Athlain is back to work for the East India Empire Trading Company I see. Now rooting out corruption in the staff. It makes you wonder if Raven Rock has unusually bad luck, or if all the EETC efforts have so many difficulties.

Don’t trust to the gods or to luck- good soldiers make their own luck.
This reminds me of something from the first season of Wiseguy (when the series was at the top of its game), when Vinnie says: "I don't believe in luck. I make it, and I take it, but I don't stand around waiting for it."

Basks closed his eyes and thumped the deck once with his tail
This is a particularly good piece of making Argonian physiology come alive.

The sea captain soooo reminds me of an old joke.

"A Brave Sea Captain was famous for always wearing a red shirt during naval battles. Indeed, whenever enemy ships were sighted, the first thing he bellowed out was 'Fetch me my Red Shirt!'.

One of the Officers curious about the legend asked the first mate in the mess hall one evening about it. The first mate replied that the Captain wore the shirt so that if he got shot, noone could tell he was bleeding, and keep on fighting. The Officer was impressed with the Captians bravery and questioned it no further.

That very next morning, their was an entire Armada of enemy ships sighted off the port bow, and upon hearing the news, the captain bellowed out: 'Fetch me my brown pants!' "

And soon Athlain will be getting an Argonian nickname of "Makes-tail-thump"...

Don't worry, I'm keeping an eye on Julian during her sojourn on Solstheim. I just like to sit back and read everyone else's comments, since I've already shared mine with you, trey! I'm not worried about her at all.

I think her notes reflect her character well - terse and to the point, sharp as a tack as mALX likes to call her.

And I enjoyed the rehash of the classic brown pants joke. It elicited a groan from me, as all groaners do, without actually being said! The development of Basks's character truly enriches the story, and highlights Athlain's own personality.

SPEW !!!!!! ROFL !!!!!

@Cardboard Box- Considering that you inspired the description of the captain’s “substantiality,” feel free to borrow whatever seems to work.

@Destri- Bringing Julian into this part of the story was a bit of inspired madness that continues to pay dividends…. As you suggest, she has such “presence” that only a few words speak volumes. Athlain is slowly fumbling his way towards an answer- one that regarding which there have been some breadcrumbs in previous parts…. Bringing in a Senior Trooper Carbo quote seemed natural- faced with one tough NCO, Athlain cannot help but remember the one who most influenced his Legion career.

@Acadian- Having watched others populate their stories with wonderful Argonian characters, I decided Basks deserved a greater role. And sailors gossip almost as much as… well- anybody. As to sneaking in an Athynae reference, I cannot help myself. Athlain only thinks about her 23 hours and 59 minutes of the day…

@mALX- Thank you so much. I am pleased that the “retrospective” method is working for you. It will be even more apparent several episodes from now. This chapter is going on and on- but it does have an end point… somewhere. Originally, I made some decisions about things to leave out, but realized they were necessary for the vision I have, especially with a certain Legion investigator on the scene… Once again, the story is going where it wants, and I am just trying to hang on. I will refrain from getting into an “Athynae Poetry Slam”- for now.

@hazmick- Congratulations on the GOTY. I hope I can be creative enough to entertain everyone who has played through Bloodmoon….

@SubRosa- I actually (obtuse as I usually am) did not completely grasp what was going on with Raven Rock until I read the wiki. I mean, I was aware of the obvious conflict, but not the reason behind it. That will be revealed near the end of the chapter- if we ever get there. Wiseguy- you reference another of my all-time favorite shows (Season 1, especially- but Season 2 with Kevin Spacey and Joan Severance, as well).

@Blackhand- Oh, I love that story! Too bad Captain Egnatius did not have the foresight to wear his brown trousers when he tried to extort Athlain the Grumpy.

@D.Foxy- Any Argonian name is an honor- as long as it isn’t something like “Steps-on-His-Sword” or similar.

@haute- Incorporating Julian has been a joy, because you have made her such a strong and vivid person. There is a scene coming up on which I may ask for more active collaboration… but that would be telling. See note to Acadian above about my learning from others (yourself among them) the value of giving NPCs greater scope.

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I did not attempt to conceal my movements as I went to Oryn Maren’s house and unlocked the door. In the first place, it would have been useless to try to sneak around in broad daylight while wearing Legion armor; in the second, the colony was owned by the Company and I was operating on Falco’s authority.

The door opened onto a sparsely furnished room, consisting of sitting and dining areas. If Maren was stealing ore, he wasn’t spending the proceeds on his house. A doorway in the left wall showed a simple bed- with a storage chest at its foot. The key for the door also fitted the lock on the chest, and I threw back the lid to find… nothing. It contained neither ebony ore, nor anything else. A thorough search of the rest of the house was equally unproductive. Either Falco’s “source” was wrong, or Oryn Maren was hiding the stolen ebony somewhere else. I closed up the house and returned to Falco to report my lack of findings.

The colony manager looked by turns stunned and then grim as he said,

“What- nothing? My information was very reliable....” He paused in thought and then nodded to himself.

“It may be that he was tipped off by someone. I don't claim to have a monopoly on spying here at Raven Rock. So, if we don't have any evidence, we'll just have to catch him red-handed. He should still be in the mine; follow him and see if he does anything suspicious. Take care not to be seen by anyone; they could alert him to your presence.”

“Yes sir. But is there someplace I can change out of my armor? Since the mine doesn’t use Legion guards, I’ll stand out like a sore thumb as long as I’m in uniform.”

“You’re right, of course, Athlain. Go ahead and use Oryn’s house- we know it’s empty.”

Inside the house, I removed my armor and put on a dark shirt and some sack-cloth trousers. Then I grabbed a pick from the tool-rack near the mine entrance and headed inside.

Based on his name, I knew I was looking for a dark elf; Falco had also described what the suspected thief was wearing. When I reached the east tunnel, I sighted my quarry and stopped behind a support to see what he would do. Maren waited until a couple of other miners had passed through the area, then set off into the gloomy depths.

As I trailed the elf, I listened to the eerie sounds that seemed to exist only in dark places deep underground. It was as if the very land itself was breathing, slowly and deeply. More disturbing were the roots that protruded from the tunnel walls and roof. They bore an uneasy resemblance to the legs of huge spiders, and I could almost swear that they moved slightly whenever I looked away. My discomfort was made worse by the fact that I had to stay close to the sides of the shaft to avoid detection. It was a relief when I saw Maren step into a storage area where he had no business- or at least no honest business.

