Pictures! I figured out how to do pictures! Run for your lives!

First, the crashed airship:




Followed by the attack of the white wolf (action shots are a little harder to get):




And finally, a more restful view of lovely Solstheim:

Athlain with his back to the wall, beset by a score of foemen, determined to sell his life at too high a cost for the enemy to pay. A rousing battle!

Rather than quote the same thing Acadian did, let me point out this instead:
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.

What, Athlain could not stop time while he casually rummaged through his inventory and drank 4 potions? Every Oblivion character can do that! Seriously though, an excellent bit of not only reality, but also an inventive solution on the part of Athlain.

Finally, my favorite red-maned Wolf Queen herself! Yay!

I echo everyone!

Too bad this forum doesn't have the :twirl: emoticon as seen on BSGF - it would be most appropriate here!

Man, I felt exhausted after that battle! I know the feeling, believe me!

In Morrowind, SubRosa, there is no limit to the amount you can drink.

AWESOME update trey! I especially loved the "What do you know? The blasted thing works!" comment.

Woo updates

And Athynae returns to the rescue again, that girl has some sense of timing. A cosy ruined airship in the middle of nowhere, only a few corpses and moderatly nasty injuries... I shan't ask.

I echo what the above have said as regards the brilliant lines and good battle sequence (Athlain seems to be getting rather tough these days).

@Acadian- Thank you, paladin. I chose to write the battle in that way because I find my skill for writing fight-scenes to be lacking. In the falling snow scene, I hoped to evoke Captain Jodoin’s journal, Athlain’s own weakened state, and memories of Athynae’s visit to Uncle Sweetshare’s cabin.

@SubRosa- Oh, yes, potion abuse and changing your entire armor ensemble in the middle of a fight are possible in MW… I wanted to convey urgency and realism, so conceived the idea of applying the potion topically.

@haute- Happy to please. If Athlain keeps getting his legs sliced, he will join Julian on the medical discharge roster. And I shamelessly stole the concept of her signature move as a motivator for Athlain’s stand. How ironic would that have been- to get ham-strung by a wild boar?

@Black Hand- Welcome back! And that line was one of my favorites as well. I could just see a befuddled Athlain blinking owlishly at the Amulet and Athynae and saying those words.

@Olen- We will find out a bit about that sense of timing shortly…. Glad the fight worked for you- riekling raiders are some of the most formidable opponents on Solstheim.

And now we get some interesting news and some bad news. Good news- that will have to wait awhile.

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

When I next awoke it was to see her stirring something that smelled wonderful in a small pot over my fire. She glanced at me and repeated her earlier question about my last meal. I was too tired to give a clever answer, even if I could have thought of one. “I don’t know- probably when I was at the fort….”

She gave vent to an exasperated sigh, one that sounded remarkably like Mother’s reaction to one of my “explanations.” Without further comment, she knelt to rummage through her pack, seeming to address herself to the contents as much as to me.

“And why,” she muttered as she scattered vials and packets on the snowy earth, “Did that seem like a good idea?”

“I wanted to finish the Skaal Test of Loyalty. I needed to find each of the Stones and perform the rituals.” Defensively, I added, “And the Story of Aevar didn’t say anything about him stopping to eat or rest…”

She fixed me with a glare that should have incinerated me on the spot. Shaking a piece of dried guar at me she replied:

“Oh. I see. And did it say anything about him being a COMPLETE IDIOT who shouldn’t be allowed to wander around without a keeper? Or about why, as any COMPETENT alchemist knows, it is a BAD IDEA to try and live on nothing but restorative potions? And should I also assume that someone had to come and save him from his own stupidity, AGAIN- in this, this… STORY?”

She had jumped to her feet, shouting and waving her arms, kicking supplies everywhere as she stormed around the clearing.

“Um, ‘Thyna?”

She rounded on me, “WHAT?”

I pulled myself deeper into the bedroll, in the vain hope it would provide some protection when her fury turned physical instead of verbal.

“Could you please not kick snow into the fire? And how did you find me, anyway?”

I waited for the next spectacular explosion with a fair amount of dread, but it never came. Instead, Athynae stopped where she was and began to cry softly.

Despite being raised with two sisters, I still had no clue as to how to deal with a crying woman. Telling Athynae what I usually told Mae or Cai, to “dry up,” did not seem terribly wise in the circumstances, and I was afraid if I tried to hold her she would hit me. But before I could think of a plan or even open my mouth, she had wiped her eyes and handed me some berries and scrib jerky, mumbling,

“Here. Eat first, and then I’ll have a look at you.”

She refused to say any more, ignoring me while she gathered her possessions and stowed them away, then tended to the stew she was cooking. Hot food was a treat following my days of cold camps and short rations, so much so that I ate whatever she offered, not even commenting on her tendency to add too much salt to everything.

When I was finished she gave me a cursory examination, making sure that I wasn’t “about to drop dead,” as she bluntly put it. When she was satisfied, she said,

“Sleep now and I’ll keep watch. When you wake up, we’ll talk.”

I did not need any encouragement; a full stomach and warm fire had made me drowsy. Not even the sight of Athynae staring pensively out across the snowy landscape was enough to keep me awake.

The forgetfulness of sleep passed quickly, and I woke to see her still in the same place, with the same troubled expression on her face. Hearing my movement, she turned her luminous eyes upon me and said quietly,

“You want to know how I found you? It will be easier if I show you rather than try to explain. I will close my eyes and count to 100, and you go any direction you like and hide. You can even levitate so as to not make any tracks. Just try not to fall in a hole or stumble into the middle of a reaver camp.”

“But, Athynae, I don’t understand….”

Still not looking at me, she responded, “I imagine you don’t. Please just do as I ask. It will be… better that way.”

Seeing that she would not be swayed, I agreed to her terms, including imbibing a borrowed levitation potion. I was mystified, but if playing this strange game was necessary to get her to talk, I would do it.

The spell allowed me to move quickly without having to struggle through the snow, so I turned south and crossed a wooded hill. Once on the other side, I floated down to the riverbank and found a place to hide among the rocks. While I waited, I wondered if this was just some elaborate trick so she could disappear again. But that made no sense; Athynae was mercurial, but she was never mean-spirited. So I kept quiet, filtering my breath through a thick cloth to avoid sending out clouds of vapor. My precautions made no difference; within a few moments, I heard her voice from just a few feet away:

“You can come out now. You’re just behind the boulder shaped like a sleeping guar.”

When I tried to ask her how she had done it, she just shook her head and indicated that we should return to the ruined airship.

This was an Athynae I had never seen before- completely different from the girl who barely stopped talking long enough to breathe. Unnerved by her distracted silence, I peppered her with questions:

“Is it a new spell? Does it have anything to do with the scarf you gave me? I still have it, you know. Or is it something Aunt Serene taught you? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

When we arrived at the campfire, she placed a quelling finger on my lips and said seriously,

“Hush. This will be hard enough without interruptions, so just let me tell it.”

It was not easy, but I reined in my curiosity and waited for her to explain. She folded her arms and looked away toward the mountains, then began to speak in a low voice:

“Have you ever had the feeling that you were being watched?” She laughed without humor. “Of course you have; you’ve been out in the wilderness long enough to have experienced that.”

