The Story of Trey- Chapter 1 Options

[treydog]

The Story of Trey

Me that ‘ave been what I’ve been
Me that ‘ave gone where I’ve gone
Me that ‘ave seen what I’ve seen …
Me

Chant-Pagan, English Irregular, Discharged
Rudyard Kipling

Chapter 1

My name is Trey, and this is my story. As I sit in my stronghold and look at the nicked swords, still glowing with enchantment; the battered alchemy apparatus; the books and scrolls; I am reminded how it was that I, a Breton of High Rock, came to be a power in Vvardenfell, a land of which I had never heard. This is the story of how I came to Morrowind and what happened after.

I never knew my parents. My mother, who died giving birth to me, was said to have been a hedge witch of no great fame or talent. Of my father, the most that could be said was that he was a sometime bard, sometime thief, full time scoundrel who didn't even leave a name behind for his son. My talents I inherited from my mother, my tendencies from my father. For family, I had an inn-keeper and his wife, who took payment for their "charity" out of my hide and out of my free labor. Slavery is illegal in the Empire, they say. You couldn't prove it by me. At 17, I took the 3 drakes from the cash box, the horse from the stable, and my life to Cyrodiil. My thought was that a fellow of my obvious talents should have no trouble finding fortune in the Imperial City. Fortune I found, in plenty. Misfortune.

My intention was to earn a few coins with my herb lore, perhaps pick up a few useful spells, and so, become apprentice to a mage or alchemist. But the first thing I discovered upon arrival was that everything came at a price- 1 drake to even get in the city gate. When I looked for a livery stable to put up the horse, they wanted 5 for the week! "Very well," I said, "How much will you give me for the horse?"
The ostler walked around the old roan, checked his teeth, hooves, and legs, stared into space and said, "15, and I'm doin' you a favor."

Young I may have been, but not that young.

"Forty, and I get to sleep in the loft for the week."

After a long negotiation, I was richer by 27 drakes, minus a horse, and free in the Imperial City. A place to sleep I would have to find on my own. I wandered the streets the rest of the day, seeking an inn. Some turned me away based on my clothes, others were too dear. Near dusk, I came upon a park filled with herbs and flowers.

"Here now." thought I, "This is a chance to use my skills to earn some money. No doubt these city people have no idea of the properties of these plants." So I spent the remaining light gathering my pockets full of seeds, blooms, and pods. Finally, tired from my labors, I sought a tree under which to sleep. Later, feeling something poking me in the back, I made to turn so as to get away from what I thought was a tree root. The poking became harder and more insistent. Then came a voice:

"Time to get up, Blondie. We have a room all ready for you."

It was a pair of gods-forsaken Imperial guards, and the "root" was the butt of a spear. It seemed that sleeping in the park was against the rules. Well, maybe a cell wouldn't be so bad. I should have known that nothing was free or easy in the Imperial City.

Once we reached the prison, a bored sergeant said,

"What have we got here, boys? An axe-murderer? Perhaps the mastermind behind the ebony smuggling ring?"

"No, Sarge. Just another vagrant sleeping in the city park. We'll head back out on patrol."

"All right, Breton, let's see what's in those pockets," said the sergeant.

Remember what I said about nothing being easy?

After all the plant material was laid on his desk, the sergeant said, "Do you know that the parks are considered the property of the Emperor? Do you know that there are severe penalties for stealing from the Emperor? Well, it's too late for court tonight. But we won't take any chances with you. Darfa, got a customer for you."

A man in mage's robes came out from a side room, carrying a bracer that glowed with enchantment. As he locked the bracer around my wrist, I could feel the magicka drain out of me. That would make things a bit more difficult, but not necessarily impossible, depending on how closely they searched me. They took all my cash, "for safe-keeping," but missed the lock-picks I had hidden in my mouth and hair. Good to keep in mind, but for now I had a bed out of the elements. Into the cell I went. Wooden bunk, wooden bucket in the corner, no blankets. Welcome to the big city. There was nothing for it, so I curled up on the bunk and slept.

The next morning, breakfast. Gruel, but there were no bugs in it, so I ate. Then I was rousted out to go see the magistrate. In the courtroom, I waited as other prisoners were hustled forward, asked to state their names, home provinces, and lineage. Then a bailiff read off a list of charges and the magistrate pronounced sentence. It quickly became clear that the only verdict was, "Guilty." If you got arrested, you had done it. The more I watched, the angrier I got. Why even bother to have a "trial" when the answer was already decided?