Still better, I was able to see the miner fiddling with a stack of crates in the center of the chamber. Unfortunately for him, the area had only a single entrance, which I effectively blocked when I caught up to him. I rested the miner’s pick I carried on the ground and asked:

“Do you have an explanation for what you are doing? And I should tell you that I know only the foreman and mine manager are authorized to be in here alone.”

He swallowed and wiped a hand across his brow, saying in a shrill voice, “Yes, yes! You see, I... well, I was....”

Then he shrugged in resignation and spoke in a more normal tone:

“Okay, fine. You caught me. But I swear, I didn't want to do this! Carnius put me up to it - he said he'd kill me if I didn't steal as much ore as I could!”

I nodded and pointed to a corner. “Stand over there while I look at these crates.” Hefting the pick, I added, “Don’t try anything. I won’t hesitate to use this.”

The Dunmer did as I said, waiting quietly as I discovered several chunks of ebony ore inside one of the crates. With a gesture, I indicated that he was to precede me out of the mine.

When we reached Falco and I told him what had happened, he actually smiled, although it was somewhat forced.

“Just as I suspected. I didn't want to say anything at the time, but I was relatively sure that Carnius was involved. Well, now that we have a witness, perhaps it's time that we brought this matter to the attention of the investors.... I'll see to it that Oryn is sequestered in one of the colony's storerooms for now. Go see what Carnius has to say for himself, won't you?”

I admit that I looked forward to confronting Carnius with proof of his attempted sabotage, so much so that I did not even bother to retrieve my uniform before teleporting to the fort. When I entered his office without knocking, the Imperial gave me an irritated look and growled:

“Why are you pestering me? You made your decision and it’s too late to take it back. Run to Falco with your hand out if you want something. I have work to do.”

When I did not leave, Carnius turned his eyes back to his papers, trying to ignore me. Finally I said,

“Yes, about that…. I’m actually here on Falco’s behalf. It seems that he discovered that a miner named Oryn Maren has been stealing from the mine. Maren was caught- and he tells an interesting story about who put him up to it.”

I was disappointed by Carnius’ lack of reaction. He simply folded his hands and looked at me through slitted eyelids.

“I wouldn’t count on anything Maren says. He's a thief, and clearly a liar as well. Oh, don't you worry. I'll take care of this personally. But I assure you; I had nothing to do with any stealing.”

Then he picked up a manifest and added, “Run along now. I’m sure Falco has some boots for you to polish.”



“And how did you feel when Carnius Magius denied any involvement and dismissed you?”

Julian’s quiet question startled me and I answered without thinking:

“Why don’t you ask instead how I felt when I got back to Raven Rock and found out Oryn Maren was dead?”

I love your description of the tunnel, and those deep, dark places in the earth. It filled me with chthonian delight (after all my astral temple is a grotto much like Teresa's).

And another cliffie! I cannot say I was surprised to find that Maren was dead. But wow, Carnius moved fast to kill him! He must have had someone else at Raven Rock (Eden or Autumn?) who saw Maren get arrested and acted on their own to control the damage.

Another wonderful reference to Athlain's growing awareness of the land. Pretty spooky in this case.

This episode was a beautiful example of Athlain at his wonderfully most 'Athainish'. His logic flow makes perfect sense. His sense of duty and even bravery is admirable, but masterfully laced by a fine doggie hand with genrous swaths of humility and head scratching introspection. No wonder we love him so!

As ever, Julian is a powerful but delightful force wherever she goes.

I agree with Acadian on that descriptive paragraph he quoted. To me this line was chilling:

"Why don’t you ask instead how I felt when I got back to Raven Rock and found out Oryn Maren was dead?”

Julian won't go on blindly as if that wasn't said, she will dig like a termite till she gets to the truth of the matter !!!!! Athlain seems a little lost in the trial setting - but he is tangibly honest and his decisions are mature and well thought out before he acts (now) - knowing Julian's character, that will resound with her.

This story has picked up tremendously as Athlain has developed as a character.





ARGH !!!! Er...does that mean...you don't enjoy Athynae fans rallying each mention of her in your chapters with inane rhyme?

Athlain’s unwavering sense of duty won’t allow him to introduce Carnius to the business end of a miner’s pick! Too bad, I doubt that there is an Imperial alive in more dire need of some ventilation than that n’wah! Given all the trouble he has managed to cause, one can be forgiven for thinking that half of Raven Rock is addicted to skooma!

@SubRosa- I have spent a fair amount of time underground, and my feelings have changed… A certain claustrophobia has grown upon me over the last 20 years. But it is hard to go into a cavern and not feel the life of the world around you.

Carnius definitely has agents in the colony- and he seems to know things instantaneously. Darn telegraph stations.

@Acadian- Yes, an earlier version of Athlain would have just seen the mine tunnels as dark and cool. The quest for the Standing Stones has changed him. And I am pleased that he has a personality that comes through. Julian is almost easy to write, because I have such a wonderful guide to follow.

@mALX- I wanted that line to have the impact of a slamming door… We will hear some of Athlain’s thoughts in the next episode. And you are correct- Julian will certainly note that slip and follow it.

Athynae poetry- I was not clear. I love the verse her fans provide- it’s just that I am going to refrain (pun alert!) from inflicting more of my own efforts on my long-suffering audience (for now).

@Destri- Carnius is bad enough in-game- I decided to make him even more overtly evil earlier on. Giving Athlain an opponent who could not simply be “removed” has forced him to use his head- and accept the assistance of others. But yes, if ever anyone was in need of a severe beating, it is Carnius Magius.

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I left the office, believing that Carnius’ words were just more of his usual bluster, this time brought on by fear that he had been caught. His denial did not concern me; we had at last found a witness who could testify to the Company factor’s corruption and criminality. As for Oryn Maren, he had my sympathy; I knew all too well what sort of pressure Carnius could exert. But that was a worry for another day- I returned to the barracks with a light step. A few of the troopers looked at me oddly, and I realized that I was out of uniform. Technically, that meant I should not sleep in a Legion bunk, so I went to the Imperial Cult shrine, instead. My decision had nothing much to do with religion, and everything to do with the fact that the shrine was quiet and warm, with the comforting odors of incense and beeswax to aid in restful contemplation. In other words, if I fell asleep on one of the benches, no one would bother me.