This was something she had brought up before, when we were at Thirsk, but I honored her request to just listen. She shuddered and hugged herself more tightly before continuing:

“But what if you felt that way all the time; and what if it was like the watcher was inside your head? Ever since I was little, I have known that someone was…” she waved vaguely behind her head, “there. And it seemed as if any number of times, when I was hurt or scared, Mama just sort of- appeared. And sometimes, she even showed up right before I was about to do something dangerous. I just thought it was ‘mother magic;’ that everyone’s mother could do it.”

When I shook my head, she glanced at me and smiled briefly, then went on with her story: “But- they can’t. And when I turned 14, I noticed something else- I could suddenly tell exactly where Mama was, even when I couldn’t see her.”

She took a deep breath and went on: “And after that night, the night Aunt Baria had the party for you when you came home on leave… after I kissed you… after that night, I could always tell where you were, too.”

She turned to face me fully, and her eyes were lavender pools that seemed to have no bottom. I reached for her hands but she warded me off, taking a step backward and forging ahead with her explanation:

“Distance makes it more difficult; I imagine that if you went all the way to High Rock or Summerset Isle, it would just be a vague sense of- something missing….”

As she said those words, she bit her lip and began to cry again.

“But it doesn’t matter, not anymore. Because… because you have to stop doing this; because I can’t keep saving you from your own stupid stubbornness. There are reasons why I can’t see you anymore- not like this, at least- out here in the wilderness, alone together.”

My head was spinning, which was no new experience during a conversation with Athynae, but I began to add various clues together and a vague suspicion grew more solid. Fearing the answer to my question, I could not ask it straight out; instead, I approached the issue from an angle.

“Athynae? Why were you asking that writer at Thirsk about marriage contracts?”

Her despairing look sent my heart plummeting into my boots as she answered: “When I was in Ebonheart, looking for information about Carnius Magius, I found something else.”

She swallowed and whispered, “They want to marry me off to Duke Dren.”

Ah! The mystery of the note quite a few interludes back (yes, I remember it!) is suddenly clear!

I wonder who 'they' are, the 'they' that intend to marry Athynae off to Duke Dren (now why am I thinking of Firen and Tear burning? ). I am a patient reader and will wait for all to be revealed (after all, I've read too many spy novels!).

Typical p.o.'d woman! If anyone has any doubts of Athynae's feelings for Athlain, they can just put it to rest now! Her fury and ravings make it very clear that she loves this particular idiot.

And a bit of a plot twist! This story just keeps getting better and better! :twirl:

Trey, this is positively cruel! To cliffhang us with this? Argh! We shall have to cling desperately to your words: 'Good news- that will have to wait awhile.'


They are amazingly complex creatures, aren't they, trey?

Buffy said, "Don't worry, Athynae, I know how that feels."

Here is the problem with a story that is so endearingly immersive. I have to go dig my stopped heart out of my boots as well.

Athynae has not changed a bit I see! You really have a wonderful way of writing her. She is so very real that I feel as if I can reach out and touch her (and wish I could ).

I have been waiting for you to drop the bomb about the marriage. I am glad you decided to use it. This really adds some tension to the story. Killing beasties and stopping unearthly evil is one thing, but when it comes to love, that is something else entirely! Athlain may have to call out the Duke and smite his ruin in order to secure the hand of his lady!

And did it say anything about him being a COMPLETE IDIOT who shouldn’t be allowed to wander around without a keeper?
This had me laughing out loud!

My head was spinning, which was no new experience during a conversation with Athynae

Hey Athlain...stop being Hamlet, and just march off to that Goddamm Duke and kick him in the british boat and use a nutcracker on his ... nuts .... until he screams "ALL RIGHT! ALL RIGHT! YOU CAN HAVE HER!!!"


(The Typical Foxy Method)


Otherwise I am going to lose all respect for you!

Hmmm... Now if I recall Athynae's mother has certain abilities and it appears she's inherited them. Interesting. And a certain note makes some sense and suggests that perhaps they have more helpers than they think. It's grand stuff.

Some great lines there, they're both solid creations who are incredibly believable, and now with plotting like this I'll have to say that this really is an exemplary piece, I've paid good money for pleanty of published books which weren't a patch on this.

I liked the potions comment - it always strikes me as odd that in game you never have to eat (or sleep), though the divergeance from the game mechanics is very well handled (and sympathetic) in this.

More?

O_o....this was both expected and unexpected! I'm not surprised Athynae has inherited some abilities from Serene, and it pleases me very much how you develop Thyna, she's entirely your creation, and you describe her interactions with sweet Athlain so wonderfully. An yeah I do have a very soft spot for that young man, and I bet Serene has too!

Now the twist with the marriage contract will be extremely interesting to see what it leads to...will she really go for a thing like that? We'll see won't we?

@haute ecole rider- If I had it to do over again, some of those Interludes (or some of the bits within them) would occur in a different order. That’s the sort of thing that happens when my characters grab the pen from my hands and start writing their own stories…. The mysterious “they” will be revealed below- at least as Athynae perceives things. And evil author that I am, I had to come up with something to keep our red-haired Imperial/Dunmer elven princess on the move. Can’t let her get too comfortable- if I allowed her to solve all Athlain’s problems for him, they would already be back on Vvardenfell! Men only think they are the ones who follow the shortest path to their goal.

@Acadian- See “evil author” remark above. And I must admit to taking inordinate glee in these particular cliff-hangers, as, for the first time in a long while, I actually have more installments written and waiting. As Athlain is discovering, women are an unknown country and all the maps are wrong. “Here there be dragons,” is the best advice I can give him… I imagine our blonde and red elves would have quite a conversation about voices in their heads and archery- and, of course, shoes. I also imagine Athynae would give Buffy the following advice in re a certain Kvatch guard officer: “Just whack him a good one on the head to make sure you’ve got his attention; after that, it’s easy.”

@SubRosa- Your endorsement of how Athynae “reads” is particularly gratifying. It has been a challenge for me to write a female character who is believable and alive. Fortunately, I have had many excellent examples to guide me, living as well as written. For the literary ones, I have to look no further than Athynae’s mother- and certainly your wonderful Teresa. Yes, surviving the wilds of Solstheim is a picnic compared to navigating the path of true love.

@D. Foxy- That is the approach Trey would have taken- but he has always been less respectful of authority. Athlain will reveal in what follows that he can be devious, as well, just in a different way.

@Olen- You are remembering correctly, in regards to special abilities AND to unseen assistance. I am so glad these two come to life for you as they do for me… And a thousand thanks for the compliment on my plotting- I have had to go through some contortions to avoid glaring plot holes. Potions- I very much wanted to introduce the idea that relying on potions in game is similar to trying to subsist on caffeine and aspirin for any length of time in RL.

@minque- Without Serene, there would be no Athynae. Well, yeah- but you know what I mean. As I write her, I think about what sort of daughter Serene would raise, what values and life-lessons she would try to teach.

All- The course of true love is rarely smooth, mostly due to sadistic writers who have a lot of material to get through before there can be any hope of a happy ending. And then we have to wonder “whose happy ending?” But in the meantime, there will be magic, monsters, mead, and even some singing (although not yet). As to the proposed marriage, Athlain has a plan… so what could possibly go wrong?