Finally, it was my turn. "Prisoner, state your name, province, and parentage."

All the anger over what had happened got the best of me, I guess. Or maybe I just naturally have a big mouth...

"Trey of High Rock, son of Nona Yerbisnes and Gofor Kyerself."

Whack! A spear haft whipped across the back of my legs and sent me to my knees.

"You are accused of vagrancy, vandalism of an Imperial park, and theft of Imperial property. In addition, your actions in this court constitute assault on an Imperial official and disturbing the peace. I find you guilty and sentence you to a fine of..." a whispered conference with the guard... "29 drakes and 30 days at hard labor. Next case."

If I hadn't mentioned it before, I really hate Imperials.

Back we went to the prison. This time, I watched everything. No way were they going to get 30 days of free labor from me. I counted guards, noticed which doors were locked, even spotted a very interesting chest marked "Evidence". Fortunately, there was no labor detail on court day, so I was taken back to my cell, where I could plot my escape. To this day, I wonder what would have happened if I had just given them their 30 days.

At dusk, the guard brought a scoop of water and a chunk of bread. I settled down to wait. The time passed slowly and the prison at last grew quiet. I pulled the lock-pick from my mouth and tried the magicka-draining bracer. No luck, the lock was too complex, a type I had never seen before. Ah well, I really didn't want to take the time to recover my magicka anyway.

The lock on the cell door wasn't so much of a problem, and I found myself in the corridor. Soft-footed, I eased to the door of the guard-room. I listened carefully and heard nothing. Slowly, I opened the door to an empty room. There was just enough time to check that evidence chest, and then I would be on my way.
The lock on the evidence chest proved to be more than my tools and skills could handle, so I gave it up and returned to the most important thing- getting away. Again, I listened at the door to the street and heard nothing. With a careful touch I opened the door just enough to slide out into the street and... the light from half-a-dozen lanterns pinned me in a glare like daylight. Behind the lanterns I could see cross-bows held steady, pointed at my chest. Then a guard captain stepped into the light and said,

"That's him, sir. That's Trey of High Rock."

[treydog]

@McB- I believe you might have wandered acrost this bit of scribbling previously, yes. And thank you for being such a faithful and laudatory audience. I know very well how skilled a writer you are, so I am thrilled by your words.

@hazmick- I appreciate that. One of the weaknesses (at least in my mind), with this first attempt was that I was afraid to stray very far from the actual in-game dialogue and events. Later, I did more with conversations to flesh out things that otherwise happened- “off-screen.”

@Destri- Dear Jiub. As fierce as he looks, he is your first friend in Morrowind- and then he disappears, never to be seen again… Morrowind is the first “non-linear” game I ever played. It took me FOREVER to realize… “Hey- I can just… wander around… it’s OK. There’s no clock ticking!” I tried to build a completely moral character once- he would not steal, only killed when he had to… he didn’t last long…

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I decided that the first thing to do was find someone who could point me in the right direction, give me an idea of who was who. There was no way I was going to ask the guards anything, especially not while I was carrying a bunch of goods without a bill of sale. Besides, conversation with most guards tends to be of the "Move it along. I've got my eye on you, and by the way, what's in the bag?" variety. No thanks. What I needed was somebody who was a little crooked, but not really very bright. The easiest person to gull is the one who gulls himself. And there, walking toward me, I saw a gift from the gods. Assuming that is that the gods love thieves and have a sense of humor.

He was a Wood Elf, or Bosmer, one of those annoying fellows you expect to be hanging out in some sylvan glade making songs about birds and butterflies. This guy's whining voice would have knocked the birds right out of their nests and turned the butterflies into sour milk. Self-important little twit, strutting about as if he had a million deals to set up, yet dressed no better than I was. So I tried my sincerest smile and said,
"Beautiful day, my fine Wood Elf. How fare you in this fine city?" It's a wonder I didn't choke on that, but you have to sound even dumber than the mark if you want to make it work.

His name was Fargoth, he said. He had noticed the boat coming in and thought it an odd time of day; it was apparently an unscheduled run. Not only that, but it seemed I was the only one who landed here in lovely Seyda Neen. Then he made a remark that told me I had picked the right elf:

"Hope the Imperials treat you okay."

