And MalX1 and me thought we knew how to write humour....!!!!

And just to make a wild guess...


Methinks the jab of the elbow and the "I'll get you" look on Athynae's face come from personal experience....

Nicely done. All with a very light touch. Especially the conversation with Svenja at the end. The dialogue all flowed very well.

I cannot explain exactly why, but when I read your work I always visually picture it in my head as anime. Perhaps it is the strong female character, or the light humor in the relationship between her and Athlain.

Thanks, everyone. I enjoy getting a chance to show a lighter side of the characters every now and then- and to show Athynae at a (temporary) disadvantage.... I really want them to be 3-dimensional- and I want to remember that, despite all that is happening to and around them, they are still kids....

mALX1- Thank you for reading and for writing.

Acadian- You are causing me to blush now.

D. Foxy- As to personal experience of elbow jabs- not telling.

SubRosa- Your last comment leads to an interesting point- when the writing is really working (for me, at least) what I see is not words, but pictures in my head. I always trust those pictures, because they generally lead to the best moments in the story.

I cannot begin to tell all of you who read how much it means to me that you find my work enjoyable- no one could ask for a better audience.

It gets better and better...... it's a long step from "the story of Trey" This is a lot better imo. Thank you!

and as a side-note, you don't look like I expected. AT ALL.

Cause peeps already know this person is going to go far!!! ^o^ this work is what will get her money someday!!! this TALENT i mean

amazing writing: i normally have to pay for stuff this good

Treydog, I loved the humour in this chapter! One of the things I like so much about your writing is that you surprise us with so many different sides to it - you have a beautifully descriptive passage and then BAM, you slot in a concise piece of dialogue that hits hard and home perfectly, no extra fuss. You just seem to be spot on with every aspect. It's wonderful to read.

I adore snippy banter dialogue between characters so this chapter really hit the spot for me. You continue to slip us into your protagonist's shoes with the utmost of ease. I love it when you can lose yourself reading something, and I definitely feel lost in this.

The steam bath was every bit as pleasant as promised; even more so was the opportunity to comb out and trim my unkempt hair. Despite what Athynae had seemed to assume, I was quite familiar with the traditional Nord sauna, even if I did forgo the dubious pleasures of afterwards whacking myself with tree branches or diving naked into a snow drift. Trying to fit in to the community was all well and good, but I saw no reason to overdo it. My happiness was cut short when I examined the clothing that had been left for me. The lack of an opening at the front of the trousers, not to mention the cut of the shirt, indicated that they were cast-offs from a woman- and a well-endowed one, at that. Still worse, I had to roll up the cuffs of the trousers and the sleeves of the shirt to keep them from flapping outrageously at every step. Thus, despite the satisfaction of being clean, I was not in a particularly friendly frame of mind when I at last made entrance to Thirsk, the mead hall of which Athynae had spoken so happily.

The interior was smoky and loud. There were some dozen or more Nords eating, drinking, and dicing; as well as singing, laughing, and arguing- all at the top of their lungs. The building consisted of a single open room on the ground level, with rough steps leading to a gallery and additional rooms above. The packed earth floor was dominated by a central fire pit, and animal hides did service as rugs- or, in some cases, sleeping mats. I squinted against the smoke, but could not see Athynae amidst all the chaotic activity. Someone had seen me, however, for Svenja emerged from the gloom and greeted me. It might have been my imagination, but I thought a hint of a smile touched her usually impassive face as she took in my attire. If so, she kept it from her voice as she said,

"You should speak to Skjoldr Wolf-Runner, Chieftain of Thirsk. Also, know that you are welcome here, but be careful of Erich the Unworthy if he returns from hunting. He is my clan-brother and a good hunter, but he is not a good person. And he doesn't like outsiders."

She then gestured for me to follow and threaded her way toward the other end of the hall, where a man surveyed the raucous activities from a wooden throne. When we were close enough, I could see that he was a Nord of 30 or so, with a handsome face and a pleasant demeanor. He was a large man, but then, everyone in the room was large, or at least larger than I- including most of the women. He gave me a smile and rose smoothly from his seat. Taking my forearm in a traditional warrior's clasp, he boomed:

"Be welcome in this place. I am Skjoldr Wolf-Runner and I offer you guest-right. Enjoy our hospitality- take shelter from the cold and taste the nectar of Shor."