-----------------------------------------------
I stared at her, struck dumb by her words. Her ability to locate me unerringly over distance I could take in stride; that was just magic, after all. But this marriage idea was impossible. No one in possession of their faculties could imagine pairing this lovely girl with the Duke. He had to be at least 200, which wasn’t all that old for an elf, but still…. Shaking my head, I asked numbly:

“Who does?”

Her reply was muffled as she covered her face with her hands, “Mama.”

This was becoming more fantastic all the time. Serene could be as strong and ruthless as leadership of a Great House required- but this was her daughter! I only knew bits and pieces of Serene’s history, usually fragments overheard from my parents’ conversations. But some things I knew with absolute certainty- Athynae was the first child born on Vvardenfell following the end of the Blight- and Serene would give up all she was or ever hoped to have to keep her safe and happy.

“I can’t believe it. Aunt Serene would never do something like that. Tell me what you found- exactly.”

She sniffled and shook her head, in negation of what, I could not tell. “There were notes the Duke’s clerk had made. They said the Duke accepted Mama’s proposal regarding my m- m- marriage!”

The last word was a wail and the soft crying became full-blown sobbing. Awkwardly, I put my arms around her. For once, I did not try to say anything, just held her until the storm passed. When she had quieted, I spoke with conviction:

“I still think there’s something we aren’t seeing. But it doesn’t matter; if you’re this worried, we have to act as if it’s true.”

It was my turn to take a deep breath. What I was about to propose could be construed as treason- it would certainly be defiance of the head of my Great House. And I was going to involve others in that defiance, as well. That was serious enough, but I also had to tread carefully to avoid suggesting a course Athynae would feel was dishonorable. She might hate the idea of marrying Duke Dren, but she would go through with it if she thought her honor required it. She had already said she could not stay with me, and I understood all too well what she meant. Her closeness was intoxicating and… but I could not think about that. Neither could she go back to Sarethi Manor; as soon as she was informed of the contract, she would be duty-bound to accept it- and the gods-bedamned marriage.

What little I knew of marriage tumbled through my head in a welter of images and words as I tried to see a way out. Priests, ceremonies, temples…. And then it came to me- the only chance we had- and I said the word aloud: “Sanctuary.”

Athynae gave me an uncertain look, but I drove forward, my words almost running over one another in my excitement.

“You can cast Almsivi Intervention, right?” She nodded. “Good. From here, it will take you to the old temple at Gnisis. Go there, but don’t stop and don’t speak to anyone. Keep your head covered. Get to my house and talk to Mother. Tell her that you request sanctuary, and when she agrees, tell her everything else. She’ll let you stay as long as it takes to sort this out.”

Athynae looked at me with hope and doubt warring in her eyes. “But if Mama insists- as the Arch-Mistress of Redoran…?”

I smiled at her. “Trust me. Sanctuary is an absolute right. It would be dishonorable for any good Redoran to try and get around it. And that doesn’t matter anyway, because Mother wouldn’t give you up if the Emperor himself demanded it. Not for something like an arranged marriage. She… let’s just say she knows a bit about that sort of thing.”

For the first time since she had found me, Athynae treated me to a genuine smile, one that wasn’t tinged with bitterness or hurt.

“You know,” she said teasingly, “If you keep sending me away, I might get the idea you don’t like having me around.”

Before I could protest, she added, “Oh, I know better than that; a woman can always tell.”

Then a new thought occurred to her, and she said enthusiastically: “You could come with me! It’s been a long time since you were home, and I’m sure Aunt Baria is worried about you…”

She trailed off as I shook my head.

“Athynae- I can’t. I have to finish this business with the Skaal, because if I don’t, Gaea Artoria will attack them, and they didn’t do it. But they know something about Captain Carius that they aren’t telling, because they don’t trust me enough, because I’m in the Legion. And I have to find him, because he’s my captain, and I have orders- even though I think I outrank Gaea Artotia, anyway I’m pretty sure I do, so there’s a question as to whether I have to obey her orders or not. But I still have a responsibility….”

I got no further, as Athynae crushed me in a fierce hug and said, “Of course you do. You must do as honor and duty require.”

She released me and punched me solidly in the chest as she added, “But don’t you dare get yourself killed. You have a duty to me, as well.”

There was no response to that, so I wisely refrained from answering.

There was little left to say, or rather, too much. Athynae had an Almsivi Intervention amulet that would transport her to Gnisis, only a short distance from my home. The sight of the enchanted stone reminded me of something else, and I gave her the leather pouch containing the Amulet of Infectious Charm.

“Please. Could you make sure this gets to Louis Beauchamp in Ald’ruhn? He’s staying at the Ald Skar Inn. It’s- another promise I need to keep.”

She agreed and then, at her insistence, we ate a quick meal. With a full stomach and a good night’s rest behind me, I was inclined to linger, but Athynae moved purposefully, almost as if she feared pursuit. She gave me the greater part of her supplies, noting that she wouldn’t exactly be camping at Indarys Manor, at the same time extracting my promise to not depend solely on her potions to sustain me. When I made a casual remark about the provisions likely being enough to see me through the completion of the Skaal ritual, her eyes flashed dangerously and she warned me in a low voice:

“Don’t even think about it!” Poking my chest with a stiff finger for emphasis, she continued:

“You can go to Thirsk, or to the Skaal village, or maybe back to Raven Rock…. No, wait. You can’t go to the colony, that Apronia baggage is still hanging around there- and you’d better just stay away from her if you know what’s good for you.”

She muttered something I couldn’t quite hear; it sounded like: “Oh that Athlain; he’s so brave and good-looking. And such a gentleman, too,” spoken in a mocking imitation of an Imperial accent.

In a louder tone and with an air of finality, she said:

“So, it’s settled; you’ll go to the Skaal to rest up and talk to Korst Wind-Eye. Then you can finish the Ritual.”

With that she shoved my now-bulging pack at me and almost immediately caused me to drop it again when she seized my head with both hands and kissed me soundly. The moment was all too brief; she released me and said, a little breathlessly:

“After that, you can come home. To Indarys Manor- and to me.”

Then she spoke the most magical words there are, “I love you;” grasped her teleportation amulet, and vanished into the Aether.

Alone next to the ruined airship, I thought of Louis Beauchamp and his obsession. It was still incomprehensible to me that the silly man had gone to so much trouble and expense just to make himself attractive to women. But then I looked at Athynae’s footprints, already filling with snow, and considered that I came all the way to Solstheim to find the love that had always been right there in Ald’ruhn. And I concluded that the journey had been worth it, because it was the distance that had revealed the truth of our love.

Another good segment, and Athlain has a plan that is not that bad! Unless of course he has completely mistaken his mother (like if she is part of the entire thing...)


“Oh that Athlain; he’s so brave and good-looking. And such a gentleman, too,” spoken in a mocking imitation of an Imperial accent.
Yup, Athynae loves him alright!

because it was the distance that had revealed the truth of our love.
Awwww. One of the things I like about BotM is the way that vision-quests are so central to the story. Athlain's quest to find his own destiny, separate from the looming shadow of Father. The whole Aevar quest he is doing now. And finally of course, that to find his love. Just like Dorothy in Oz, it is the journey that forces one to look down at what is really inside, and brings out who we really are in the end.

Oh great. Now all sorts of things are going to go wrong!

I too am concerned that Athlain's mother might be in on the whole marriage thing. One thing that could go wrong, you know.

Loved this installment!

....from the mind of Sethyas: "Great, now there are two blasted mind-readers?...."

