Welcome to the army, kid.

Oh boy! I always love hard-nosed sergeants that ride against their recruits. Excellent depiction of such a character, trey!

Very nice Character there Trey, gotta love that attitude in a sergeant Athlain better have a lot of guts if he's gonna pull through this.

Imperial Legion huh? Didn´t his dad tell him stories from the past about how those legionnaires treated women?

Anyway I´m sure Athlain can handle things, after all his name is....Treyson, right? That means something..hmmm

This is shaping up to be as much as a classic as The Story Of Trey.

Being English I do start feeling guilty when I read this though. Pleasure is something to be carefully rationed, and this is such delightfully sinful pleasure that I should really go for a three mile run in the rain after reading it. Or I could get a cuppa and read it again

Wonder which I'll choose to do....

Keep it up, I'm loving every second of this.

If i were you Burnt....I´d go for the cuppa! Because that´s what I do when I feel like having a good time....f ex reading trey-stories


Oh I wonder when I finally get over my...."block"?

Yes indeed minque, it would be awesome for you to get past the dreadful obstacle called the writer's block. I'm quite sure there's plenty of people silently urging you on. I'm included in that bunch because I love following your story and for other reasons that will eventually be revealed....

Oh yes, and Trey has been absolutely solid so far with this story. Even this early into the story, the reader has a good idea on how Athlain thinks and acts.

Maybe now Athlain is seeing why his father (who is that again?) has such great distaste for the Empire--let us hope the young man can muddle through.

Once we got outside the barracks, the angry Legionnaire continued to shout at me. As I juggled helmet, cuirass, greaves, and so on, he paced back and forth bellowing.

“Let’s start out easy. Pull the chain mail cuirass over your head and put one arm through each arm hole. Try not to get lost inside of the armor. Now, put the helmet on your head. You can do that, I hope?”

When I managed that feat, he adopted a mockingly prayerful attitude and intoned,

“Oh, thank you, great Talos, for sending me a recruit who can locate his own head without needing both hands and a torch. I am truly grateful. Strap the greaves onto your legs and place your feet inside the boots.”

Once the armor was secured to his satisfaction, he had me stand straight, with my chin tucked into my chest while he walked slowly around me. At last he gave a heavy sigh and said,

“Well, you don’t look completely like a sack of dung, so I guess that’ll do. If you have not guessed yet, I am Trooper Carbo. The General, in his infinite wisdom, has placed you in my tender care. You will call me ‘Trooper Carbo.’ I will call you whatever it pleases me to call you.”

He picked up the long iron spear and slapped it into my hands. He then resumed his pacing, shouting all the while:

“If you are fortunate, and manage not to do yourself a grievous injury in the following weeks, you may achieve the rank of Spearman. As you are a lowly recruit, and therefore too stupid to pour water out of a bucket with the instructions printed on the bottom, I will explain what that means. It means you will learn to use that spear. You will learn to love that spear. You will sleep with that spear, eat with that spear, and take it to the latrine with you. If I ever catch you without that spear, you will discover depths of misery you have never imagined. Do I make myself clear?”

I was so shocked that I just stood there, hands white-knuckled on the haft of the weapon.

Trooper Carbo leaned into my face and shouted,

“What, recruit? Are you mute? Or just stupid? I asked you a question- do I make myself clear?”

I squeaked, “Yes, Trooper Carbo,” and he stepped back with another heavy sigh.

“According to the General, you have never worn armor, never used a spear or sword, and never been in a fight. I can see why the Legion was so anxious to acquire your talents. This is apparently a test of my ability to train someone who is completely useless. But perhaps it is barely possible that you can run. We are about to find out. You will step out on your left foot- you do know which one is the left? You will step out on your left foot and begin running up to the eggmine. I will count cadence. Don’t worry- you will be able to hear me, because I will be running with you.”

I had considered myself moderately strong, even though I had inherited my father’s slender build. But once I was strapped into the fifty pounds of rusted, smelly ironmongery, I was unsure if I could walk, let alone run. But I had a feeling that if I did not try, Trooper Carbo would surely find a way to make me sorry. Therefore I began a lumbering waddle, being certain to start with my left foot. Between the tremendous weight, the chafing of the straps, and the helmet that kept slipping down to bang against the bridge of my nose, I thought that my misery was complete. But that was before we reached the uphill section of the path that led to the mine. Even worse was the fact that a man who was twice my weight and at least twice my age was able to carry the same armor and run backwards- all the while hurling terrible abuse at me. I decided that, if there were any gods, they were sadists of remarkable depravity.

After we had run for what seemed like hours, Carbo called a halt and took up a spear that leaned against the barracks wall. He waited impatiently for me to stop gasping for breath and then stepped back several paces. Holding his spear in a guard position, he continued his lecture:

“You have some experience with a staff and that will help. It’s barely possible that you will manage to learn enough to keep from getting yourself killed.”

With that, he demonstrated a series of basic thrusts, parries, and blocks, counting out the sequence as he went. Then he drilled me on those same moves, adjusting my grip and stance occasionally. At last, as still more sweat poured off of me, he called a halt and said,

“It’s all about footwork, recruit. That’s true of the spear, the sword, the axe, and even the bow. You have to have a solid base to use any weapon properly. If you overbalance or trip over your own feet, all the fancy swings in the world won’t save you.”