He then produced a large earthenware flagon and presented it to me ceremoniously. I raised it high and took a quick gulp. The beverage was sweet and golden, but even a small swallow made me a bit dizzy- I had never had much of a head for strong drink, and it had been some time since I had taken any. Fortunately, courtesy was satisfied with a single draft, and I was wise enough to restrict myself to that. Meanwhile, if I was to enjoy guest-right, I must give a name, which I did without thinking-

"I thank you for your hospitality. Athlain Treyson, at your service."

I only just managed to avoid adding "of the Imperial Legion," but a knowing look still came to Skjoldr's eyes and he grinned.

"'Athlain,' is it? I had some thought that you might be a different wandering Imperial warrior- one who had speech with Sigvatr the Strong and secured wergild for young Kolfinna?. The name escapes me at the moment, but I am certain it was something other than 'Athlain Treyson'."

He watched me carefully for a few moments and then shrugged. "No matter. Whatever you may be called, you are welcome here, especially when you bring with you such good company as that."

He pointed to Athynae, who had just come down the stairs, and was making her way to where I stood.

Her progress was slow; it seemed that everyone in the hall wanted at least a few words with her. I bore the delay with good humor, at least until a Nord youth of about 17 came up and presented her with an intricately decorated belt, which he proceeded to fasten around her waist. I could not hear their words, but I recognized the emotion behind the rather stunned smile on the youth's face. I set aside my drink and walked over.

"Friend of yours, dear?" I asked Athynae with deceptive calm. "Why don't you introduce us, since I am after all your?'betrothed'?"

Athynae said, "Oh, Athlain- this is Ingmar. I met him while I was? looking for you."

The Nord clasped my hand and then, with one last adoring look at Athynae, disappeared into the murk of the hall.

"He's a sweet boy," Athynae told me. "I helped him out a bit with a small problem."

She touched the belt gently and added, "And so he just had to give me a gift in return. It's a Nord tradition, you know."

I grunted a response that might have signified anything, including what I thought about strange men putting their hands on her. And as to him being a "sweet boy," he was taller than I was and broader across the shoulders, as well.

The combination of mead, smoke, and the bath all worked together to bring a great wave of exhaustion over me. I had no desire to drink or mingle with this crowd of boisterous strangers- I just wanted to go upstairs and sleep. Beyond that, I also felt the stirring of a familiar craving, like an itch at the back of my brain. All of which may explain, but not excuse, what happened next. Athynae walked up the stairs with me, and I waited until we had reached the gallery to speak my mind:

"And is this your idea of an appropriate situation?"

Her face showed puzzlement. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it is no sort of place for you. It is no better than a low tavern filled with drunken, brawling, animal-hide-wearing?."

That was as far as I got before she poked me in the chest with a stiff finger.

"These people took me in and gave me food and shelter. They made no judgments and asked no questions. They are my friends. And as to their clothing?."

She raised her own arm to better display her wolf-fur armor: "If you haven't noticed, Serjo Oh-So-Superior Imperial Soldier, I am wearing animal hides, too. I don't know what has made you so grumpy, and I don't care! I'm going to my room. You can go soak your head!"

She whirled and stomped down the hall.

"Fine!" I yelled to her retreating back.

"Fine!" she shouted back as she slammed the door hard enough to cause a momentary lull in the din coming from downstairs. Then, with a wave of laughter, it resumed.

There was no way I was going to go back into the mead hall proper, where I would no doubt be subjected to all manner of ribald jokes at my expense. Therefore, I started toward the room that had been set aside for my use. Before I could reach it, a voice called from behind a closed door at the end of the hall:

"Please! Is someone there?"

"Wonderful," I muttered to myself, "who would have thought a mead-hall patron would be disturbed by one more shouting match?"

Aloud, I called back: "Sorry. We'll keep it down. As a matter of fact, I was just leaving."

The unknown voice answered: "No, please wait. You sound like an Imperial. Are you?"

When I acknowledged my Cyrodiilic heritage, the woman cried, "Thank Mara! I've been imprisoned for weeks- first in a cave and now here. Please get me out."

"Certainly. But- with whom am I speaking?"

"I am a missionary from Fort Frostmoth. I wanted to bring the message of the Imperial Cult to these stinking barbarians. My name is Mirisa."

Treydog - your "tongue in cheek" humor keeps me rolling! Great addition, don't make us wait so long next time or we will spam your thread like we do Foxy, lol. - Awesome!

Treydog, Thanks for making my morning with another installment! :read:

Incredible descriptions and language.... The word I'm looking for is immersion. As soon as Athlain enters the mead hall, you bring us all with him. The sights, sounds and smells brought the place alive. The Nord period language used by Skjoldr Wolf-Runner and Athlain's appropriate responses add even more to the feeling of being there.

