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Posted by: treydog Sep 22 2005, 02:42 PM

Chapter 2

So far, my sojourn in Mournhold had resulted in a beating from a Wood Elf, nearly being eaten by goblins (and their pets), and the acquisition and subsequent loss of 1000 drakes. And I was no closer to finding the Dark Brotherhood or the reason they had been hired to kill me. The prices at the Winged Guar (and the payment I had received for one day’s work) showed me that Mournhold was an expensive place. If I was going to continue this search, particularly if I didn’t begin to see some results, I was going to have to come up with some cash. That problem I could solve, at least temporarily. Although the sight of all the ornate buildings and richly dressed citizens made my palms itch, I restrained my larcenous impulses. It is unwise in the extreme to ply the burglar’s trade in an unknown city- the risks usually outweigh the rewards. Although Helseth’s palace guards seemed to be restricted to the royal quarter, the same could not be said of the High Ordinators, silver armored busybodies who seemed to be everywhere, doing what Ordinators did best, issuing threats and watching everything too closely to allow an honest thief a sporting chance. But if a little creative redistribution of wealth was out of the question, I still knew where a few weapons and shields could be picked up. More important, I knew that the former owners wouldn’t make any objections. Despite their dietary habits, or perhaps because of them, goblins tended to make high-quality arms and armor. And given the fact that the only way for a non-goblin to obtain such was to kill goblins, those bits of merchandise should be fairly rare in Mournhold.

The Craftsmen’s Hall had been pointed out to me as the best place to purchase quality armor, so I gathered up a couple of goblin shields and a club and made my way there. The first fellow I encountered was an arrogant Imperial (is there any other kind?) who made a great show of being terribly busy and put-upon. It was obvious that the fellow was just waiting for an audience upon whom to unburden himself. A peculiar, some might even say perverse, aspect of my nature is that I tend to ignore overly dramatic, self-absorbed fools who attempt to draw attention to themselves. Beyond his theatrical manner, one look at this fellow’s smooth hands and spindly arms told me that he was not the smith. Therefore, I pressed on, following the smell of heated metal and the sound of hammers ringing on anvils. When I spotted a muscular Dunmer and a sweating Orc assistant, I knew I had found Bols Indalen, master armorer. The smith laid aside the tower shield he had been bringing to a mirror finish and asked if I had come for a set of custom armor. He further explained that he could work with glass, ebony, or his specialty, adamantium. Besides being measured for the armor, the customer was expected to provide the raw materials and a substantial payment. While I found it quite interesting that Master Indalen would speak so casually about trading in restricted materials, I knew I did not have the money to pay for such fine armor. Therefore, I raised a hand and explained,

“Actually, I am selling rather than buying.”

His red Dunmeri eyes widened slightly when I revealed the items I had to offer. He clearly recognized their goblin origin, but he did not speak of it as he carefully examined each piece. Finally, he gave a satisfied grunt and said,

“I don’t know how you came by these, and I don’t want to. However, if you are hunting goblins, you really should consider purchasing some of my custom armor. In any event, I will give you 2000 septims for the lot. And if you ‘find’ any more, please give me the first chance at it.”

That was a reasonable price, so I accepted without any haggling. Now that my visit to Mournhold seemed profitable again, I tried to think of a way that I could convert some coins into information. Master Indalen did not seem a likely source regarding the Dark Brotherhood, but he did reveal that adamantium ore could be found beneath the city. For obvious reasons no one was willing to say exactly where the deposits were located, but lost workings were known to be somewhere in or under Old Mournhold. If it came down to it, I might consider mining as a way to make money to finance my search, but I had no real desire to go grubbing about underground if I could help it. I wasn’t averse to manual labor, particularly not when it paid so well, but dangerous creatures and even more dangerous people had a tendency to lurk in dark places deep under the earth. With that thought, a feeble spark of an idea reached the dry tinder of imagination, and an idea burst into flame. With a distracted “thank you,” I turned away from Master Indalen and nurtured that thought. The Dark Brotherhood was a band of killers, not respectable businessmen. They didn’t have “two-for-one specials” or hang out signs advertising their headquarters. And given the nature of their “work,” they weren’t going to be found in the better part of town. No, they would be hidden somewhere away from prying eyes, somewhere hard to reach, somewhere that “decent” folk did not go; a place like the sewers and the ruins of Old Mournhold.

Posted by: Zelda_Zealot Sep 22 2005, 03:01 PM

YES!! First reply! Ha ha! Ahem, back to buisness. Great stuff, I really liked how you did the whole thing with the armorer, makes it feel like they are more then NPCs. And the mining comment brought something to mind, where IS the Adamantium ore in Old Mournhold? I only ever found one... well good luck to Trey if he decides to get into that line of work.

Posted by: mplantinga Sep 22 2005, 06:41 PM

Great start to the second chapter. I enjoyed listening in on Trey's mental dialogue as he searched for the actual smith. Trey's careful thinking has always been one of the best parts of his character (IMO).

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Sep 22 2005, 09:46 PM

nice conversation and other descriptive stuff

(I know what i'm thinking but can't acctually say it... or something)

Posted by: treydog Sep 24 2005, 04:14 PM

Now that I had resolved to search for my quarry beneath the city, I had to consider the question of where to begin. Mournhold consisted of four “quarters” or districts surrounding the central palace area: Godsreach, the Temple, the Great Bazaar, and the Plaza Brindisi Dorom. The area beneath Godsreach I had already “searched,” if running from goblins and rescuing Dilborn could be considered searching. As far as I knew, the Plaza provided no access to the sewers, and I doubted that the Dark Brotherhood was sheltering beneath the Palace or the Temple. It wasn’t that I believed either the Royals or the Temple were too pure to use assassins- I just imagined that their institutional paranoia would not allow a band of killers whose loyalty was negotiable to nest in such close proximity. That left the Great Bazaar, a place where the constant ebb and flow of locals and strangers would provide concealment for the movement of individuals with a sinister purpose. Also, it was said that anything could be purchased in the Great Bazaar, if one had the right price. That “anything” could certainly include the removal of an irritating or inconvenient individual.

A part of me longed to wander through the Bazaar and visit the shops, but I was only too aware of the passage of time. Although I had only been in Mournhold for a short time, I had managed to do several things that could bring unwelcome attention. How long would it be before word reached the Dark Brotherhood of a Breton, bearing a silver long sword? My actions in the Winged Guar would excite some talk, and the gambler Drathas likely had underworld connections, as well. So, regretfully, I ignored the swirling crowds, the sights and sounds, the sheer life of the Great Bazaar and made my way to a trapdoor leading down into the sewers.

Once I had reached the foot of the ladder, I found myself standing knee-deep in a pool of water, which was thankfully fairly clear. The water seemed to disappear into an unfinished or caved-in passage to the east; a more modern ramp angled upward to the west. Beyond the dripping of moisture, all was silent, but I now knew better than to trust that seeming peaceful stillness. A whispered “mothaich biúthaidh” invoked the Beggars Nose charm, and I closed my eyes and turned a slow circle, allowing my inner eye to see what might be hidden. From where I stood, only a single possibly hostile creature was revealed, along with one magic source not far to the north. With my normal vision, I eyed the flooded passage with distaste. Useful though that innate ability to detect enchantments was, it revealed neither the nature of the enchanted item, nor the strength of the magic. Although I was able to swim, I did not much enjoy the prospect of submerging myself in that dark tunnel. The confined space as well as the water would put me at a disadvantage in a fight- and my improving marksmanship would be of no use. Then too, I didn’t really enjoy the prospect of swimming in a sewer, no matter how much of the water came from rainfall. In the end, greed and curiosity overcame fastidiousness and I decided to investigate that tantalizing hint of magic. Just before the water closed over me, I gulped my last remaining potion of water breathing, then plunged down the passage. After a sharp turning to the left, a flooded chamber was revealed, with a skeletal corpse in repose on the rubble-strewn floor. An arrow, still imbedded in the ribcage, hinted at the cause of this unfortunate’s death, but all of his other possessions seemed to have rotted or been scavenged- all that is, except for a potion bottle still clutched in his right hand. Feeling my water-breathing spell beginning to fade, I grasped the potion and quickly swam for the exit. When I had dragged myself onto relatively dry ground, I examined my treasure, which careful testing revealed to be… a potion of water breathing.