He sponged off with a wet towel and then put his helmet back on, and allowed me to do the same. Then he brought his spear back to the guard position and challenged me:

“Very well, recruit. You know the moves. Now try to stick that spear in old Carbo.”

When I hesitated, he sneered at me.

“What’s the matter? Scared to use a real weapon? Or would you rather sneak up on your opponent from behind- like a thief? Like your precious daddy?”

He saw from my reaction that that last barb had struck home and continued,

“Oh yeah, I know all about the great thief of Vvardenfell. Supposed to have bumped off Dagoth Ur in a fair fight, when whole armies had tried and failed. Only thing is, nobody else was there. So maybe Dagoth Ur is dead, and maybe he isn’t. And maybe that fight- if there was a fight- didn’t go exactly the way your sneaking Breton daddy says it did.”

Goaded to unreasoning fury by his taunts, I lowered the point of my spear and launched myself at the smirking Legionnaire. And then a number of things seemed to happen all at the same time and I found myself sailing through the air. My flight came to a sudden and painful stop against a stone wall and darkness closed over me.

Nice!

Hehe, I think someone has watched Full Metal Jacket a few times.

Excellent update. Being goaded into attacking never seems to end nicely.

When I awakened, it was to behold a circle of nightmarish, tusked green faces looming over me. I cried out and tried to raise my hands to ward them off, but my arms were bound to my chest. Still, most of the frightening visages moved back, leaving only one, which contorted into an expression that I realized signified concern. The remaining Orc, which I now recognized the green-skinned creatures to be, gruffly warned me:

“Be still. You’ve got a broken collarbone at the least, and maybe some other damage, not to mention how hard you hit your head against that wall. We don’t have a healer; we strapped everything up as best we could, but it won’t help if you move around too much. I am Uloth gra-Ushar.””

I tried to speak in response, but only managed a raspy croak. She held a mug of water to my lips, and I sipped carefully. Trying to drink from a mug without the use of my hands was no treat- still, I managed to get most of the water inside me rather than outside. Somewhat refreshed, I tried again,

“What about healing potions?”

Uloth shrugged and shook her head.

“Same problem as the healer. We don’t have any. Well, only a few, and they’re for the most serious injuries. We aren’t exactly at the top of the list for supplies out here. You’ll just have to heal the old-fashioned way.”

This was intolerable. I did not have time to lie in bed for the weeks or even months it would take my body to repair itself. Louis Beauchamp certainly would not wait that long; worse yet, Mother might convince the Legion to release me from my enlistment. With the supply situation this critical, it would be hard for General Darius to justify feeding and tending a useless invalid. But that was a problem I could prevent. As Uloth turned to leave the room, I called her back,

“Fetch my traveling bag. There are plenty of restorative potions in there. Give me enough to heal this damage and I will donate the rest to the Legion. Beyond that, once I have use of my hands again, I know some healing magic.”

She disappeared in a rush, as if I had just imparted a shattering revelation.

Uloth did not return for some time. In fact, I had dropped into a troubled sleep when I heard the sound of someone clearing their throat beside the bed. I looked up to see General Darius staring down at me with a peculiar expression- something between a frown and a grin. When I struggled to sit upright, he reached out to assist me. And then, as if embarrassed by his solicitude, he did not speak for several uncomfortable minutes. The silence grated upon my nerves and I finally blurted out,

“It was my fault, sir. Trooper Carbo was trying to show me how to use the spear and I… I guess I tripped… or something. Please don’t send me back….”

I ran down to a stop as his expression finally resolved itself into a beaming smile.

“Send you back? Why would I want to do that? We need you and your talents here. I was just trying to figure out how to convince you to stay. I am a bit surprised you didn’t join the Imperial Cult, but we are glad to have you in the Legion. Carbo told me what happened- took full responsibility, so don’t worry about that. On his recommendation, I hereby promote you to Spearman.”

He held one of my healing potions to my lips and said kindly,

“Drink that down. When you feel ready, go find Carbo to continue your training.”

After giving the potion time to work, he untied the bindings on my arms and turned to leave. As he went out the door, I heard him laugh and say to himself,

“’Tripped or something!’ As if I had never heard that before!”

I swallowed one more potion and began to feel as if I would live. I swung my legs off the bed, but before I could begin to get back into uniform, Trooper Carbo came and stood in the doorway. He watched me carefully and then spoke.

“Look, kid, what happened was my fault. I intended for you to rush me- I just didn’t realize how quick you are. I was just going to deflect the spear and let you run past me. Instead, I had to really throw you. I wanted to get you mad, but I had no idea that you would blow up like that.”

He stopped to see how I was taking it, then went on:

“The General said you told him it was an accident and I appreciate that. But…don’t ever lie to Darius. He can spot a lie a mile off. The only reason he didn’t tear a strip off of you was because you were trying to protect somebody else.”