I see what you mean about envisioning a scene, then trying to paint it with words. Such a wonderful example, but considering both the teaching and writing talent of the author, no surprise.

The spark-filled banter between Athlain and Athynae is cleverly real and entertaining as always.

Thanks for the trip. I must go air out the smell of smoke and ale that permeates my furs. :wave:

Well done. Your portrayal of Nordic culture was excellent, as it really pulls the reader in the story. The hand clasp, the traditional greeting, even down to using terms such as "wergild". The only thing which I think you could add would be a description of the http://images.google.com/images?hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-US%3a%6ffficial&hs=RXY&q=viking+carvings&um=1&ie=UTF-8&ei=7-T1SqrfDpGBnQfOouW8Ag&sa=X&oi=image_result_group&ct=title&resnum=1&ved=0CBQQsAQwAA so commonly found in Scandinavia, especially of dragons and intricate, interlocking patterns. Likewise of the wearing jewelry, as the display of that sort of wealth was common way for warriors to convey their status.

Looks to me like Athlain is going to have to do some killing though, with that sweet young boy sniffing around his woman.

I did love the "Fine!" and "Fine!" too, that was so well delivered. You must be married. Or at least in a long-term relationship.

God bless country girls. Your writing captures them to perfection. Despite the exotic setting, I hear a gentle southern breeze rustling through the adjectives and adverbs; ruffling the leaves and the strands of auburn hair.

I am only just now catching up but it is a delightful exercise.

Dear MalX1, if you really needed to know how a man thinks, read previous post by Treydog - then you will see how sometimes testosterone induced hardwiring (nod towards SubRosa)creates some oh-so-familiar cliche responses from the most intellectual of men in standard situations. Like the 'he's-making-a-play-for-my-woman' situation above.

But I said 'IF' you really needed to know. It is my experience that nearly all women know quite a lot about men, which is also hardwired into women's DNA. And as you are a mother of a manchild, I am sure you have enough experience of both erotic and maternal love to draw on - looking at the male of the species from two sets of eyes, as it were.

Trey, you've set quite a high horse for your hero to climb down off! It will be interesting to see how he does climb down...

First- a heartfelt welcome to all you new posters to my thread. Many thanks for your supportive and kind comments. I hope I can continue to entertain you.

@ Ms Rumple- Praise from you is high praise, indeed. Dialogue has always been one of my weak areas- and it is absolutely essential for a character-driven story, especially one written in 1st person. I finally figured out that I need to let my characters talk like people who live in the world, rather than like people who live in books. (With occasional exceptions- see below).

@mALX1- As ever, I am pleased beyond words at your ongoing interest in this story. As I said to someone about why I don't join an RP, I tend to write at a glacial pace. The last month or so has been remarkably productive (for me) after a long period of being stuck. I have 2 or 3 more installments ?almost- ready?. If I slow down too much, I can point you to my previous novels, which are finished?. They are not as good- I have polished my craft quite a bit since I began this obsession- but they do stand up well enough.

@Acadian and SubRosa- Again, my deepest appreciation. Another area I wrestle with is trying to find that balance between enough description versus too much. I want my reader to be able to envision the scene sufficiently that it is not occurring "in a vacuum," but I also want to avoid going on a German/Russian 12 page digression describing the sunrise, during which time the plot is not moved forward an inch. (Now there's a sentence that would have made Faulkner proud.) And yes- I did once read a German novel- a detective novel, at that, in which the author "stopped" in the middle to describe the sunrise, the weather, and the topography. If I had not been reading it in German I could perhaps have skipped ahead? Anyway, I probably tend to err on the side of describing too little?. And to speak to the point about language, as I promised above- with the Nords/Skaal, I wanted to show the formality of the moment as well as the "otherness" of the culture. So the dialogue is a bit more "19th century novel-speak" than usual. I will also, in an upcoming installment, be committing the sin of dialect. Oh, and as to the "Fine" moment- there were times in my misspent youth that such was the sum total of "conversations" between my foolish self and certain persons of the female variety. Twenty-plus years of marriage has taught me that the correct response to anything is: A- "Yes, dear," or B- to shut up.

@bobg- You have a finely-tuned ear. My experience of women has been almost entirely of the Southern variety; no doubt that permeates my poor understanding of those elusive and wonderful creatures.

