There may be some new story later today... Depends on whether I fall off the roof cutting trees or not...

Doommeister! Welcome to the forums and to my story! As to SGM, it is an old forum convention that came from a comment I made on minque's story. (She is Swedish = Nordish). I noted that her wonderful prose had reduced me to "Nord-speak"- "Story. Good. More." Became abbreviated to SGM.


And here is a new picture while folks are waiting. This is Basks-in-the-Sun's ship at the Fort Frostmoth dock.

WHEW!!! Not only your depiction of Julian...the insight into Julian as we see her now in "Old Habits Die Hard" - but the werewolf in the last scene - WHEW !!!

This was a riveting write, I felt the tension of Julian's questioning breaking into areas Athlain hoped to avoid...I couldn't tear myself from it and have made myself late for an appointment !!! WHEW !!!!! Gobble...gobble gobble!!!!


PS: One wonders how "Basks in Sun" does with his ship basking in fog...a gorgeous screenshot though!!!!

Hi! yes, I'm alive....just have had so much on my mind...mostly cat-stuff.

Now I'll try, yes try because I'm not sure I'll manage, to catch up a bit...so I start with Athlain.

It's too late to read properly just now, so I'll just say: Hey! I'll start reading tomorrow!

SubRosa- If prophecy was easy, any idiot would do it. Oh, wait…

Or maybe it was Duran Duran.

Werewolf sighted! Silver deployed.

@Black Hand- I used a PlaceatPC command to get this werewolf to show. There was a show with Jack Palance as “Janos Skorzeny” (I think) back in the 70’s or 80’s.

@Doommeister- Thanks so much for reading and commenting.

@mALX- Yep, it was time to step up Julian’s involvement to more than “passive listener.” Although, even when she isn’t doing anything, it’s hard to see Julian as “passive.” The fog is most likely an artifact of short “view distance” due to lack of powerful graphics.

@minque- YAY! You are back! Kitties require major investments of time- just ask the kitties! So happy to hear from you again.

@All- The screenie at the end of this one is not great. It is not easy to get a good one in the circumstances, with no “pause” function.

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

The Nord glared at me and then a red light surrounded him and he—changed. Where before a naked man had crouched, there was a creature covered with coarse fur. The head was that of a large wolf, but it stood like a man, hands and feet tipped with ebony claws. The worst though, was the mad intelligence that shone from those yellow eyes. And that was all I had time to see, for the werewolf was bounding toward me with great strides.

I had fought wolves and I had fought men, but never had I seen or fought an opponent that combined the most deadly characteristics of both. Against a wolf, an armored fighter has to guard only against the teeth; against most men or elves, he has only to watch a single weapon. But the werewolf possessed claws on all four feet, as well as a mouth with dagger-like fangs. Worse, he retained some sense of how to most effectively use all those weapons.

When I raised my shield to fend off the werewolf’s first charge, he did not simply slam into it, but grasped the edges with his hands and pulled. I had been set to take a blow that would drive me backwards- the tremendous force dragging in the opposite direction nearly threw me off my feet, as well as seeming likely to twist my shoulder from its socket. I could see the intent; if I fell atop the wolf-man, he would rake my legs and abdomen with his feet, while snapping at my right hand with his teeth.

The thing about fighting, at least the way Senior Trooper Carbo taught me, is that it’s much like dancing. The most important things are knowing where to put your feet and being able to read your “partner.” Of course, the analogy breaks down when you get to the whole “trying to kill each other” part. At least I hoped that was true of anyone I would ever want to dance with. But the point was, I needed to flow with the movement of the werewolf, rather than trying to resist. He was far stronger than I, and could quite literally rip my arm off.

So, as he tugged on my shield, I spun, using my trapped arm as a pivot. The movement relieved the strain on my shoulder and allowed me to slam my mace into the monster’s lower back. The silver spikes seemed to do more damage than the heavy ebony head- blue flame spurted from the wounds and the werewolf howled and released my shield. He turned in place, seeking the source of his pain, looking like a guar chasing its tail. Any humor I might have felt at the situation was mitigated by the horror. It is one thing to hear or read about werewolves- it is quite another to be attacked by one, all alone in the dark.

I had faced death before, many times. But an attack by a lycanthrope carried a far worse fear- what if I was not killed? What if I became a monster myself? So I fed that fear into the cold flame of my rage, and I smashed the mace into the werewolf’s muzzle, shattering teeth and bone. When it raised a clawed hand to retaliate, I slammed a blow into the elbow. And so it went, as I silently, methodically beat that walking nightmare to death. White bone and black blood made strange patterns on the moonlit ground, and my mace rose and fell until my strength was spent. Fortunately, by then the lambent light of the creature’s eyes was extinguished and I was safe- I hoped.

I moved several yards away from the awful shape on the ground and dropped my mace and shield. With shaking hands, I undid the buckles on my armor and began to frantically look over my arms and legs for any wounds. I knew it was possible to sustain a serious or even life-threatening injury and not be aware of it. But that was not my first concern. A healing potion would stop any bleeding and close up a wound- but what about disease? My careful examination discovered no bites or scratches and I sighed with relief. My armor had not fared so well, and I took the time to make repairs.

By then, dawn was beginning to lighten the eastern horizon, and I waited for the sunrise. When the rays of the sun struck the body of the werewolf, it transformed back into the battered, naked corpse of a Nordic man. Grimacing with disgust, I used a silver dagger to cut off his head and cast it far away. As I did so, a large black bird silently took flight and winged north and west, toward the center of the island.

What I most wanted to do at that moment was go back to Fort Frostmoth, to the dock, to Basks-in-the-Sun’s ship. And I would ask him to take me home- to Vvardenfell and my mother. But I could not. I was bound by a long chain of duty and responsibility, each link forged by a promise I had made, leading all the way back to the oath I had taken to defend the Empire. So I settled my gear upon my shoulders and turned north once more.

The rest of the journey was blessedly uneventful until I was almost to the isolated house beside the rivers. As I approached, I heard shouting and the sounds of weapons striking armor. When I could see what was happening, I paused for a moment to assess the circumstances. A red-haired Imperial woman was attacking a large Nord man, while two other Nords looked on with distressed expressions.

I hate walking into situations like that, because you can’t always be sure that what you are seeing is as simple as it appears. For example, you see a large fellow grasping a little fellow by the arm, roughing him up and shouting. Maybe the bigger man is a bully…. Or maybe the smaller fellow is a Bosmer pick-pocket who just got caught plying his trade. Still, my instinct was to help the smaller, Imperial woman against the hulking Nord. Except- she was wearing netch leather armor dyed black and using a poisoned dagger. As my father was fond of saying, “When you hear hoof-beats, you don’t immediately think ‘unicorn.’” And no, I have no idea what that means, either, but it sounds good.

The issue was settled when I stepped between the two combatants and the woman snarled a curse and tried to stick her dagger between my ribs. I said, “Thanks for simplifying my decision,” and smacked my mace down on the wrist of her blade hand. She screamed and grabbed the injured arm, then collapsed a moment later. I looked at her in puzzlement; I knew I had not hit her that hard. Then I saw the throwing knife protruding from the back of her neck- and the Nord woman holding its twin poised in her right hand.

When I looked a question at her, she shrugged apologetically and explained, “I couldna try before- I didna want to chance hitting Graring.”