When Jeleen’s recitation of the morning prayer woke me, I went straight to the dock. I was anxious to get to Raven Rock and discover what Falco had decided to do with his prisoner. We made a quick passage through calm waters, and I jumped to the dock without waiting for the gangway to be lowered. I had barely landed when the colony manager hailed me, indicating that I should walk with him. He remained silent until we were well away from the buildings, in a clearing where no one could approach unseen. Before I could ask anything, Falco said abruptly:

“Oryn Maren is dead. Murdered last night.” He gave a humorless laugh and added, “It appears that Carnius has ‘solved’ our theft problem for us. I’m sure he ordered the murder, but I don’t dare accuse him of it without proof. There’s not anything you can do for now, Athlain. And… it might be a good idea if you stayed away from here for a few days. People saw you escorting Maren out of the mine- and now he’s dead. It wouldn’t be hard for them to add two and two and come up with five, especially if Carnius puts his thumb on the scale.”

I understood what Falco meant, and stayed only long enough to retrieve my gear from the dead man’s house. It was odd, the way even that utilitarian structure seemed emptier, as if it somehow knew its lodger wasn’t going to be coming home anymore. That feeling grew upon me, turning into a strange mood, similar to the sort of “waking sleep” I had experienced while completing the Test of Loyalty. Perhaps it was a result of spending the night in the shrine, followed by the news that our best chance to stop Carnius had been foiled. Or perhaps something was drawing me north, even then.

Though I could not stay in Raven Rock, I also could not go back to Fort Frostmoth. Carnius was there, and if I got too close to the Company factor feeling as I did, I could not be responsible for my actions. When I had finished getting into my armor, I noticed Elberoth’s saber standing by itself. The sword gave me an idea of something worthwhile I could do while staying out of the way.

From what little I had heard, the dead captain had been an odd and difficult elf, but he had apparently also been courageous, for all his faults. I had spent enough time on Solstheim to know that the Nords believed a dead warrior rested easier with a weapon near to hand. And Elberoth had done me a service by letting me “borrow” his sword. So even though he was a Bosmer rather than a Nord, it was time I returned the blade to him, so that his final sleep would be more peaceful. Or more combative- whichever his shade preferred.

The work party I had taken to the wreck had buried Elberoth near the shore but above the tide line- it seemed fitting that a ship’s captain should have a view of the sea. As I walked north, the air grew colder and a gusting wind blew snow into my face. I put my head down and hunched my shoulders, recalling the dry, dusty heat of Ald’ruhn with nostalgia. I wouldn’t even have minded a rain-storm, one that turned everything to mud.

Still, the weather kept the wolves and bears at bay, so my trek was uneventful. I discovered the wrecked supply ship by the simple expedient of nearly walking into its side where it lay canted upon the shore. Using the grounded bow as a guide, I walked inland until I reached the low mound of stones that marked Elberoth’s grave. I drove his saber point-down into ground at the head of the grave and muttered:

“May your sword serve you better in death than it did in life. I thank you for the use of it.”

Then, out of consideration for the fact that he was a Bosmer, I twisted a sprig of holly through the hilt of the saber, so that Elberoth would forever rest beneath a green bough.

My self-appointed mission had taken the better part of the day, and now I needed to find shelter if possible. I glanced at the hulk lying on the shore, but did not care for the way it shifted as the waves drove against it. My newfound enjoyment of sailing extended only to well-maintained ships with competent crews; I doubted that I would find any such pleasure on board a drifting, sinking wreck.

I had traversed the coast to the south several times by now, and knew that the only places to get out of the wind and snow were barrows. I might resort to using a tomb if I had to, but I doubted that I would be able to rest inside of one. Even apparently empty burial places seemed filled with whispers and darting shadows; perhaps the vestiges of spirits that had little love for the living and yet seemed to crave our warmth. I would destroy undead when I came upon them, but I was not a crusader who sought them out. That being so, I turned to the north once more, hoping to find an ice-cave or even an isolated dwelling such as Kolfinna’s.

The blowing snow hampered my efforts to locate a suitable shelter, but I still pressed onward, feeling something pulling me north. I had learned to trust those feelings, which may explain why I was not completely surprised to see a tall figure standing on a rocky promontory, staring out to sea. I approached carefully, not certain whether this was a mortal being or some sort of specter or other uncanny creature. When my boot scraped on stone the figure turned haunted eyes to look at me, and I knew it was a Nord- one who appeared to have gazed into the depths of Oblivion itself.

Despite his haggard appearance, the man greeted me in a friendly fashion, saying,

“Hail, stranger. Do you come here to behold the sea? Never will you meet a maiden so beautiful- or so unforgiving. If you would watch with me, I will be glad of the company. Not many folk come this way- the horkers and the cold keep them away. My name is Thormoor Gray-Wave and I once was the captain of the Havhingsten. But that was before… before that night.”

He fell silent and turned his gaze back to the waves that crashed upon the shore. When I had given him my name, he spoke again, quietly, almost as if to himself:

“A few months ago I was ferrying some settlers from Skyrim to Solstheim. I was tired...so tired.” He clenched his fists spasmodically, and then went on, “I admit my guilt. I fell asleep at the rudder. The ship drifted into a gale, and by the time I woke, it was too late. I couldn't regain control, and the ship capsized.”

He turned to me and searched my face with those haunted, hunted eyes, looking for… something. I had no words of absolution, and knew, in any event that it was not my forgiveness he sought. I silently indicated my understanding and he continued in a hoarse whisper:

“There were only two survivors -- me, and an old man whose entire family was lost in the wreck. He was bringing them here to Solstheim to live with him. We clung to a floating timber and drifted ashore near here. When we were safe, I told him of my terrible failure, and he used his power to punish me. For he was a seer and he cursed me. He said, ‘Your sleep took from me all that I loved, so I will take from you your ability to rest ever again.’ He cursed me with eternal wakefulness.”

Having had my own share of experiences with troubled sleep, I asked sympathetically,

“You mean- you have not slept- since the night of the wreck?”

Thormoor nodded and told me, “As punishment for my incompetence, the seer laid his curse upon me. I am exhausted, but can't sleep no matter what I try. Potions, magicka, nothing works. Athlain, I haven't slept at all in six months.”

He held out a trembling hand and begged me,

“If you go to the seer, maybe you can convince him to lift the curse? His name is Geilir the Mumbling, and he lives by himself in a dwelling here on Solstheim- an ice-cave. I believe it is nearby, south of here and not too far inland. Do this for me, and I will share with you the most valuable secret I learned when I was a ship captain.”

'Then, out of consideration for the fact that he was a Bosmer, I twisted a sprig of holly through the hilt of the saber, so that Elberoth would forever rest beneath a green bough.'

Ahh, what a touch. And it thrills the romantic soul in me.

I'm with Fox here - that line about twining a bough of holly in the hilt of the sword is especially touching.