@D. Foxy- The interesting thing is, I had already sketched that little scene of jealousy (AKA typical male behavior) BEFORE mALX1 provided her spot-on description of how E. Tennessee males react. I must be a product of my environment?. Fortunately for our hapless hero, he will have help getting past this misstep.

Good gracious, and to think I used to avoid "spamming my own thread." Have to admit, this sort of discussion is much more pleasant- and I get some excellent inspiration from the conversation.

Oh and one other OT bit of business- here is a link to amuse entertain you. This is a picture of the "Lost Allman Brother"- you know, Duane, Greg and http://img139.imageshack.us/img139/1571/treydogallman3ae.jpg. Despite appearances, my eyes are actually a very nice Nordic/Celtic blue.

Hey, where is the JD Ballcap?

Mirisa. The name was known to me- from somewhere?. And then I remembered- Jeleen had asked me to look for a missionary by that name when I started investigating the moon-sugar poisoning. It had been obvious even to me that his concern went beyond that of a priest for one of his subordinates. In fact, "Uncle Sweetshare" had mentioned that Jeleen was sad because his "true love had disappeared." As I considered those memories, I also determined that the door was held shut with a stout lock. A spell took care of that problem, but I was not sure what might await me inside, so I readied my mace before entering the room. What I found was a shock. I discovered a Redguard woman who had been badly treated, apparently for some time. Her hair and clothing were even more disarrayed than mine had been when I arrived at Thirsk, and a fading bruise marked one eye. Her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes indicated a lack of nourishment, as well. When she saw me, she clutched my arm with a strength borne of desperation and pleaded,

"Thank the Nine! You have to get me out of here! I think Erich will probably kill me, once he gets tired of his games."

The appearance of a friendly face seemed to trigger a flood of words, and she continued to speak, almost hysterically:

"I came here to tell the local savages about the Imperial Cult?. But when I saw how much they drank, I decided that a message about the perils of alcohol was in order. I should have known better. These heathen animals are hardly better than the Dark Elves. Why, they even revere the bones of their ancestors- just like those superstitious Dunmer. Most of them just laughed at me and went back to their carousing, but one- Erich the Unworthy he's called- dragged me outside. I thought he was just trying to get rid of me, to send me back, but he took me to a cave, where he kept me for weeks. Whenever I asked for food or water, he would dump a mug of that awful mead over my head. He brought me here this morning because he had run out of supplies and wanted to go hunting."

When she stopped speaking, I asked what seemed to me an obvious question:

"Why didn't you just cast an Intervention spell and get back to the Fort that way? You are an acolyte of the Cult after all."

She raised a hand to her jaw, as if feeling an old injury, and explained, "I started to, but he hit me before I could complete the spell. He said something
about 'knowing how to deal with witches' and then put this on me."

She held up her arm to display what appeared to be a bracelet- a bracelet that gave off a telltale glow of malevolent magicka. But I knew it was not jewelry- it was a slave bracer, used to prevent the wearer from casting spells. Father and I had our disagreements about many things- but slavery was not one of them. Nor was the proper treatment of women. I could feel rage building inside me, but I banked the fires of my anger for the moment; I would need it later, but now was not the time. I considered my options briefly and then stepped across the hall to tap on Athynae's door. When she did not respond, I knocked louder and called:

"'Thyna?"

A muffled voice replied, "Go away."

I answered, "I need your help right now. You can be as mad at me as you want later."

And then I added the words no Redoran could ignore: "It's a matter of honor."

Athynae opened the door, and even though her eyes showed signs that she had been crying, she had also picked up her bow and strapped on her sword. She looked at me without favor and asked, "What?" in a low voice.

I waved her across the hall, and she stifled a gasp as she saw Mirisa's condition. I explained the situation before Mirisa could begin another extended diatribe, especially one involving the relative barbarism of Nords and Dunmer. Athynae, as always, favored direct action:

"You're right. This is a matter of honor. As soon as Erich gets back, I'll deal with him. He'll be lucky if I just let him off with a beating."

I interrupted Athynae's progressively more vivid descriptions of what she planned to do to the absent hunter and said,

"That is certainly one plan, but I actually had a different idea in mind. First, do you know a way to open a slave bracer without the key?"

Serene, I knew, despised slavery as much as Father; if anyone could devise a method of removing the symbol of that hated practice, it was she. Athynae looked at the bracer for a moment and said,

"We could try to pick the lock or open it with magic, but I think there's an easier way."

She took Mirisa's hand, frowning a bit as the Redguard flinched from her touch. Displaying her usual exasperation with a reluctant patient, she muttered:

"Oh, hold still. I'm not going to cut off your hand or anything."