Unspoken was the fact that she had no similar compunction about me. But I let that pass and turned to the luxuriantly bewhiskered Nord who had been identified as Graring and said,

“My name is Athlain, and I hear you know something about the blue-white ice found in the barrows.”

The painful and prolonged silence that followed was similar to what you might expect if you announced that you enjoyed unnatural relations with cliff-racers.

Just as I was considering how best to extricate myself from the situation, the Nord I had “rescued” raised a hand and asked,

“Did ye say yer name is ‘Athlain’? I have heard of ye.”

That announcement allowed me the opportunity to remember to breathe again, and caused a general lowering of weapons around the clearing. When I offered him a healing draught, things became almost friendly. Graring accepted and introduced his companions, Hidar and Aenar. Then he crossed his arms and said,

“Ye seek to learn the secrets of stahlrim, then? And ye come peacefully, wi’ no threats or falsehoods? Well, that makes ye different than the rest.”

He toed the corpse at his feet and rumbled, “Ye be not the first. Outsiders like this dead ‘un have been here afore; always demanding, always offering payment that is useless to us. But they get nothing. The Skaal give them nothing because they say it is sacred; we give them nothing because we know they would misuse it.”

I replied carefully, knowing that I was still being weighed and tested,

“I know something of the Skaal; I have met Korst Wind-Eye, the shaman and Tharsten Heartfang, the chief. But they never spoke of ‘stahlrim.’ Please tell me, if you would.”

Graring glanced at his companions and when they nodded, he admitted, “I had heard that there was an outlander living among the village Skaal. It is said he activated the Standing Stones.”

When I agreed that I had done that, Graring nodded once and said,

“The Skaal consider the stalhrim to be holy. During the great war with the Dark Elves, many heroes fell in battle. Some could not be returned to Skyrim, and were buried here. Great magicks were worked on their tombs to protect their belongings from grave robbers, and their corpses from worse things. Energy was drawn from the land itself, and our heroes were encased in tombs of ice. That ice is stalhrim.”

He looked in the direction of the Skaal village and a pained expression crossed his face.
“Some of us learned that stalhrim can be forged much like iron or steel. We were made outcasts for it; the Skaal are too narrow-minded to understand its practical value. Some, like yon woman, hear of it and come seeking it, but will not get it from us. Ye, however, have earned my respect. We will now see if ye can truly be trusted.”

He waved over Aenar and took a strange looking tool from him, then presented it to me.

“We made tools that allow us to work the stahlrim. Take this pickaxe, and use it to chip off a piece of stalhrim. Bring that piece to me. Then we will see.”

http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc473/...r3/werewolf.jpg

Finally got caught up with this. Excellent as always.

Only issue is with Athlain after the fight with the Werewolf. Why not chug a cure disease potion or cast a spell? Why not visit Fort Frostmoth for a quick pit-stop at the Nine Divines' Shrine?

That said, the overall excellent quality remains. I especially liked your handling of Thormoor, Geilir, and Oddfrid, as well as the grave decorations of our ill-fated Bosmer ship captain. And your description of the Stalhrim-forgers is excellent, particularly how they weren't too worried about accidentally killing Athlain.

Tense combat with the werewolfie - those beasts are always nasty! I'd rather take on a mean Rottie or pittie any day! Yes, Athlain is right about only having to worry about the teeth. Though, on second thought, all those purse-canines whose feet never touch the ground have some nasty claws to go along with what teeth haven't yet rotted out of their heads. Ugh!

Whew, I'm glad there was silver on Athlain's mace! That was a close one!

The most important things are knowing where to put your feet and being able to read your “partner.”
Very nicely put!

As I did so, a large black bird silently took flight and winged north and west, toward the center of the island.
Hmm, is this Teresa's friend Raven? Somehow I do not think Athlain will be so lucky...

“When you hear hoof-beats, you don’t immediately think ‘unicorn.’” And no, I have no idea what that means, either, but it sounds good.
I love this!

All in all, a very cool episode! Story, Good, More!

I see that you have now understood the foundation of all martial arts, Trey. Yes. Footwork and stance is the foundation of all moves, and the strike or hold is the icing on the cake.

This chapter had so much in it that I loved - that I have to spam your thread with it!!

I loved the fight scene, especially this part - a huge surprise move!






Obviously never danced with me…or Maxical for that matter.



SPEW!!! ROFL !!!


I know it’s already been quoted, but it deserves requiting:






Something tells me this will not be easy, I see trouble ahead!!


Awesome Chapter Treydog !!!!

You will have to excuse the moment of giddiness that I experience in trying to compose myself. I have been waiting for this moment ever since Athlain made his first retching voyage to Solstheim. I love werewolves! To me, there are far too few good stories about them. Athlain’s fight with this specimen was one for the books. I love the idea of making something as basic and fundamental as footwork the undoing of the creature. I also love the fact that the creature only reverted to his human form at first light. I wonder if cure disease would be as effective in halting the spread of lycanthropy as it is in dealing with porphyric hemophilia?

I've never seen a werewolf before - until now. Youch! I'm glad we don't see them in Cyrodiil!

I loved how Athlain won this fight. It was wonderful to see him so competently wield that wonderful mace that Athynae gave him.

By the Nine! Unnatural relations with cliff racers. Oh my. Much better to stick to natural relations with them I suppose.

How neat about the ice to entomb the Nord warriors. All this is wonderfully new to me!

Oooooh, I would like to see much more of this, a very intresting piece it is set out to be.

Well I'm all caught up. Exciting stuff, though I remain interested to see the time at which the interview with Julian is...

And warewolves, after all the build up theyr'e here, and it was really just more build up. Exciting stuff and well written. Even over the past few parts there has been a noticable change in Athlain, I'm not exactly sure what but he seems more certain and (dare I say it) sensible, I can't see him running into the wilds living entirely on potions now, unless someting gives him a compelling reason. He seems to be more focused on others (and working his way out of the rather exciting situation he's in).

As ever the characters and interactions were bang on, the prophet and prophecy particularly so.

And it's been quoted but: “When you hear hoof-beats, you don’t immediately think ‘unicorn.’” And no, I have no idea what that means, either, but it sounds good. -- I love the dry humour in this.

Everything I did on Solstheim seemed to involve going from one end of the island to the other. But that was what feet- and magic- were for. Besides, one of my reasons for joining the Legion had been to see the Mundus. Of course, I had not expected so much of what I saw to be covered with snow- or with people who wanted to kill me. Still, if I used my mind, I might be able to save myself some steps- and avoid some of those folk with murderous intent. For one thing, I had seen an ice-encased body in Gandrung Cavern. From the description that “ice” was actually stalhrim. And Gandrung was very close to Fort Frostmoth. Once I obtained a piece of the ice, I could talk to Falco and let him know what I had discovered. There was one more thing I wanted to do before I left, though, so I went to the body of the dead Imperial woman who had attacked Graring.

As I had suspected, her silver dagger carried a debilitating poison enchantment, and the rest of her gear indicated that she had been a professional assassin. So I had an answer, one which gave rise to many more questions, as usual. Who would send an assassin to kill an obscure Nord living at the back of beyond? And why did they want Graring dead? From his remarks, this woman was not the first stranger who had appeared- it was likely that whoever had sent her had also sent others with offers of money. And when bribery did not work, this hidden figure had turned to violence. Again, why?

