As Acadian so adroitly points out, this is a writer's model for 'show don't tell'. Having done Timmy-in-the-well twice, (too long ago) reading it was a new and fresh experience.

There is something positively Tolkienesque about these paragraphs. When reading them I was transported to the Council of Elrond in Rivendell and the decision to unmake the one ring.

The scenes with Lassnr were especially effective. I continue to be amazed at how much insight one can draw from your fiction that goes beyond the story you are telling.

I was humbled by your compliment being able to write about living, breathing characters (in all fairness, I still feel I can't "compete" with your skills) but I feel I must say Athlain is as much alive to me as Rales and Zerina are.
Just- awesome Trey!

:lol: I agree with this. Beware! Special equipment needed for further reading! In my case with you, Treydog, it's usually tissues... or something to pry my nails out of when the excitement gets a bit too much to bear.

That said, I liked this last little interlude. Very reflective. You have a knack for injecting intimacy into your character interactions that makes them very close and believable.

@ mALX1- I realized having Lassnr "creep up" on Athlain might have that effect. But then I left it as written because that reflected our boy's reaction. I mean, he is standing there, looking at skulls and ghoul hearts (and human flesh- which I left out so Tymvaul would not seem quite so evil)- and then someone speaks from behind him. Eeek!

@hauteecole rider- I have always felt that- 1. there should be a way to get rid of "evil" artifacts, and 2. it should require some effort and involve some danger.

@SubRosa- Athlain is remarkably obtuse when it comes to "he-who-must-not-be-named" (i.e., Trey). Reminds me of a geology class my dad was in. A football player in the back was tipping his desk up on the rear legs and the professor said, "Mr. Smith, if you put your Neolithic skull through my Pre-Cambrian rock section, you will put it back together, one piece at a time."

@Acadian- If my words please you, I know I have achieved my goal. I probably need to mention this in the Writers' Guide thread, but my best scenes always come from "pictures in my head." That is, I can visualize the whole thing, and then I just try to write what I see. And thank you for rounding up my missing "to." Those pesky prepositions just seem to get everywhere- On the roof, under the table, over the fireplace, in the refrigerator?

@bobg- What I said to Acadian certainly applies to you, with your artist's eye. If I can draw a word-picture that pleases the master, I am content.

@Destri Melarg- Yes, that Ring of Power feel is something I find missing from TES- even though there are powerful artifacts in the games. I just think there ought to be more choices that define your character's essential nature- besides "keep it and don't use it; keep it and use it; throw it away and quit worrying about it." And you often manage the same feat- doing far more than telling a story. And I promise I will get caught up on your brilliant work and have something useful to say about it?.

@RemkoNL- One of the things I love about the current incarnation of this section of the forum is that we are not competing, but cooperating. It is by reading- well, the list is too long- that I push myself to be better. Thank you.

@Rumpleteasza- I will gladly send a case of fancy aloe-vera tissues to you if it means you will continue reading my humble offerings. However, I protest that I am NOT the one who ratchets the tension to the breaking point? :bowdown:

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

After my late night conversation with Lassnr, I was able to sleep, untroubled by dreams or doubts for a few hours at least. When morning came, we dined on bread covered with honey, along with strips of meat the Nord hunter identified as horker. The flavor was strong, but not unpleasant, so I ate my fill. While I sipped a mug of cider, Lassnr fiddled with his pipe and gave every sign of having something to say, but not quite knowing how to start. At last, I decided to help him:

"I have partaken of your hospitality, and guested in your home." Then I dropped the formal phrases and said, "You aren't going to offend me; please speak your mind."

He drew on his pipe and then brought his clasped hands down on the table with a gentle thump.

"We always pay our debts," he said abruptly. "Food and a place before the fire are simply the due of any traveler who is friendly. I know you did not save Tymvaul in hope of payment, yet payment is owed. I have some snow-bear pelts that I was saving; Brynjolfr down at Thirsk can make some good armor from them, if you want."

His face flushed with embarrassment and I understood his difficulty. He had just offered me the most valuable thing he possessed- and he was afraid it was not enough. If I refused the offer, it would shame him, make it appear that I thought he was destitute or unwilling to honor a debt. But even if I accepted, he would feel that he hadn't paid enough. I searched for a solution that would keep his honor intact- something he would know to be valuable to me. A casual phrase from the previous night came back to me- Lassnr describing himself as "magical as a lump of mud." There was the answer.