Athynae pulled a bottle from her pouch and asked me to open it. When I did so, the scent of bittergreen drifted into the room. She took the bottle back and poured some of the oily contents on Mirisa's wrist and hand. Then she squeezed the captive's thumb and fingers into a small bundle and started working the bracer back and forth. In a few moments, it slipped right off. She dropped it with a disgusted grimace and stated:

"Erich's apparently as stupid as he is mean. He's starved her to the point where the bracer doesn't fit, and he never thought to adjust it."

Then she looked at me and added: "Now that that's done, do I get to kill him?"

For answer, I shook my head and gave each of the women a Divine Intervention scroll. Then I took my paired Mark and Recall amulets from a pocket and handed them to Athynae.

"First, use the Mark amulet to set a teleport locus here. Then, you two use the scrolls to reach the Imperial Cult shrine at Fort Frostmoth. Once you have made sure Mirisa has someone to care for her, Recall back here. I will wait for you."

Of course, Athynae argued- it was simply her nature to do so.

"But don't you need the amulets? Why don't you go back to the fort while I wait for Erich? What about??"

I placed my finger tips gently against her lips and smiled at her.

"Enough. I need you to do this. You are going to bring the amulets back. If I go to the fort without my uniform, it will lead to questions I don't want to answer right now. And besides, Captain Carius or one of the other officers might give me new orders, and then I wouldn't be able to come back to you. Now go- and be careful."

I did not add that I thought it would be educational for Mirisa to be rescued by a "superstitious Dunmer." I also did not mention that I had my own plans for the aptly-named Erich the Unworthy. With a last searching look, Athynae nodded her head, activated the Amulet of Mark, and then gave a signal to Mirisa. Voices blending, they read the scrolls and vanished. Air rushed into the void where they had stood, but nothing came to fill the emptiness I felt inside.

Here Ends Chapter 8

That is up on one of my favorite chapters! - Awesome Treydog!

I like! This is the best of the posts I have read so far.

Athlain really shines here, and I think that is one of the things that makes it so good. Here we see a man worth crying over.

Another delightful doggie treat! This is so fun to read.

I agree with SubRosa about Athlain - nice to see him at his best.

Nice touch, how gently you dropped that Athynae had been crying.

I continue to marvel at your writing. This time I was struck by how much the dialogue drove the story.

Thanks for gracing us with another wonderful read!

Hmmm....


"You're right. This is a matter of honor. As soon as Erich gets back, I'll deal with him. He'll be lucky if I just let him off with a beating."

I interrupted Athynae's progressively more vivid descriptions of what she planned to do to the absent hunter and said...

...Then she looked at me and added: "Now that that's done, do I get to kill him?"

So typically Redhead behaviour...suspect that comes of long exposure to them- like, say- oh, I don't know- 21 years or so?

As ever, I am delighted and humbled by your comments.... Although Athlain's "rescue" from his jealousy/ego/basically-being-male-and-breathing idiocy is a bit Deus ex Machina, it is an actual side-quest that takes place at Thirsk. And despite his occasional stuffiness, he is a good boy.

Athynae in this last bit was somewhat channeling the lovely and trigger-happy Fiona from Burn Notice, as played by the lovely Gabrielle Anwar. And yes, I have noticed a correlation between red hair and a tendency toward... more- shall we say- physical concepts of problem-solving. :angel:

I take this personally! ROFL !! I tried hard not to spam your thread after seeing Foxy's comment, but the temptation was too great now, lol.

Since I have amused frightened afflicted shown you pictures of the writer, it seems only fair to include a couple of pics of his creation.

http://img193.imageshack.us/img193/9885/athlainthirsk1.jpg

http://img193.imageshack.us/img193/7476/athlainthirsk2.jpg

Only mod is Better Bodies, which gives a nicer selection of faces, esp. for Imperials.

I do not have any of Athynae, as she is- 1.) Someone else's character, and 2.) A rather "custom" race, which I am not sure could be done without serious searching for mods and probably tweaking the Construction Set.

As to the armor, it is not Dark Brotherhood armor, but the wolf armor that comes with the Bloodmoon expansion. The shield is a Nordic Mail shield. How he acquired these items will be revealed if I ever get my act together enough to post more story. :turtle:

Thanks for the screenies treydog! They look great.

Hey, we'll wait as long as it takes for more doggie treats (story), but sooner is nice.

Yeah, pics!