Unfortunately, a careful search did not turn up any telltale notes along the lines of:

“I, the Great High Evil Conspirator, do hereby send this woman to assassinate Graring, in order to further my nefarious plot. Said nefarious plot is helpfully detailed on the back of this note, complete with diagrams for the illiterate.”

She did have five newly-minted 100 septim coins in a pocket and the name “Coventina Celata” was embroidered on her scabbard.

For some time, I looked at the body, not really thinking, just—wondering. She was an Imperial woman, her red hair marked with grey. And she was dead. Her choices and her profession had brought her to this place, to this death on the bank of a frozen river. All for five gold coins. I did not know her history, her reasons, how her feet had been turned to this path- and now, I never would. But I did know that I must guard myself against ever thinking of life and death as mere commodities to be traded for coin or fame. I rose from the ground and turned to Graring and his companions, saying:

“I will bury her, if you don’t mind. Some distance from here, perhaps beside the river. I know she tried to kill you, and that she seems to have been hired to do it. Still, she was a human being, and I can show her that much respect.”

The Nords silently brought tools and we lashed together a litter to carry the body south. We dug a shallow pit in the frozen ground, and placed her in it as gently as we could. After a moment’s thought, I added the silver dagger and the gold coins. They were hers; and I still had no desire to rob the dead. Then we covered the grave with stones. I looked to the west, toward the setting sun, toward the place where Cyrodiil lay beyond the horizon. After a moment, I thanked Graring, promising I would return when I could. Then I cast an Intervention spell to transport me to the fort. I had learned the hard way that more than fear of the dark kept the troopers inside the fort at night, and I emulated their wisdom. With the dawn, I went to Gandrung Cavern. The previous day, I had supervised one burial and I was now preparing to desecrate another. The irony was not lost upon me.

The Legion had long since cleared the smuggled weapons- and the bodies of the smugglers- from the cavern. I was relieved that nothing else had moved in to the empty tunnels, though I knew something would, eventually. But for the moment, what I needed had been there for a very long time, since the First Era war that ended the Nords’ occupation of Morrowind.

The burial chamber was a short distance north of the entrance, and I found the wall niche which contained the body of a warrior encased in ice. The remains were visible inside the frozen cocoon, and I took a moment to ask the spirit’s forgiveness. I really wished I did not have to do this. But- my father had a saying about wishing. It was…. Well, let’s just say that spending the first seventeen years of his life in a stable had given him an— organic—view of things. With a last muttered apology, I wielded the strange pick-axe to chip away a block of the ice. I hoped one would be enough- the task was distasteful enough as it was. I feared the whole might crumble, but it remained intact beyond the bit I had removed.

Without thinking, I started to hold the strange material up to a torch to examine it more closely. Realizing that it was supposed to be some sort of ice, I quickly pulled it back, but it showed no sign of melting. Whatever magic created the stalhrim also allowed it to retain its solidity, regardless of temperature. Reassured that I would not show up with nothing but a handful of water, I tucked it into my pack and left the cavern.

When I reached Raven Rock, I found Falco and told him what I had learned about the Nord burials- and about the assassination attempt. He frowned at the news, but did not speak for some time. He just turned the stalhrim in his hands as if seeking answers in its depths. Finally, he handed it back to me and said:

“So that’s stalhrim. Carnius has mentioned the word before; I just never knew what he was talking about. He’s already heard about the burial cavern in the mine, and is expressing an unusual amount of interest in it. I’ll keep putting him off, while you take that piece back to Graring. And you had better hold on to that pick-axe, as well. There’s no way to be sure what might happen if you leave it here.”

He added with a lopsided grin, “That way, when I tell Carnius that we can’t get him any stalhrim with the tools we have on hand, it won’t exactly be a lie.”

Once more, I undertook the journey to Graring’s isolated house near the north coast. I was pleased to find the three outcast Skaal in good health; no more strangers or assassins had come calling in my absence. I produced the piece of stalhrim and offered it to the Nord, but he just shook his head and spoke in a satisfied tone:

“So ye ha’ some of it? I shall not take it from ye; that ye were willing to bring it is proof enough. Now that I know ye can be trusted, ye may come to us at any time, and we will construct armor and weapons for ye. Speak to Aenar and Hidar; they will do these things for ye with my blessing.”

My ears were filled with a peculiar roaring sound and my vision became clouded. Fortunately for Graring, I recognized the signs of impending rage, and stood very still as I counted my breaths. Still, I did not trust myself to speak; instead, I gripped the stalhrim in trembling hands. This had all been yet another bloody test. I had trudged from one end of the island to the other- twice; been attacked by a gods-forsaken werewolf; thwarted a murder; disturbed an ancient burial…. All of these things just so this grinning ape could pat me on the head and say, “Well done; now run along.”

But then I looked at it from his perspective. Strangers had been coming around, trying to bribe him, trying to kill him. He and his companions had been forced to live apart from the rest of the Skaal. And at the root of it all was this chunk of steel-hard ice I held in my hand. So, yes, Graring had tested me, and I had passed. But there was one more test, one that I set for myself. So I gave the pick-axe back to Aenar with my thanks. The stalhrim I would keep until I could return it to where it belonged.

Whew! Athlain has a depth that matches the Skaal's - he has to have it in his bloodlines!!!!! Awesome Write !!!!!!


His inner dialogue shows scruples that are at varience with a good portion of Tamriel - but are deeply ingrained in the Skaal of your story.

It makes me wonder if it is in his heritage somehow, and the roots of it are strong in him?

Darn! There I is was with a cup of coffee, reading and. . . well you know.


It occurred to me how much I enjoy traveling with Athlain, despite the fact that the land he walks is foreign to me:
Here, I bask in the powerful wisdom so simply and truthfully expressed by Athlain.

Here, you answer a nagging question that I didn't fully realize I had.

Here, you lead someone not familiar with stalhrim through what would be a very natural question - again, before it even occurs.

Here, believe it or not, you give me my Athynae fix. How so, you ask? First, this was magnificent restraint on Athlain's part. I know perfectly well that Buffy would have popped those hands onto her hips, lifted her chin defiantly and let loose with her big mouth. But Athynae. . . well it made me suspect she might well have whirled on her heel and stormed off, tossing an icy 'FINE!' over her shoulder.

EDIT: Let me add my appreciation to mALX's for the screenies below. They do indeed help us Oblivioners.

Acadian already picked out all of my favorite parts, so may I just add:

S.G.M

Acadian already picked out all the parts I was going to highlight, but let me just do this one again:
The previous day, I had supervised one burial and I was now preparing to desecrate another. The irony was not lost upon me.
This was a good touch. Especially after just reinforcing Athlain's distaste for robbing the dead with the burial of the assassin.

Another good segment of the Athlain show. As much as I miss Athynae, I must admit it is nice to see Athlain doing his thing without distractions. He has a good heart, that continually shows with his every action. Once again I see the Arthurian similarities. Here is indeed a knight bold in true, rendered in a manner that is completely believable.

nits:
I had seen an ice-encased body in Gandrung Cavern{.} From the description that “ice” was actually stalhrim.
I think the period that was between Cavern and From melted.

I am going to try to do a couple of pictures- hopefully more successfully than the last few...

A stalhrim burial:



A werewolf (fully transformed- and annoyed):

Woo Hoo !!!! I love these screenies Treydog. Not having played the game - these help hugely with immersion in what you have described, and show what an awesome job you did with that description in bringing the scenes to life !!!!!