There was a wealth of feeling in that simple statement, so I made an encouraging noise to keep him going. He mentioned that he was sure the local Imperial bully-boys had stolen his ring.

"Ring?" I said, glad that I wasn't wearing the one I had found in the rain barrel.

The little guy told a long story about how the guards were always shaking him down and now he was missing an "engraved ring of healing." Maybe I had seen it?

Now some people might think what I did next was either soft-headed or criminally stupid, but I reached into my pocket and pulled out the rain barrel treasure and asked him,

"You mean like this one?"

He was so excited, he was babbling. I was his new best friend. He was going to tell everybody. Those guards were going to get it one of these days. Finally, he ran down after promising to put in a good word for me with Arrille, the only merchant in the whole town. And that, my friends, is why I did it. I didn't need a sorry healing ring when I could cast hearth heal or make potions. I did need friends and inside information. "Bread upon the waters" is what you call it. Give a little bit and you may get back a lot more.

Now that he was my "best friend," I wrung every bit of information I could from the little Bosmer. One important thing he had told me that I filed away- there were some local strong-arm types already in control, and they were guards themselves or else were paying them off. So I needed to sell my goods, get an outfit, and move on before they took too much interest in the new guy. I had already had all the attention I wanted from the guards. So, it looked like a day or two here to make contacts and build up some cash, then it would be time to take it on the road. It also looked like it might be worthwhile to find a local place to stash most of my goods- preferably NOT a rain barrel, since the locals seemed to know that one already.

Otherwise, Fargoth told me about a place called 'Solstheim' somewhere "up North" where the Legion was having trouble. You can imagine how that broke my heart. He also tried to give me advice on how to read people and get on their good side. Remember what I said about letting the mark sell himself? Finally, he noted that the town was as bad as I feared- one trader, no guilds, no temples, no specialty shops. Well, I thought, one rundown store where the owner likes me beats a hundred high-class shops where they would throw me out because of my clothes. It was going to take time to build up a decent outfit and find out who the real powers were. That was one mistake from Cyrodiil I wasn't going to repeat here. I was going to find out who hollered when toes got stepped on, BEFORE I did any stepping. And then, just maybe, I would do more than step on toes.

Before going into Arrille's, I talked to a couple of other people to see if I could confirm what Fargoth had told me. It wasn't that I didn't trust him- I didn't trust anybody. But if three or four people said the same thing, chances were it was true. Nobody had much new information to add, some more talk of that Solstheim place, mostly of the "you won't catch me going there, but there's a boat from Khuul" sort. If I had been the sensitive type, I would have thought they wanted me to get out of town. There was also some buzz about the local tax collector going missing- no surprise; no one seemed terribly broken up about it. One fellow, an Imperial by the name of Vodunius Nuccius, caught my interest. It wasn't so much what he said- most of it the same patter I had heard from others- but the way he said it. There was a look on his face when he recommended I take the "silt strider" out of town that said he wished he was going, too. He offered to put in a word for me with the Darvame Hleran, the strider driver. I finally figured out that he was talking about that 30-foot tall flea-looking thing standing just outside of town. The idea of riding a huge bug like that gave me a chill.

I decided to look up the driver later, anyway. Someone who dealt with departures and arrivals would be a good source of information about who was traveling and where to and how often. It sometimes helps to know when someone is going to be out of town for a few days. You know, check the windows and doors, water the plants, clear away any clutter, that sort of thing. Anyway, that was for later. Right now I wanted to find out if I was going to be able to move my "merchandise" locally or whether I would have to go farther afield.

In Arrille's Tradehouse I got good news and bad news. Good news- he was my kind of trader- willing to buy without asking too many questions, and Fargoth had given me a good word. Bad news- he didn't have much of a selection of armor or weapons, mostly iron and something he called “chitin”. He did have some useful scrolls, plus a handful of spells he was willing to teach. I opened up the sack and settled down to squeeze every gold piece I could from the Empire's goods. Eventually, I was able to unload the silverware, the alcohol, and the dagger for around 200 drakes. That was better than I had hoped; with the "release fee" and the found money, I was over 300 to the good. Of course, coins by themselves are about as useful as a pile of pebbles- you can throw either one at a charging critter and get the same effect. So I looked over the limited inventory and made the best I could of it.