Oooh more parts to this, please do keep it up . As ever more plot development (you certainly don't go in for breaking step) and more complexity. I suspect Baria will do a fair bit to sort things out, though exactly how will be interesting to see as I can't see it all being simple. With the lure (threat?) of singing in the distance I can't wait for more.


I can't exactly recall the background to this but it did occur in the original Trey right? Or is it new? It's been a while since I read Trey.


These two are both brilliant bits of writing, often the observations between dialogue say much more than the words. The first has Athlain's dry humor which always brings a smile too.

YESSSSS yes isn't that hilarious?? Of course Thyna will be a mind reader! Why not??? Ohhhhh I love this, but as Hautie said....if Athlain has a plan....well its just predestined for any kind of trouble!


yayyyy

Whew, I feel better now. At least Athlain has a plan; and perhaps a better course than the Foxy proposal. This chapter was a stellar example of why, when I grow up, I want to be able to write like treydog.

Each of the three following passages (in addition to those already quoted above) struck me - each in its own wonderful way:

I scan a Man with a Plan in his hand on Norse Land!!!

But will it Stand?

Dang! Trey - explain all to your Fans!

Not caught up yet, but getting there!!! Yeah!!!

Since I have several installments written for a change, I decided to jump my posting schedule just a bit.

@SubRosa- We will have to hope Athlain knows his mother’s mind- and heart- as well as he thinks he does. The little snipe at Apronia Alfena was one of those things that just came to me as I was typing Athynae’s dialogue. Usually, when I actually start putting her words on the page, I just let her take over. It’s safer that way….

You know, the idea of many levels of vision-quests is an interesting one- I wish I had thought of it! But, as you noted, it is there, whether I intended it or not.

@haute- “Athlain has a plan. Everybody hang on to their--- er, hats.”

@Black Hand- Well, Athynae’s- ah, tendencies- are probably at least partly Sethyas’ fault- one way or another.

@Olen- Thank you so much. Baria’s history is largely blank space- I only began thinking seriously about it in response to a question minque asked. Thus, her first marriage is itself a new wrinkle. But it begins to explain her presence in Vvardenfell- and why she called Serene “cousin.” The good news- no singing- at least, not yet.

The “spaces between” is an interesting point. I was listening to an interview with Connie Britton regarding Friday Night Lights (the series), and she mentioned that the “silences often say as much as the dialogue.” That is harder to convey in writing- no visual cues, etc. But- it fits with my preferred style, which is to pare things down to the essentials.

@minque- I have had so much fun “borrowing” Athynae, and bringing in her “extended family,” as well. Besides trusting Baria, perhaps we should have some faith in Serene?

@Acadian- My blushes…. Athlain actually does have a brain- he just tends to forget to engage it most of the time. And anyone would look like a plodder when surrounded by such luminaries as his parents- and his god-parents (Athyn and Serene), not to mention Athynae. Again, the footprint scene was one that came to me through free-writing… I tend to be very “visual” when I write- that is, I actually try to conjure up an image of the scene in my mind (or on screen when possible). That is one of the biggest reasons I still write the first draft longhand, and then transcribe into Word- it allows me to expand on the initial impressions.

@D. Foxy- Sorry to have robbed you of the visceral pleasure of Athlain going mano a mero with Duke Dren. (Note- I DID NOT say “mano a merino,” which would be an entirely different sort of story- and a different sort of pleasure, too).

@mALX- Take all the time you need. We are thrilled beyond measure to have you back with us.

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

Saying a last prayer for Captain Jodoin and his crew, I left the airship behind. With Athynae gone, there was nothing more for me there, and I had promised her that I would go to the Skaal village to rest and recover my strength. In truth, I had little need to go to the village; the hot meals she had prepared had done wonders for my condition. Poets talk of the sustaining power of love; I imagine I got more from Athynae’s stew and other travel rations. Best to keep that thought to myself, I quickly decided. Meanwhile, the snow was falling and the wolves were howling; it was an altogether wonderful day to be in love, and all alone in the wilderness of northern Solstheim. But what did a blizzard or a few dozen wolves matter, when Athynae had said she loved me? Certainly, there was the small matter of Duke Dren to overcome- and the significantly more formidable obstacle of Aunt Serene. And finding Captain Carius, and dealing with whoever or whatever had attacked Fort Frostmoth. I mentally waved away those concerns- mere details, hardly worth the effort of worrying over.

Although my body and spirit were healed, my armor was in a sorry state. I was glad Senior Trooper Carbo could not see me; he would have had some pointed words about my lack of consideration for the “Legion’s property.” I could almost hear his growl:

What, Recruit? You think the Empire would just give this fine equipment to a fumble-fingered lackwit like you? No, Recruit. You’re only borrowing it until you stab yourself with your spear or drown in a rainstorm when you look up to see what’s hitting the top of your helmet. Now, make that bright-work SHINE!

Besides prompting memories of my Legion trainer, the condition of my gear warned me that I would do well to avoid any fights until I could see about repairs.

The falling snow helped with that task; many of the predators had gone to ground to wait it out, and I endeavored to stay out of sight of the few that were desperate enough to be moving around. Still, it was a relief when I scented the wood-smoke that heralded the village, and I made straight for the shaman’s dwelling.

With a glance at the drying herbs hanging from the porch rafters, I shook the snow from my shoulders and knocked at the door. At Korst Wind-Eye’s invitation, I stepped inside the warmth of his cabin and paused for a moment to enjoy the sensation of being indoors. The respite was brief; the Nord shaman gave me a sharp-eyed assessment and said, not unkindly:

“You were to perform the Ritual of the Gifts. I hope your way has been easy.”

I ruefully indicated my battered cuirass and torn greaves and responded:

“I would not say that it has been easy; nor have I finished, although I have completed several of the quests.”

I then recounted my experiences with the Stones I had visited, as well as describing some of the things I had seen.

Korst raised an eyebrow when I spoke of the guardian in the Halls of Penumbra, but said nothing until I was finished. When I stopped speaking, he looked at me keenly and said,

“I am somewhat surprised that you have done so much in so short a time. The Ritual is arduous and not to be undertaken lightly. While I admire your determination and courage, might I ask why you felt the need to move so quickly?”

The question reminded me of the scolding I had gotten from Athynae, and so it stung a bit more than it might have otherwise. Nettled, I gave the shaman the same answer I had given her, hoping to gain his endorsement of my decision:

“Sir, Aevar’s Story did not mention that he rested between the quests, so….”

I trailed off as Korst began to shake his head with a bemused smile. Finally, he spoke carefully:

“Aye, well. And it does not say as how he used the- ah- necessary, either. Although I am fairly certain he did so- especially when he encountered some of the perils of the Ritual. But the skalds tend to leave that sort of thing out- usually.”

He chuckled and added, “It is best not to read the old tales too literally; the spirit of the thing is more important than the exact words.”

I flushed at his amusement- and at the fact that Athynae had been right.

Hoping to change the subject, I asked the shaman about some of the creatures I had encountered, and he grew serious.

“I have heard of beasts such as you encountered in the Halls of Penumbra. Some call them ‘grahl.’ We do not know what they really are- perhaps evil spirits or else great beasts. Whatever their origin, they are dangerous, and you did well to defeat that one.”

