast of icy air into my face. Even before his fangs clamped down upon my leg, I felt the bite of that cold breath at my very core.

The wolf’s jaws held my leg with crushing force, but I had a bare moment to do something before the situation became far worse. If I allowed him to shake his head, a move designed to tear the wounds open wider and cause the prey to bleed out, I would be finished. To prevent that from happening, I slammed the edge of my shield down on him and drew my arm in tight to my body, pinning the wolf in place. He was far stronger than I, so I knew I couldn’t hold him for long. But a few seconds were all I needed to hammer Athynae’s Gift down upon his spine once and then again. With the second blow, I heard a loud ‘crack’ and the wolf went limp. Better still, the mace’s enchantment transferred some of his departing life force to me, partly healing my wounded leg.

A potion and a minor spell took care of the rest, although I had to remove one of my greaves to smooth out the ragged bits of metal that would otherwise have injured my leg anew. There wasn’t time to completely fix the damage, nor did I relish the idea of attracting every enemy within a mile with the sound of a metal repair hammer banging on metal armor. Sometimes, you just had to do the best you could and go on.

Once I had put everything back together, I cautiously approached the stone formation that held the entrance to the barrow. The entry was covered with a bear skin, and I reached to draw it aside. When I did, a voice spoke from the empty air; a deep, growling voice filled with menace. And it recited a riddle:

Some they call me Hrothmund’s Bane, with midnight teeth and moonlight mane.
I am the wolf one soul may tame, by uttering now my given name.
But speak the truth; for those who lie, gain not the wealth beyond my eye.
Answer false, and evermore, closed shut will be my icy door.
What is my name?

My reason deserted me. It was too much- I had been through too much- to have come this far and be thwarted by a riddle. How was I supposed to know the creature’s cursed name? All those months ago, when Louis Beauchamp had been babbling about the airship project, he had told me the password. But I could not remember. Something Nordic-sounding…. Was it Ondaatje? Jagermeister? Svenska Limpa? Why hadn’t I written it down? That thought was my salvation, for it gave birth to another- I had not written down the name of the fell wolf, but Bereditte Jastal had, in his History of Thirsk. Now, if only I hadn’t left the book lying about somewhere, along with my remaining wits…

Digging through my spare clothing, I felt a square object near the bottom of my pack and drew it forth with a triumphant cry. With chilled fingers, I frantically paged through the scholar’s long-winded pronouncements, seeking the one word that I needed. At last I found it and said aloud:

“Ondjage.”

There was a brief silence and then the skin covering the door swung inward as the growling voice that had queried me earlier intoned:

You spoke the truth and won the game
By speaking clear my rightful name.

As I stepped through the entry, all I could think was that I was grateful the early inhabitants of Solstheim were Nords rather than Dwemer. If I had tried to pronounce a Dwemer name, especially in this chill, I would have dislocated my tongue.

treydoggone it. I needed furs again for this one. Cold. Lonely. Powerful atmosphere you wove through this.

Wonderful description of the white wolf and how Athlain defeated it.

Few things are richer than the treydog delivered ruminations of Athlain, and this was an excellent example of that.

You know I'm terrible with plots . . . especially if they relate to a game I have not played (MW). Is it my imagination that I want to link Athynae with wolves?

And BRRRRRR!!!! Even in August I can feel the bone chilling cold of both the danger and the weather of this story...


... ahh!!! NOTHING is better to read a story of cold than in front of a screen, in a warm room, hot coffee cup in hand!!!


:thumbsup: Trey!!!

Jagermeister? Jagermeister??

I loved Athlain cursing himself for not writing down the password, then celebrating the fact that he had the book with him after all! How handy!

Hautmistess, the word is in german
Or Nordic, or Swedish, or whatever's germane,
Hautmistrees, the word is huntmaster
And now I leave this thread, faster!

Impressive work, particularly the fight with the wolf.

The relative weakness of Solthseim's upper-tier beasts always bugged me. Glad to see it modified appropriately for your story.

I'm not sure solstheim would be quite cold enough to make that stuff palatable.

Great to see this continued though. I enjoyed his use of levitation to see where things were and to scout for enemies, it's clever and helps show how the magic affects the game world. The description of the absorb health enchantment is a nice touch too.

I still need more though.

Who let the dogs out? (sorry, could not resist!) Yay, my favorite canine writer has returned.

Another good segment. Athlain shows excellent situational awareness by avoiding the boar cavalry (are those Falmer riding them?) and sneaking around instead. Not the macho, muscle-bound hero way, but rather the "I have a brain and actually use it" way. Nice to see!

