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]

@hazmick- Glad to have you reading. Trey's voice comes from a number of places- my own habit of berating myself, Raymond Chandler's excellent detective stories, and a dash of Magnum: P.I. And yes, the whole deal with Processus presents several problems- as will be seen...

@McBadgere- I completely understand the lack of desire to play the game. For me... because I got it when it was new- it was (and still is) a revelation. Games do not HAVE to be linear and one-dimensional and ... on and on. But it is over 10 years old now, which is forever in gaming terms. But that is why we still have the stories, because they breathe new life into the things we have loved for so long.

@ArtemisNoir2- And I thank YOU most sincerely for giving me the motivation to bring back the "missing bits." I see things I might do differently now, but... I admit I still love this, my first story, just as it stands. Happy reading.

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As I stood over the body of the missing tax collector, all I could think of was that any minute now, a guard would come along and "discover" the crime. Shortly thereafter, I would be taking a short walk with a long drop at the end. Or maybe they would execute me on the spot, claiming to have caught me "in the act ". Even though I was a little rattled, I relieved Processus of his 200 gold and the tax list before clearing out of there. It may sound cold to you, but the way I saw it was- you can't spend gold in Oblivion, and besides, the Empire still owed me.

Rather than head straight back to town so soon after my rather public exit, I decided to follow my original plan- gather some ingredients. Soon enough, I found four kinds of mushrooms, as well as some swamp plants. I was a bit uncertain about some of the mushrooms- as far as I could tell, they would do more harm than good, but maybe there was a market for that sort of thing. If I didn't mix them myself, I could always swap for something useful. The coda flower was particularly interesting- if my analysis of the properties was right it could be part of a levitation potion. The idea of being able to float above an enemy appealed to me. If only I could find something to mix with it that would have the desired effect. I decided I would move a little further north into a sunny clearing along the trail to dry and grind my materials and test the results of various mixtures.

As I came out of the trees, I spotted something lying on the ground. It appeared to be a book of some sort. Just as I started to reach for the book, a blood-curdling scream came from ... up in the sky? Visions of some huge bird of prey flashed through my mind as I drew my bow and fearfully looked up. What I saw was a robed figure, falling from an incredible height. He continued to scream until he hit the ground, bounced once and lay still. What kind of place was this? Giant bugs for transportation, people falling out of the clear blue sky, killer crabs. I almost wished for my musty pile of straw back at the stable. Still, this just had to be investigated. First, I scanned the heavens to make sure that nothing had dropped the guy. If something big enough to carry off a full-grown man was still around, I wasn't going to interfere.

The book lying on the ground told me everything I needed to know. It seems that this Tarhiel, for that was his name, had invented a spell that would allow him to go really high up into the sky and cover vast distances in a single leap. Unfortunately, he had not bothered to think about landing. Say what you will about alchemists and their tendency to blow things up, at least we test things. Looking at Tarhiel, I could tell he spent all his time sitting in a wizard's tower, wearing his silly fur hat and inventing. Not testing, you understand, just inventing. Everybody ought to know that any human being can fly- once, briefly, and straight down. In spite of his questionable taste in headgear, Tarhiel did provide me with a handy enchanted sword- a long blade with shock damage. I also took the remaining scrolls he was carrying- they seemed to be called something like “Icarian Flight.” Maybe with experimentation, there would be a way to make them useful.

Let me tell you, this was starting to get more than a little creepy. I hadn't been in town half a day and had already found two dead guys. Well, found one dead and watched one die. Maybe that would have been normal if I was some little old lady scribe who said "Ayuh" and called people "dear." But I was a thief. The only time a thief is around dead bodies is when he's robbing a tomb or else something has gone wrong. I was perfectly willing to defend myself, but there was a reason I wasn't a pickpocket. You can usually explain why you are in the wrong house, but it's a lot harder to come up with a good reason why your hand is in the wrong pocket. With dead bodies showing up everywhere I went, I decided to go back to town for a quiet session of potion making. Also, I happened to have some spare clothing, only slightly stained, that Arrille might be willing to purchase. Why anybody would wear one of those Colavian "dunce caps" was beyond me, but Tarhiel sure didn't need his anymore.