He paused then and lit his pipe, blowing smoke toward the fireplace. “As to the boar-riders, we know of them from old. They are vile beasts, but not so mindless as some might think. A few among them have the power of speech and all are capable of great cunning. They are called ‘rieklings,’ and it has been claimed that they are the descendants of the Falmer- a lost race of elves. As to that, I cannot say- but they are foul and dangerous. Avoid them if you can.”

He knocked the ash from his pipe and said.

“And now it grows near the time for supper. You are welcome to my hospitality….”

He stopped as I shook my head. “Thank you, but no. I believe I will see Lassnr and make sure he is well. And, if he will have me, I will guest with him again.”

Korst gave a single nod of acknowledgment and replied, “I am sure he will be glad of the company. A hot meal and a night’s sleep would not go amiss. And do take some thought to yourself as you prepare to visit the rest of the Stones.”

He reached for a book that lay on the mantel and I left him reading beside the fire.

Lassnr answered my knock with a hopeful expression; his smile slipped just a little when he saw that it was I. But he recovered quickly and stepped back, waving me inside.

“Athlain! Come in, come in and warm yourself. I hope you will share a meal with me, though I am afraid it is thin fare tonight.”

I swung my pack to the floor and clasped his hand, saying: “Perhaps I can add something to the board. What do you have?”

The old Nord went to his pantry and set out a few dried apples, some carrots, and a couple of reasonably fresh onions. There was also a crock of honey in the center of the table. I looked over the items and reached for the provisions Athynae had split with me, saying,

“I have just the thing, if you don’t mind waiting a bit.”

When he indicated his agreement, I drew out some salt, pepper, a few spices, and several cuts of bristleback.

“Why don’t you see to slicing up those apples and glazing them with honey, while I season this wild boar for roasting with the vegetables?”

One of the pleasures of studying alchemy, at least as taught by Aunt Serene, was that you got lessons in cooking, too. As a result, Lassnr and I ate very well that night, and I did not feel that I was imposing on him.

After we cleared up, he sat before the fire with a contented sigh. Pointing with his pipe stem, he indicated a folded paper on his desk. “Got a note from Tymvaul. It just appeared there on the desk; he said it was ‘mage mail.’ Not much in it; just that he had gotten to Mournhold and was heading from there to the Imperial City and the University. I reckon his mother would be proud, though it still seems a bit uncanny to me.”

We sat in silence, watching the leaping flames, and recalling those who were away from us, but never far from our thoughts. I reached idly for my greaves and a repair hammer, and set about smoothing away the worst of the damage. It was really a job for a fully equipped forge, but caring for my own gear was a deeply ingrained habit. Lassnr watched me without saying anything, then picked up my Legion cuirass and winced in sympathy at the dents and gouges. He set it aside and puffed on his pipe a few times before commenting:

“I reckon there be worse things than going off to be a mage, for all that.”

A good meal and good company. Perhaps not Athynae's company, but good nonetheless. Athlain's lovestruck musings as he walked through the blizzard were priceless. It takes me back to those time when I was also so head-over heels that nothing else in the world mattered.

Poets talk of the sustaining power of love; I imagine I got more from Athynae’s stew and other travel rations.
Yup, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach alright!

QFT! This, and the line Sage Rose quoted, made me laugh out loud.

An enjoyable visit with some old friends, and a terrific meal to top it off. Honey-glazed apples? Auggie Doggie, I'm so there!

It really is the little touches like ideas for meals and comments from side characters like Lassnr looking at the Cuirass that makes this story.

More dry wit and humour bring this to life, and he's gone back to see a character from another quest and hear what comes after which really gives a feeling of cause and effect and continuity to your world. Still I suspect there are still some hard times ahead, for all he thinks they hardly matter. I also wonder whether the poor state of the armour and his lack of a forge to properly mend it may be foreshadowing something...


This line says a lot, and also makes me wonder how Trey, who thus far has only really been glimpsed, is feeling. As I recall Athlain is yet to see his father since he ran off.

What indeed?

Thanks for bringing me out of the cold - brrr - you always portray it so well. Despite the fact that Lassie misses Timmy, I was pleased that Athlain was able to contribute to, and share a wonderful meal - and a warm fire.

Chapter 12:

Reading the Captain's journal made me turn the AC off, and we are having a heat wave here! But my fave paragraph of all is this:



ARGH! Poor Athlain, and how many of us haven't been at this type of crossroads IRL at least once. I agree with Remko, I think Athynae's absence is bringing on the morose thoughts.

***



Winter Wolf! ARGH! - I was bowled over by your description of the wolf attack - very realistic Treydog!



ROFL !!!



Awesome write!

......... AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHH !!!!!!!!!!! ATHYNAE IS BACK !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Why, oh why did you go away...Athynae?
I've sought your return for many a day...Athynae!
And now that you're back I pray you'll stay...Athynae!
For without you Athlain can't find his way...Athynae!!!!!!
YEAH!!!! ATHYNAE !!!!!

***


Caught up !!!

@SubRosa- Those were fun scenes to write- I wanted to show that Athlain is truly enthralled, but also a man… Meaning food is never far from his thoughts.

@haute- You and the talented SubRosa have made TES food into an art form; I wanted to contribute something to the menu that seemed to fit the setting.

@Black Hand- Again, having watched others skillfully draw the “minor” characters in their stories (yes, I’m looking at you, minque)- I decided to steal- um, borrow the idea.

@Olen- Solstheim is not quite as bad as Mournhold for unrelieved darkness (in my experience), but it is a harsh place. Humor is my (and Athlain’s) way of coping with that. See my remark to B.H. above about recognizing the value of what others have done in terms have having recurring characters. And your comment regarding Lassnr and Trey is very perceptive- Athlain is unconsciously seeking a surrogate father to replace the one he feels alienated from.

@Acadian- Well, look at what Buffy is willing to do for love- even if she doesn’t yet realize that is her motivation. Makes Athlain look like a piker- wolves, blizzards, a few undead Nord warriors and grizzly bears? Pffft! The Buffster is raising the whole countryside AND going to school for Savlian! Now that’s dedication!

@mALX- A “crisis of faith,” in what he is doing, if not in some deity, seemed to fit. And it is very much because someone is missing from his life. I wanted the fight with the snow wolf to do two things- show that there was danger, but also that Athlain had developed the skill to prevail. The password- I had written that bad joke over a year ago- and finally got to use it. Poetry- from mALX! I can stop writing- my life is complete. Nah, I like the sound of my own voice too much to stop now.

All- And now we have more meetings with old acquaintances, thoughts on mixed blessings, and the threatened singing. Read on at your own risk!

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

After a peaceful night and a filling breakfast with Lassnr, I left the village, heading west to the confluence of the Harstrad and Isild Rivers. Perhaps I had not rested quite as much as some people would have preferred, but it was hard for me to sit idle while Captain Carius was still missing. I had my orders- I had to finish the mission. And, if I could find him, perhaps I could request leave to return home. But to find him, I had to pass Tharsten Heart-Fang’s test- which meant visiting the rest of the Standing Stones.

The ancient Skaal drawing indicated that the Wind Stone was nearby, on the western bank of the Harstrad, and it was easier to find than some of the others had been. As I sought the Stone, I again seemed to be in that strange, half-waking world, ignored by the usually aggressive creatures of the wilderness. The symbol on the Wind Stone was a set of complex curves, which in an indefinable way imparted a sense of moving air. For all that some people considered the Nords barbaric, and for all that they themselves cultivated that reputation, they were capable of incredible artistry.