He came into the room and I finally saw something besides an apparently over-weight, aging soldier. A keen intelligence gleamed from his brown eyes and he moved with a confidence that had been won in hundreds of battles. I realized then that he was a professional, a man who had gained his skills the hard way. My mind raced as I tried to think of a way to become worthy in his eyes, a way to get him to accept me, to teach me. A long-ago conversation with my father came back to me then, a bit of advice that I had ignored, like so much else he had tried to tell me:

“When you need something from someone, don’t just march up and demand it as if it is your right. Treat people with the respect that they are due. And sometimes, especially in a place like this, with people from so many backgrounds, part of that respect includes speaking their language…”

Therefore, I drew myself up, saluted, and shouted,

“Spearman Treyson reporting himself fit for duty!”

Carbo laughed and then returned the salute, saying: “You’ll do, kid.”

Impressive ,Trey. Most impressive.

Looks like things are beginning to swing on the upside for now. Nice update.

Ha-Hah! The Legion needs Athlain! Nice, nice. If he learns as fast as he who must not be named lest Athlain get angry or irritated (AKA HWMNBNLAGAOI) he'll do very well.

Now now, young Athlain! You just watch your back..your dear mom could just about appear and take you out of this mess...Now that would be a disappointment huh? But you know how mothers are! hehe....

It might just be me, but this story is getting even more excited than The Story of Trey did. And that got me plenty excited enough. Maybe because it seems to be finding it's own direction.

I just sense a classic in the making with this.

The work of training continued to be brutal, despite the fact that Carbo and I seemed to have reached an understanding. He pushed me physically and mentally, forcing me to develop a toughness of mind and body. However, he was never again able to goad me into losing my temper, and I think he was secretly pleased. In addition to the running, the work with weapons, and the maintenance of my equipment, I was now the healer for the fort. No matter how weary I might be, I was awakened to treat all kinds of injuries- some minor, and others more serious. Even though the Empire was not at war with any other nation, the Legions were stretched thin. The outposts on Vvardenfell were lightly manned and infrequently supplied. No courier ever brought definitive word of why this was so, but rumors abounded. Uriel Septim was dying- was already dead- had been replaced by a doppelganger. The Death’s Head Legion would be ordered to Cyrodiil- would be disbanded- had been left to fend for itself. On and on the stories went, growing with every telling. Through all the storm of gossip, General Darius remained calm and aloof, seemingly untroubled. Trooper Carbo also ignored the swirling rumors, gruffly saying,

“My job is to follow orders…and so is yours.”

And so my endless days of training continued, learning new skills and then honing them to razor sharpness.

Some five weeks after I had broken my bones and earned my place in the Legion, a trooper came to me in the barracks with orders to “attend General Darius at your earliest convenience.” I had been with the Legion long enough to know that the last part of that message meant “right now,” so I gave my armor a quick buff and hastened to the Madach Tradehouse. Trooper Carbo was waiting along with the General, his face a mask of inscrutability. Darius ignored me for several long minutes, seemingly engrossed in some paperwork on his desk. I managed not to fidget or blurt out any questions, but I could feel a trickle of sweat running down my spine. My vivid imagination was a curse in this situation, for I kept envisioning unhappy reasons for this summons. The General had not spoken to me since he had discovered my talent for healing. That was not unusual- he was the commander and I was a lowly spearman. All of which meant that, in the normal course of events, a “request” to speak to Darius was not a good omen. Had something happened to my parents- my sisters? Had I somehow transgressed some unknown rule- transgressed it so badly that I faced official Legion discipline? Though I managed to keep my body still, my mind was racing, reviewing every bad deed I had ever committed. And still the minutes dragged by, unmarked by any sound other than the scratching of Darius’ pen on the papers before him. Just as my catalog of criminality had reached the time when, at the age of nine, I had dipped a little girl’s pigtails in the inkwell at school, the General looked up at me.

His intense scrutiny raised my heart-rate by another several beats per minute. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, frowning at me over them.

“One of my responsibilities as commander of the Death’s Head Legion is to make decisions about personnel. That is a burden I take seriously, because a bad choice on my part can get people killed.”

He paused, giving the import of his words time to sink in. When he seemed satisfied that I understood, Darius continued,

“For a number of reasons, I have closely followed your training. First, because we do not get many Imperial recruits here on Vvardenfell. In fact, we don’t get many recruits of any sort. That problem affects all of the Legions, and that means that every member must contribute, must do the work of two or three men.”

He again paused to fix me with that piercing gaze and then glanced at Trooper Carbo, who had stood silently behind his right shoulder the entire time.

“So, I have spoken with your trainer and considered the needs of the Legion. Athlain Treyson, please turn in your spear and Imperial chain mail. You are no longer a spearman of the Imperial Legion.”

Uh-oh! Cliffhanger! A classic spot to end an update if I do say so

Nice build up on the tension there trey, now I'm gonna feel like this until the next update!

You know, I'm beginning to think there should be some sort of law brought in, banning the use of cliffhangers

I suspect though that this is not the end of his Legion adventures, but that maybe certain duties requiring a special touch are forthcoming.

Unless of course Trey has found his whereabouts and brought some political pressure to bear....