One of the things you should remember if you wish to succeed, particularly outside the law, is that knowledge is power. When you know something that others don't, it can be profitable. Why the lesson in the economics of information? Because it was a lesson I hadn't learned yet, but was about to. Put another way, it usually doesn't hurt to keep your mouth shut.

Back in town, I made straight for the Tradehouse and sold off the extra clothing. Without really thinking about where the money was coming from, I purchased a couple of summon skeleton scrolls, which took just about all my gold. What I was thinking was... well, I probably wasn't thinking, I was just concerned about all the animals and dead bodies and wanted to have an edge. The idea was that I could let Uncle Boney take some of the hits while I cast spells and plunked arrows at the enemy. So then I walked out the door and talked myself right into trouble. The first person I encountered was Vodunius, still looking lost and unhappy. He greeted me politely and I should have done the same and kept on walking, but instead I said,

"Hey, I found Processus outside of town and he's dead. Murdered."

You know that voice you hear right AFTER you throw the rock at the hornet's nest, the smug little voice that says, "Boy, are you stupid"? Yeah, that one. The voice said to me, "You are a thief. You don't like the Empire. You just told an Imperial that you found the body of a murdered Imperial Tax Collector. Why don't you just drown yourself?"

Vodunius must have been really pre-occupied with his own troubles, though. He just said, "You should probably tell Socucius Ergalla at the Census Office, if you are so inclined."

My relief was short-lived. With everyone talking about the missing tax collector in a town this small, the story was going to get out. I had to decide- would it be better to wait for the guards to come see me or to go on and tell the story my way? Fortunately, I had managed to shut up before blabbing about the second dead body. Even the dumbest guard would have to start wondering about why I left a trail of dead men wherever I went. Even the truth probably wouldn't keep me from an appointment with the executioner. The Empire had an innovative system for dealing with suspected murderers- they killed them. The idea was that anyone suspected of murder was surely guilty of something.

It wasn't easy walking back into the Census Office. The only reason I ever want to return to the scene of the crime is because there was too much stuff to carry out the first time. I did my best "too busy to talk, got things to do" walk through Gravius' room, ducked into the Census Office, and put on an "I'm sorry to have to tell you" face.

As expected, Ergalla was upset about the murder, although I got the feeling that he was more concerned about the idea that someone was killing Imperial officials; maybe his name was on a list, too. Then he asked about the tax money. Uh-oh. He gave some song and dance about how the death was very sad, but the business of the Empire must go on, but I barely heard it. When I was buying those useful summoning scrolls, I forgot where most of the money had come from- namely, Processus’ body. And I didn't have it anymore. Before I could think of a good story about how the money was missing when I got there, Ergalla must have read my face. He insisted that I was going to have to get the Empire's 200 gold back- or else. I promised to do so, and wandered out of the office, trying to think of a fast way to get the cash together. I really didn't want to sell my stuff back to Arrille; I would take a loss, and besides, I needed everything I had. About that time, Fate, in the person of a pinch-faced Altmer, stepped in.

Her name was Eldafire and I had seen her around town before. I hadn't approached her, because she had a look that said my "lost puppy" routine wouldn't work; don't even bother to try. She was clearly angry about something; she stopped me and took in my not-quite new armor, the unlamented Tarhiel's magic sword, and the spare saber I had strapped to my back, and sniffed. Let me tell you, a world of feeling can be conveyed with a sniff, and this lady was an expert. She could give disdainful sniff lessons to the Empress.

Anyway, she fixed me with a stare and said,

"These guards are useless. So why don't you do something about those smugglers in Addamasartus? It's a cave over near the silt strider."

Smugglers...Arrille had mentioned something about smugglers, too. Maybe they were looking for a little help. I needed to go over and talk to Darvame Hleran at the silt strider anyway, so I could take a look at the cave. Smuggling wasn't really my line; I didn't care for boats that much, but the crew might be able to use someone who could help sell or distribute the goods. The more I thought about it, the better I liked the idea. Smugglers tend to move high-value, low-weight items, just the sort of thing I was looking to get in on.

Never letting on what I was really thinking, I bowed to the Altmer and said,

"Why, certainly, Eldafire. I would be pleased to investigate the smuggling problem."

Youth is a wonderful thing. What I mean is- it's a wonder we survive it.