When I touched the carving, a voice sighed and soughed through my mind, instructing me:

Travel south and east of the lake of ice to Glenschul’s Tomb and free the Winds from the Greedy Man’s bag.

That seemed straightforward enough- better yet, I believed I actually knew where it was. Given that Lake Fjalding was the only such feature on all of Solstheim, it had to be the “lake of ice.” I did not recall the specific tomb mentioned by the voice, but the island was dotted with caves and barrows, most of which I had avoided entering. There were worse things than cold and snow- and some of those things had claws and teeth.

For the moment, however, the snow had abated and I was content. Athynae had no doubt reached Indarys Manor, and was safe with my mother. My good mood faltered as I realized that she was also with my sisters. And I had not thought to extract a promise from her to keep the details of our meetings to herself. Oh, I was not concerned that she would say anything about the skooma- but there was plenty of ammunition for my clever sisters even without that. As the long list of the inanities I had uttered in her presence passed through my mind, I had a vision of three red-haired heads leaning close to one another, exchanging conspiratorial whispers and giggles. Perhaps it was still not too late to change my name and go to Akavir.

While these thoughts occupied me, I had been walking south and east, following the Isild to where it emptied into Lake Fjalding. I covered the entire circumference of the lake, starting from the western shore, and saw nothing but ice and snow, and rieklings and horkers. If there was a tomb, Glenschul’s or anyone else’s, I could not find it. Muttering to myself about the cryptic nature of directions in prophecies and rituals, I decide to stop in at Thirsk. Perhaps Svenja or Skjoldr could tell me how to find the elusive tomb. And it would be wise to see Brynjolfr, as well. Although there was a smith in the Skaal village, I had felt uneasy taking my armor to him for repair. If I was going to trust my life to my equipment, I needed even more to trust the person who repaired it. It was of Legion manufacture, after all, and the Skaal were still somewhat doubtful about the Legion’s intentions, and also a bit ambivalent about my presence.

The denizens of the mead hall harbored no such concerns, and greeted me with rowdy enthusiasm. Ulfrun handed me a flagon of mead with a wide smile I did not understand until she waved to Bathmar Bold-Lute, who struck up a tune, and began singing a song called Athlain the Brave. It was not exactly an epic saga; prominently featured was my argument with Athynae, complete with tankards banged on tables to represent slamming doors and an extended chorus of the word “fine,” shouted back and forth from one side of the hall to the other. The singing at last came to a raucous conclusion on the verse:

Then said he to the maiden fair,
Dear, what happened to your hair?
The maiden fair did slam the door
And leave him there to pace the floor.
Athlain the Brave did pace the floor.

Which was followed by a last shouted exchange of “fines”.

I started to protest that the verse misrepresented what had happened, but realized that truth had little to do with bard songs. So instead, I acknowledged the joke with a weak smile and wave, then slipped out the door to find the smith. Akavir was looking better all the time.

Even the usually taciturn Brynjolfr had some fun at my expense, asking in his booming voice:

“And how be ye, brave Athlain? Fine, I hope.”

Then he looked out the door I had just entered and asked, “And what of the lass? Were ye so daft as to let her get away again?”

Sometimes, there really is nothing to say. As I tried to untangle the twisted events that had separated me from Athynae yet again, that seemed determined to keep us apart, I simply shook my head in resignation and regret. The smith read my expression as easily as he could gauge the color of metal in his forge and laid a massive hand on my shoulder.

“Aye, so that is the way of it, then. She’d be with ye if she could, or if ye could have her beside ye and still do what’s needful. But ye canna, and there’s an end to it.”

He blew out a gusty sigh. “Sorry that I made light, laddie. Ye know I set great store by herself- and by ye, as well. That said, what can old Brynjolfr do for ye this day?”

He pointed his hammer at my cuirass. “By the look of yon plate, ‘twould appear ye’ve been to the wars.”

Happy for the change of subject, I asked the smith: “Would you repair my armor? I did what I could, but… some of this steel needs to be replaced, rather than just beaten back into shape. I can feel some spots where it’s starting to thin and weaken. And- well, I could use that shield you loaned me again. My Legion tower is lying in pieces back in the Moesring Mountains.”

At a gesture from the Nord, I began removing my armor. He assisted me, grunting in dismay at some of the damage. When I stood in my quilted tunic and breeches, he indicated a pair of leather shoes in one corner.

“Slip those on so yer feet don’t freeze. Take ye a steam in the sauna, and I’ll have Svenja bring ye somethin’ ta wear. Come back after and we’ll talk about this.” His wave encompassed my equipment where it lay on the floor.

I welcomed the chance to sit in the steam bath, feeling the humid air loosening my muscles and easing the aches that had accumulated over the last several weeks. When I was relaxed almost to the point of sleep, I used the scraper to clean my skin and then dumped a bucket of cold water over my head. The air in the outer chamber was so dry that I hardly needed to use the towels at all before I donned clean clothing.

When I returned to the forge, Brynjolfr was frowning at my cuirass and greaves as he sorted through his bins of scrap for pieces to use in the repairs. He turned the scowl on me and grumbled:

“Ye know, ye ought to just let me fit ye a new set of Nordic mail. Our work is stronger’n that Legion crap and doesna weigh any more. Seems to me if a man is goin’ ta lug a’ that metal about, it oughta do ‘im some good, stead of just lookin’ shiny.”

Again, I had no answer. The Legion armor was a burden, true; but it was also something I wore with pride. Nordic mail was beautiful and strong, and I knew Brynjolfr would give me a good price. But it would not have the same meaning for me. In Nordic armor or Orcish armor or any other than Legion-issue, I would just be another nameless adventurer, out only for myself. I had put aside my uniform once before, because I felt I had dishonored it. The only way I would give it up again would be if I found a higher calling, a greater duty than service in the Legion. Rather than try to explain all that to this man who had a home and a position, I just clapped a hand on his brawny shoulder and said,

“I know you’ll do your best. When you’re finished, I’ll be in the great hall. Thank you for everything.”

Back inside the mead hall, I greeted Skjoldr Wolf-Runner and asked him about Glenschul’s Tomb. The Nord chieftan looked at me for a long moment before he answered:

“It’s not for me to meddle in another man’s business, but I feel I ought to find out a bit more as to why ye feel the need to muck about in an old tomb. I didna think ye were a treasure-hunter, nor,” his voice turned hard, “a grave-robber.”

Oh, delightful, Trey!! I think that you are actually going to turn into a Helena in your touches of humour if you continue like this!!!

Oh, you really hit on something there with:

The pride in the armor one stands for regardless of the fact is is heavy, klunky and offers little protection - but is a symbol

VS

The stronger and lighter one that can give better protection but stands for nothing


That was huge and shows the inner growth Athlain has achieved since I first started reading - AWESOME!!!!


PS: - it was hard to find anything that rhymed with Athlain (cane, wane, domain, refrain, disdain, etc. - Athynae rhymes with a hundred things, lol.


*

What about Captain, abstain, chaplain, mad bane????