Much as I wanted to express my feelings about the gods and their “little jokes,” I restrained myself. Giving in to the strong desire to let loose a string of curses would only reveal my presence to anyone who might be nearby. I was a thief, not a berserker. Still, the state of my nerves nearly brought me to grief when I literally bumped into a Khajiit who was lurking in the shadows at the top of the ramp leading west. So quiet was she and so well did her blackened netch leather armor blend into the shadows that she might have been a shadow herself. Except that shadows don’t squall and curse in Khajiiti when you step on their tails. Once I had (metaphorically) climbed down from the ceiling and was able to speak, I apologized as best I could, to no avail. The Khajiit merely wrapped her tail protectively around herself and hissed,

“Ahnia does not know you; therefore she has nothing to say.”

It seemed that there was more to her attitude than annoyance at my clumsiness, but I didn’t see any reason to confront her- people who make the mistake of irritating Khajiit soon discover that they aren’t just “big kitties.”

After moving away from Ahnia, I recast my detection spell, which now revealed a half-dozen or so hostile creatures at various locations. Truth to tell, I rather enjoyed the prospect of a little swordplay- after the incident with the potion and the encounter with the Khajiit, a fight seemed like just the thing to vent my frustration. Soon enough, the spectral form of an ancestor spirit rushed toward me, uttering the eldritch wail of its kind. While a part of me wondered how a being with no vocal apparatus could create such a racket, another part was using my magical sword to good effect. Although I had been disappointed in the paltry damage my flame-enchanted silver blade had done to the goblins, it was quite sufficient for the undead. That proved fortunate, as I encountered several skeletons and spirits, as well as a few Rattus gargantuas, during my explorations. Finally, after many turnings and retreats from caved-in areas, I spotted movement that did not seem to be some spirit or creature intent on killing me. Observation revealed a Dunmer woman pacing a short section of corridor, casting fearful glances at a doorway. She had apparently not heard my quiet footsteps, so I took a few moments to study her from the shadows. She was dressed in clean but threadbare clothing and appeared to be both frightened and distraught. Nevertheless, I approached her carefully, unsure that any person with good intentions would be wandering about down here.

Stepping into the guttering light of a torch, I spoke quietly,

“May I be of service?"

She whirled about and threw up a protective hand, but then relaxed slightly and replied,

“Ah, you are not one of them, then. I feared…. No, I do not believe you can help me, yet I will tell you my story so that you may beware of the Black Dart Gang.”
She told me her name, Narisa Adus, and then sobbed,

“They have robbed me of everything I hold dear. They ambushed my lover and me in the Temple Sewers. Variner held them off while I ran. When I turned to look back, Variner was down. I just kept running. Now Variner's ghost comes to me at night, begging me to come to him, to rescue him. He says he has a message for me... but I can't go down there. I can't face the Black Dart Gang. Variner was a great fighter, but with one dart, he was dead in seconds. They'd kill me for sure.”

When I again offered my help, she paused and took in my armor and weapons, then shook her head.

“I do not doubt that you are brave enough, but they would kill you. They dress like poor beggars, but carry deadly poison darts- one is enough to kill most people. If you see them, flee. But if you see Variner’s ghost, speak to him. Perhaps you can bring his message to me.”

Although her words hurt my pride, I could not deny their wisdom- had I not just reminded myself that I was not a warrior? Seeking out a fight with this Black Dart Gang would be foolish, particularly when they were not my enemies. Stealth and cleverness would serve me, not the strength of my arm. Yet the mute appeal in Narisa’s eyes moved me. I, too, had been beset with troubling dreams and had heard the importuning of unquiet spirits. If I could bring peace to this one ghost, perhaps others of his kind would do the same for me.

Posted by: Zelda_Zealot Sep 24 2005, 04:38 PM

Ha! I loved that part with the Khajiit! I do stuff like that all the time in Morrowind, only it is with enemies jumping out of nowhere the very instant the stupid "Air Wick" goes off. Great addittion though.

Edit: I hope Trey happens to remember the switch to kill all of the Black Dart Gang, after all, there is no point in writing a story about a dead Breton rotting in a sewer.

Posted by: Wolfie Sep 24 2005, 07:49 PM

Is that Irish or just a language very similar to Irish? Either way, great update

Posted by: treydog Sep 24 2005, 09:16 PM

Yes, literal Gaelic translation "seek enemy." Decided to follow OverrideB1's example- spells should have a verbal component, and since my ancestry is Irish...

Posted by: Wolfie Sep 24 2005, 09:34 PM

Woo for Irish people!
Tiocfaidh ár lá!

Posted by: Neck' Thall Sep 24 2005, 10:11 PM

I wish i could find a Polish thing for spells...but i dont knwo where to look.

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Sep 25 2005, 07:27 PM

good story Trey, keep up the good work and nice part about the Khajiit. My only question was didn't Trey have an enchanted Deadric Dia-Katana?

Posted by: mplantinga Sep 25 2005, 07:46 PM

Another fine example of Trey's mind at work. I'm glad to see his increasing power hasn't led to arrogant overconfidence.

Posted by: Kiln Sep 26 2005, 12:18 AM

Great addition Trey, update soon.

Posted by: treydog Sep 26 2005, 12:29 AM

That happened "later." The events of this story take place somewhat earlier in Trey's career- during the "missing" period referred to in Chapter 10[?] when I aged him. So he is not yet the Nerevarine- in fact, doesn't know about the prophecy. Basically, this happens shortly after the completion of the Council Club bloodbath.

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Sep 26 2005, 01:03 AM

Aaahhh, I see, thanks. I was completly confuzzled with the whole Silver long sword thing. Well keep up the story, it is good

Posted by: treydog Oct 1 2005, 12:16 AM

Narisa Adus professed no knowledge of the Dark Brotherhood, stating rather tartly that one murderous gang was more than enough for her to contend with, thanks just the same. Leaving her with a promise that I would attempt to communicate with the ghost of Variner if I saw it, I completed my exploration of that section of the world beneath Mournhold. It was important to know the location of every exit, lest I be trapped down there. Already, I had encountered goblins and undead- apparently predators in human guise also roamed these dank corridors. My searching yielded four exits- two each leading to the Manor District and the Palace. I carefully considered which way I should take. Narisa had said she and Variner were beneath the Temple when they were attacked, but she had been fearful of an entrance that was marked as leading to the Manor District. Though it still rankled, I had to accept her warning regarding the Black Dart Gang- getting killed was no part of my plans. That effectively barred one exit. And if the Black Dart Gang laired in the Manor District, either entrance to that area could lead me into trouble. Although the chance of finding valuable treasures was greater there, the chance of encountering formidable adversaries was also higher. The Palace stood in the center of the city- therefore the tunnels beneath it would also be centrally located. Learning the “lay of the land” under the Palace could be the difference between life and death. Then, too, it would be interesting to see what sorts of things the occupants of the Palace chose to hide under the ground.

Since I desired concealment, I selected an entry to the Palace sewers that lay underwater. A crudely made door at the end of the flooded tunnel bore hasty inscriptions that indicated the Palace cellars lay on the far side. After a momentary struggle against the pressure of the water, I forced the door open and swam through. The unfinished walls of this passage, still bearing the marks of pick and shovel, indicated that this was someone’s bolt hole- a hidden way of entering or exiting the Palace. Before long, I came out of the water and back into corridors of elaborately fitted stone. Even here, there was evidence of long neglect and decay. The barking of a goblin sounded over the incessant splash of water, so I pressed myself into a shadowy corner and invoked my detection charm and conjured bow. Even without the spell, I could tell that the noisy goblin was approaching my position, so I simply waited, with an arrow on the string. It felt rather pleasant to be the hunter for a change, but I did not let that feeling diminish my alertness. The goblin rounded a bend and I dropped him with two well-placed shots. As he splashed into the water, I thought about the sound of his barking. It was different from the hunting calls I had heard under Godsreach- it almost seemed to have a questioning, searching tone….