Gah, I'll just have to wait and see. Patience has never been one of my strengths though, so please update soon, it's looking really good so far

Uhhh? Most peculiar.....I wonder..I think there´s a deeper meaning to this, Athlain wouldn´t be just expelled like that....Ach no, I think there´s something really fishy going on..mark my words...

Maybe promotion? If so, rejoice! Yet even heavier armour!

I too expect a promotion. The Legion likes to give you new armor from time to time--and it is indeed heavier.

The words fell upon my ears like a hammer blow- “… no longer a spearman of the Imperial Legion.” After all the effort of training, after I had begun to believe that I had made a place for myself…. Numbly, I began to loosen the straps of my armor. Trooper Carbo moved to help me, and I stared at him in mute appeal. His face remained stony, giving away nothing of his thoughts. And, though my soul longed to cry out in protest, I would show these men that I had at least learned discipline. When I at last stood in padded tunic and leggings, Carbo initialed the quartermaster’s log, signifying the return of my equipment. That formality accomplished, I stood straight, waiting for the words that would forever release me from my oath to the Legion. Darius watched me closely, as if waiting for some word or sign. When I did not waver or speak, he nodded his head once and said,

“Well. It seems that I owe Trooper Carbo a septim.”

Then the general stood and Carbo disappeared behind me as I faced my commander. Darius picked up a scroll from his desk and began reading:

“Attention to orders. Due to his actions and accomplishments, it gives me great pleasure to promote Athlain Treyson to the rank of Trooper in the Imperial Legion.”

As my mind struggled to grasp the words I had just heard, Darius continued,

“As a Trooper, you will carry an Imperial steel broadsword and wear Imperial steel armor. Bear them proudly- you’ve earned them.”

His face broke into a smile and he clapped both hands upon my shoulders. Dazed, I allowed him to turn me around to face a grinning Carbo, who held my new equipment. The breastplate was a thing of beauty- more precious to me than any gemstone. The steel was covered with black leather and embossed with the silver and bronze horses of the Legion. Even more wonderful to my eyes was the Imperial broadsword. I drew the gleaming length of steel from its scabbard, and it seemed to have been made for my hand and no other. Although the new armor was even heavier than the chain mail I had previously carried, I did not feel its weight. Once I had finished adjusting the fit, Darius seated himself again and assumed a serious expression.

“I said earlier that I had watched you closely for a number of reasons, but I only mentioned one- the one that least concerned you personally. There is no delicate way to say this, so I will be blunt. Your presence is politically significant, but not because of you. Your father commands more power sitting quietly in Indarys Manor than do all the Legion forts on this island. It is said that, ‘If Trey sneezes, Vvardenfell catches cold.’ He defeated Dagoth Ur, ended the Blight, rose to power in the Houses and the tribes, and could have broken the Tribunal Temple if he wished…. And then he simply hung up his sword and settled down. Even now, so many years later, people wait to see what he will do next. They find it hard to believe that he has no interest in the uses of power. Which brings us back to you. Your father has never made any secret of his feelings about the Empire- or its military. The fact that his only son is now a member of the Legion has caused much discussion. People wonder if this is part of some deeply subtle move by Trey- or if there is a rift between you. And they wonder if that rift can be exploited. My own concerns are less complex- I serve the Emperor and look after the welfare of my troops. Your healing skills are a great help to me in that regard. And, whatever disruption your presence may cause, you also serve as an indirect form of protection. Those who might seek to harm me or my Legion will hesitate, fearful lest they appear to be attacking you. Your father is a dangerous and, above all, a persistent adversary. So you see, I too am playing a deep game. I tell you this because I believe that loyalty goes both ways and should be rewarded with honesty. Oh, and one last thing- it would be good if you wrote to your mother, letting her know how you are. I would consider it a personal favor.”

With that, he shook my hand and turned me over to Trooper Carbo, who escorted me out of the tradehouse.

As we walked through Gnisis, Carbo glanced at the sword I still clutched in both hands and grumbled,

“Well, mister, looks like we’re going to have to teach you how use that blade- and a shield.”

He gave me the crooked grin that meant hard work, and then changed the subject- somewhat.

“In a way, sword work is the easiest thing I have left to teach you. You’re a trooper now, and that’s supposed to mean something. First, you need to be smarter than that piece of steel in your hands. It isn’t just a matter of knowing how to use a sword- you have to know when to use it- and when to keep it sheathed. The best way to win a fight is to avoid it.”

My dismay at hearing the veteran Legionnaire echo my father’s words must have been plain on my face, for Carbo’s grin reappeared.

“That surprises you, does it? To hear old Carbo advise you to stay out of fights? Well, you’d better hear this loud and clear, if I don’t teach you anything else. We fight because we have to, because it’s our job. We don’t do it for fun or for glory. And another thing- when you wear that uniform, you are the Empire. So it’s not just Athlain pulling his sword on a man or elf, it’s the Legion ‘oppressing the downtrodden.’ Plenty of people already have plenty of reasons to hate the Legion- try not to give them any more.”