Oh Athlain misses Athynae - FINE!
Athlain finds the Wind Stone - FINE!
Athlain forgot to ask for directions to the tomb - FINE!
And our hero returns to Thirsk - FINE!
To hear the saga of the brave Athlain and the fair Athynae - FINE!
And gets a steam bath at the smithy's - FINE!
Only to find out his Legion armor's about had it - FINE!
And gets judged for being a grave-robber - FINE!

I never claimed to be a poet -

Oh Hauty!!! You have joined the ranks now!!!! This could be a rap song too, you need about seven strong men in the background to shout "FINE" each time.


@ Foxy ... stain? [censored] ? crane? mane? great dane?


Oh Athlain...you kiss like a Great Dane


*

But Athlain is a land where he is SURROUNDED by Great Danes!!! Youll have all the locals thinking he's GAY!!!


BLECH...

But they are Nords (some don't have swords)


Athynae said you left a stain, Athlain.
She could wash it out using the detergent Gain
But chooses to leave it and complain.

Wonderful, treydog.

I enjoyed what you did with the uniquely feminine connotations of 'fine'. Brilliant.

Brynjolfr is a pleasure watch work, and even more so to listen too. You have painted him so very well, and do so again here.

As always, it is so interesting and insightful being inside the head of Athlain. What a neat character!

Hehehe. Nice reminders that in spite of the events that have hardened them both, their still a couple of crazy kids.

And nice that theres an attitude against the trade of the Player Character, I mean I know that thats where all the good loot is, but RPing!!!

Ahh, back to the mead hall. I loved the song about Athlain and Athynae's argument! You have such a good way of keeping your man character from getting too full of himself. This is certainly one of those!


There were worse things than cold and snow- and some of those things had claws and teeth.
So we have seen!


nits:
I had put off my uniform once before,
"put off" does not sound right. Perhaps "left off" or "set aside" would ring a little better.

Grand as ever, and now with singing. It went to show how Athlain has developed in a few ways, the song, the armour and pondering on duty. The choice of the legion armour was a particularly good device seeing as it made me consider how he was back in Gnisis and then when he gave it up before. He's certainly changed, though I suspect the rest of the quest will change him more. I've been considerng how his plan to keep Athynae with his mother is likely to fail, I have a theory (beyond him just having misjudged his mother that is).

As ever I loved the humour though I never saw Solstheim as particularly dark. A bit brutal but honestly so. The humour is quite dark in places though...

And now this cliffhanger ending. I want need more.

Drama, action, passion, nords, imperials, skooma, werewolves, snow! What a story! Treydog- you are truly blessed by the divines with such a magical talent for writing! oooooh. phew!

@D. Foxy- No fear of that; fortunately we have a bounty of talented humor writers here now. The song was fun- and I have a plan for it in future- the FAR distant future of the story.

@mALX- You (and Olen) caught one of the most important indicators of Athlain’s nature- how much he values the uniform- and all it symbolizes. Though he does not yet realize it, that commitment to honor and duty is something his father understands quite well.

Well, if his real name causes trouble, you can always work in a Maximus Rattus reference.

@haute- If I have driven you to verse, I humbly apologize. Athlain just needs a (younger, stronger) Julian to show up at Fort Frosmoth to whip him into shape. Hmmm- that actually has possibilities- considering that she spent time in Skyrim… and Frostmoth certainly needs strong leadership. Hmmmm.

@Acadian- Yup. The original door-slamming and exchange of “fines” is based on direct observation. Best to say no more about that….

Even though my Nords have Scottish accents (instead of Swedish or Norwegian), somehow that just became a TES fan-fic convention and none of us ever questioned it. But they are fun to write and Brynjolfr is more fun than most- I like having craftsmen (and women) talk about their craft. There is a joy and passion that comes through so clearly… And I am pleased that Athlain has grown to be “real” to my readers. Doubly so that one of them is the creator of the wonderfully-alive Buffy.

@Black Hand- You hit upon an essential point- despite their experiences, they are still largely innocent. And that is a fact that will come into play later. And as to the “tomb-raider” issue, that came to me after I had Athlain mis-remember the directions and decide to ask at Thirsk.

@SubRosa- The drinking song was such fun to write- and again, one of those things that came to me as I was transcribing the scene from my notebook. In fact, the entirety of my notes is: “Circled the lake and saw nothing. Disgusted, went to Thirsk and asked Skjoldr.” Hooray for writing and revising! And Athlain has ended up being far less of a snobbish prig than I originally envisioned him- there were too many other people and events that forced him to grow. The “claws and teeth” line may be a steal from this story or one of my others. But it is so fitting for FRPGs…

Nit agreed and fixed.

@Olen- You are insightful again- connecting this episode with his uniform to his early days at Gnisis and the decision to abandon it in Gandrung Caverns. As to the stumbling block in his plan, please share! I honestly have only the vaguest outline in my head beyond certain events that HAVE to happen… so I am more than happy to steal… um, incorporate ideas from others.

I agree- Solstheim is hard, but it isn’t gloomy. And how better to know that you’ve been accepted by a bunch of Nords than for them to make up a song to insult you!

@hazmick- Welcome to my latest “story-that-would-not-die.” The blessings I have received are many- mostly the games themselves, and best of all, loyal and patient readers who keep me going.

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The question was a serious one. The Nords venerated their ancestors no less than the Dunmer, and did not appreciate random looting. I recalled the words Einar had spoken regarding the religious significance of the items that were interred with the dead. But, because I had never entered a tomb or barrow with “treasure” in mind, I had not thought about how a son of Skyrim might react to my question. In fact, so intent had I been on completing the Ritual of the Gifts that I had not even imagined that anyone would wonder about my purpose in seeking Glenschul’s Tomb. When Tharsten and Korst had discussed the Ritual with me, neither had indicated that it was to be kept secret. I had not told Skjoldr simply because I had spent so much time alone of late that I had lost the habit of sharing my plans with anyone. With a shrug I answered truthfully:

“I am performing the Ritual of the Gifts for the village Skaal, in hopes that Tharsten will tell me what he knows of the attack on Fort Frostmoth. The Greedy Man’s bag is supposed to be inside Glenschul’s Tomb, which is supposed to be near Lake Fjalding.”

I shook my head in disgust and added, “I went all the way around the lake and never saw any tomb.”

Skjoldr’s expression cleared a bit and he replied, “Aye, and ye wouldn’t. That barrow isna all that close to the lake. It lies that way.” Raising his arm, he pointed toward the eastern sea-coast, before asking, “Do ye recall the exact words ye were given?”

After the incident at Hrothmund’s Barrow when I could not recall the password, I had taken to writing things down word for word. So, in response to the chieftain’s question, I paged through my journal and read in a testy voice:

Travel south and east of the lake of ice to Glenschul’s Tomb…

My voice trailed off as I flushed with embarrassment and clapped a hand to my forehead. There in my own hand it said “OF the lake of ice,” not “TO.” As in “beyond” Lake Fjalding. Truth be told, prepositions had given me trouble in school, too. They were slippery little two- and three-letter words that had no business changing the meanings of sentences so drastically.

Still chagrined by my foolish error, I muttered my thanks to Skjoldr and added that I would head out for the tomb as soon as my armor was repaired. As I started to turn away, the Skaal hunter raised a hand to stop me, saying:

“Wait ye just a bit, if ye will. There is not a one here that has not made a mistake, myself included. There’s no shame in that. But it would be unfortunate if ye let yer anger lead ye into another. If I offer ye some words, will ye heed them?”