I went to my gear and handed him the bag containing the Mantle of Woe. He looked at me oddly but took it and did as I bid when I asked him to open it and tell me if he felt anything. With a bemused smile, he glanced at the robe and then back at me.

"Perhaps if you explained what you mean by 'anything'? Because anow, all I feel is like a man holding a bag of someone's washing."

"That's good- in fact, it's perfect. That robe is evil, and its malign influence is what caused Tymvaul to? do the things he did. I need you to keep it safe until I can figure out how to be rid of it permanently. Will you do that? It might be dangerous- the robe has a way of drawing people to it."

Lassnr frowned, but with determination rather than concern. "Yes, like those creatures that try to call sailors to their doom. I have just the thing- a box I picked up when I was a young man and went a-roving."

He reached under his bunk and drew out what appeared to be a plain wooden chest, reinforced with iron straps and a lock. I looked at it doubtfully.

"Lassnr- that robe called Tymvaul all the way through 60 or 70 feet of ice and rock. I don't see how a wooden trunk will help."

He drew a key from around his neck and opened the lock, a smile on his face. "You are right. But this is no ordinary sea-chest."

When he raised the lid, I saw that the interior surfaces were all covered with a dull grey metal. But what drew my gaze was the blue crystal that rested on the bottom of the box, radiating a light the color of a clear winter sky. It was the size of a large kwama egg and altogether beautiful.

Lassnr rapped the metal sheeting with a knuckle. "Lead. There were times when we needed to move things that the wizards would have given their eye-teeth to get. The captain, he had these chests made to keep anyone with a nose for magic from discovering our cargo- like that elf-stone."

When I reached out a tentative hand, he nodded good-naturedly, and I touched the shining object. Despite the light it cast, it was cool to the touch and exuded a soothing magic. I reluctantly removed my hand and asked, " 'Elf-stone?' "

Lassnr replied, "That's what we called them. They come from the ruins where the old elves lived- and died- over on the mainland. Needless to say, it isn't exactly legal to buy or sell them without an Imperial contract. But I don't care for the magic, nor for the gold it might bring. The color reminds me of the ice of Skyrim- and of my Ragnild's eyes. They were just that shade of blue, and seemed to shine just that way."

He stopped speaking, and gazed into the depths of the crystal, back to a happier time. Then he shook himself and placed the Mantle of Woe inside the box, closing the lid and cutting off the tranquil glow. It was as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. But I also realized that I could no longer "hear" the dark whispers of the robe.

Experimentally, I raised the lid- the Mantle's influence seeped out and coiled inside my brain. I shut the lid, and the sensation ceased, cut off as if by a knife. I smiled at Lassnr and told him:

"If you can keep that robe locked inside the chest until I can dispose of it, it will be I who owes you a debt- along with every other person who might be influenced by its evil magic."

We shook hands and then I impulsively reached out and hugged the old man.

"Tymvaul will come back to you," I promised. "How could he not?"

Oh, what a wonderful ending! The led lining, had the stone been green, Kryptonite may have popped into my brain, lol. Awesome Write Treydog !!!!!

It sounds like a strange thing to comment on, but I like your descriptions of the food at the beginning; it's very evocative. I remember having a phase when I read lots of historical fiction, stuff from the middle ages, and the descriptions of what they ate took me right into the world. Funny how food does that. So your mention of the bread and honey, and strips of horker meat (like strips of seal in our own Northern countries!) was very realistic and immersive.

I also like how you snuck a bit of Oblivion lore in with the Welkynd stone. Nice tie-in!

Wonderful chapter yet again.

And the solution to hiding the Mantle of Woe? Terrific! Too bad Frodo Baggins didn't have something like that! Could have saved him a ton of grief!

You continue to intrigue me with Athlain's story, and your evocative descriptions of Solstheim. Keep it up!

Very creative. I really get into these creative divergences from the hardline game.

Awww, that was just pure sweetness. I like how you mixed in the descriptions of Lassnr's recollections of his dead wife along with the elf-stone. It gave the entire sequence a depth that the game lacks, because it was tied into people's lives, rather than just being a simple object.

A dilemma with a brilliantly creative solution!

Well, as always, I was 'in' your scene. Fortunately, I needed no protective equipment this time and, as Rumple points out, you fed us well. So, as I sat on Athlain's shoulder drinking cider, close enough to hear his thoughts, I was able to thoroughly enjoy this story.