And Grey-wave's curse is a wonderful introduction into a new quest. Yumm!

Again you have made Solstheim come alive for me, and I especially enjoy this foray into a land I've never been.

Wonderful, treydog!

I loved your cleverness here.

Let me pile on as number three in the queue to rave on your treatment of Elberoth's grave. I know a wood elf very well, and Athlain chose his tribute wisely.

Because the old sea captain was so forthcoming with his guilt, you very quickly made him a compelling character. Athlain's decision to help goes without saying.

To me, more romantic than the sprig of holly (although that was really cool that he thought of what might be another's tradition) was the thought behind the act of returning the sword itself. Not an easy trip, not easy conditions - and how many would have just kept the sword for their own use. I haven't played that game, maybe it is a part of the game's given quest - but since I didn't know, I attributed the action to Athlain's character. He is steeped in tradition that is based in doing right by his fellow man, he is honorable. His character has grown with the story, subtle changes that come across to the reader - tremendous personal growth since the beginning of the story. He ROCKS!!! (as does his author!!!)

As the others said, the holly on Elberoth's sword was an excellent touch. Not only for the reason Athlain gave, but also because of the symbolism of holly in the duality of the Oak King and Holly King. The Oak King rules the summer, when the days are filled with light and the earth with life. The Holly King rules the winter, when night reigns and the land lies choked and dead under a shroud of snow and ice. As such the Holly King is one of many manifestations of the Shadow King, the force of death when in a male guise. Under him one can finally rest, reflect back upon life, and regenerate old wounds before being reborn once more with the coming spring.

Such a delightful curse upon Thormoor! Well, you know what I mean. Soltheim's very own Ancient Mariner. I am looking forward to seeing more of this.

I agree with mALX. The holly was the crowning touch, but the act of returning the sword was truly touching.

The rocky promontory that Thormoor stands on wouldn’t happen to be called Sirenum scopuli, would it? I half expect Peisinoe, Aglaope, and Thelxiepeia to be nearby, laying in wait. If only Thormoor had Orpheus in his crew all could have been averted. Or is it Athlain who needs Orpheus to keep him from succumbing to Thormoor’s song? I can't wait to find out.

Very touching in all aspects of these latest installments Trey. Thormoor's quest always did bring a weird factor that what very fresh to Morrowind. I think you should eventually move on to TR which expansions I've been playing lately, the quests are in the spirit of Morrowind and much less repetitive.

But all in all the small touches bring a depth and three-dimensionality to Trey and the Story that is much more for the Reader then "OMG! LOOK AT MY SIX FOOT NORD WITH A SWORD!!"

Dear Black Hand....try combining a six foot nord with a sword with a bawd, and...

Oh. lawd...

@D.Foxy- The holly was one of those “happy accidents” that simply occurred to me and immediately made sense.

@haute- Ah, thank you. If I can bring Solstheim to life for you, I am well-pleased. The quest was rather another accidental occurrence, but I decided to go with it as a break from the Company.

@Acadian- That bit about “2 and 2 and coming up with 5” was a saying of my Dad’s I thought of Buffy as I placed the holly- hoping she would approve. And I am glad in the instance of Thormoor that Athlain is predictable.

@mALX- There is no compelling need to return the sword (in game terms). Once the PC has scared Egnatius, the sword is just one more thing to deal with. But Athlain has lots of issues with swords and has assimilated a lot of Nordish ways of thinking. Thank you so much for your kind words about my character. I intended to start him out as being a bit spoiled and arrogant- he has changed a great deal since he “ran away from home.”

@SubRosa- Athlain did not fully realize the significance of the holly; his lore is mostly related to martial skills and alchemy. But your description of its significance perfectly encapsulates what I was seeking with that unplanned addition. And the curse has a very “Old World” mythos feel to it. “Let the punishment fit the crime.”

@Destri- The return of the sword, like the holly, was an accidental inspiration. The game forces the PC to “do something else” for several days before the next Company quest, so I decided to actually have Athlain “do something.” The location is named “Thormoor’s Watch”- but I do wonder if his sleep was completely natural…

@Blackhand- I will definitely have to add TR- until I can afford a video card, no Oblivion for me. Thank you for commenting on the depth- I have tried hard with this story to do more than simply follow the quests.

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Thormoor’s secret meant little to me; but I would still help him if I could. I was reminded of what Korst had told me about the true meaning of exile for the Skaal- and that death was a more merciful alternative. This seer- Geilir- had obviously followed the same principles when he exiled the captain from the land of dreams. It was certainly true that Thormoor’s inattentiveness was a crime, and a horrible one at that, leading to loss of life. But how long did punishment have to last before it became vengeance rather than justice? I could not promise Thormoor a release from the curse, but I did give him my word that I would try.

With the approach of darkness, the winds had died down, and I retraced my steps to the wrecked supply ship. From there I moved inland, eyes scanning the snowy landscape for any sign of a dwelling. But it was my sense of smell that aided me, as I picked up the odor of wood smoke. I followed the scent as best I could to a clearing, noting the axe-marked trees near a low mound. A hide-covered doorway was set into the south slope, from which escaped wisps of smoke, along with occasional bursts of garbled speech. Someone made their home here, and I needed shelter as well as information- so I clapped my hands together sharply and called out,

“Hello. I am a traveler who comes in peace. I humbly request lodging for the night.”

There was a long silence, broken at last by a querulous and oddly muffled voice, which responded:

“I do not care for visitors, but I will grant ye guest-right, so long as ye are peaceful. Come inside where I can see ye.”

Untying the hide that closed the entry, I stepped into an ice-cave, blinking at the smoke and flickering fire-light. After I had secured the lacings once more, I stooped and made my way down the tunnel to the single chamber that served as living quarters. There were furnishings and rugs strewn in haphazard fashion around the room- along with a great many empty bottles. The lone inhabitant was an older Nord dressed in a blue wool shirt and brown trousers. His hair was tinged with gray and the left side of his face bore a large tattoo. As I looked at it, I realized that it represented some sort of bird. The Nord did not speak, but looked at me with eyes that were red from drink- and from weeping. He seemed unaware of my presence, for he raised a bottle to his lips and took a long swallow. Tossing the empty vessel aside, he spoke in a low monotone,

“They have taken Oddfrid, my dear sweet Oddfrid. My only friend.”

Having no answer to that, I said instead, “I am Athlain. I thank you for granting me shelter from the cold. Might you know of a seer named Geilir?”

The Nord slumped onto a chair and drew idle shapes on the surface of the table with his fingers, not raising his eyes to look at me as he admitted:

“Aye. I am Geilir. And I know who sent ye.”