This man had held my very life in his hands when I had slain Erich, and had judged me fairly. Besides that, one could never have an overabundance of wisdom. Therefore I nodded and said,

“Wise counsel is a gift beyond price. Please, Skjoldr, speak your words and I will listen.”

He looked around the hall and rubbed his hands on the intricately carved arms of his throne before he began.

“One of our hunters chanced to be near Glenschul’s Tomb only a few days past. He tells as how a group of riekling boar-riders was close by, and appear to be settled in. So, if ye must go to yon barrow, have a care.”

That particular warning was one I did not need to hear twice. My previous encounter with the diminutive blue demon spawn and their cursed mounts was fresh in my mind- and marked upon my body. And Skjoldr’s words were a reminder that Solstheim was a dangerous place, where it did not do to simply charge off in all directions with no thought or preparation.

Meanwhile, the chieftain was continuing, his face a study of conflicting emotions as he explained:

“This next, I do not quite know how to say. Ye know that we here at Thirsk split from the village Skaal long ago?”

At my nod, he went on: “It happened because they take their worship of Nature too much to heart. They believe there be more to life than hunting and drinking and fighting.” He grinned and added: “Tis hard to credit that there be Nords who would think such as that, but there it is.”

He paused to take a healthy swallow of mead before continuing, “And now they have ye tangled up in their rituals and mystic folderol. All I will say is- be ye wary. Heart-Fang knows more than he says. Mayhap I’m just turnin’ into an old woman, but I’ve an itch at the back of my neck like somethin’ is on my trail. There’s many an uncanny thing on this island, and some of what’s in the old barrows is better left alone.”

He fell silent and looked into his mug with brooding eyes.

Although the rest of the hunters and warriors continued to sing and laugh, Skjoldr’s dark mood had infected me, and I went upstairs to the guest rooms. The one Athynae had used was empty, but I passed it by. I do not know what I feared more- that some hint of her presence still lingered in the air- or that it did not. My mind had been fogged ever since I began the Ritual of the Gifts. No, it had been fogged by skooma even before that. I paused on the threshold of my room and wondered- was this all simply a skooma dream, brought on by the snow and the howls of wolves? Had I truly found the airship, and had Athynae truly found me there? Or was it all just smoke and desire?

I closed the door and crossed to the bed to lie in the darkness, dwelling on Skjoldr’s words of warning, slipping in and out of restless sleep. When I gave up at last and rose, only fragments of my troubled dreams remained. In all of them, I was beset by enemies: rieklings, wolves, draugr, and worse. No matter how hard I fought, no matter how many I slew, there were always more. And throughout the battles, looming in the background was a great, shadowy figure with branched horns upon its head.

I could not sleep and I did not want to join in the hunters’ never-ending revelry, so I had plenty of time to brood about the situation with Athynae. Assuming that the meeting at the airship had not just been a fever dream or hallucination brought on by wounds and deprivation, I wondered if I had erred in sending her to Mother. And, even if that had been the best plan, what would happen next? How long could she reasonably claim sanctuary at Indarys Manor? How long would she be willing to stay there? She was young and vibrant and had escaped her role as “dutiful Redoran daughter” for a time. I knew too well what a powerful drug the taste of freedom could be- I had joined the Legion for much the same reason- excepting that I was not a daughter… nor especially dutiful when it came to it.

The worst of it was, each time she saved me, each time I had sent her away again- it had been more difficult. I could feel the touch of her hand, taste her lips on mine, hear her laughter…. It was no good. I could not simply leave her to languish in my family home, where she would be as much a prisoner as if she had agreed to a political marriage. And even if she could remain there indefinitely, even if she would- that would bring us no closer to each other. Or rather, it would bring us too close and yet too far; honor would keep us apart. It would be exquisite torture- to be in one another’s presence day after day, but unable to touch; to have only words and looks and gestures to sustain us down the long years. It could not be borne; there had to be a way that satisfied both honor and passion. And I vowed that I would find it.

Athlain is growing up. The hard things he has been through have shaped him - are still shaping him. - and maybe it is good Athynae went away for a time, so she can see the differences when she returns. He is vastly different than he was when that man called him a thief and fought him...what was that, a year ago? ...vastly different.

Awesome write Treydog, I feel like I am watching a miniseries on the Hallmark channel - picturing Highland brogues for the accents on the Nords - it is so easy to immerse myself in this story !!!!

Truth be told, prepositions had given me trouble in school, too. They were slippery little two- and three-letter words that had no business changing the meanings of sentences so drastically.
I think the author's personal opinions have seeped into his character!

Here I was going to ask a question about whether the members of the mead hall were also Skaal, and you went and answered it before I could! It always stuck me as odd that the hall is sitting out there by its lonesome in the wilderness.

and some of what’s in the old barrows is better left alone.
...and there are things that Man Was Not Meant To Know...

looming in the background was a great, shadowy figure with branched horns upon its head.
And unfortunately for Athlain, it is not Herne the Hunter. Seriously, I really liked the nightmares. They are the first sight of the daedric hand behind the scenes that is shaping events on the island.

Finally, we have Athlain musing on his future with Athynae, or the grim spectre of his non-future with her. I see a resolve building within him. He may be busy putting the smack down in Solsthiem, but here we clearly see that he will be Scouring The Shire when he returns from his foreign adventure.

Poor Athlain, Grammar is a fickle mistress who will not think twice about bringing a knee to the groin of the best scholars. More of those blue, boar-riding bast...bad guys? Oh dear. Our hero is also suffering from the separation with Athynae, hopefully he will come out stronger. (No innuendo intended)

I have an uncle who sounds just like one of your Nords, it's amazing.

Keep up the good work.

This is a great pause in the events of the story, and a fantastic piece of self-reflection.

The conversation between Athlain and Skjoldr was well-crafted and felt very natural, as if I was a fly on the wall there.

mALX and SubRosa have already commented on the bits that stood out to me. The Horned Man, if I recall correctly, is an archetypal God-figure common to many hunter cultures. Including him here just brings home the concept that man is but a small part of the power that we call nature. He adds power and depth to Athlain's nightmares, and emphasizes the harshness of the land that is Solstheim.

Our hero is also suffering from the separation with Athynae, hopefully he will come out stronger. (No innuendo intended)


My experience is that after you come and go out you do NOT get stronger.

I have mentioned enjoying the accent you bring to your Nords. It was while reading this chapter that it hit me - I realize now that I have stolen your accent for my Bosmer who runs the Arcane University stables in the Vally of Horses. Aye, there ye be! I shall hopefully trust that you will take this theft as a compliment, rather than kicking me from your guild hall.

Athlain is a wonderfully alive, breathing, hurting, dreaming, loving character.

Aye, lad - ye truly be onta somthin there. Do na let er go, for she be worth it!

Honestly.....


lets get somes werewolves ins heres!!

But, that being said, I liked the wisdom of the Chieftain awfully introspective of the King of Mead.

A good bit of background snuck in there, as well as a bit more foreshadowing of what's coming. It's all getting darker and you've got a growing feeling of something being wrong. I suspect Athlain will fnid out exactly what those dreams were about soon enough.


Very Lovecraftian. I'm almost expecting a large cuttlefish headed monster.

As far as accents go it is odd that Nords get a scottish accent but I suppose in some ways it makes sense on Solstheim in some ways.