If I had tried to pronounce a Dwemer name, especially in this chill, I would have dislocated my tongue.
This gave me more than a faint smile.

I should go away more often, you became prolific the moment I left! I love these new chapters, these are things I never knew about in the game!!! Loving this!

I normally do not "post-machine" my thread, but for once I actually have enough work to provide another installment sooner rather than later. And, while I considered holding this one 'til the end of the week... nah.

@Acadian- Thank you as always for reading and for your kind words. I must agree with Destri, however, that you are hereafter barred from deprecating you own plot-weaving abilities…. I have, after all, read Buffy’s journals. As to the gist of your idea- hmm, perhaps something will be revealed in what follows.

@D.Foxy- Iced tea for me, with sugar and lemon… I am a U.S. Southerner, after all, and appearances must be maintained. And if I can make you feel the chill of that barrow even in August, I am pleased.

@haute- The fumbling for the correct password was a little (very little) joke that came to me months ago, and I just had to do it. The references are, in order: a Dutch author (Michael Ondaatje- The English Patient); a German liqueur of doubtful taste (as you knew); and a Swedish rye bread. So much for Athlain’s ability to come up with words that “sound Nordic.” Which may go some way toward explaining why he is so OCD about keeping a journal, although it was no help in this case.

@Captain Hammer- Good to see you back, and thank you for reading. It is true that once a character is strong enough to survive Solstheim, it’s hard not to be over-powered. I try to compensate in the story by not leveling too rapidly; limiting Athlain to a necessary, but not uber weapon; and trying to avoid potion abuse.

@Olen- In re the J word, see note to haute, above. Thank you for endorsing Athlain’s strategy- even though it will cost him later…. And, because you ask, more will be provided.

@SubRosa- Woof, woof, woof. Yes, despite what his sisters think, he actually did more during his training than engage in blunt weapon practice without a helmet… Although it might have taken such measures to get anything through his stubborn head. As to the Dwemer remark, I present: Arknghthand, Bthungthumz, Nchuleftingth. I think I have to go lie down now.

@mALX- Our very own minxtress, you cannot go away and leave us again. If more of my writing will keep you here, then I must away to my garret and put pen to paper at once.

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

Despite the elaborate ritual required for entry and the history of Hrothmund’s Barrow, once I entered, I found the interior plain, even crude. The icy vestibule gave way to rough-built stone walls that formed a passage to the left. The passage was illuminated by magical fires that burned without heat. After only a few steps, I was in the main chamber, which contained a large, intricately carved stone pedestal, into which had been driven a huge war axe. If I translated the inscriptions correctly, the axe was the very one wielded by Hrothmund the Red, founder of Thirsk. The markings also seemed to indicate that he had been the only man capable of using the great weapon. Beyond the remains of what appeared to have been a would-be grave robber, the chamber held only a body interred in a niche and encased in ice. What I did not find was any sign of a great treasure, nor the amulet that had cost so many people so much.

Thinking that the pedestal with the axe might have a hidden compartment, I went closer to examine the carvings. When I did so, I saw a rather drab piece of jewelry hanging on a cheap chain tossed carelessly atop the pedestal. I examined it as closely as I could without touching it; items in burial mounds could sometimes carry unpleasant curses for the unwary. I had only to look at the skeletal remains on the left side of the room to have my caution reinforced. After a moment I pulled out the creased and folded paper containing Louis Beauchamp’s sketch of the treasure he desired above all else. That confirmed it- this was indeed the Amulet of Infectious Charm.

Holding myself in readiness for a surprise attack, I hooked the fingers of my left hand through the chain and lifted it into the air. I paused for several slow, painful breaths and… nothing happened. With a sigh of relief, I dropped the amulet into a pouch and tucked it away inside my nearly empty pack. I did not know yet how I would get the trinket to the Breton inventor, a task that would require my return to Ald’ruhn. But that was a problem for another day. What I needed to do now was find some place warm, preferably with food. Else I was going to have to find out what raw snow wolf tasted like. In the event, that was not an option, either.

Leaving the burial chamber, I cast about for a way out of the maze of stones that formed the outline of Hrothmund’s Bane. As I did so, the wind brought a sound of enraged squeals and other, less definable noises. The source of the awful clamor made itself known with frightening speed- a group of the fearsome bristlebacks, along with their blue-skinned riders, burst into the clearing where I stood. Kicking up clouds of snow in their fury, they attacked. And by Talos, they hit hard! Tusks, lances, blades, and even the riders’ own oversized teeth all sought my flesh.