Our slow walk- that method of progress Carbo referred to as “proceeding,” brought us to a low wall overlooking the Samsi River. We sat and Carbo stared at the moving water in silence for some minutes, apparently content to simply watch the play of light on the ripples. At last he spoke in a meditative tone:

“I’ve been a trooper for over fifteen years, and it suits me. The General tried to promote me a time or two, but I told him ‘no’ flat out. Seems to me that ‘Agent’ is a stupid rank for a soldier, anyway. ‘Fore I ran off to join the Legion, I was a farmer- well, a farmer’s son, at least. I’ve got no desire to be a knight or an officer. That would fit me about like trousers on a guar.”

He turned to look me over carefully and continued,

“Now you could be an officer- if you don’t get your fool self killed first. You have the brains and the skill with people. Most new recruits have a rough time around here, what with the Orcs and their odd sense of humor. But you haven’t had any fights, and that’s none of my doing. They like you and they trust you. I saw how you calmed down Dul gro-Dush when he tangled with that kwama warrior and got his leg torn up. He was roaring and thrashing around, likely to stab anybody that came near, and you just put a hand on him and spoke, and he calmed right down. That’s a gift.”

He looked back toward the barracks and the fort.

“For some of these characters, the only way they can face combat is to get drunk- or mad. I don’t have to tell you that a bellyful of sujamma doesn’t make somebody a soldier- it just makes him dangerous, especially to himself. But counting on anger to carry you is just as bad. You already found out what happens when you lose your temper in a fight. Of course, you’re still here ‘cause I wasn’t trying to kill you. The next fellow may not have my charitable nature. I’m not saying it’s easy- some folks are good soldiers right up to the point that they have to kill another person. You haven’t faced that test yet. When you get to that place, you need to have a clear head.”

He turned back to the river, but his eyes were on some place much farther away, in time as well as distance. Speaking so softly that I had to strain to hear, he added,

“Gods willing, you won’t ever get used to it- but you will get to where you can go on….”

For just an instant, his brown eyes bore the same haunted look that I had sometimes surprised in my father’s blue ones.

An excellent update.

I especially liked the warning about knowing when to avoid a fight. That's one lesson my Luper really should learn someday.

I really like the fact that we delve more into Carbo's character in this update. This update proves he isn't just your stereotypical hard boat, but someone who has been effected by the things he has done in his life. Fantastic!

Wise words from Carbo, just let´s hope young mr Treyson listens....It is usually more efficient if someone outside the family tries to learn young hotshots a lesson of life.

I´m ashamed of myself....just found out I haven´t noticed this update until today....

Nevertheless....I´m sitting here waiting to hear more.....

Just wondering if anyone knows if Treydog is alright? It's been a long while since he last posted.

I think he´s ok....just suffering from what we call RL....Plenty of things to do...just like me.

He posted in the Coffee Shop a matter of days ago. Teaching demands a high degree of time and creativity--it's one of the reasons that I've been on my own writing hiatus.

OK So long as he's OK

The answer to all of the above questions is "Yes". I am working my regular (38 hours per week plus commute) job, as well as teaching Compostion I and Early American Lit. (which involves a 90 mile one-way drive). Add the fact that I am doing the literature "on the fly," because I got the textbook the day of the first class.... I love the teaching; I really think we are doing some good work...but I miss down time and writing time.

I have a rough plan for Athlain and his (mis)adventures and a few notes. Right now, it may be late November or early December before we hear from him again.

Thank you for the concern and for reading.....

A short installment that was too long in the making- hope to have more soon.

At first, the only thing that my new rank changed was the focus of my training. Where I had previously learned the spear, Carbo now ran me through drills with sword and shield. The other troopers congratulated me, but mostly continued to treat me to their rough humor and good-natured chafing. That suited me- it meant I was accepted for myself. Less satisfying was my work with the sword. I wish I could say that the Imperial broadsword became a part of me, an extension of my arm…but it was not so. Much as I loved the gleaming steel blade, much as I lavished care and attention upon it, just so much did it seem to fight against me, twisting in my grip and going awry. The problem was so severe that I began to wonder if the sword was cursed. Unfortunately, trials with other blades proved that such was not the case. Under Carbo’s watchful eye, I tried the saber, short sword, katana, and even a huge claymore that was taller than I. The damages to the training room from that last experiment were extensive; such a massive blade is hard to guide. Surveying the wreckage and the other Legionnaires coming out of hiding, Carbo summed it up in his usual direct manner:

“You will never be a swordsman, kid. If we’re lucky, we can get to the place where you at least won’t do yourself an injury handling a blade. Some people are born to it, some can learn it…and some never will.”

Seeing my crestfallen expression, he added,

“It’s late anyway. Why don’t you sponge off in the river and we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

I followed his advice and then sought my bunk. Despite my tired muscles, sleep did not come. I worried at my problem like a dog with a bone. Fragments of conversations from the past played back in my mind:

“Trey…perhaps one of the five greatest swordsmen in Morrowind. Or he used to be…”

“…bested that giant Redguard fighter of Helseth’s…and became his friend.”

“He swore that he would never use a sword again…and that was 20 years ago.”