A quick glance at the deceased goblin’s equipment confirmed that he was part of the same band I had previously encountered. As I cautiously moved further into the passages, my spell indicated a cluster of hostile creatures to the west, up a ramp. I also thought that I detected a smell of durzog from the direction, so I turned south instead. Soon, I entered a large domed chamber, with fluted columns supporting the roof. Broad avenues exited to the south and west, and water cascaded in from above, flowing into a large catchment in the center of the room. The roar of the falling water covered the slight scuff of my footsteps on stone, and I was able to survey the room and mark the locations of a goblin, a skeleton guardian, and a couple of giant rats. I almost turned away, but stopped myself. I had to explore every part of these sewers, and I had the advantage of surprise. Although still not expert, my marksmanship had improved remarkably over the last months. Pleased with my foresight in conjuring a magical bow, I took out four arrows and wedged the points slightly into a space between two paving stones at my feet. Placing a fifth arrow on the bowstring, I took a deep breath and considered my targets. The goblin would be first- he was the closest and most dangerous; then the skeleton, which would have to circumnavigate the central pool to reach me; and the rats would be saved for last.

For once, my elaborate planning worked as intended and the creatures fell like targets at a market-day fair, their roars and screams muffled by the sound of falling water. As I moved forward to check the bodies and retrieve any usable arrows, I considered the problem of necromancy. The lesser undead, such as skeleton warriors and ancestor ghosts, were usually the creations or summonings of necromancers, intended to serve as guardians. Unfortunately, necromancers tended to suffer from either short attention spans, or more likely, short life spans. Then, when the wizard died or moved on to some other, more hospitable location, he forgot about his animated security systems and left them patrolling and attacking the occasional wandering thief who just happened to be passing through. Worse than that, most necromancers tended to go for quantity over quality, so their constructs usually only carried rusty swords and shields, meaning there was not much reward for the risk involved in exterminating them. But the goblins…what were goblins doing beneath the Palace? The clan markings had shown that these last two were part of the same group I had met previously. All evidence indicated that there was a major goblin presence in Mournhold, and I seemed to be the only one who knew or cared.

Since no answers to my questions presented themselves, I continued in a southerly direction, encountering another skeleton and finding a ladder that gave access to the Palace basement. That was a welcome sight, for I was very much in need of rest and a quiet place to consider what I had discovered. Mostly what I had found were mysteries without answers: goblins beneath the city; people with no good explanation for their purpose in the sewers; a deadly gang that dressed themselves as beggars. And I had found no sign of the Dark Brotherhood. With all those questions clamoring in my head, I decided to explore the Palace basement. It would at least be drier than the sewers, and perhaps more profitable. After cautiously peering through the trapdoor, I levered myself out into a storeroom lined with sacks and crates. A quick search showed that the basement was deserted, and had been for some time, if the layer of dust was any indication. That gave me leisure to look through all of the containers, which were a veritable trove of foodstuffs and alchemical ingredients. Better still, I found a small table and stools to serve as a handy alchemy workbench. Another useful find was the wine racks, complete with empty bottles that I could use to decant my creations. With perhaps more enthusiasm than sense, I lost myself in the creation of potions to replenish my dwindling stocks. No one interrupted my activities, and it was a pleasure to simply measure and mix. While I was immersed in that work, I did not have to think of all the problems that confronted me, and I could pretend for a time that I was just a simple apothecary, living a quiet life. Even after I had finished, I ignored the door that gave onto a set of steps leading to the reception area, deciding to stay in the basement for a time. Wedging a crate in front of the door to serve as an alarm, I stretched out on some grain sacks and was soon asleep. If any dreams came to me, I do not remember them; all I recall is that it was the first restful night I had passed in many weeks.

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Oct 1 2005, 12:43 AM

Very nice Trey very nice, please continue

Posted by: minque Oct 1 2005, 07:29 PM

Oh my dear Trey! Good thing you decided to get out of the sewers......I´m reading this with my heart beating because I find Mournhold so utterly scary.....when I play that is! So hehe..it´s safer to read about Trey´s experiences down there.....


I thing I´ll add a classic comment that hasn´t been used for some time now


S.G.M

Posted by: treydog Oct 2 2005, 07:29 PM

Upon awakening, I had made a decision- although I wanted to find the Dark Brotherhood, the last few days seemed mostly to have consisted of stumbling about in the dark, mentally as well as physically. Being constantly on guard was a terrible strain, and I had not really found any worthwhile information. The people who frequented the sewers did so for reasons of their own and were not inclined to share knowledge with a stranger. Then, too, I had acquired some additional goblin gear that I could convert into gold at the Craftsmen’s Hall. Finally, and perhaps most decisive, I was a young man in the provincial capital. I wanted to see the sights, visit the shops, take a few moments to think of something other than fighting and dying alone and unlamented. As it turned out, the gods or someone close to them had different ideas.

As before, Master Indalen was glad to pay a reasonable price for the shields and weapons; better yet, he still asked no questions. However, he did become somewhat more talkative, to the point that he invited me into a corner of the Hall for a “quiet word.” Mopping his brow with a cloth, he spoke,

“Sera, it is obvious that you have a knack for survival. Though you are young, you have had success hunting goblins. The fact that you have done so and are still alive is a great testament to your skill. Therefore, I am minded to ask a favor of you.”

Before I could speak, he raised a hand to forestall me,

“I do not ask for assistance requiring force of arms- there are mercenary soldiers available for such things. Instead, I need to draw on your experience to assist me with a business problem. Perhaps you have seen that Imperial peacock, Ilnori Faustus, wandering about the Hall?”

When I admitted that I had seen the fellow, Master Indalen scowled and said,

“I hired him in a weak moment, as a favor to a friend. He is supposed to be an apprentice armorer. Ha! All he does is complain about the heat and the dirt. Worse yet, he is so full of himself that he offends the customers. He wants to be an adventurer, he says. Somehow, he thinks to overawe the bandits and monsters with his good looks and his fancy words. If you could talk to him- drive those romantic notions out of his head- I would appreciate it. Tell him what a ‘life of adventure’ is really like. He may never make a decent smith, but getting him to cease his constant whining would be worth a great deal to me.”

Master Indalen had treated fairly with me, and having an important merchant in my debt could be helpful, so I agreed to do my best.

The young Imperial was easy enough to find; he was standing before a highly polished shield, which he was using as a mirror. He seemed to be waving an imaginary sword around, shouting, “Ha!” and “Have at thee, foul knave!” When I noisily cleared my throat, he stopped jumping about and carefully combed his hair before turning around and looking at me in a superior fashion. He curled his lip in a sneer and drawled,

“Are you speaking to me, Breton? I suppose you want some armor or steel something-or-other, right? Well, why don’t you take your sniveling looks and ungrateful tone and talk directly to the smith? I’m ‘just an apprentice.’ I’ve got nothing to offer the likes of you. I don’t belong here.”

Although his insults were hard to stomach, I had promised Master Indalen that I would try, so I merely said, “I am sorry to hear you say so. You say you think there is somewhere that your talents might be better used?”

His answer was more of the same nonsense:

“Yes, just look at me. I'm the picture of perfection. Look at these nails. Do you know how much I had to pay those filthy Hlaalu manicurists for these? Look at my flawless complexion, the ideal proportions of my body. Do you think the gods created such an image of majesty for the purpose of blacksmithing? Certainly not, my very naive friend. Clearly I am destined to become an adventurer.”

Trying to strike the right balance between respectful doubt and outright skepticism, I asked, “Are you certain that the life of an adventurer is what you want?”

He responded haughtily, “That's right. I'm too good for this place. Slaving over a hot forge is a job best left to the plebes. I mean, look at old Bols over there with his torn, sweat-and-saliva stained shirt, his head like a giant, corprus-infected melon, and that faltering gait of his like a guar with venereal warts. It's a wonder he even remembers to put his pants on in the morning, it really is. Now, compare him with me.”

Still trying to reason with the Imperial idiot, I ventured, “Perhaps strength and skill with arms and armor might be useful attributes for an adventurer….”

With an even more pronounced sneer than before, Faustus asked, “Do you mock me, plebe? I aspire to heights greater than you've ever dreamed of. Do you think monsters and evil men will stand any chance when they behold this majestic specimen of humanity striding toward them? No! They will quail and faint at the sight of me. I will wave their corpses aside with a swipe of my hand. My greatness is inevitable. In fact, I believe I will start on my adventuring just today. Mark my words, Breton-- next time you come around, you won't find me here.”