The werewolf looks cool, even for an old game. I love the narrow little eyes. You can tell it is evil because of that alone.

Athlain decides not to have acquire Stahlrim arms and armor? I'm impressed.

I also enjoyed Falco's use of technical truths to keep Carnius from immediately shutting down the mine for Stahlrim, without committing an outright act of insubordination.

Lastly, Athlain's rage at being tested, again, before looking at it from Graring's perspective. Reminds me of the final part of "A Boy Named Sue." Athlain might understand why it happens, but he's still rightfully angry.

Athlain certainly has well defined morals which he won't stray from. Burying the assassin was a good touch, it reinforces his respect for the dead.

I'm enjoying the increasing tension between Falco and Carnius, you're showing it's development well. I'm looking forward top the next part.

Everyone- I realized far too late, that in rushing to post the story, I forgot to acknowledge your kind words. That oversight is corrected here, along with a couple of new pictures to help visualize the story…

@Captain Hammer- Welcome back! The main reason for not having Athlain take a potion is to show his state of mental distress- despite appearances, he is not thinking clearly. I really enjoyed the Oddfrid quest, especially as I stumbled into it by accident this time around. And the “Oops, did I nearly kill you?” was a nod to the fact that NPCs seem to get in the way- or else ignore the player’s life-and-death struggles.

I always try to find believable ways to limit my characters- keeping Athlain out of the numerous graves (with some really good treasures) is one such limit. And Falco is definitely learning to play the game of deception. Finally, one reason Athlain lets go of that rage is because he knows it is self-directed- he is angry with himself for desecrating that burial.

@haute- It was important to get the first werewolf encounter “right.” I actually had to cheat one into the game- good old “PlaceAtPC.” And in RL, it has also been my experience that those little nasty yappers are a lot more prone to biting without warning.

Another S.G.M.! And from someone who deserves a bushel (or two) of them for her own writing. Thank you.

@SubRosa- So many physical endeavors depend on placement of the feet. And the “dancing” bit was another way of sneaking in an Athynae reference. The black bird will make another appearance- and your surmise about its intentions is correct. The hoof-beat line was one I had heard recently, so I decided to “TES-ize” it. Oh, and an SGM even! My blushes!

Sometimes, the game provides those moments of contrast; even more rarely, I have the good fortune to recognize the gift they are to a writer and weave them in. You make an interesting point- Athlain’s greatest desire (he used to think, at least) is to be a knight. He still believes the title confers the traits, rather than the other way around. Yes, he already is a “true knight,” though he does not realize it. Puddled period reforged and replaced.

@D.Foxy- Balance is a literal as well as spiritual necessity for these things. I have been spending entirely too much time on the roof wielding sharp objects recently- so situational awareness and foot placement are rather on my mind.

@mALX- Seemed to me that a werewolf still has grasping hands in wolf form- and the sense to use them… Dancing- hmm, now that you mention it, there might have been some murderous intent on the part of a couple of my former fiancés…. The cliff-racer line was Athlain channeling Maxical- or maybe Owyn.

Athlain definitely has “Skyrim blood” at least. Korst and Oddfrid have said as much. His honor comes from his father (though Athlain may not realize it) and from growing up around Redorans. In “game” terms, giving him a rigid prohibition against grave-robbing provides a handy limitaton- it puts some powerful items out of reach, while giving a reasonable explanation.

@Destri- It is odd that werewolves are so central to the Bloodmoon plot, and yet are hard to find until late in the main quest. And yes, Cure Disease is the way to avoid infection.

@Acadian- I wonder why there are no lycanthropes in TESIV? They were common (werewolves, wereboars, and werebears, at least) in Daggerfall. And one reason for the Bloodmoon expansion was to give the player the chance to be a werewolf. The stalhrim explanation is purely a bit of in-game lore- which I also really liked for its history and mystical nature.

Sorry about the beverage- I guess my story occasionally needs one of those warning tags, as well. Part of Athlain’s growth (I hope) is in his growing ability to feel empathy, even for people whose choices are different from his own. The two burials were a chance to show that Athlain is aware of the ambiguity of his actions. I think you are right- being around Miss ‘Thyna has taught him how to think before speaking- (usually).

@Ginner- Welcome to Chorrol and to the story! Thank you.

@Olen- So glad to have you back, my friend! Yes, Athlain has finally begun to grow wiser and more careful. There will still be trouble ahead, though. Thank you for the compliment on the characters- I want them to be as “real” as possible.

Having the chance to honor the dead assassin and then turn right around and “dishonor” the burial of a “hero” was too good to pass by. One of the more interesting Company quests is next- if I can figure how to write it.

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

And now for a "Rogue's Gallery":

Carnius Magius


Falco Galenus


Raven Rock (Aerial View)


Graring

I'm really glad you posted Raven Rock...every time I read the name "Raven Rock" - this is what I picture:


http://media.photobucket.com/image/fallout...ot143.jpg?o=175


(Fallout 3, Raven Rock after the implosion)

Like mALX, I keep expecting a vertibird to rise over Raven Rock and fly off in the distance, while thugs in powered armor patrol the streets.

“A moment if you please, sir.”

Julian reached into the dispatch case at her feet and removed a stack of papers. She looked through them until she found the one she wanted. She paused, as if to read, but I somehow had the feeling that she had already memorized the relevant passages. After several minutes, she put the papers aside and folded her hands in front of her.

“According to Legion estimates, a single piece of raw stalhrim is worth 300 septims. A complete set of ice armor would have a value of 40,000 septims and provide approximately 3 times greater protection than Legion issue. A stalhrim mace would also be worth 40,000 septims. A stalhrim longsword- 65,000 septims.”

Her eyebrow seemed to rise of its own volition; as if she had it so well trained it did not even need permission. I understood that there was an unspoken question- I just was not sure what it was. At last I said,

“That all may be true Pilus Prior, but that report gives the monetary value; it says nothing about the cost.”

Julian’s response was a cryptic, “I see.”

She put the papers back in the dispatch case and said, with the air of someone moving on to a new subject:

“Speaking of reports, please tell me about delivering the colony status report to Factor Carnius Magius.”



Following my second meeting with Graring, I went back to Raven Rock to let Falco know what had transpired. He was pleased with the information and told me:

“That’s good, Athlain. You have forged an important bond with Graring and his folk. I am still not completely sure of the nature of Carnius’ interest- but I am sure that there is money at the root of it. But there’s no time now to figure it out- you have to get this colony status report to Carnius in no more than five hours time.”

He handed me a sheaf of papers bound with ribbon.

“There’s no time for a detailed explanation right now, but you need to know this- if that report is not in Carnius’ hands by the deadline, he can use that failure to fire you- and me. He has enough influence with the board to make a technicality such as that work. I’m counting on you to get this done, Athlain. Don’t stop for anything- get to Carnius’ office and make sure he takes the report from you.”

Normally, I would have believed Falco was overreacting, especially because I could cast an Intervention spell to carry me to the fort instantly. But the colony manager was not prone to exaggeration- and I knew something about Carnius’ methods myself- so I wasted no time casting the spell.

Once I had reached the Imperial Cult shrine, I hastened up the stairs to the hall that contained Carnius’ office. A dark-haired Imperial man I had not seen before stood outside the door with an unreadable expression on his face. And it was a face worth looking at more than once. Despite his expensive clothing, his demeanor- and certain telltale scars- told a different story. He looked like someone who was more at home in dark alleys and seedy bars rather than conference rooms or palaces. But since I did not know him, I ignored him. Falco wanted the report delivered without delay, and I knew the stakes involved. However, when I opened the door, the office was empty. Carnius Magius was nowhere to be seen.