Let me talk about the wonderful elf stone - at some length, and with random incoherentness:
- Now, my she-elf has no elf stones. It this something that he-elves might possess?
- I was tickled that your description worked in reverse for the stone. I instantly recognized the stone from Cyrodiil or course, but only now do I have an inkling of the size of a Morrowind kwama egg (same size as an elf's stones).
- Lassnr compared the wonderfully unique blue color to the eyes of Ragnild, presumably his late wife. What a beautiful image of Nordic lovliness that conjures!

Now, fear not, I shall scrupulously avoid any anatomical references regarding locked lead boxes. Suffice it to say that your solution to not only the robe, but Athlain's dilemma of debts owed, was magnificent with extra helpings of treydog on top. :icecream:

What is left then, is simply a beautifully rendered and very tightly woven chapter, and I thank you so much for sharing it.


Was there another preposition perhaps declared deserter here?
Lassnr fiddled with his pipe and gave every sign of having something {to?} say, but not quite knowing how to start.

Very nicely done, treydog!! You really bring these characters to life...it's like I, as the reader, am there in the cabin, starting when I hear someone talking behind me, etc.

As always, a pleasure to read. Excellent job!!!

As I have said before, Athlain is as real to me as any great character. New chapters of his adventures are like visits from an old friend to whom you don't owe money! I fall all the way into each chapter, and when I emerge I am infused with inspiration and admiration. Great as always, trey.


To me this is a terrific representation of Giri, the Japanese 'burden of obligation'.

Slow, mellow, and gold. I love this pace ... and alternating with MalX. What a cocktail of a reading combination!!!

Endearing!
This stood out imo:
When I finished reading that paragraph I could only mutter "Wow"!

I feel a pain
from missing Athlain
And though I'm not gay
I miss Athynae
Unless you want to see more of these prose
You'll add a chapter before everyone throws
up.

* Anon E. Mouse

Where are the snows of yesteryear?
Where is the prose that was once so clear?
Where is our reluctant hero, who came near to being a zero...

Where is the Lady whose grace and wit
And sword speed that is lickity-quick
Once fired our imaginations, and teased our ruminations..

WHERE, indeed, is the third dog of three
Trey, who delighted both you and me?
It seems he has the block...O dear, we hope, we hope not...

SOMEWHERE there's got to be more!!!
SOMEWHERE someone knows the score!!
TREY you are warned...those who read, yearn
to read and know what else there's in store
And if in spite of this you STILL write no more -
THEN WE SHALL COME TO YOUR HOUSE AND SLEEP ON THE FLOOR!!!



(And don't think we won't do it. There are at least two of us crazy enough to!!!)

The hunting dog scented along the ground as he ran. The trail was a long one. It started with the afternoon sun beginning to settle across the horizon. Now the early morning fog mingled with the steam that rose in a mist off his heaving flanks. A tiny grey squirrel clung to his dampened neck, her nails clutching tightly into his undercoat; her eyes masked by a blackened band of ragged cloth.

Sighting his prey, the hunting dog arched his head to the air, still on the full run. A low sound rumbled deep in his stomach and rose up through his gaping mouth. The baying heralded his arrival like a trumpet may herald the arrival of a king.

As he neared the object of his search he slowed. He was not the first to arrive. On the doorstep was a large wolf, his thick fur the color of a virgin snow. Beside him stood a slender fox, whose shiny black coat could easily cause him to be mistaken for a mink. His eyes were cunning though. He had been the first to arrive.

The black fox eyed the newcomer for an extended moment before slowly dipping his eyelids for a sliver of a second; allowing the newcomer to approach.

The three set up a baying at the doorway of their prey. The ghostly howl of the winter wolf floated in the air as if part of the wind itself. The dogs deep bays nearly drowned out the soft yips of the black fox; almost, but not quite. The high-pitched pvssyr of the squirrel bombarded the little dachshound's ears like the keening of a banshee; even through the thick walls of the structure surrounding him.

Inside the safety of the barricade created by the walls and stout doors of his home, the long haired dachshound climbed over the back of the couch and peered down to the trio on his doorstep, then fell on the offending squirrel clinging to the back of the large hunting dog; all now illuminated by the early morning light.