And with that, the insufferable fool strode out the door and into the street.

I was even more stunned by Ilnori Faustus’ sudden departure than by his monumental arrogance. For a few seconds I simply stared at the door, overwhelmed by an unaccustomed feeling of guilt. Even though I personally believed that Master Indalen was better off without such an unsuitable apprentice, he had asked for my help. I felt somehow responsible for his loss, but had no idea what to do about it. Then too, I feared that I might have contributed to Ilnori Faustus’ death, which was likely to occur sooner rather than later. The best that could be said was that I had ensured that some bandit or creature was probably going to be bored or at least confused for a few minutes. All in all, I felt that it might be wise to avoid Master Indalen for a time, so I made a much more discreet use of the exit. As I pondered what to do next, a High Ordinator approached and asked if I was “Trey, Adept of the Temple.” When I acknowledged my identity, the silver-armored guard handed me a sealed note and left. Breaking the seal on the parchment, I found that Fedris Hler, Steward of the goddess Almalexia, required and requested my attendance on him at my earliest convenience. He would await me in the reception chamber of the great temple of Mournhold.

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Oct 2 2005, 07:40 PM

Very good Trey Please add somemore

Posted by: mplantinga Oct 2 2005, 08:48 PM

An excellent encounter with the haughty imperial. I wonder if Trey will be seeing him again.

Posted by: OverrideB1 Oct 2 2005, 09:23 PM

I just managed to catch up with Chapter 2 treydog. All I can say is "wow" ~ and thank you for writing such an excellent story. I look forwards to the next installment...

Posted by: treydog Oct 8 2005, 03:19 PM

My situation in Mournhold had just taken a serious turn for the worse. It was bad enough that the Dark Brotherhood sought to kill me- that goblins were in the sewers beneath the city, and now Fedris Hler wished to speak to me. Hler enjoyed the seemingly harmless position of Steward to the Goddess Almalexia, a title that hid the true extent of his power and influence. No one wished to say anything directly, but hints and rumors indicated that Hler was Almalexia’s “enforcer,” the person who took care of any unpleasant chores that the Tribunal goddess required. There were even whispers that he was a former assassin- a possibility that was truly frightening. After all, it was well known that assassins never retired…. Still, I had little choice but to obey; the arrival of his “invitation” showed that he already knew how to find me if he wished to do so.

Though I was not much in the mood to admire architecture, Almalexia’s Temple was an impressive structure, as inspiring in its own way as the city of Vivec in Vvardenfell. I suppose that was one of the attractions of being a god- people built you a nice architectural marvel in which to live. Numerous pilgrims and beggars thronged the Temple steps, but it seemed that only those with specific business were allowed inside. I showed the parchment summons to a door warden and was waved through without any questions being asked. An aged Dunmer woman paused in her dusting long enough to point out Fedris Hler, after cautioning me to not track in too much dirt. Following her directions brought me to a tall Dunmer in priest’s vestments, standing before the doors to the inner Temple. His appearance served only to reinforce the stories that I had heard. Despite his advanced age, he was still a strongly built elf, wearing glass armor as well as the simple robes of the Temple. A wicked scar marked the right side of his face, starting at the scalp and passing across a blinded eye to end near his chin. And if his appearance was disconcerting, his greeting was even more so. Before I had a chance to introduce myself, the Steward spoke,

“Ah, Adept Trey, it was good of you to respond so promptly to my summons. Young people are often caught up in their own doings, and fail to attend their elders. As I understand it, you have recently arrived from Vvardenfell, a rather interesting circumstance given the quarantine. Of course, I was informed of your arrival and hoped to have a chance to speak with you. I understand that you have had trouble with the Dark Brotherhood, as well. An interesting group, but they are usually more effective. I’m surprised that you are still alive. Perhaps you have potential, or perhaps they sent incompetents.”

My surprise at that remarkable speech combined with my desire for information and caused me to speak without thinking,

“Do you know much about the Dark Brotherhood, then?”

As the words left my mouth, a part of me stood back in horror and thought, “Why not ask a lion what he wants for breakfast while you are at it?

But Fedris Hler merely considered the question briefly, just as he might if I had asked his opinion of the weather, and responded,
“As I said, an interesting group. Fear and mystery are powerful tools for them. There have been kings that have been rumored to utilize their services, but that is only rumor, of course.” He gave a dry laugh and continued,

“Speaking of service, I believe it is possible that a young man of you talents might be of service to Our Lady. I am always aware of those who might be able to serve our Lady Almalexia. Few are worthy to do so. The Temple and the city are guarded by the High Ordinators, and the Hands fulfill other duties for the Lady. I am her Chief Steward. Now, if you wish to be of use, we have some matters to discuss.”

Since his invitation to be “of use” sounded more like an order then a request, I simply said,

“I live but to serve, my lord Steward.”

I thought that I had avoided any trace of irony or sarcasm, but he again treated me to that dry laugh and cautioned me,

“A sharp wit for such a young fellow! Take care that you do not cut yourself with it! Now, to business. Perhaps you have already met young King Hlaalu Helseth. A foul man, unworthy to sit on a throne. Still, he holds right of succession. The Lady must keep an ever-watchful eye on this King, though, lest he do something that would be detrimental to the Temple, our fair city, or perhaps all of Morrowind. Currently, there are concerns about some new recruits that Helseth seems to be training.”

I did not miss the order of precedence he used, placing the Temple ahead of all else, but said nothing. He continued,

“A standing army is nothing new in the city, though it is largely unnecessary. Mournhold is protected by her walls from the outside, and by our Lady Almalexia from within. None would dare mount an attack here. Still, tradition dictates that the king can maintain an army. We believe that Helseth is raising quite a different sort of army...a goblin army. Goblins are foul, vicious creatures. No wonder Helseth has chosen them to be his foot soldiers. I know that the goblins are being trained nearby, though not where, exactly. Ask around the city about goblins. Someone will know. I wish for you to find the location of the goblin training area. When you do, kill the warchiefs--there should be two. Sever the head of this army, and the rest will shatter like a scrib. Rumor has it that Helseth has contracted two Altmer to train his goblin army. If you find these Altmer, it would be a service to rid the city of them as well. Complete this task, and the Lady will be pleased.”

With that, he gave a short bow of dismissal and left me standing in the reception area. Although I had been concerned about the presence of the goblins, this introduced complications I had not anticipated. Fedris Hler knew entirely too much about me for my peace of mind. And the way he referred to the Dark Brotherhood as “interesting” sounded like the admiration of one professional for another. Perhaps worst of all, the goblins I had been shooting full of arrows were part of some project engendered by Helseth. The very last thing I desired was to come to the attention of the king- a man reputed to have a quick way with people who became “inconvenient.” On the other hand, if I succeeded, how would Helseth know that I was the one who thwarted his scheme? If the goblins and their trainers were gone, no one would be able to tell him what had happened. And if I failed, I wouldn’t be in a position to worry about Helseth’s reaction, anyway.

Much as I hated the idea of taking on this mission, I saw no choice but to give Fedris Hler what he wanted. I was not in a position to openly defy the Temple, especially not when I had yet to discover the hidden base of the Dark Brotherhood. If the Temple steward knew too much about me, he also seemed to know a great deal about the assassins who were stalking me. And whatever else he might be, Fedris Hler was a fighter. Though he bore terrible scars, the fact was that he was still around. Whoever had given him those wounds….wasn’t.

Posted by: Wolfie Oct 8 2005, 03:32 PM

Great update Treydog

Posted by: Florodine of Hlaalu Oct 8 2005, 03:33 PM

another great addition trey, its always exciting to see another addition

Posted by: mplantinga Oct 8 2005, 10:14 PM

Good plot development. I enjoyed your description of Fedris Hler; it certainly made him seem much more complex than I had previously thought.

Posted by: Neck' Thall Oct 9 2005, 06:15 AM

nice update trey! Hmmmm....Itruige(or however that is spelled.)...