Back in High Rock, the regular guards and Imperial Legion were supplemented by what was charitably called a “militia.” If you were over fourteen years of age and had three out of your four limbs, you were in it. We “drilled” in whatever bits and pieces of armor hadn’t been melted down or turned into planters and coal scuttles, using laths and sticks in place of swords or spears. But even so, the occasional Legionnaire would take pity on us (or get so disgusted by our clumsiness) as to offer some real practice. And it turned out that I had some natural ability with a sword.

All of that meant I had some specific ideas about what sort of equipment I wanted. I chose chitin armor, for a start. It weighs a lot less than iron and is also much quieter. If you want to slip in somewhere unnoticed and slip back out with the maximum amount of whatever, light armor is the way to go. Weapons were more difficult- he had a nice silver claymore, which would cause serious damage, and could hold a decent enchantment if I got the chance.... But I also wanted a bow and arrows. (I prefer to stay at least a bowshot away from potential trouble if possible).

And there were a mortar & pestle gathering dust on an upper shelf; a must-have if those ingredients I had “found” were going to be of any use. So I selected an iron saber, instead. If I ran into anything that couldn't be hurt by iron, I'd be better off bravely running away. That also left me enough to pick up a fireball spell. My destruction skill was pretty poor, but maybe I could practice starting campfires or something. I passed over around 250 septims and strapped everything on. For the first time since leaving home, I started to feel optimistic about my chances. It’s funny how a new outfit can improve your point of view. Too, I figured that the locals might take me more seriously now that I didn't look so much like I had just fallen off the turnip wagon. Speaking of wagons, the biggest disappointment was the news that there were NO horses to be bought. Not just no horses in Seyda Neen- no horses ANYWHERE. No wonder people were riding giant bugs.

Arrille seemed like a friendly sort, so I asked if there were any opportunities for a fellow who was willing to work. He mentioned two or three things that might turn a profit- first, someone named Hrisskar was having cash-flow problems- he was upstairs in the bar. Next, anybody who was willing could turn bounty-hunter; it was open season on smugglers, outlaws, and criminals. There usually wasn't any reward, but you could keep whatever you found with no questions asked. Finally, more as a warning than a suggestion, he talked about the Daedric shrines scattered around. With weird names and weirder architecture, they were a magnet for nasty critters and equally nasty Daedra-worshippers. Arrille's feeling was they were good places to avoid. In spite of my new gear, I thought that was excellent advice.

For now, with my expensive mortar & pestle begging to be used, I decided to go on a gathering expedition. With the memory of what had gotten me tossed into prison fresh in my mind, I decided to take a little stroll out of town to the north. As swampy and humid as this place was, I guessed there would be good prospects for mushrooms and marsh plants. One of the few bits of formal training I had gotten mentioned that "marginal zones" like coasts, river banks, and swamps were good for medicinal plants. Some animals could also provide ingredients. Of course, this wasn't High Rock, so the plants and animals were likely to be different from what I was used to. I hadn't gone twenty steps when I found out how right that was. I was wandering around on the shore when a rock in front of me moved! Then it grew legs and claws and started toward me! That was no rock; it was a giant crab. To top it off, one of the guards who had done nothing up to that time but wander around yelled, "Huarrgh!" and started running at me with his sword raised. I thought, "This is just great- jumped by a crab and NOW they find out about the missing goods."

I started to back away saying, "Easy there, General. I don't know how it happened. Those plates and things must have just sort of fallen into the bag while I was dusting."

But the guard ran right by me and started whacking the crab. Mouth open in shock, I watched him dispatch the monster crustacean with a couple of blows and then calmly walk away. He hadn't been after me, at all. Seeing as the crab was no longer inclined to argue, I examined it closely. Sure enough, there was some useful meat. It might not taste too good, but it could help keep me going. I pulled out my bow and resolved to be more careful about where I put my feet.

Continuing north, I startled a huge rat. His teeth looked like yellow knives and those beady red eyes were filled with hatred. He was so close that the bow wasn't going to do me any good, so I switched to the saber. My technique may not have been good, but it got the job done. Looking back, my swordsmanship was probably more suited to chopping wood than dueling, but I was fighting for my life. Behind some rocks, I discovered what the rat had been doing. There was a body and it was definitely dead. Whatever this fellow had when he was alive wasn't going to do him any good anymore, so I searched the corpse. He was carrying a tax list and 200 gold. Here then, was Processus the Tax Collector. And whatever had killed him had used a dagger. Somehow I didn't think it was giant crabs or rats.