Thinking that would make things easier, I said, “Good. Why don’t you tell me what you would like to do?”

“Do?” he repeated. “I canna do anything, now that Oddfrid is gone. They took her…”

He trailed off and began rummaging on the floor, seeking a bottle that had not been emptied. Failing to find one, he resumed his seat and rested his head in his hands.

“First, I lost my family at sea, and then those foul creatures stole Oddfrid away.”

Then he roused himself and added in a stronger voice, “But she has sent ye to help me, to bring her back. She was taken by the draugr who infest the Kolbjorn Barrow. Oddfrid White-Lip. If ye bring her back to me, I will ask her to tell yer future.”

I had no idea who Oddfrid was, but it did not seem wise to admit it. Besides, it was my duty to save anyone who had been kidnapped by the undead. And, since Geilir had asked me to perform a service, I could seek one in return.

“What about Thormoor Gray-Wave? If I rescue Oddfrid, will you release him from your curse?”

He slammed a fist down on the table and glared at me. “I cursed Thormoor Gray-Wave with eternal wakefulness. He couldn't stay awake and carry out his duties, and now my entire family is dead as a result! So I made sure Thormoor would never fall asleep again. Fitting punishment, don't ye think?”

Just as quickly, his anger dissipated and tears welled from his eyes. “But if you were to return my only friend, I would be most grateful...grateful enough even to lift Thormoor's curse....”

I reached out to take the seer’s hand and said, “It is a bargain. I will bring Oddfrid back, and you will end the curse.”

Geilir returned the hand clasp and replied, “Excellent. Of course, I knew ye would help. I am a seer after all. Now, Kolbjorn Barrow lies to the southeast of here, near the coast. I need ye to enter the barrow, find Oddfrid, and return her to me. Do be careful, young man. The draugr are fast, vicious and entirely without remorse. Sleep now and go at first light. It will be good to have Oddfrid’s company again.”

With that, he laid his head down on his arms and soon began to snore. I found a relatively clean spot on the floor and rolled myself in some furs. I lay awake for some time, thinking of Thormoor and his six months of sleepless nights.

When the weak light of morning gilded the edges of the door-covering, I rose and made a quick meal of biscuit and dried meat, not bothering to wake Geilir from his sodden slumber. As it happened I knew where Kolbjorn Barrow was. And while it was true that it lay southeast of Geilir’s dwelling, it was quite some distance away, more or less on a line between Fort Frostmoth and Raven Rock. And that meant that magic would serve me well in this circumstance.

Leaving the ice-cave, I found a spot near the shipwreck and cast the spell to place a teleport locus. Following that, I used my Intervention amulet to carry me to the Imperial Cult shrine at the fort. Every time I entered the fort, I felt Captain Carius’ absence. But there was nothing I could do without Tharsten Heart-Fang’s cooperation. And getting that cooperation meant finishing my business with the Company. So I left the fort quickly, going in the direction of Raven Rock, looking for the barrow entrance my map showed was on the western slope of a steep hill. As I walked, I felt the exhilaration of performing a task worthy of a Legion officer. Rescuing women, or strictly speaking, a woman from the clutches of the evil undead was exactly the sort of mission I had imagined myself undertaking. Many of my illusions had been shattered in the bitter cold of Solstheim, but that one remained.

Even so, when I reached the entrance to Kolbjorn, I hesitated, for the stone-covered opening bore an uncanny resemblance to a mouth waiting to swallow me. But I had faced draugr before, and was sure I could prevail again. Just the same, I tightened the straps on my armor and adjusted my shield before pushing aside the entry stone. Confidence was fine; complacency could get me killed.

The barrow was much like the others I had examined- a short entry hall, with corridors branching left and right, leading to the main burial chamber. Mage-fires flickered on stone pedestals, and I caught the distinctive scent of the draugr- a combination of an open grave and rotted ice. One of the foul creatures leapt from the shadows and I raised my shield to deflect the raking claws. When it recoiled, I swung my mace at the blackened head, feeling the familiar shock of contact as the blow landed. After that, it was almost like the endless drills Carbo had put me through- block, step, swing, recover. A few steps further, a second undead joined its fellow on the floor of the barrow and I at last had leisure to look for Oddfrid.

But no one called from the shadows, nor came forward to thank me for my efforts. In fact, no living creature was visible anywhere in the barrow. And that was strange, because there weren’t any hiding places. The wall-niches were empty, as was the plinth in the center of the chamber, except for a skull. I considered what I knew of undead and their habits, and felt a shiver of concern. A pile of bones lay near one wall and I stirred them with my toe, my unspoken fear growing. But the bones were old and dusty; more to the point, they did not bear any marks of teeth or claws. I looked for any sign of a concealed door or some other place where a person might be hidden, but saw nothing. Growing frustrated, I called out, “Oddfrid,” and listened to the echoes running away in the darkness, trailing off into silence. Beyond that, there was no reply.

Oooh, a Stephen King mystery!

So where is Oddfrid White-Lip? This has the feel of those creepy folk tales of the otherworld, of faerie (and I'm not talking about Tinkerbell here), and of the old stories about things not what they appear to be.

I hope Athlain gets to the bottom of this mystery!

A cliffhanger !!! Oh, something tells me that Oddfrid is no more - or a skull (bleah). Riveting write, what really makes this story so immersible is that one feels they know the Ska'al personally after reading - you have held back nothing in making the culture of the Nord a living, breathing, visual part of the reader's knowledge base !!!!

Wonderful, treydog! As mALX noted, you have really made the Nord culture come alive - I admire it enough to be pleased that it has infused, to some extent, into Athlain.

Feels like old times curled up reading Athlain by a crackling fire. I had to grab my furs to keep warm, and now they are full of smoke from that ice lodge. Magnificent. Even the biscuit and dried meat seemed to hit the spot.

Quoted for truth. Are you paying attention here to the wise Athlain, Buffy?

Without spoiling anything...let's just say that OddFrid is indeed Odd, and does have a white lip.

I liked how you portrayed Geilir. His every action, his every word, clearly illustrates that he is a man overwhelmed by his emotions.

Many of my illusions had been shattered in the bitter cold of Solstheim
This is a particularly vivid turn of phrase.

Athlain is eating hardtack and beef jerky? Ick! Hopefully he did not break any teeth on the biscuit (if it is legion stores, it is probably left over from Alessia's war of liberation...) He should go to the JF for his meals, haute serves the best food in all of Chorrol... Kidding aside, it is a good touch. That is exactly what trail rations are, or iron rations as we called them in my D&D days.