Posted by: minque Oct 9 2005, 12:19 PM

I suppose you wanted to say "Intriguing"? ....because that´s just what it is, learning about how Trey handles the steward of Almalexia......now there has to be an update soon...please!

Posted by: Neck' Thall Oct 9 2005, 04:06 PM

Yeah, thanks minque. I give u cake to

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Oct 9 2005, 08:30 PM

yes Intriguing, please keep it up!

Posted by: treydog Oct 14 2005, 12:15 AM

Even though I despised the very idea of taking on a “hired killer” mission, I could rationalize that my targets were goblins rather than men or elves. And Fedris Hler hadn’t really ordered me to kill the Altmer trainers- he had merely suggested that it would be a service. If I could remove the goblins and avoid the Altmer, the trainers would no longer have any reason to hang around. Or so I hoped. And I ruthlessly stepped on the nagging inner voice that pointed out that Helseth could easily hire more goblins if the first bunch met with a series of unfortunate accidents. Regardless of my delicate sensibilities, I would perform this task. Perhaps I was afraid to ignore Fedris Hler’s “request.” Perhaps I thought that the Temple steward would be a powerful ally in my search for the Dark Brotherhood. And perhaps it was simpler than that- the goblins had nearly killed me, before I even knew the reason for their presence. Revenge against them would be pleasant. And better still, the loss of his goblin army would thwart Helseth. I had never met him, but the mere fact that he called himself “King” was enough to make me dislike the man. If knowledge of my motives causes anyone to think less of me, I can only say- first, I never claimed nobility of purpose or purity of spirit; and second, it is easy to criticize if you weren’t there.

What I needed to do first was complete my exploration and mapping of the sewers under the Palace. My previous wanderings gave me reason to believe that the goblins were based either there or beneath Godsreach, the other place I had confronted the creatures. And before I ventured back into the sewers, I would need more potions of levitation. The only safe way to hunt goblins was from a place that they could not reach. As I preferred to make my own potions whenever possible, I was going to have to go back to Vvardenfell for the essential ingredients. It was ironic, but the fact that there were no cliff-racers in Mournhold was actually a problem. I knew of three components that could be combined to create levitation potions- coda flowers, trama root, and cliff-racer plumes. And the only place I knew to obtain those items was back on Vvardenfell.

Effe-Tei was kind enough to transport me to Ebonheart, from which place I made my way to the Mages Guild in Vivec. Making use of the Mages Guild guides, I was able to gather the supplies I needed without staying in one location for very long. Throughout my travels, I spoke to no one except the apothecaries and guild guides, and kept the hood of my robe up to hide my face. It was my hope that, even if my enemies were informed of my presence, I would be gone before they could plan and carry out an attack. It was a sobering experience, and I wondered if it might be a foreshadowing of my future- homeless, constantly on the move, never able to settle in one place. On the other hand, if I did not deal with my enemies, my “home” would likely be an unmarked grave beside some deserted path. Thus, even as the sounds and scents of Vvardenfell tempted me to rest, to leave intrigue behind, I knew that I must go back to Mournhold and finish a fight that I had neither started nor sought. The Dark Brotherhood would never stop and neither would the person or power that had set them on my trail. And even if they had been inclined to call truce, I was not. My blood had been spilled and it would be redeemed with blood.

Returning to Asciene Rane in Ebonheart was hard; turning my thoughts back to Mournhold was harder still; but it had to be done. Despite the High Ordinators’ perpetual greeting of “Mournhold, City of Light, City of Magic,” I didn’t see it that way. To me it was a place of darkness, of plots and counterplots, of the Temple and the King scuffling over the most valuable coin in the game- power. Absorbed by such gloomy thoughts, I arrived back in the Palace reception area, where I absently greeted Effe-Tei. As I waited for the disorientation and nausea of the teleportation magic to fade, I briefly considered hiring Calvus Horatius, the mercenary fighter who had offered his services when I first came to the city. Having a good sword at my back during this goblin hunt would be useful- might even save my life. But my reasons for refusing had not changed- I would not take responsibility for another man’s life, or still worse, his death. I was too much in the habit of looking out for myself to find it easy to trust someone else. And I was willing to run away if the situation warranted. A mercenary might succumb to the fury of battle or find himself unable to escape. If that happened, my death would surely follow, for I would not abandon a companion. Better then, to take my chances alone. As a fellow I once knew liked to say about drinking,

“My limit is one- no matter what, I will always be able to count that high.”

And that logic applied to fighting, as well; with no allies, my every blow would strike an enemy.

My alchemy apparatus was undisturbed in the Palace basement, and I was able to quickly convert my ingredients into useful potions. While my various concoctions were simmering, I sorted through the scrolls I had “acquired” from one place and another during my travels. Normally, I prefer not to use scrolls in the middle of a fight- a comfortable chair in front of a nice fire is a better place to practice one’s reading. But…if I was floating out of reach of a snarling goblin, a scroll that called fire down on his head might be just the thing. And the magic from a scroll tended to be much more likely to work than most of my store of memorized spells. The time I had spent learning to skulk in shadows and to not stick myself with the pointy ends of my weapons had prevented me from becoming terribly proficient at Destructive magic. A summoning scroll or two would have been useful, but I hadn’t come across any of those. And ultimately, it was probably going to be down to my skill with the bow and the sword to keep me alive. Potions made and equipment repaired, I could delay my return to the sewers no longer.

Recalling the creatures I had sensed (and avoided) during my last foray into the Palace sewers, I made my way to the central chamber and from there to the west. As before, when I spoke the words “mothaich biừthaidh,” my heightened senses showed me that three possibly hostile creatures awaited me in the unexplored section. While I could hope that they were rats, my sense of smell told me that at least one durzog was about. Fortune favored me, though; for the passage started with a steep stone ramp leading upward. By crouching and sticking to the shadows, I was able to peer over the rise without being seen. Movement alerted me to a patrolling goblin, accompanied by a durzog. I downed one of my newly brewed levitation potions, conjured a magical bow, and then let myself drift up to the roof of the corridor. Neither of my enemies knew I was about until an arrow pierced the durzog’s thick hide. Unfortunately, that first strike seemed to be more annoying than harmful, for the beast gave a great roar of rage and charged toward me. I had a brief span of time to consider whether I had made a serious error- the roof here was not as high as at other places, and I feared that the durzog might be able to scrape me off the ceiling by rearing up on its haunches. That fear, along with the darkness, the sight of a charging creature that seemed to be all teeth and claws, not to mention worrying that my levitation might wear off- all combined to make marksmanship a trifle difficult.

Still, focusing on the durzog’s gaping maw paid dividends- two arrows found their way into that vulnerable spot. It was almost an afterthought to finish the goblin, which had waited too long to decide to run away. At the end of the corridor, a second goblin tried to hide among some massive crates, but his lack of a ranged weapon spelled his doom. With the passage cleared, I was able to come back down to the floor and take a careful look around. The crates were all stenciled with the words “Deliver to the Mournhold Royal Palace.” Interestingly, each address bore the same flaw- the “R” in “Royal” was reversed. Still more telling, each of the crates was perforated by carefully concealed holes. I now knew how the goblins had managed to come into Mournhold without being seen.

Posted by: mplantinga Oct 14 2005, 12:57 AM

More introspection for our dear Trey. It is somewhat sad how trapped he is by his situation. I'm glad to see that he seems to be up to the mental challenge that is facing him. Thanks for another great installment, and I look forward to seeing if Trey does manage to avoid the Altmer trainers as he is hoping to do.

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Oct 16 2005, 07:40 PM

wow, very interesting Trey, please continue. Nice expplanation on how the goblins got into Mourhold.

Posted by: minque Oct 17 2005, 07:06 PM

Oh my sweet Trey....I wish you all the best on your tour in Mournhold..It´s always a pleasure to find a new Trey up....that is something to cherish..with a nice cup of tea or coffee ..then sit down and read..that makes a hard-working woman really happy....