That last kept coming back- even General Darius had referred to it- how my father had been one of the deadliest men in the Empire, and had put his sword away. I knew that words had power, especially an oath taken by someone to whom even the gods paid attention. If my father had truly sworn such an oath, perhaps the curse was not upon the weapons, but rather upon the very blood that flowed in my veins. As soon as the seed of that thought was planted, it began to grow. He was a Breton, a race well-known for their innate magical ability. What if he had unknowingly made it such that none of his lineage could wield a sword? The gods were famous for their peculiar ideas of humor, and for twisting the words of mortals. Or- worse thought- what if it had not been an accident? That last I dismissed- though his rules were stifling, even I had to admit that he was always scrupulously fair- at least by his definition of “fair.” It was not a restful night.

The next day, Carbo called me to the training ground and helped me into my armor, including the shield. I felt absurdly pleased by that- it meant that I was not going to have to go back to the spear. However, when I reached toward the rack of practice swords, he shook his head and said,

“Not those. I think we’ve seen enough of your sword work to last a while. Follow me.”

With that, Carbo guided me to a different part of the field and racks filled with hammers, maces, and axes.

He took up the posture that I recognized as his “classroom stance” and began to lecture:

“Some people consider these to be ‘peasant weapons’ because they are simple- simple to make, simple to use, and generally without ornamentation. While it’s true that the axes and hammers are based on laborer’s tools, that doesn’t make them any less effective. The Legion doesn’t train duelists- it trains fighters. The point of a fight is to win. You win by hurting or killing your opponent. The Nords understand that, which is why so many of them use these weapons. Of course, they also use them because there’s nothing scarier than seeing a Nord warrior drunk on sujamma, charging at you with an axe or a ‘big freakin’ hammer’ in either hand. Armor can turn or even break a sword; these weapons aren’t designed to penetrate, they’re made to hack and crush. You’ve gotten stronger- strong enough to use these. We’ll concentrate on the one-handed types; that’ll allow you to use a shield with your off hand. And you had better learn fast, because the general has a job for us.”

Ah, so very nice... and I see that Trey managed to break his sabbatical sooner than I. Consider me inspired to finish up that update I started 2 months back and never finished. As always, reading a "Treydog" reminds me of how much fun there is in crafting phrases and sentences and whole narratives...

Uhh....hehe so Athlain is no natural born swordsman? Nope wouldn´t think so....anyway, he´ll find his specialty...besides he could always visit Aunt Serene....maybe she can give him some ideas?

Another great installment...mmmm I always get inspiration when reading a new "treydog" unfortunately life´s numerous "must do´s" always get in the way!

The sword, the traditional hero's weapon.

Meh, they're overrated. Too short to be a spear (unless it's a Claymore, but spears are still longer.), too light for serious cutting.

The perfect weapon? I'd say something like a halberd. Range, cutting, stabbing, all in one package. It only suffers from being two-handed and unsuited to real close-range.

Anyway, I like the story as always. Now I wonder what that job would be? Too serious to take the time learning, not serious enough to forget about learning at all.

A short installment long in the making is always better than none at all. Thanks for finding the time to continue the story for us.

I was intrigued by the apparent bias against blunt and axe weapons that you imply is inherent in the legion and general Tamrielic society. I never got that sort of impression from the game, but the way you explained it made it seem obvious. Yet another example of how Trooper Carbo seems to be a cut above the rest, even though he has refused to be promoted. Athlain would do well to learn as much as he can from this thoughtful soldier.

Interlude Three

A letter posted from Fort Darius, Gnisis, Vvardenfell District (a portion):

Mother:

I hope this letter finds you well. I am in excellent health and my training is progressing. Please give my love to my sisters and remind them to STAY OUT OF MY ROOM! Also, give my respect and affection to Father.

Your son,

Athlain

A letter posted from Indarys Manor, Vvardenfell District (a portion):

…What would “find me well” would be for you to stop this foolishness and come home. However, your father has informed me that this Legion nonsense is “something you need to do.” I still think it is just male pig-headedness and Athynae agrees with me. You remember Athynae, don’t you? She was asking about you just the other day…. Actually, what she said was, “What has that idiot Athlain gone and gotten himself into now?” A wonderfully intelligent girl, I think. Not that it will do any good, what with my only son determined to get himself killed or horribly maimed. I do hope you are at least remembering to wear fresh undergarments.

* * *
Love,

Mother



Report of a patrol conducted by Senior Trooper Carbo and Trooper Treyson on or about 17 Last Seed 451 3E.

Pursuant to information provided to the Imperial Legion garrison (see Appendix A, Confidential Informant statement) stationed at Fort Darius Gnisis Vvardenfell_ the above-named Legion personnel proceeded to Ashinabi________ to investigate possible criminal activity in contravention of the laws of the Empire. Legion personnel effected entrance to said location and were immediately confronted by _5__ (insert number here; please note that “many”, “lots”, and/or “scads” are not acceptable substitutes for actual numbers).