Why do I get the feeling that Oddfrid is Geilir's pet dog or cat? Except that of course undead are not known for taking prisoners. So perhaps Oddfrid is some favorite item of his, like a helmet? Or maybe that skull in the plinth? "Alas poor Oddfrid. I knew him..." The fact that you mention it separately from the dusty bones hints that it is more than just a random piece of detritus.

Typical Elder Scrolls, to gain a favor you must do a favor . . . or two.

Funny that he didn’t foresee Oddfrid’s kidnapping. Maybe he was too worse for drink!

I wish I had written this line!

I would caution Athlain against the assumption that Oddfrid is a woman. These things never go the way one would hope.

Oddfrid is neither he nor she, yet has a full set of teeth. Oddfrid has no eyes, yet can stare for eternity. So forth and so on...

Sigh, this takes me back to '05-'07 when I would just lay back and play MW on the old X-Brick, and enjoyed playing it. Now that I have it on PC and a plethora of mods to choose from, and a limited ability to mod myself, Im lucky if I actually get to the main quest with any character.

C'est la vie.

And uh yeah, Go Athy! Bash some undead!...in a eloquent and gentlemanly manner....

...a cranium, but no brain?

He may have seen it. That does not mean he would be able to stop it. Ever since Cassandra the classic curse of the seer has been to be unable to change what they see.

"...without the hero, there is no prophecy..."

@haute- Thank you for the wonderful endorsement. I wanted to set a creepy and mysterious atmosphere. Oddfrid will be revealed- and will have revelations of her own- below.

@mALX- I just cannot help but to throw those cliff-racer- um, cliff-hanger endings out every so often. Bethesda’s treatment of Solstheim makes me hope TESV is set in Skyrim… And I am thrilled that I can immerse such a brilliant storyteller as you in my vision of Bloodmoon.

@Acadian- It may be time for a wood fire here in Tennessee before I reach the end of this chapter! And another hint of Athlain’s connection to Skyrim appears below. Athlain is a more formidable fighter than even he quite realizes- Athynae’s Gift is a serious equalizer. But- Solstheim has a number of deadly opponents.

@D. Foxy- Precisely true.

@SubRosa- Geilir staggered in and took over, then fell asleep on the keyboard. But he has his reasons. Too bad Julian is not in a position (or the mood) to provide Athlain with something better than Legion rations… Of course, perhaps he should consider himself fortunate not to be on bread and water. Yep, good old canned bread from WWII (or the ES equivalent). No surprise that our resident Sage is so perceptive in re Oddfrid.

@Destri- Yes, Geilir also kind of missed out on “seeing” the whole “entire family wiped out by narcoleptic sea-captain” thing, as well. Poor Athlain, he keeps hoping to have that chance to rescue a damsel in distress… The closest he has managed was Mirissa the missionary.

@Black Hand- I hope to “flesh out” Oddfrid a bit in this episode. I only played through Bloodmoon once- and did not get into one of the major quest-lines at all… Undead bashed- with aplomb- or at least a mace. Your words regarding prophecy are… prophetic.

@All- This episode sees a return of Julian- and provides some cryptic clues about the future. Special thanks to haute ecole rider for a valuable assist on the closing scene.

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

Although Geilir’s speech had been difficult to understand, I was certain he had said “Kolbjorn.” But there was no one there, except for me; and the dead- well, more completely dead- or perhaps no longer undead- draugr; and the skull, which grinned whitely at me, as if it knew something I did not. The skull- white- Oddfrid White-Lip… Surely not. On the other hand, there were stories of Nords who were famous for holding conversations with, or at least about, skulls. And Geilir might be unhinged, what with the loss of his family and the heavy drinking. I looked at the skull and the skull looked back, silently, mockingly. At last, I reached out an unwilling hand and picked up the grisly object, noticing that it seemed remarkably clean for something that was supposed to have been lying around a barrow for untold years. “Oddfrid?” I whispered. I admit I was greatly relieved when the skull made no answer.

If I was mistaken, I only hoped that Geilir would accept it with good grace and not turn me into anything… unnatural. The Nordish sense of humor could be- peculiar- so perhaps this was simply a jest. With a mental shrug, I cast the spell to teleport me back to the wrecked ship. Holding the skull as reverently as I could, even while wishing that I did not have to hold it at all, I returned to Geilir’s dwelling. His greeting caused me to feel a mixture of relief and concern.

“Friend! Ye have returned!”

He reached out to take the skull, with which I parted gratefully. He cradled it to his chest and beamed.

“And ye have brought Oddfrid wi’ ye.”

He must have read something of my reaction from my expression for he smiled gently and explained:

“Aye, of course I know she is a skull. She was a skull when I first found her, but she still speaks to me. I hear her voice inside me head. I didna tell ye the truth because I feared ye’d think I was touched.”

“Got it in one,” I thought; “perhaps he was a seer, after all.”

Unaware of or more likely unconcerned by my doubts, he continued:

“Now, shall I ask her about yer future- or should I first lift Thormoor’s curse?”

My future was a dark mystery, to be sure, and one that I was willing to have illuminated. But that was not what had brought me here, so I answered:

“If it please you, lift Thormoor’s curse. Though perhaps it is not for me to say, I believe he has suffered enough.”

Geilir placed the skull on the table and suddenly seemed more sober as he looked at me thoughtfully.

“I didn't think I would ever feel the need to relieve Thormoor Gray-Wave's misery, but ye did me a great service by returning Oddfrid White-Lip. As a show of thanks, I will now remove Thormoor's curse.”

The old Nord made a series of odd hand gestures, some of which seemed to involve his fingers passing through the palm of the opposite hand, and the tattoo on his face began to glow. This was accompanied by a stream of unintelligible words, muttered just at the threshold of hearing. He straightened suddenly, pushing both hands outward, and a wind seemed to spring up from nowhere, rushing out the entry of his dwelling.

“There! Thormoor's curse has been lifted! He will now find the sleep I have denied him for so many months. I...I hope he finds peace. He'll sleep, but even I canna stop a guilty man's nightmares.”

His tattoo faded to its normal hue, and he slumped wearily in a chair.

“And now, what of ye, young fella? Ye have asked naught for yerself. Will ye have Oddfrid tell me of yer future?”

My natural skepticism warred with what I had just seen. Something had surely happened, and whatever it was had set my hair on end. There was power here; whether I understood it or not, it was nevertheless real. As for the future, all I knew for certain was that it was going to be difficult. Perhaps if I knew that someone waited for me at the end of my journey it would give me the strength I needed to go forward. So I sat opposite Geilir and said quietly,

“Please. Ask your friend what she sees.”