When I turned back into the hallway, the stranger smirked at me and asked mockingly,

“Oh, are you looking for Carnius, then? I’m afraid he isn’t in just now. And I imagine he will be terribly disappointed that you weren’t able to deliver that report on time.”

He shook his head with a feigned look of sadness on his face. “Tsk. It is just so hard to find reliable help these days. By the way, I am Constans Atrius- Carnius’ assistant.”

That explained a great deal, but still left me with the problem of delivering the report. I knew only a few minutes had passed since I left Raven Rock, so I protested:

“The report isn’t late yet- I still have the better part of five hours. Where is he?”

Constans gave me a bored look and shrugged, “Maybe he left a note or something. Why don’t you look on his desk?”

I felt a prickle of danger along my spine- the oily assistant seemed just a little too eager for me to go through Carnius’ desk. Instead of letting my unease show, I stepped back inside the office and closed the door behind me.

I could survey the desk from the doorway- it contained nothing beyond the usual clutter I had seen any number of times. But there had to be something…. I glanced at the floor and noticed that the carpet in front of the desk had been moved just a bit. One corner was still slightly crumpled, and the flagstones showed a variation in color. I dropped to my hands and knees and looked along the floor toward the carpet. I did not see any tripwires or springs, but there was still something…. And then I remembered a section of the letter Athynae had written regarding Carnius and his background.

There were no physical traps near the desk, but when I adopted the unfocused gaze that allowed me to sense magic, the carpet practically glowed. I slowly moved closer, careful to avoid any contact with the magical field that was embedded in the fabric. I passed a hand over the floor as closely as I could without actually touching it, and then I was certain.

The spell was one used by wealthy merchants or mages and was known as Trespasser’s Bane. If I had stepped onto that rug, I would have found myself afflicted with clumsiness and greatly reduced speed. In addition, my weight would have been effectively doubled. In a magical sense, my feet would have been nailed to the floor. Laboring under such handicaps, it would be nigh on impossible to get the report to Carnius in time. And that, of course, was the point. Then there was the fact that Serjo Constans Atrius clearly knew about the trap and had tried to set me up.

I rose to my feet and stalked to the door. When I threw it open, the Imperial toady nearly fell inside the room. I hauled him up by his collar and rammed him into the wall. Pressing a forearm into his throat, I grasped his hair with the other hand and grated,

“I found Carnius’ little trap. Now. Where. Is. He?”

With each word, I bounced his head against the wall. Then I lessened the pressure on his neck just enough so that he could choke out an answer. Atrius wheezed:

“He… he headed out to the site of the shipwreck. Said to keep you here as long as I could.”

A bit of his previous arrogance returned as he added, “You won’t get there in time; it’s miles away and there’s no boat ‘til in the morning.”

My smile caused all the color to drain out of his face as I wiped my hand on his tunic and said,

“Well then, I guess I’ll just have to improvise.”

Leaving Atrius to straighten his clothing and feel the lumps on his skull, I went back to the stairwell, but stopped only halfway down. What Carnius and his new “assistant” did not know was that I had placed a teleport locus near the shipwreck- and I had never reset it. I drew my Recall amulet, a gift from my absent father, out of my cuirass and activated the magic.

When I arrived beside the ill-fated supply ship, I could hear Carnius’ shrill voice not far away. That warning gave me time to prepare for perhaps the greatest entrance of my life. I stepped around the grounded bow of the ship and saw Carnius and a Legion guard standing with their backs to me. I called out in a cheery voice,

“Oh, Factor Magius! There you are! I have that report you needed.”

His shoulders rose in surprise and then dropped as he turned to face me. For just a moment his mask cracked and I saw a look of murderous rage flash across his features. Pretending I had not seen the expression, I glanced at the sun as if surprised and added,

“And look at that! I made it with four hours to spare. Here you go.”

He took the report from me with a snarl and I could tell he wanted to throw it on the ground- or at my head. Instead he glanced sidelong at the guard and muttered,

“I must admit I’m surprised to see this. Fine. You can run along now and tell Falco that his position is secure. For now.”

Despite his words, the glitter in his eyes promised retribution, and I almost feared that I had pushed him too far.

Ahhh, so now we see why Carnius wants that ice so badly, and what Athlain passed up! Here I thought it was just another kind of armor.

The rug was a neat trap. I guess Athlain almost had the rug pulled out from under him on that one! But our boy is much to quick for that these days. I was half-surprised that Athlain did not throw Constans onto the trapped rug though.

nits:
40000 septims, etc... would read easier with commas per thousand.

That was enjoyable, it seems Athlain is getting smarter as well as stronger. He'll be playing the great game soon enough. And I second tht being a great enterance and worked well with Athlain's character (though who could avoid a little gloating...).

That was horrible quest though and I'd wondered how you'd do it, the trap is most inconveniant. You avoided both the dash accross Solstheim and the trap well though, they fitted into the story convincingly and didn't seem forced.

I also noticed a little referance to his father, I wonder if he is begining to change his mind about old Trey...

WOO HOO !!!!! Athlain...showing temper...taking charge of a situation.... WOOOOOOOOOOOOOT !!!!!!!!!!

This chapter goes down as one of my all time favorites instantly by his cunning in avoiding the traps, his handling of Falco, and this :





AWESOME WRITE !!!!!!

What fun!

Julian comes so alive in our dear Rider's capable hands. Since Rider writes form Julian's perspective however, it is wonderful to see such a creative observation of her from Athlain!

Oooh. You made me feel just what Athlain felt here.

Been hangin' around a red head? Just kiddin'. I woulda been pissed as well!

Did Carnius just drop the dreaded 'F' word on Athlain? That word shoud be reserved for angry young ladies.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. Cost and Price are rarely, if ever, the same thing, and I appreciate seeing characters that understand this. I'm a pretty strong free-market supporter, and even I have a few things worth more to me than all the Daedric Artifacts in Nirn.

As for Athlain's dramatic approach to seeing Carnius and his tone: brilliant, if deliberately antagonistic. Reminds me of The Wire when Omar is on the stand to help convict Bird. Cheeky, witty, and pointedly popular.

Though I must admit that I would have preferred to see a little more subtlety on Athlain's part when talking to Carnius, that's from a logical perspective. When playing through Bloodmoon, I too got so f#$&ing mad at Carnius that crushing his skull every time I saw him was an exercise of self-control, even without the forced skooma addiction.

I applaud Athlain, son of a reputably deadly alchemist and sneaky Breton assassin, for not finding a creative means of disappearing Carnius. I'm sure he could do it.

As much as I enjoyed the screenies, I have to admit that they pulled me from the story a little. Having never played Bloodmoon, I was content to follow the story using Athlain’s eyes. It is a testament to your skill as a storyteller that all too often I forget that what you are describing occurs in the game and is not simply part of a world that you have created.

While my posting may be scant, rest assured that I am reading and relishing every update of this story. As always, your efforts are much appreciated. I love how rich a character Athlain has become.

Dear friend Athlain, I suspect your interrogater might be sympathetic to your plight about a certain addictive drug.