Posted by: treydog Oct 19 2005, 02:23 PM

Behind the crates with their interesting addresses was a door inscribed as leading to “Old Mournhold- West Sewers.” In addition, someone had thoughtfully (and recently) carved a reversed “R” into the doorframe. Even without that guidance, the tracks on the muddy floor would have warned me that there were goblins nearby. And now I had a problem. Or rather a more immediate problem than the usual one of all the factions that wanted to kill me immediately, not to mention all of the others that wanted to use me and THEN kill me afterwards. Opening the heavy door would require me to use both hands. But I was certain that there were goblins on the other side, and I really wanted to have my conjured bow at the ready, which would require at least one hand. Then I remembered one of a thief’s best friends- a potion that would allow me to manipulate objects with the power of my thoughts, leaving my hands free for more important things. I had recently discovered the secret to creating such a potion and had several at my disposal. Suiting my actions to my thoughts, I consumed a potion, refreshed my conjured bow, and then willed the door to open.

Someone had taken care to oil the hinges of the door into the West Sewers; despite its great size, it swung open with no more than a faint stirring of air. And I was equally quiet as I slipped through and scanned the underground passage. A lone goblin was moving away from me, bobbing along in the peculiar hunch-backed gait of his kind. His slow progress gave me ample time to fit an arrow, draw to the fullest extent, aim at the base of his skull, and release. The shot dropped him like a sack of sand and he never made a sound. Muffled goblin noises from around the bend alerted me to the presence of another, so I edged along the wall until I was able to spot a misshapen shadow cast by the flickering torches. My luck still held; this goblin also had his back turned. Again, a single arrow finished the foul creature and I began to think that this would be a simple task. Be warned- such thoughts are a prelude to folly. If ever you believe that things are going remarkably well, you have overlooked or forgotten something important.

In this case, what I had forgotten was that goblins usually travel in packs. As the tunnel opened out, I suddenly realized that there were a great many shapes moving about in the shadows ahead of me. And, more to the point, those shapes had become aware of my presence. As I watched in horror, at least three goblins and a durzog began to run toward me, baying like a pack of wolves on the scent. Perhaps retreating would have been the intelligent thing to do. But I had come here to fight goblins, not to run away from them. Besides sheer bravado, there was another reason to finish this fight here and now- if I managed to escape, it would only be temporary. Eventually, I would have to come back. And I would have to confront goblins that were fully alert, aware that someone was stalking them. I would never again have the element of surprise on my side. For whatever reason, I decided not to run. I gulped a potion of levitation and clawed my way upward. Trusting in the magical brew to keep me suspended, I turned my body until it was parallel with the roof of the passage, hopefully out of reach. What I needed now was a secure place from which to thin the ranks of my foes.

Unfortunately, this particular section of the sewers was remarkably well maintained, with walls and roof intact. And I knew that I had not passed any handy ledges or cornices on my way here. There was nothing else for it- I would have to find a place deeper inside the complex of tunnels. Therefore, I began to move as rapidly as possible toward the goblins. That action surprised them for a few precious seconds and I was able to get past them before they thought to jump for me or throw something. Near a dead end, I saw what I needed- a massive, steep pile of masonry had fallen away from one of the walls. If I could reach that mound and somehow secure myself atop it, I need not worry about the levitation expiring. With the pack in close pursuit, I reached my objective; in the meantime, their hoots and barks had attracted additional goblins. When I at last knelt atop the pile of rubble and hooked one foot over an ancient pipe to hold myself in place, there was a virtual sea of leaping, snarling green bodies raging about the base of my refuge.

My precarious position made it hard to aim, but I knew that if ever I tumbled down into that seething mass, my last seconds of life would be horrible beyond imagining. Despite their constant movement, I was able to discern that most of the goblins who beset me were not the common soldiers I had encountered previously. Several of these creatures were larger and more powerful- they also wore more elaborate harnesses. The worst was one massive specimen who shouted and cuffed the others into some semblance of order, then pulled a scroll from his harness. With the air of a schoolboy called upon to recite a particularly difficult lesson, he began to read from the scroll in a harsh, halting voice. Comical though the performance was, it was also deadly serious, for I recognized the opening syllables of a Firebloom spell. Just before he finished, I was able to dump a fire shield potion over myself, thus rendering me proof against the worst effects of the incendiary spell. The fact that the scroll-reader was in command of this group gave me my first target, and I went to work with my magical bow.

My arrows largely sufficed to prevent any more spell-casting attempts, but those goblins were remarkably hard to kill. The first time my conjured bow expired and disappeared, I did not immediately recast the spell, but instead used my own elemental destruction scrolls. The resultant fire from one and ice from the other finally did for a couple of the goblins and I breathed a bit easier. One of those who dropped was the officer, which probably explained why none of them hit upon the idea of cooperating to bring me down from my perch. All it would have taken would be for a couple of them to boost a third to within reach, and this story would have been finished. Perhaps my constant rain of arrows also had something to do with it- even those that did not penetrate deeply seemed to sting the goblins into an unreasoning fury. Arrows bristling from their torsos and limbs, they thronged my rocky island and howled for my blood. I must have used over a hundred arrows before the last goblin fell and I was able to climb down.

I gave the bodies only a cursory search, enough to show that they were all from the same band as before. Beyond that confirmation there was other evidence of an organized plot- potions of healing, amulets to improve stamina, and even packets of moon-sugar. No wonder these creatures had been so hard to kill- they probably hadn’t even realized that they were being mortally wounded until blood loss stopped them. In addition to the one officer, there were four durzog-handlers and two regular soldiers in the group. Although their equipment might fetch a good price, treasure hunting was not my purpose. Besides, if I lived- the loot would still be here. If I didn’t…well, there was no point in planning for failure. So I left the macabre mound to continue my explorations. Just beyond the pile of rubble where I had made my stand were two doors marked with a corroded bronze plaque proclaiming that the Old Mournhold Battlefield lay just beyond. The irony was not lost on me, although I was in no mood to appreciate it at the time.

Posted by: mplantinga Oct 19 2005, 06:16 PM

It's a good thing that goblins are not particularly intelligent, other wise things may not have gone so well for our dear Trey. I do hope he doesn't encounter more than he can handle when he enters the battlefield.

I do hope we haven't worn this one out yet: S.G.M.

Posted by: burntsierra Oct 19 2005, 06:52 PM

It's taken me a while, but I just realised the fundamental flaw that exists on this forum. We have so many "must read" stories, that I'm afraid I may have started to take them for granted. So, please accept my most sincere apologies for that, and for my lack of responses for a while. I have avidly read each and every update with glee, in what remains for me one of the best Morrowind stories I have ever read. Different author's obviously have their own unique takes on the Morrowind Universe, yet your portrayal of Trey remains the most thoughtful.

I think what I'm trying to say (very badly) is that the depth you bring to this story continues to astound me, and long may it continue.

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Oct 19 2005, 09:39 PM

veur good Trye, liked the word of thought, very true

Posted by: treydog Oct 22 2005, 02:38 PM

Though the more primitive side of my nature, still roused to its full fury by the recent fight, urged me to burst through the doors and continue the slaughter, I held back. I had taken no serious wounds, but the battle had cost me the only destructive magicka scrolls I owned, not to mention over half my arrows. Without the advantage of the scrolls, I could not be sure of surviving another such struggle. Worse yet, the goblins I had defeated had been subofficers- the stronger warchiefs were still somewhere ahead. I could back out now and obtain the weapons I needed to continue the fight or I could press on, using what I had. If I left, the goblins would almost certainly discover the bodies I had left strewn about and would therefore know that they were being stalked. But as the battle-madness wore off, reason asserted itself. Surprise was a fleeting thing- an ambush could be turned back on the ambusher if he did not achieve a decisive victory in the first few moments. These last goblins had proved very hard to kill and there was no guarantee that I would find a suitable place to make a stand deeper inside the ruins of the old city. Besides, if someone did discover the corpses, that could work to my advantage. All they would find would be dead goblins, with no sign of who or what had killed them. At first, they would be on alert, patrolling aggressively. As time passed though, the tension would take a toll. And then I could return- rested and re-supplied- ready to take up the fight again at a time and place of MY choosing.