Geilir lit two candles, one black and one white, and placed them on either side of Oddfrid’s skull. They flickered and smoked and released an odd scent into the air. The seer contemplated the flames and the skull in silence for some time. At last, he lifted the skull and whispered words I could not hear. After another moment, he turned his head so that the grinning mouth was next to his ear. He nodded several times, then placed Oddfrid back on the table between the candles. His face was grave as he looked at me.

“Oddfrid gave three answers, where she usually gives only one. That means that she likes ye- and that yer actions will have great consequences. Two of her tellings have to do wi’ ye alone- the other…. Well, judge for yerself.”

Then his eyes took on a faraway look and his voice shifted to a higher, almost feminine, register.

“Athlain, son of Trey, distant child of Skyrim, listen well to my words. Hear now the three-fold telling of Oddfrid. The time for the hunt is near. You are both hunter and hunted. I see you surrounded by ice. Beware betrayal! I see... I see a giant. Yes! It is the horned huntsman! That is the first and strongest of my visions. That means it is near.”

“As to my second foretelling, the veil is thick; some power seeks to hide the truth, even from me. You must not give in to temptation lest you lose that which you love the most, even as you try to save it. Trust your heart and do not be led astray. Look for the hidden meaning, for the words which are not spoken. Though there must be fall of blood, have a care which you spill.”

“And the final foretelling is the strangest of all. Though you will perform great deeds here on Solstheim, though you may win your heart’s desire, the distant future is yet unclear. After, and far from here, there is something very cloudy, something that could affect all who now live. Ah! When the dragon dies, the Empire dies. Where is the lost dragon's blood, the Empire's sire? And from the womb of the void, who shall stem the blood tide? Who stands tall beneath the dragon’s wing? I...I do not know what this means. And I cannot tell if this concerns you deeply, or only in passing, just as it will affect all who draw breath. Yet, you are somehow involved. It is unclear....”

With that, Geilir’s head fell forward onto his breast and he spoke no more. Smoke swirled around the skull on the table, and almost I thought I saw the ivory bone overlaid by the features of an elderly Nordic woman, still strong and beautiful even in her late years. Her eyes pierced me to the heart and for a time my mind wandered in places I did not know.



"Sir?" For the first time since I had met her, Julian's voice held a hint of something other than cool reserve. It was - unease. The lamp between us guttered, setting flickering patterns of light and darkness dancing on the walls. The shadows of her pauldrons transformed into wings springing upwards from her shoulders. Her face seemed gaunt and drawn, her eyes haunted. Then the pilus prior trimmed the wick and a sense of normalcy returned to the stuffy room. Every hint of disquiet, real and imagined, departed as the shadows steadied into reality. Her green eyes were once more unreadable as she looked at me calmly and said, "We will stop there. For today."

ARGH! Hircine...and Oblivion forcast? ARGH !!! MORE !!!! MORE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DITTO! DITTO! DITTO!!!!

Oh my! I've, as always, continued to read this with delight, but...

I sooo didn't see that coming

SGM!

Well, at least Geilir didn’t name the skull ‘Wilson’ (of course, I don’t know if it was him that named it at all)!

The prophecies were absolutely fascinating! The horned huntsman, betrayal, and even a tantalizing hint into the events of the Oblivion Crisis.

I’m on pins and needles here!

Me four! Fascinating! There is so much to ponder in those foretellings!

I'm a little too intimidated to try and guess what they mean, since I am poor at figuring plot stuff, but my head is swirling at the possibilities.

Beautifully rendered telling. Who else besides the Master Treydog could bring a skull to life?

Methinks Athlain needs one of those to travel with.

It is a neat twist that Oddfrid is the seer, rather than Geilir. Quite brilliant really, and very in keeping with Norse mythology. It conjures up images of Odin speaking with the head of Mimir.

Also, a exciting description of Geilir lifting the curse. The observation of his hands passing through one another was a good touch, as was the wind at the end. I could almost hear Conan whispering in my ear: "Crom!"

Finally the prophecies. Well the first is obvious, the second quite unintelligible (other than it has something to do with Athynae), and the third, well that was the real prize. The combination of it and the description of Julian in the final paragraph was simply brilliant!

Only one word can suffice this. Wow.

The imagery was as effective as the one scene when the old Nordic Warrior was telling his story about the werewolves.

Speaking of which, where are those buggers??!!

Apologies to the Brits, I just found out what 'bugger' really means.

Let's see if I can add some pictures to entertain you while you wait for the next episode:

Fort Frostmoth after the attack:

The desk where Julian interviews Athlain:

I love the screenies! The Fort really looks like a military base too! I pictured the desk being much larger and courtroom style! It has to be nerve-wracking for Athlain to be sitting this close to someone who could determine his future and is grilling him.

Julian would never interview (interrogate?) a fellow Legionary in a courtroom! This is morel like the "box" from Homicide: Life on the Streets. The lack of windows and the candle as the sole light source only adds to the atmosphere!

This is definitely the sort of place where Julian would be in charge of an investigation.

Thanks for the screenies! Having never been to Solstheim, this helps a great deal.

Wow, those werewolves have really good siege engines to knock such gigantic holes in the stone walls of the fort (I wonder why there are no castles in the ES Universe?). I guess they have a Lycanthropic Siege Crawler!

The interrogation room looks very inviting. Comfortable chairs, a wall-hanging. All it needs is a fluffy pillow and the Spanish Inquisition will be in business!

...Pillow talk between Julian and Athlain? ROFL !!!

@mALX and D. Foxy- More is on the way. Glad this last one got such a positive reaction- thank you. But there is another cliff…

@Burnt Sierra- Glad to bring you back from lurkerdom… And thank you for the SGM.

@Destri- Two of the prophecies (the first and third) are straight from the game- I only made minor wording tweaks. With so many Oblivion aficionados here- and especially with Julian’s extended cameo, the last one was just too good to pass by. Normally the player only gets one of the two, depending on whether you have completed the Bloodmoon MQ or not.

@Acadian- Glad to provide some excitement. Prophecies, by their nature, are only understood after the fact. That way, afterwards, the victim—um, subject—can slap his forehead and say, “Of course!” So glad you endorsed my concept of Oddfrid- that part was my own creation- prophecies go better with hocus pocus, after all.