Keep up the good work treydog

@SubRosa- Carnius’ true aim is one that eluded me the first time I played through Bloodmoon; I tend to miss rather obvious clues. But it does give me a useful way to show Athlain’s determination regarding “grave-robbing.” The time-trap is one of the more creative things Bethsoft did in this expansion- I debated whether or not to trigger it. Nit agreed and fixed.

@Olen- Thank you so much. The most important thing to me with this is to depict Athlain’s growth as realistically as possible. I was fortunate with the other part of the time-trap situation- Carnius can be in 1 of 3 locations one the island- it just randomized that he was at the ship, where I had purposely left Athlain’s Mark spell. Otherwise, I would have had to decide whether to replay saved games or just go with whatever I got. Good eye one the Trey reference, as well- he is definitely beginning to understand some things.

@mALX- Although he has not shown it, all these Empire Co. quests are really putting a strain on our boy. He wants to save or find Captain Carius- for several conflicting reasons- but keeps getting sidetracked. Kind of like in TESIV- “What do you mean I have to close ANOTHER bloody gate?” But I also wanted to show that he is human enough to grind Carnius’ face in the failure of this particular scheme.

@Acadian- The inclusion of Julian in my story has gone from a spur-of-the-moment whim to an essential component. If none of the other strong women in Athlain’s life can be present to guide him, she is an excellent alternate- at least until a certain redhead returns. As I noted to mALX, he is feeling the stress and sometimes it comes out. Constans had the look of a bully, so Athlain handled him accordingly. You are right, Carnius has no idea how close the “Fine” word brought him to destruction!

@Captain Hammer- In Athlain’s case, he is concerned about the spiritual cost of obtaining stalhrim… but your larger point stands. Omar was absolutely one of my favorite characters on The Wire. Better living (or killing) through alchemy is not an option Athlain will embrace… he very badly wants to be a knight.

@Destri- My thanks for your kind words regarding the descriptions. I struggle to make the world of Solstheim as real as possible.

@Canis216- You are always welcome and I hope we may see more Al one day soon.

@Doommeister- Julian’s reaction to that reveal promises to be quite interesting… I will say no more. And thank you so much for reading and commenting.

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

With the report delivered, there was nothing else to keep me at the shipwreck, so I turned south to Raven Rock. As for Carnius, I rather hoped he might be eaten by a bear. Almost as soon as the thought occurred to me, I felt a pang of guilt. After all, none of Solstheim’s bears had done anything to me to make me wish such a severe case of indigestion upon them. When I reached the colony, Falco immediately asked about the report. When I told him that I had put it directly into Carnius’ hands- in front of a witness- the colony manager mopped his brow.

“That’s good work, Athlain. I knew I could count on you. I’m sure he just made up that deadline out of spite, hoping for an excuse to get rid of us. Of course, now that he’s been thwarted, he’ll be even more determined- and dangerous.”

Falco shrugged briefly and looked toward the east side of the growing settlement. When he turned back, he smiled apologetically and continued:

“You’ve bought us some time, though, and we need it. There’s been a real problem lately with spriggans, especially among those trees to the east. Unfortunately, we need to cut down the trees in order to expand- and no one wants to work over there as long as those wood spirits are around. Talk to Unel Lloran at the bar- he’s supposed to know something about the creatures.”

I had only encountered spriggans once since coming to Solstheim, and had managed to mostly avoid fighting with them. Perhaps Falco’s crew chief could tell me enough to keep me safe from them.

When I asked for Unel Lloran, the bartender directed me to a mature Dunmer wearing his black hair shaped into a tall row down the center of his scalp. When I approached, he set down his sujamma and waved me to a chair. Eying my uniform, he said, “We don’t see many of you Legion types over this way. But I’m glad of the company, especially if you can talk about something other than mining.”

I accepted the seat but waved away the jug he offered, so he placed it back on the table with a shrug and said, “Suit yourself. So what can I do for you?”

“I understand you’re the mer to see about the spriggan problem they’ve been having lately.”

He sipped his drink and nodded a few times and then gave me a shrewd glance.

“You’ve been around, so I won’t try to sell you any guar-wash. People will tell you all kinds of tales about spriggans, and some of them are even true. But the things that aren’t true- or the things that are, but that you don’t know- can get you killed.”

He leaned forward and explained, “What they are is wood spirits. They’re usually connected to a particular grove or even a single tree. Matter of fact, they’re a lot like trees themselves… except that trees don’t usually try to kill you. The ones we’re dealing with are guarding some trees we need to remove on the east side of the colony. They seem to come in waves- three or four at a time. If you can take care of the current bunch, I can get a work crew into those trees. Once the trees are gone, the spriggans will stop showing up.”

He gulped some more of his drank and slammed the cork into the jug, before adding,

“But look here. Those things are deadly. You take one down, and think you’ve beaten it, and it pops back up.” He waved a hand vaguely, and said, “Some kind of magical jim-jam or other. Anyway, what it comes to is you have to finish ‘em three times before they stay down.”

He concluded with a grin: “So I hope they taught you to count to three in the Legion.”

I returned the grin and said, “Even higher than that, but I have to take my boots off. And then get someone to remind me which is left and which is right when I put ‘em back on.”

Unel sprayed his most recent mouthful of drink onto the table, narrowly missing me as I stood up. After he recovered from the coughing fit, he choked,

“Come back when you’ve taken care of them- if you survive. I’ll need to round up the work crew and get them cutting the trees, or else they’ll wander off.”

I decided not to ask if he meant the work crew- or the trees.

Trying to find a spriggan in the forest is rather akin to looking for a black cat in a coal mine at midnight. After considering it for a time, I decided that the best approach was to make the creatures come to me, rather than wandering aimlessly around the colony. Since Falco and Unel both seemed to believe the spriggans were protecting the grove, I went to the nearest tree, drew a dagger, and slashed the bark. Rather, I tried to- the razor-sharp blade made barely a mark. But my futile effort was rewarded by a peculiar cry from deeper inside the grove. I dropped the dagger and lifted my mace, watching for movement.

All too soon, a creature emerged from the shadows. It looked like a cross between a woman and a tree, with pale green skin and arms shaped like branches. Instead of clothing, it wore a covering of grey bark. I soon discovered why woodcutters favor axes instead of maces to do their work. Against flesh and bone, a mace is a terrible weapon. Against something made more or less of wood, it is only slightly more effective than scowling and speaking harsh words. The fight against the spriggans was one of the worst of my life- worse in many ways than the struggle with the grahl.

In the first place, blows that would have stunned or crippled another opponent simply bounced off. Beyond that, the first creature was soon joined by one of its… sisters, I suppose is the proper word. They were able to curl their clawed hands into fists and punch with great force. But what was worse was the way they used their open fingers. They grasped my arms and legs and tried to force their claws into the openings of my armor, much as tree roots shatter stone. And then, there was the final truth- Unel had been correct when he warned me that each spriggan had to be defeated three times before it stayed dead. If all four had come at me at once, I very well might have died there at the edge of the colony. What saved me was my mother.

I have remarked elsewhere that Mother had insisted that I join the Mages Guild. Her hope was that scholarly pursuits would distract me from seeking a more active career. That plan failed of its purpose, but it nevertheless bore fruit in my battle with the spriggans. Seeing that my mace was nearly useless, I dropped it back into its loop and placed my empty right hand upon the nearest spriggan. Concentrating my mind on a sensation of heat, I spoke the command word- tine. Flame blossomed from my fingers and jumped to the creature, which fell away from me with a startled cry. It began beating its torso with its arms, trying vainly to extinguish the magical fire.