Although I had used up a great many of my arrows, I was still well supplied with potions, so I believed that I could find what I needed in the Great Bazaar. Using my Divine Intervention amulet carried me to the Palace courtyard, from whence I walked to the marketplace of Mournhold. Besides the vendors in open stalls, the Bazaar included half-a-dozen stores, each catering to a different need. Because time was of the essence and because I wanted to have some money left, I avoided the bookseller and went directly to the pawnbroker’s establishment. The proprietor was an Argonian who suffered under the name Ten-Tongues Werehat. After I took a quick glance at the merchandise he had on display, I casually made a Thieves Guild sign and asked,

“Is this everything you have? I was really looking for scrolls.”

The Argonian gave a nervous glance at the oblivious guard and then allowed,

“Every now and then I'll have special bargains on certain items. Just for valued customers like yourself, of course. I'll see if I can make you a deal.”

He then produced three or four scrolls containing the incantation for a spell called “Hellfire.” That was exactly the sort of thing I needed, so I looked them over to ensure that the spells weren’t flawed. When I expressed my interest, Ten-Tongues named a ridiculously low price of 60 drakes per scroll. My normal bargaining sense disappeared and I blurted,

“How can you sell these so cheaply?”

The pawnbroker gave me an offended look and grumbled,

“I don't see why everyone has to assume that just because I'm capable of offering some very good prices on quality merchandise that there's something shady going on! I was just telling Ahnia the other day that...ahh...err, nevermind.”

Ahnia- that name sounded familiar. Then I remembered- remembered stumbling over a black-clad Khajiit in the sewers who had said, “Ahnia does not know you.” After a little persuasion Ten-Tongues admitted,

“Okay, okay. She's a Khajiit. An entrepreneur of sorts. She'll meet me in the sewers beneath here from time to time, and have things for me to sell. I try not to ask too many questions, you know? She carries a pretty sharp knife. So I just do business, like I always do. There's no harm in it, right? It's not like it's hurting anyone.”

That answer satisfied me; I would never interfere with someone who was just trying to make a living. My only concern was that no angry wizard was going to confront me and demand payment for his scrolls. Just to keep up appearances, I strolled through the Bazaar a little longer, stopping in at the armorer to pick up a couple of hundred arrows. At last, I returned to my hiding place beneath the Palace to rest for a day or two. And then it was time to continue my goblin hunt.

All too soon, I once again stood outside the doorway to the Old Mournhold Battlefield. Before entering, I spoke the words of the spell that conjured a magical bow from the Void. Upon slipping through the door, I heard the deep grunting of at least two goblins, but did not see any in the immediate vicinity. The corridor curved to my right and then plunged downward; a quick scan showed two large goblins wandering about. Hoping to isolate one, I extracting a potion of levitation and fired an arrow at the nearest. My plan failed spectacularly- the arrow bounced off of the huge creature’s thick hide and his enraged bellow alerted the other to my presence. They both raced toward me, barking excitedly as they came. I had been prepared for such a possibility, and used the levitation potion I had been holding. The larger goblin countered with a guttural chant, and again I was subjected to the scorching agony of a Firebloom spell. I dodged in time to only catch the edge of the resulting burst of flame; better still, I was out of reach of direct physical attacks. These goblins proved somewhat smarter than their brethren- when they saw that they could not reach me, they ran from the hail of arrows I launched at them. A nerve-wracking game of cat-and-mouse followed- I would wait until the goblins stopped, then lower myself to the floor and shoot at them. Goaded by the arrows (many of which bounced off) and encouraged by the idea that I was within reach, they would race back and attempt to catch me as I bounced back up to the ceiling. Finally, a lucky shot took one of them to his knees and I finished him as quickly as possible with no false notion of chivalry. The other fled- perhaps intent on raising the alarm- but his panicked flight took him into a caved-in tunnel with no exit. With no more mercy than the goblins would have shown me, I cut him down.

With the apparent sentinels removed, I had time to rest and prepare for more exploration. First I cast the Beggars Nose spell to determine how many additional enemies might be present. To my relief, my heightened senses showed only one possible hostile creature, as well as an enchanted item. Before I got carried away, I realized that the enchantment might be something carried by one of the Altmer trainers. For whatever reason, my spell was unable to discern men or elves that might wish me harm. It was worth keeping that fact in mind, particularly here in Mournhold, where the factions and alliances were quite murky. With the utmost caution, I crept through collapsed tunnels. The only worked stone left appeared to be bits and pieces of the destroyed walls of Old Mournhold. The enchantment I had detected turned out to be an axe that had belonged to an unfortunate warrior. His skeletal remains lay beneath a boulder that had not killed him outright, but rather had pinned his legs. How horrible his last hours must have been, unable to free himself, praying for death to bring release from his torment.

As I worked my way deeper through the nightmare maze of collapsed walls, I came across more bones from the combatants in that ancient struggle. Here they lay, names and deeds forgotten, entombed far below a great city that did not even care about the cause for which they had fought. The bones of the coward mingled with those of the hero; sinners and saints were locked in an embrace for all eternity. And I, thief though I was, let them lie. Whatever they had possessed, whoever they had been- now they belonged to death and to history. Overwhelmed by a feeling of loneliness, I sent a quiet prayer to the ghosts of those forgotten dead, asking them to strengthen my arm as I carried out my fight against the goblins far underground. Whether they heard, I cannot say. But at least none hindered me.

Posted by: Fuzzy Knight Oct 22 2005, 02:55 PM

Great updated again Trey. His adventure in beneath Mournhold is great written, your description of the terrain, goblins etc. makes the story feel more alive and you get that picture in your head that fits straight in...
How Trey experiance seeing the dead warrior that had died is also great and good written. Hope to see more - Keep it up

Posted by: Wolfie Oct 22 2005, 03:00 PM

Another fantastic update Treydog
Trey's feelings and thoughts as he looked pon those who had died before him, untold years before hand, were especially well done

Posted by: Kiln Oct 22 2005, 03:55 PM

Very interesting developements Trey, I just caught up on this awesome story and I'm looking forward to more of your work.

Posted by: minque Oct 22 2005, 04:14 PM

Yes....I truly love reading about Trey, he´s like an old friend who´s adventures keep amusing me....This story , with it´s touch of subtle humour is one of my favourite stories.

So I can´t wait til next installment........You hear me treydog? Or I´ll have a word with that sweet Dachshund of yours.....btw give him a treat from me!

Posted by: mplantinga Oct 22 2005, 04:58 PM

Another excellent addition to this great story. I particularly enjoyed Trey's reaction to the dead heroes; for a thief to leave the dead with their possessions is indeed a great sign of respect.

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Oct 22 2005, 05:58 PM

Great story Trey, VEry noble of him to not theive from the dead.... I always do....

Posted by: Mazuk Oct 22 2005, 09:36 PM

Alls I can say is how did i miss chapter 1. Great writing Treydog.

Posted by: treydog Oct 26 2005, 08:27 PM

Eventually, the cramped tunnel gave way to a great dome of a room. Braziers cast fitful light upon massive pillars leaning haphazardly against the walls. Across the way stood a platform of stone where rested what I took to be a huge plinth or altar of some sort. Amidst the piles of ruined stone and more ominous piles of skulls, I could make out the remains of an intricate mosaic floor. Of more immediate concern were the two large goblins that wandered through the gloom. They appeared to be simply scavenging through the ruins rather than serving as formal guards, so I hoped I could handle them separately. With that in mind, I quietly climbed atop a boulder in the mouth of the tunnel and intoned “boghu tromhad” to bring the magical bow to me. I waited until the goblins were at opposite ends of the room and targeted the nearest. It was a difficult shot, downhill in flickering light, so I had no real hope of making a kill. My purpose was simply to bring the monster to me. The arrow flew true and stung the goblin, which shambled toward my hiding place. Fortune favored me, as he had to negotiate a steep ramp with roughly cut footholds. That gave me a chance to bleed him a bit more.

What I did not count on was that this particular goblin knew how to cast a Firebloom spell without using a scroll. I was badly burned and had no choice but to imbibe a restorative and endure the pain before it took effect. However, I was able to put paid to the goblin without alerting his companion, so my suffering was worth it. Still, as soon as he fell, I crawled behind the boulders and shivered as my healing potion finished its work. The second goblin was easier and once he fell, I took some time to look over the room. When I reached the far side, I realized that the massive construct I had seen was actually the remains of a gigantic throne, with a seat some ten feet off of the floor. Perhaps it had once been occupied by an equally massive statue- I could not imagine a living being that would have needed such a chair. The nearby doorway, which carried the legend “Old Mournhold City Gate,” reinforced my surmise- the entrance to a great city would likely have been adorned with some heroic statuary.