With a sigh, he turned his head away from the sight, staring across the room as if seeing beyond the interior walls. A soft rustle caused him to look up in time to catch the motion of his wife gliding into the doorway, her long red hair gleaming in the morning light that was just beginning to filter in through the windows.

"Not again?" Her eyes showed sympathy for the little dachshound, but her mouth formed the words, "You know what you have to do."

Drooping eyes scanned across the room and fell on the metal box of the computer, the keyboard had a light film gathering from lack of use. With another sigh, the little dog climbed into the chair, pushing his paws down on the button that would set the computer whirring. His paws hovered over the keyboard, and then suddenly an inspiration hit.

"Yes! Yes!" He barked excitedly. His paws flew over the keyboard in a flurry of activity.

Hearing the tapping sounds emerging from withing the structure, the black fox, the winter wolf, and the hunting dog turned and silently slid into the mountains around them like ghosts evaporating into the forests of pine; each returning to their respective dens to await the food that would sustain them.

"Aaahhhh" They all sighed contentedly when the words came across the screen, "Blood on the Moon - Part 2, Last post by: treydog.

http://i434.photobucket.com/albums/qq67/Maxical1/Catahoula/strike1.jpg?t=1268071075

http://i434.photobucket.com/albums/qq67/Maxical1/Catahoula/strike3.jpg?t=1268071235

http://i434.photobucket.com/albums/qq67/Maxical1/Catahoula/treestrike.jpg?t=1268071370

http://i434.photobucket.com/albums/qq67/Maxical1/mindcontrol4.jpg?t=1268072132

http://i204.photobucket.com/albums/bb226/celestialgaurdianfox/fox-1.jpg

http://i282.photobucket.com/albums/kk259/DevisRain/white-wolf-big.jpg


*

Let us now raise a THUNDEROUS shout
To the red haired minx we all talk about

She, who tells me always that I ROCK
She, whose prose - and praise - is hotter that HOT

Now that she has written plea in prose
of story that delighted me, I say, THOSE

words should do the trick! Unless Trey is 3Dogg
Lost in the mists of Andy's epic story war-fog

YOU SHALL RETURN AND CONTINUE THE STORY
OR WE SHALL HOWL AND MAKE YOU DANG SORRY!!!

Author's note: This is a short post, and I could plead a variety of excuses (some involving chainsaws).... But you, my faithful readers, do not come here for excuses, so enough- let's get on with the story.

The warm feeling from my parting with Lassnr disappeared as soon as I stepped out into the biting wind and swirling snow. Hunching my shoulders against the cold, I trudged to the shaman's hut and knocked. Korst swung open the door and waved me inside with his free hand- the other held a book, a finger marking his place. Once we were seated before the fire, I told him of my experiences, first noting that Ingmar had not required my assistance. The shaman nodded thoughtfully and replied:

"True. But on the other hand, you did quite a lot for Lassnr- and for Tymvaul. Better still, you found a way to limit the malign influence of the Mantle of Woe. And that task was almost left too long."

My surprise at the angry tone of the final sentence caused me to start, prepared to defend myself, but Korst raised a hand to forestall me and shook his head.

"You see, I knew there was something in Rimhull, and I had some idea of what it was." He indicated his library with a gesture. "However, until it- possessed- Tymvaul, I believed it was safe where it lay."

He paused and stared into the hearth for a time and then went on, "And I did not wish to test my own will in close proximity to such a powerful artifact."

With a keen look at my face, he asked, "How much do you know about shamans- or about Ashlander wise-women?"

I wondered at the seeming change of subject, but nevertheless answered the question as well as I could:

"They maintain the lore and act as the healers for their people. They remember the prophecies and interpret their meanings. There is more, but those are their primary responsibilities."

Korst nodded and said, "You are correct. But we are also? 'gate-keepers' is perhaps the best term. We assist with birth- seeing new life into this world. And we ease the dying- seeing our people into the next world when it is their time. So, frequently, we are in contact with the places where the barrier between is thin- where life and death, sanity and madness- are poised on a razor edge." He smiled and added drily, "As you might imagine, that can be a rather dangerous place to stand."

I was still not quite certain where this conversation was going, but it was beginning to sound suspiciously like one of Father's lectures on "The Dangers of Power." I struggled to keep my mind from wandering and to maintain an attentive expression. As if sensing my impending boredom, Korst stood suddenly and pushed back the sleeves of his robe. His arms were corded with muscle- and deeply marked by livid scars- some old, some new. He had never gotten those sitting by the fire reading books of poetry.