Between using elemental fire and restorative potions quickly gulped in the intervals before the eldritch creatures rose from their intermediate “deaths,” I was barely able to survive. Finally, the last of them crashed to the ground and did not move again. I hastened to get clear of the trees that loomed over me, fearing that one might suddenly spring into motion and finish the job its guardians had begun.

As I recovered my strength, I wondered if Korst had fully understood what “completing my unfinished business” would entail. When I had finished the Ritual of the Stones, I had felt more attuned to the island and its living things. Now, I seemed to be doing my best to hasten its destruction. As I surveyed the growing colony, I noticed for the first time how out of place it looked. Spoil piles from the mine steamed in the cold air and stained the snow an ugly gray. Stumps of trees dotted the landscape, putting me in mind of severed fingers reaching up from the wounded ground. A wave of nausea wracked my frame, the first I had experienced since…. Well, the first I had felt in some time. But it was a sickness of spirit rather than of body.

The last paragraph was so powerfully written that it leaves the reader shaken and feeling what Athlain must have at that moment - AWESOME WRITE !!!! From the descriptions of the Spriggans, the Dunmer's mannerisms - HUGE Write !!!!

Ah, the quandary!

On the one hand Athlain wants to help his friends at Raven Rock.

On the other hand he's become more attuned to the land of Solstheim and understands the harm being done.

Ouch!

Good thing that unlike Unel I didn't have a mouthful of fluid!

It was welcome to see that I am not the only one who failed to read the 'set beverage down before reading sign'. Acadian sprayed his most recent mouthful of coffee onto the monitor, narrowly missing Buffy as she deftly jumped into an open desk drawer and angrily slammed it behind her.


The spriggan fight was superb - Athlain was at his imperfect and creative best best here. As ever, you caused me to feel everything Athlain felt - both during and after the fight. I quite adored how you portrayed the spriggans and their relationship to the forest. This depiction prompted a nagging concern that, in typical treydog fashion, you anticipated as Athlain also addressed his concerns regarding the marring of the land in the name of progress.

I so admire Athlain, and everything he hopes and struggles to become.

“Even higher than that, but I have to take my boots off. And then get someone to remind me which is left and which is right when I put ‘em back on.”
Loved this!

They grasped my arms and legs and tried to force their claws into the openings of my armor, much as tree roots shatter stone
This was a very neat touch!

I have to admit though, I was rooting for the spriggans the entire time. They were fighting to protect themselves and the forest from an invader purely bent upon destruction. In the end it was nice to see Athlain's reaction to realizing what he and the others were doing to Solstheim, without making any effort to replace the resources they were taking. Where the Skaal obviously cut down trees to make their homes and use for firewood, my impression is that they also plant new ones or otherwise are careful not to destroy more than the forest itself can naturally replace.

A sprayed my G&T across the screen at that paragraph. The deadpan way it's written is just priceless and something about the dry humour really adds to the character of Athlain. It shows he's more inteligent than the average legion thug and has a good sense of what's happening and the self-awareness to know what he's doing.

And it seems he has. That last paragraph raised an interestng point, how does his loyalty with the Skaal conflict with his loyalty to the Empire? It seems he's about to have his first conflict of that sort which should be most interesting to see. I also sense he might learn more of his father's attitude quite soon...

Anyway the last part wasn't long but it had some fairly major suggestions.

Great piece. Especially liked the bit about axes vs. maces when dealing with creatures of considerably more uniform tissue structure. Also, sympathies upon the bear population of Solstheim should Carnius be thought of as food.

Though it would be the start of a hilarious new joke: Does a bear have trouble taking a $h!t in the woods?

Lastly, the feeling of nausea. I liked how you brought up the nice fact that in normal Bloodmoon, playing through the EEC questline and the main questline have no real repercussions on each other.

But I must ask about the long time since Athlain's been physically ill. When was the last time our boy Athlain ever felt sick? And has there been a noticeable slowing of his aging process since reaching physical maturity?

Why do all the previous posters have the best posts...and say all that I was gonna say?

Heck, even the coffee I giggle-snorted into my nose is now old hat, since Acadian has beaten me to the punch...again...

So I'll just say - what they said = IN SPADES!

Athlain had me going there for a while. While I was reading this chapter (aside from the conversation with the sujamma swilling Unel Lloran), I kept thinking how out of character Athlain’s actions seemed. I know he wants to help the settlement, but what he was being called upon to do seemed, I don’t know, cruel. It was an errand that I would have expected to come from the office of the unpalatable Carnius. I should have known that you would find a way to address any concerns I may have had and tie things together in the last paragraph.

I was thinking of your gentle spirit as the weather turns chill for the year.
Hopefully you have a warm fire and Princess Juneipurr to bring you good cheer.

Although stockings may be hung by the chimney with care,
This year, a little dachshund's spot will be bare.

We know he's in a wonderful place,
But. . . oh what we'd trade for a lick on the face.

Be well, my friend, and have a nice day,
Just know that we are thinking of you and old Trey.

And this from the paladin who claims to know nothing of poetry! You are correct that we are feeling the absence of our faithful beggar watchdog during this holiday season. I commented to Mrs. Treydog just the other day that I was glad he would not have to suffer through another winter. But... I cannot clear the table without thinking, "I will save that bit of turkey or ham or whatever for Trey." And then I am reminded. But the memories are mostly good, because that is the power of memory- we can choose which movies or episodes to watch.

My most heartfelt thanks, my friend.

All- Excuses are always painful and unseemly, so we will just dispense with that. To quote J.R.R. Tolkien’s wonderful understatement:

“Well, I’m back.”

mALX- It seemed important to me that Athlain’s awareness of the land should not just “shut down” whenever he was doing EEC business- one of those oddities of the plotting in the questlines. Thank you, oh brilliant characterizer, for your praise of my characterization.

Haute- See note to mALX above. Also, you (and Julian) are missed. I wanted to get a little Dunmer/Imperial banter in there- and I wanted Athlain to demonstrate his supposed Speechcraft ability.

Acadian- My apologies to you- and Miss Buffy- for the coffee spraying incident. Your endorsement of my decision to face the dilemma of Skaal versus EEC directly is comforting to hear. And I very much wanted to preserve the ambiguity of the spriggans- they are not evil, nor are they even wrong to defend their trees.

SubRosa- I rather envisioned the spriggans like Tolkien’s ents- trees, only “speeded up.” And yes, I hoped the readers’ sympathies would be conflicted or even against Athlain and his mission. His saving grace (I hope) is that he recognizes the problem, too.

Olen- Glad someone liked that line about Carnius. And I definitely want Athlain to start showing he actually has some intelligence- along with some hard-won wisdom.

Captain Hammer- Some practice at tree-cutting in RL provided a useful background on the futility of bashing trees with blunt objects. And another vote for the Carnius vs. the bears passage- thank you so much. I’ll be here all week- try the meatloaf.

You also note a “mystery” that has been hinted at, but never explicitly answered. And I plan to keep it that way- for a while.

D.Foxy- Thank you, as always, for reading and for responding to my efforts.

Destri- I am humbled by your praise of my poor effort at depth and ambiguity. One of the lessons it took me longest to learn about potential plot holes or out of character actions was- address them directly.