Beyond the door I endured a seemingly endless time of dodging through damp, torch-lit tunnels, shooting at goblins and sprinting away. I did not always escape their retribution; I suffered a number of terrible, crushing blows from their clubs and claws. Restorative potions saved me from certain death, but the injuries still told upon me. Healing magic draws upon the will and substance of the patient; the greater the healing, the greater the drain on the recipient. At last, I could go no further; my reserves of strength and will were gone. In truth, so worn had I become that I am surprised the goblins did not mistake me for one of the unquiet spirits in that haunted place. Swallowing a levitation potion, I made my way to a crumbling balcony in some forgotten cavern and slept.

Physically refreshed, but still mentally on the ragged edge, I passed through a round metal door into the Old Mournhold Residential District to continue my demon-ridden hunt. I was no longer even sure of my reasons for being there- only deadly purpose was left. The watery cave containing the residential ruins gave me pause- it held the remains of buildings similar in style to those of Vivec. My mind could not comprehend the massive cataclysm that must have been unleashed to destroy and bury such a huge city. But that reverie lasted only a moment and I returned to my hunt. I lost count of the goblins I slew- a dozen, two dozen? It did not matter, for none were the leaders I so desperately sought. Finally, I reached a tunnel complex called the Tears of Amun-Shae, caverns that pre-dated the original city of Mournhold, ancient beyond measure. My heart told me that I was close to my goal at last. Now I simply needed to find the goblin leaders and finish my task.

Actually, the first of the goblin chiefs found me- or rather he ambushed me as I stuck my incautious head into the Tears of Amun-Shae cavern. Although I passed through the door with my customary stealth, Kurog the goblin had made a lair for himself in a chamber above the doorway. While my attention was focused ahead of me, he launched a series of destructive spells from above and behind. I spent several anxious moments fighting the effects of fire, shock, and poison before I could retaliate. When my health was restored, I levitated and faced my tormentor. It was then that the weakness of his hiding place became apparent- there was no back door. That lapse illustrated the error of relying solely on surprise for victory- what do you do if surprise is lost? What happens if the enemy survives the initial ambush? Careful thief that I was, I would never trap myself inside a place with only one exit, as Kurog had done. His spells exhausted, all he could do was gibber and froth at me as I floated out of his reach and pierced him with arrows and incinerated him with Hellfire scrolls. Half of my mission was accomplished; all that remained was to find the other chief and I could leave this place.

The second chief, Durgoc, was both easier to find and harder to kill. Easier- because he did not possess the spells of his dead compatriot; harder- because he regenerated health at an alarming rate. I was at last able to herd him into a dead end cavern, where he, too, fell to fire and steel. My long struggle against the goblins was over, though I took no satisfaction in it. As for the Altmer trainers- I neither knew nor cared where they might be hidden. Whether they abandoned the scheme and fled or remained to leave their bones alongside those of their goblin army- it was all the same to me. Before leaving the ruins of Old Mournhold, I did one last, distasteful chore and then took myself away from that place forever. Not even my accidental discovery of a vein of adamantium ore could entice me to return. The job had been long, hard, and brutal and all I wanted now was to take a hot bath and then sleep for a week. But first, I needed to report my “success.”

I made my long, slow way back out of the ruins of Old Mournhold, back to the surface, and at last climbed the steps of the Temple. Without pausing to ask for admittance, I entered the reception area and limped across the polished marble floor. My clothing was torn and still covered with blood, that of the goblins and my own, and I stank of the sewers and the smoke of torches burning underground. But I simply ignored the disapproving looks of the Temple functionaries as I made my way to Fedris Hler. When I stood before the steward, I upended the sack I carried. Two objects fell out and bounced across the floor. I didn’t wait for a reaction, but simply turned to walk away, as mute as the snarling heads of the goblin warchiefs that rolled to a stop at Fedris Hler’s feet.

Here Ends Chapter 2

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Oct 26 2005, 11:22 PM

wow.... Very nice Trey, I aplaud you, that was excelent.

Posted by: mplantinga Oct 27 2005, 12:03 AM

Another great ending, as we've come to expect from the magnificent Treydog. I particularly enjoyed the way Fedris was informed of Trey's success; a little gruesome, but very appropriate.

Posted by: McBadgere Sep 2 2013, 06:41 AM

Wow... ...

The whole jaunt under the city in Old Mournhold was just amazing...

I've never played Morrowind, and I probably never will...And part of the reason will be that there would be no way it could ever live up to the way it's described in here...

Proper brilliance...I loved the whole stalking of Goblins thing...I daren't go all quotie, there was simply too much in there to copy out... ...Besides, half of this is being read on the PS3...So finding them again would be a challenge worthy of a quest in itself... ...

I did love the way that the repeated use of the restoration spells completely wiped Trey out...That was cool...

Oh, one bit that did make me laugh...And probably was just one of them throwaway lines was the one about the Argonian that "Suffered under the name of..."... ...I liked that...

Proper brilliant, right from the off...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...




Oh, to reply to the point Blackie made...Yes, I completely understand what yer saying there...And that's absolutely fair enough...though what I will say in reply is this...

Whhat?! Pish-tosh! You guys are great!!... ...

Thoroughly amazing, the pair of you...Well, all four of you...

Blimey, you're getting to be like one of them record producers that churn out the classic artists...The first one that springs to mind was Phil Spector...But...I'm guessing you won't want that particular comparison... ...

T-Dawg presents...On the Dachshund label!... ...

Posted by: treydog Sep 2 2013, 10:15 PM

I am actually not sure when the original Trey began…it would have been 2004 or 2005 though, yes.

As to the difference in style between Trey and Athlain, despite my enormous ego, I won’t get too deep into analyzing my own writing. I will say that the picture in my head was of Trey writing more of a “retrospective,” using his notes from the actual events. And so he had some sense of “writing for the ages.” Athlain is writing more “in the moment,” with no certainty of what will happen next. The other thing is that Trey has an awareness (and a bit of a complex) about his background, and so tends to seek a more “scholarly” tone.

And speaking of scholarship, I decided to have a little fun with the preface, and to adopt the persona of a stuffy academic who pretends to “know the truth” of events he never witnessed, and who would soil himself if he faced a drawn sword.

As to the non-reply period- Black Hand is mostly right… and remembers correctly my remark about “not spamming my own thread.” (And the fact that he does recall that is frightening in its own right!) I know I had Reasons™… mostly wanting the story to stand (or fall) on its own. But then- by seeing the example set by mALX and Acadian, I realized that this could be a much more interactive process- and that the readers deserved more than just answers to direct questions. That said, I did usually PM a first-time commenter to say thank you- which is how minque and I began corresponding all the way over at “T’Other Place.”

The other major difference with this story (and the previous) to BoTM is how closely it follows the main quest. I did not have enough confidence in my imagination to stray much… So- at least to date, Trey has never done anything “original”- although… he is immortal, and there are these rumors of dragons in Skyrim…. As someone who fancies himself a bit of a naturalist, might he go and see…? Hmmmm…

A word about the “goblins” in Tribunal. They are NASTY. More like Orcs or similar than the weak little scapers in Oblivion. Plus, I purposely tend to play my RP characters under-powered (adds that spice of “Oh good grief- time to reload- he died AGAIN). And Trey had real trouble with those beasts…

And the fact that potions and/or spells come with a cost (beyond just burning mana or gold or ingredients) is one that always “felt right” to me. The energy has to come from somewhere…

I had forgotten that bit about old Ten Tongues… I had occasional moments of lightness in what is mostly a dark story. When you meet the Orc smith, I think you will see what I mean…

Finally, much as I would like to take any credit for anyone else’s writing… Just… no. Their talent is their own- I am glad that seeing me get up there on the tight rope without a net encouraged some highly creative folks to do the same. After that, the interweaving of stories was just too much fun to pass up.

Many thanks to you for reading- it may cause me to do the same. (In fact, looking for the “suffered under the name of” bit, caused me to find and fix a typo).