@SubRosa- With a resident shaman reading this, I feel some pressure to “get things right.” And that mostly means atmosphere… Again, I am very pleased that you liked the description I gave to the curse being lifted- I felt something so substantial needed appropriate sensory effects. And I figured (with haute’s generous assist) that the last prophecy would definitely cause a twitch from the normally imperturbable Julian.

@Black Hand- There are moments in Bloodmoon that Bethsoft really got everything exactly right. The prophecies are one of those- I just added a bit of my own description to make it fit this particular story. Werewolves are oddly hard to find, even on Solstheim, but I think I hear something scuffling in the forest….

@All- The pictures are pretty much vanilla and taken with my integrated graphics in the refurbished PC. Still, they came out quite nicely. Haute has already addressed the sort of “interview room” Julian would prefer- they are so close together that Athlain cannot hide. The interesting thing about the structural damage is that the werewolves supposedly did it with nothing more than claws and muscle…. Either they are really strong or Julian’s next investigation needs to be into who provided the mortar for Fort Frostmoth! I doubt Julian would provide a pillow- she might give Athlain some other small object to fidget with, though. There are a lot of “tells” that can be read from such things. This next part gave me some trouble, because I wanted Julian to take a more direct part in asking questions. The result is a rather longer than usual “introduction” taking up most of the episode. The only other way I could do it seemed to jump around in time so much as to confuse even me.

Finally, another tip of the (floppy-eared) hat to haute for her continued input.

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

Neither Julian nor I spoke directly of the prophecies the next morning, but they hung in the air like smoke as I resumed my story. The days in that stuffy office were beginning to wear upon me, although Julian still looked like she had just stepped out of a crate marked “Model Legionnaire.” Although she had to listen to my words, I had to choose them- carefully. Therefore, I tried to unobtrusively move things along.

When my senses returned and I found myself in Geilir’s home, I doused the candles and left the old Nord sleeping in his chair. Dawn had arrived, so with slow steps and an aching head, I went to the western shore and climbed the promontory where Thormoor stood. The former captain turned a tired smile upon me and grasped my shoulders in his big hands.

“You did it! You convinced Geilir to remove the curse. I can feel it. And now, I am ready to sleep. I promised you a reward and I always pay my debts. Find me at Thirsk, and I will give you your due- after I have had a chance to rest….”

Thormoor’s promise meant little to me; I was pleased that he intended to honor it, but I had more pressing concerns on my mind. Geilir’s- or more properly, Oddfrid’s- prophecies were consistent with everything I had ever heard of foretelling. They were most likely correct in every particular, terribly important for my future- and completely unintelligible. With a mental shrug, I pushed the strange visions to the back of my mind and concentrated on my work for Falco. I hoped that the passage of several days had been sufficient to quiet any rumors that I was involved in Oryn Maren’s death. The guilt I felt over it was another matter. When I returned to Raven Rock, I performed a couple of tasks for Falco; after that he wanted me to deliver a status report to Carnius. That was when Athynae’s advice…

Julian stopped me and asked, “Sir, could you elaborate a bit about those tasks you performed for Falco?”

So much for being unobtrusive.

“One of the miners was disrupting work by picking fights in the bar. I stopped him from doing that and ….”

“Just a moment, sir. How did you stop him?”

This was an aspect of the pilus prior I had not seen before. Until now, she had mostly been content to let me narrate events in my own way. She had asked a few questions, but had mostly remained watchfully silent. Now she was taking a more active role, keeping me off balance and preventing me from falling into the comforting rhythm of the story. It was as if she sensed that we were moving away from the events I would rather not discuss. And she had no intention of letting me guide our “conversation” along safe paths. I shifted uncomfortably under her steady scrutiny and explained:

“Seler Favelnim was unhappy being a miner. His health was bad, and the cold and damp of the mine didn’t help. He was depressed- suicidal, even. Falco sent me to calm him down.”

I rubbed my jaw in memory and admitted, “He hit pretty hard, in spite of his age. Fortunately, he didn’t have the endurance to hit me more than a few times. When I refused to fight back, he asked me to just kill him so that his wife could collect his pension. I convinced him to try something else.”

“How did you manage that?”

I looked at my hands and muttered, “I gave him 2000 septims and a letter of introduction to my mother, with my recommendation she hire him as a gardener. He’s a Dunmer and I thought he would be happier on Vvardenfell. And I hope Serene might be able to heal him- or at least make his final years more comfortable.”

Julian made a note in her cryptic shorthand and then said, “What else?”

“While that was going on, the miners found an old Nordic burial chamber in the mine. The body was coated with some sort of blue-white ice; ‘stahlrim’ is the Nords’ name for it. I’ve seen it a few other times, but didn’t know much about it.” Somewhat defensively, I added, “I try not to disturb the dead.”

Julian’s nod could have meant anything or nothing, approval or simple acknowledgement; I took it as a sign to continue, and went on:

“This stahlrim is so hard that none of the miner’s tools could even chip the surface. Falco sent me up north to find a man named Graring, who was supposed to know something about the material.”


Graring’s house was near the Wind Stone, where the Harstrad and Isild Rivers come together. It was going to be a long walk, so I stopped by the fort to rest for the night, then put a pack together. The moons were close to full, so I headed out before dawn. When I was well into the Hirstaang, I saw a Nord up ahead of me, acting peculiar. Well, more peculiar than the Nords usually act. First, he was completely naked- and then there was the fact that he was rolling around on the ground, making odd noises.

I thought he had been attacked by reavers or some such; it wasn’t until afterwards that I remembered Einar’s story. And by then it was too late. I approached the man carefully, fearful that whatever afflicted him might cause him to lash out accidentally. He must have heard my footfalls, for he suddenly stopped, then rose onto his hands and knees and turned to face me. His eyes… his eyes were yellow, and they glowed in the moonlight.

They were most likely correct in every particular, terribly important for my future- and completely unintelligible.
As all prophecies are supposed to be!

First, he was completely naked- and then there was the fact that he was rolling around on the ground, making odd noises.
Singing a song by the Backstreet Boys perhaps? Or maybe it was Wham!?

By Julianos I think we have our first werewolf! I am trying to remember, does Athlain's mace have silver spikes on the ebony ball? Or was it all ebony?

Nope. Silver Spikes. Wolfys going down. Also. WOOOOT!

Yes, I love werewolves, probably from when I was about six or seven I could watch this show:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDO2g9O_DvM...feature=related

I remember Werewolf! Wasn't Lance LeGault the bounty hunter chasing the hero? I only ever saw the pilot, but still have it somewhere on vhs.

Treydog maaaaaaate

This story is riveting. I love it. More please?

And what does s.g.m stand for? I'm new on these forums