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

Once I had recovered from the battle with the spriggans- and the aftermath- I returned to the bar, where Unel was still sitting at his table. When he saw me, he carefully set his drink aside before offering me a chair. I collapsed into it gratefully, and the Dunmer foreman eyed my scratched armor shrewdly.

“You’re alive, so I guess that means you took care of the spriggans.”

He signaled a couple of men who had been standing at the bar. They immediately finished their drinks and headed for the door. Unel followed them at a more leisurely pace.

I think I may have dozed off for a while, still wondering if Korst Wind-Eye truly knew what he had asked of me. While the Skaal shaman was able to feel the land and read its moods, I had completed the ritual for its renewal- and was now actively participating in it destruction. The conflict within me seemed to mirror the violence being inflicted on this harsh and lovely island.

Oddly, my thoughts then turned to Mother’s garden at Indarys Manor, with all its varieties of growing things. And I recalled her descriptions of how barren the place had been when she first arrived, how it was nothing but rock and ash and thorny bushes. But the Blight had gone, and the ash-storms with it. And love and labor and vision had created an oasis of color and life and joy. After so many years of darkness, Vvardenfell had begun to bloom anew. Some of that was the result of human efforts, but mostly, it was the land itself, asserting its will to live and grow. Perhaps Korst knew better than I the resilience of nature, and the futility of our foolish scrabbling in the dirt for ebony. Perhaps time and devotion would heal Solstheim, as well.

My silent pondering was interrupted by Unel Lloran’s return, and with him came further testing. He ambled up to the table mopping his scalp with a cloth, and then uncorked the jug to take a long swallow. He seemed to be considering something for a moment and then gave a loud belch before sitting down.

“I didn’t want to seem unmannerly,” he explained. “But then I decided this is a bar in a mining camp, so who the Oblivion cares?”

I noted from the angle of the light slanting in the windows that not much time had passed and ventured:

“So I guess your crew made quick work of the trees?”

The Dunmer blew out his cheeks in exasperation and replied, “Not quick, no. Not exactly. Or, to be honest, we did not manage to get anything done. Even with the spriggans gone, for which I thank you, our axes and saws can’t seem to make a dent in those trees. Some kind of magical heebie-jeebie, I guess.”

He reached for the sujamma again. “Anyway, we can’t start building until the trees are gone. Maybe if we could get to the roots- but we’d have to go underground for that. And those roots must be really deep- too far to dig, especially in this ground. They’re probably as tough as the trees themselves, not to mention the frozen soil and the rocks.”

A thought seemed to occur to Unel then, and he gave me a speculative look. “If any of the miners have run into those roots, they’d know it. I’d take a look myself, but… well, it’s dark down there, y’know?”

Yes, I did know about the darkness. I knew about the darkness of the mine, a darkness that lived and sighed with the slow respiration of Nirn itself. And I knew the darkness of other places, like tombs and barrows, where unquiet spirits chittered and clutched at the warmth of the living. Mostly, I knew about the darkness we all carry with us, even when we walk in the clean light of the sun. So the mine held no fear for me- I would not encounter anything worse there than what I brought with me. Without a word, I rose from the table and left the bar.

Inside the mine, I wandered the echoing tunnels until I found a Dunmer foreman who gave his name as Aldam Berendus. When I asked him if the miners had run into any roots, especially any that seemed unusually tough, he nodded immediately.

“Yes, we’ve had a real problem with them- had one whole passage blocked off. We couldn’t hack through them with any of our tools- broke half-a-dozen picks trying. You can see it for yourself; just go through the door at the end of deepest northern cutting.”

Following Berendus’ directions, I went deeper into the tunnels, turning and twisting, but always tending to the north. At the end of a short shaft, I found some piled timbers forming a barricade, as well as several broken pick handles. I moved the timbers aside and took a torch from one of the brackets. At the end of the passage was a pool of water- along with a tangle of massive, gnarled roots. When I stepped closer, the edge gave way beneath my feet and I found myself in the water. It felt almost as if something was holding me down as I struggled to get my head above the surface. At last, I got clear of the roots and was able to take in a great lungful of the damp air. I wasted no time getting out of the pool- or out of the mine.

Unel was still in the bar, his mug centered in front of him. When I described the roots, he stood up and said,

“That sounds like what I was looking for. Can you take me to them?”

After my previous experience, I was a bit reluctant, but if Unel could overcome his fear of the dark, I would, too. When we entered the blocked passage, I stayed well back from the pool. I had already had one bath- and it wasn’t even Sundas. Unel stood for a while, examining the roots and scratching his chin. Finally he clapped his hands together decisively and stated:

“This sure looks like the place. And if it is, there’s something we can do about it. The trees are obviously drawing water from that pool, so if we put something in the water that they don’t like, it should weaken them enough that we can get them down.”

He fell silent again, the hand that had been scratching his chin rising to rub the back of his head.

“What I need is some bittergreen leaves- five or six should do it.”

Every alchemist carries a supply of bittergreen; it is an aid to thinking and can be made into a refreshing tea. I found the packet marked with Athynae’s script and handed the dried leaves to Unel. He stepped carefully to the edge of the pool and crumbled the leaves in his hands, letting the powdered debris fall into the water. He came back to me and said,

“Perfect. That should do it. Let Falco know that it will take a few days, but we should have the trees down within the week.”

When I told Falco of Unel’s plans he nodded and replied, “That’s excellent work. We need the space for expansion. But the spriggan attacks also show that I need to do more to protect the colony. You’ve done good work, Athlain, but I can’t keep relying on you alone. That’s especially true when the Legion could call you away at any time. I don’t think Carnius’ influence goes that far, but we can’t take the chance. I’ve decided to hire some guards.”

He squared his shoulders and explained, “That’s within my power as colony manager, and the Factor can’t override my request. Some of the miners and other workers might be willing- it would mean a pay increase, to compensate for the risk. But- I would like for you to ask around. I have a couple of reasons- first, if I asked, they might think it was an order, and I don’t want anyone to feel coerced. Second, you have the experience to choose volunteers who know one end of a blade from the other. Ask around and let me know what happens.”

What a nice little surprise Christmas present from you Trey! Enjoyable as ever to read, of course.





That's Morrowind dialogue for you... I'm slightly surprised Athlain didn't roll his eyes at this one. In fact, he probably did.



Umm...
*grumbles something about coffee and keyboards*




Well, maybe not a blade, per se.

Argh! Thomas Kaira already quoted my fave line!



I choked laughing at Athlain's seriousness when he thought that! I got Morrowind for the PC for Xmas, if I ever get the time to play I plan to use Your story, Remko's, and Helena's - as guidebooks, lol.

I see trouble coming from giving "an aid to thinking" to tree roots, but I could be wrong, lol.

So good to see you back, Treydog !!! You have been missed !!!

The conflict within me seemed to mirror the violence being inflicted on this harsh and lovely island.
Brilliantly put. Not only do you illustrate what the EEC is doing to Solstheim, but you also once again show us how Athlain and the island are joined. The suffering of one is reflected in the other.

Perhaps time and devotion would heal Solstheim, as well.
Lovely sentiments, as well as true ones. Which we have already seen in the man with whom the land is joined.


I would not encounter anything worse there than what I brought with me.
Well said Master Yoda, or is it Master Po? Jokes aside, the entire paragraph this was part of deftly illustrates not only the world-weariness in Athlain, but also how far he has come as a person since the beginning of your tale.