(circle all that apply) Altmer/Argonian/Bosmer/Breton/Dunmer/Imperial/Khajiit/Nord/Orc

suspected miscreant(s). Senior Trooper Carbo_____ immediately called upon said suspects to cease and desist all unlawful activity and informed him/her/them (circle as appropriate) that he/she/they (circle as appropriate) was/were under arrest. Suspect(s) reacted violently, attacking the Legionnaires with _swords, bows__________ (describe weapons here). S. T. Carbo__ and Trooper Treyson responded with deadly force. Despite the miscreants’ superior numbers, the arms of the Imperial Legion prevailed. Long live his Imperial Majesty, Uriel Septim.

Casualty Report:

Your Name(s) Here _S. T. Carbo________________ received minor/major/fatal (circle all that apply) wounds to the (circle all that apply) head/torso/limbs.

(Medical Officer’s Report, Appendix B)

Criminal casualties comprised _5__ dead 0 wounded _0 captured (Identities of Criminals, Appendix C).

Value of Recovered Goods:

Goods, foodstuffs, arms, and armor equaling an approximate value of _2000___ septims were recovered and turned over to the Fort Darius Quartermaster. (Quartermaster’s Report, Appendix D).

Respectfully submitted: _S.T. Carbo, Trooper Treyson__________________ Your Name(s) Here

Love the way the form already has the 'suspects' action on it and the consequential deadly force:)

Leave it to the Legion to have a fill-in-the-blank form for dealing with "miscreants."

I especially appreciated the letter from Athlain's mother. It had that despairing mother tone to it, where's she's clearly resigned herself to the fact that she can't convince him to come home, but still insists on telling him he is not thinking clearly.

Ahhhh just wonderful! Hmmmm Athinae huh? I wonder....no actually I do not wonder....I know! And I just love it.

Gah now I have to......I just have to!

And treydog my sweet treydog.....hope you will have a great holiday...

Excellent couple of posts. I really enjoyed the Mother's letter and hidden message provided by the mention of a girl. Also, the Legion fill-in-the-blank form is absolutely hilarious!

Innnnnnteresting. Welcome back, Treydog

I cannot relate the events that took place in Ashinabi, even though I was there. Mark that- I do not say that I “will not,” but that I cannot. To this day, I have no memory of that cavern or of the smugglers who died there, most of them at my hands. I know what the official report says, and what Carbo told me afterward- how we entered and were ambushed, with him taking an arrow to the shoulder that largely kept him out of the fight. Yet, when I asked him what happened next, he did not speak of my actions in any detail, saying instead,

“You did fine. Obviously, because we’re still breathing and they aren’t. Now sign the report.”

When I had signed my name, he looked at me for a time and then said,

“Look, kid, it’s like this. We do the job. It’s dangerous, bloody, and rotten- but we’re all there is. The Houses look out for themselves- even Redoran. The priests have their heads in the clouds. So we’re out here at the sharp end and it comes down to us to maintain order. I know there’s a lot of loose talk about the Empire bailing out of Vvardenfell or maybe even all of Morrowind. And maybe that’s going to happen. But until it does, I follow orders. I guard my patch of ground and I don’t let any son-of-a-guar smuggler or bandit crap on it. Some people call me a killer and I won’t deny it. But I never killed anybody that didn’t have a weapon in his hand or that I didn’t give a chance to surrender. And neither have you. So you see to your equipment and then get to bed. Because tomorrow or the next day, we’ll have to do it all again.”

What I did not know until some time later was that Carbo had another conversation that day, a private talk with General Darius.

The veteran Legionnaire removed his helmet and slumped into the chair his commander indicated. He mopped his brow and then spoke slowly:

“General, in all my time in the Legion, I’ve never seen the like. I’m thinking there may be some truth to those stories about Trey having Skyrim blood in him.”

Darius poured them both a drink and looked at Carbo sharply:

“Skyrim blood? You mean Athlain fell into battle-madness? Berserk?”

Carbo shook his head, frowning thoughtfully.

“No, or at least not exactly. It was almost the opposite…like he became supernaturally focused. He didn’t rave or flail about wildly- he just-- took them apart. It was like watching a grown man going against children. And the last one, the Redguard…. Sir, he stalked him. Like a big cat or a wolf. And…,” he hesitated a long moment before continuing, staring into the mug in his hands.

“And his eyes…. I know they’re brown; I’ve looked at them enough. But I would swear they turned yellow when he was hunting down that smuggler.”

He threw back his drink in one quick swallow and then said,

“What was almost more frightening was what happened after. Before the Redguard even hit the ground, Athlain had turned to me and was healing my shoulder, as if nothing had happened. He says he doesn’t remember. And I believe him.”

Darius considered Carbo’s words and then gave vent to a loud sigh.

“Well, that complicates things, at least for Athlain. He’s due for some leave- a bit of time at home will do him good. And then…. Orders are orders. I will be sorry to lose him, though.”

The next day came early, with Carbo banging his fist on the footboard of my bunk. He grinned at me and said,

“Time to scrub off the top layer and get into your kit, boy. You need to clean up as pretty as you can.”

As I scrambled for my armor, I asked blearily,

“What is it? Inspection? Visiting nobles?”

Still with that maddening grin, Carbo shook his head.