"Sometimes, Athlain, the dead do not wish to stay dead. And sometimes magic is used with ill intent to bring back those who should have been left in peace. I have felt the claws of the draugr more than once. And I have seen worse evils."

With a sigh he covered the scars and sat once more.

"Healing is closely akin to necromancy. The use of magicka opens? pathways in the one who wields it. And an artifact like the Mantle of Woe can make use of those pathways for its own purposes, can twist the magicka. The deeper the pathways, the stronger the influence. I admit that I sent you to do that which I dared not. I make no excuses- all I will say in my defense is that it was necessary to protect my people. And, as it turned out, I was right. You succeeded far beyond even my expectations, for which you have my thanks."

He made a brushing gesture, as if clearing away unpleasant things, and said,

"But now to current matters. Tharsten Heart-Fang has tasked you with completing the Skaal Test of Loyalty and so you should. However, if I might presume to advise you??"

He lifted a questioning brow and waited until I said, "Please, go on."

"The quest Tharsten has set before you is an arduous one, and will carry you over most of the island." He reached to a shelf and removed a rolled piece of hide. "This is a map showing the locations of the standing stones that are key to the ritual. But before you begin, it might be well for you to see to any unfinished business. For example, you might want to return to the fort and let them know that the "barbarous Nords" had nothing to do with the disappearance of your Captain- and that neither did they kill nor eat you."

He surveyed me with a piercing look and added, "And you should perhaps conclude any other dealings you may have at the fort- or the new mining colony."

I started in my seat- what could he know of Carnius Magius- or of my skooma problem?

And then I recalled something else about wise-women- and shamans. They were seekers of truth and keepers of secrets.

Thanks for the new doggie treat! :twirl:

A wonderful transition between adventures. I really liked that you described the map as being on a rolled piece of hide - that makes so much more sense than parchment.

I also liked your link between healing and necromancy. Very thought-provoking.

Ooh, I hope Athlain's unfinished business includes learning more of Athynae.

Thanks for the newest post! This is a wonderful interlude, and as Acadian said, a well-crafted transition.

It leaves me wanting more, as it should.

I loved how the shaman explained how having so much innate magicka can make one more vulnerable to items such as the Mantle of Woe. Well done!

This very patient kitty will wait in the branches outside your window for the next one.

Awesome Treydog! I agree with Hauty, the Shaman - Whew! What a scene you wove with that! Thank You for answering the call of the Hunting Dog, Black Fox, and Winter Wolf !!!

Do not worry about it being short. The new forum format makes everything look much longer than it really is (hmmm, I guess it must have been designed by men... )

A good interlude between pieces. The explanation of how the greater one's use of magic makes that person more susceptible to it rang true. You gave a good reason for Korst to avoid going after the Mantle of Woe himself. He also demonstrated his common sense in prompting Athlain to go back to the fort to tell the other Impies that they are not the villains.

Korst spoke of standing on a razor's edge between states such as life and death. I am not sure how much you know about real world Core-Shamanism. IRL, shamans (like all magicians) are people who walk between worlds. They stand with one foot in the physical world and the other in the spirit world, and step between the two with ease. Being a magician is all about being able to freely transition from one state to another. Between physical and spirit, conscious and unconscious, etc... That is also why witches typically lived on the edges of settlements. They were part of it, but also removed from it. Villages and towns were typically bordered by a protective hedge. This is the origin of several ancient names for a witch: the Anglo-Saxon haeg, Old High German zunrita, and Old Norse tunrida, all of which mean "hedge-rider".

How quickly the author can bring me back up to speed after an extended break is the true test of how well-written a story told in installments is. For this latest post it took you all of eight words. By the time I read the word ‘Lassnr’ I was fully re-immersed in Athlain’s world as if I had never left it.

Despite its brevity, there was still so much to like about this chapter. The discussion of the pitfalls of high magicka and the parallels between restoration and necromancy (something that I had never considered, yet once pointed out makes sense in a way that steers palm to face) :facepalm: were interesting enough to warrant more discussion in future installments (I hope, I hope).

I look forward to seeing what happens when Athlain returns to the fort and continues his search for the Captain. I await the gleefully relished comeuppance of Carnius Magius, and the continuation of Athlain’s search for the flying machine. And, like Acadian, I eagerly await news of our beloved Athynae.