As the maelstrom of squealing boars and slashing weapons threatened to engulf me, I shouted, “Ondjage,” in hopes of being able to dart back inside the barrow for shelter. But that way was barred and I could not enter. With my back pressed against the immovable bearskin door, I vowed to make my stand. I knew that mobility, usually an asset in a fight, would be my downfall in this circumstance. I could not outrun the boars, and in these close quarters there were too many of them. All it would take would be one to slip behind me and slice the backs of my legs with razor tusks or metal blade. If ever I went to the ground, I would not rise again. So I must be a rock, and let the wave break over me. And pray that when the tide receded, I would still be standing.

I do not remember how I survived what followed; all I have are moments, frozen instants like woodcuts in a book.

I swing Athynae’s Gift like a scythe and sweep a rider and his mount into tumbled ruin against a boulder.

A boar gashes my right leg with a tusk. There is no time to uncap and drink a healing potion, so I crush the vial in my gauntleted hand and drip the soothing liquid over the wound.

In the midst of the mindless squealing, the wordless shouts of the riders, the sound of weapons striking armor and flesh- standing in the heart of that raging storm, I alone am silent, calm. Death may claim me, but not today. I am Athlain; I am a soldier of the Imperial Legion; I cannot fail.

And then blessed quiet came, broken only by the ceaseless wind and my own harsh breathing. I collapsed against the barrow entry, with my armor and my flesh torn, the snow around me turned red from their blood and my own. I slid slowly down until I was sitting on the ground, my shield a useless ruin that I absently shook from my arm, the mace across my knees the only bit of my gear that was still intact. I recalled Brynjolfr’s words regarding the weapon Athynae had him make for me: “The handle is ash; it willna shatter.”

Would that the same were true of my bones.

It took all of my healing potions and the last of my magicka to repair the wounds I had suffered. The effort of casting nearly exhausted me, but I could not stay where there was so much blood- not with the number of wolves and bears that roamed Solstheim. Therefore, I left Hrothmund’s Bane and floundered up the hill to the south, stumbling back to my makeshift camp beside the ruined airship. I was practically asleep on my feet, so, too tired for squeamishness, I settled on the dead captain’s bedroll and pulled out the amulet that had cost so much to obtain.

There was a hint of illusion magic, which made sense for a charm. There was something else, as well, but I was too far gone to delve into it more deeply. It was not terribly impressive, either in craftsmanship or magical aura, looking only slightly better than the cheap trinkets sold by wandering traders or given as “prizes” at the village fairs. A bitter laugh escaped me; I had succeeded, in part by climbing upon the shoulders of dead men, and it was of no consequence. I held the amulet in my hands, but lacked the means or the strength to deliver it to Louis Beauchamp. Perhaps another expedition would find the bauble with my frozen remains and carry it back to the Breton inventor, who could test its supposed power to attract beautiful women ….

For an unknown time, I was aware of nothing except the falling snow. It was hypnotic, and I felt myself falling, too, falling without ever reaching the ground. A sound roused me from my trance and I saw a vision of white fur approaching. Had Captain Jodoin’s white wolf come for me so soon? But if so, why did it walk on two legs? As the figure came closer, I saw that it was not a wolf, but a person in wolf-hide armor. In fact, it appeared to be Athynae, standing over me with her hands on her slender hips and a worried frown on her face. No doubt it was a dream or hallucination, but she seemed so real that I looked from her to the Amulet of Infectious Charm and mumbled in stupefied wonder,

“What do you know? The blasted thing actually works!”

If my remark amused Athynae’s phantasm, she hid it well. She continued to scowl at me, and then demanded abruptly,

“When did you last eat?”

It seemed an odd question for a hallucination to ask. Of course, I had heard some people say that ghosts and the like were just a result of over-indulgence in spicy food, so perhaps it made sense after all. Apparently annoyed by my continued silence, the apparition stamped its foot. I was interested to note that a puff of snow flew up as it did so. It was certainly a realistic bit of indigestion that I was experiencing. Except… and here my belief that this was imaginary stuttered to a stop… except that how could I be experiencing indigestion when I hadn’t eaten anything in days?

I reached out a trembling hand to grasp a very solid and very warm ankle and whispered,

“‘Thyna?”

Great description of the cave. The battle outside was portrayed in a fascinatingly different manner that I enjoyed.

I loved this for many reasons for it says so much on so many levels. I was content that my required ration of Athynae was sated. Little did I realize the joy to follow!

Athlain's ruminations in the snow were wonderfully rich and immersive. So gently they wove into the approaching furs. And so masterfully you revealed what the approach of those furs carried. Yay!!!

Don't let her get away this time Athlain!

Hwut he said!