“Oh no, kid. It’s a lot more serious than that. Something I can’t help you with. You just got 3 days home leave. You have to face your mother.”

Supernatural focus? I seem to remember that Trey got his share of that experience as well, once. Only he got to remember the gritty details.

So now he's off to face the parents. Well, good luck, kid. You're gonna need it. *I love saying that line.*

Oh no ... not the werewolf thing?!!!

Ohhhh....that was interesting! Does he know of his healing-skills? My my.....I like that!




Now this is nice, I can´t wait to hear what Baria says....and some other friends at home! yayyyy


Wonderful Treydoggie! Just wonderful. I have good faith in Athlain, he´ll do just fine at home...I think?

Face his mother indeed. She will not be happy, except perhaps to see him in one piece. Should be fun.

The prospect of going home filled me with mixed emotions. It would be wonderful to see my family again; the long separation had made clear how much they meant to me. At the same time, I was somewhat fearful over seeing Father again- the letters I had received from Mother seemed to indicate that he understood my actions, even if he did not approve…. And perhaps that was the problem. I had always had his understanding, but what I desperately wanted was his approval. That rare moment of introspection passed quickly as I considered another reason it would be good to get away from my duties for a few days. Almost all of my Legion pay had gone to finance Louis Beauchamp, and he had sent encouraging reports of his progress. He had somehow procured complete plans for a Dwemer airship, a device that could navigate the skies just as a regular ship sailed the seas. I had been taken with the notion as soon as he explained it, and had eagerly agreed to back him. True, he had been somewhat vague about his ultimate reason for building the device, but I was not overly concerned. It had been some weeks since the fabrication of the ship was completed and a crew was hired; in fact, the ship had actually been launched successfully. So much I knew. Thereafter, Beauchamp’s letters had ceased. I knew he had not planned to travel upon the airship himself; he should therefore still be in Ald’ruhn. If he was, I would find the Breton speculator and have serious talk with him.

Following Carbo’s advice, I gave myself and my armor a good cleaning, then packed a travel bag and went to the silt-strider landing. As always, I enjoyed the sensation of gliding high above the landscape, moving with incredible speed while wrapped in a warm robe. I did not pause in Ald’ruhn, but immediately set out for Bal Isra and home. Although ash still swirled on the breeze and crunched underfoot, vegetation was taking hold in many places. Perhaps Mother’s hope for a garden was not so foolish, after all. Legion conditioning and a desire to see my home again made for a rapid journey, and the domes of Indarys Manor soon came into view, gleaming in the afternoon sun. I strode up the path to the house and gestured the family retainers to silence with a smile. They nodded their understanding that I wanted my arrival to be a surprise and smiled back as they opened the front door. I entered and set my travel bag and weapons aside before making my way down the passage to Mother’s studio. I knew that she would be there; she always said the light of early morning and late afternoon was best for painting. Sure enough, I came to the open doorway and saw her seated at her easel, head tilted to one side as she considered her latest painting. The sight of that beloved figure so filled my heart that a sound somewhere between a sigh and a sob escaped me. She whirled about, paintbrush in hand. For several seconds, we simply stared at one another, then she leapt from her chair and rushed toward me. As I started to smile a greeting, she brought her right hand around and gave me a resounding slap.

“That’s for leaving home without telling me,” she cried.

As my head rang from the blow, she used her left hand to slap me on the other cheek.

“And that’s for making me worry!”

Her green eyes flashed fire as she added,

“And I owe you another for not telling me you were coming home! But I’ve run out of hands, and it wouldn’t be lady-like to kick you!”

Then she threw her arms around me in an embrace that made my ribs creak, even through my armor. Tears quenched the fire in her eyes as she stepped back to look at me. She took in my uniform and armor and shook her head with a smile.

“Much as it pains me to admit it, you look so dashing—you’re just going to break all the girls’ hearts. And I suppose the uniform also means you aren’t home for good- how long do you have?”

Before I could answer, she rushed on:

“We’ll have to have a party, of course. We’ll invite the Sarethis and the Morvayns and…. Oh dear. Your father….”

The flow of words abruptly stopped. Able to at last get in a word, I asked,

“What about Father? Is he hurt?”

An icy spike of fear pierced my chest. I thought back on General Darius’ words, about how much power my father had, and how there were those who would wish him harm. Seeing my stricken expression, Mother held up her hands.

“Oh no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that he isn’t here. He received a note from Divayth Fyr asking him to come to Tel Fyr for a consultation. Considering that Lord Fyr rarely receives visitors, Trey felt he had to go. And there is a bond between them, what with everything that happened before. Of course, if he had known you were coming home, he would have delayed the trip for a few days. As it is, he should be back in a week or so,” she added hopefully.

It hurt me to disappoint her, but I also felt a guilty relief as I explained that I only had three days. I rationalized my relief with the thought that another furlough would come soon enough, another chance to see my father and hear his words. At the time, I did not realize how long it would be before we met again, nor under what bizarre circumstances. Mother recovered her good spirits quickly; she was always inclined to look to the sunlight rather than the rain. Taking my hand, she led me into the parlor, calling to the servants for tea.

Ahhhh, motherly love.....