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- He will have a typically “Treyish” response… as will be seen in an installment or 3… And he has a habit of talking first and not thinking until much later.

@Colonel Mustard- Welcome to memory lane! Trey very much took on a life of his own quite soon after I began to write his thoughts and experiences. Several times he objected to something I planned to have him do…. And more you shall have.

@ArtemisNoir2- Well um… yes. Not going to comment on my later in life follies (cough) beyond noting that I hope all the evidence has been destroyed- and perhaps a herd of wild horses run back and forth across it a few times.

As to the final question- definitely “cruel.” My penchant for cliff-racer.. ah... hanger… endings caused a number of threats to be bandied about. In jest, I am sure… well, almost sure….

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Growing up the way I had, money represented power. I watched how the inn-keeper and his wife would fall all over themselves to provide for the wealthy merchants who occasionally stopped at the inn. And I knew firsthand how they treated the orphaned bastard they had "taken to raise." It would be all "Oh, yes, great wealthy traveler, we can provide care for your 20 horses," followed by, "Trey, you lazy idiot, see to Master Moneybags' horses. When you finish you can have whatever is left in the kitchen." And whatever was left was usually the sort of stuff the cook wouldn't even give to the dogs. So money meant a full stomach, a warm bed, respect. I wanted all those things and I wanted the money to get them. The result was that I tended to quickly spend whatever coin came my way. I didn't desire money for itself, as a way of keeping score; I desired the things money could provide.

So it was that I found myself heading out of Seyda Neen, trying to figure out a way to replace the tax money I had found and promptly spent. The Empire is as protective of its tax money as a mother bear is of her cubs. As you are reading this, you might wonder why I didn't just get out of town. Perhaps I could have just left, hoping that the pursuit wouldn't find me. But remember, I was a blonde Breton in a land filled with Dunmer; a land that bristled with Imperial Legion forts and soldiers. And I didn't know the country- not the terrain, not the factions, not enough to hide successfully. So, for the moment, I was going to have to be a good little thief and get the money back. A citizen had tipped me to the fact that there was a smuggler's hideout nearby, and I had the idea that I could join them and replace the tax money while thumbing my nose at the Empire. Lesson number 43 for being a successful thief- it's about the profit; emotion is a luxury you can't afford. Don't steal for vengeance or out of annoyance- steal because you can get away with it.

As I made my way to Addamasartus (as the cave was called), I decided to follow up on my idea of talking to Darvame Hleran, the silt strider driver. When you may need to leave town in a hurry, it helps to be on friendly terms with the transportation professionals. I have to admit that I wasn't all that enthusiastic about riding on a giant bug, particularly one that resembled nothing so much as a 30-foot tall flea. But I could always talk to the driver without going for a ride. Right away, I mentioned Vodunius, figuring that a local reference might make Darvame more inclined to talk. It seemed to work, as she explained about the strider routes, some local rumors (which I had heard before), and added that she didn't think Vodunius was happy on Morrowind. That last I filed away for later- people looking for a change of scenery will often sell off their goods below cost just to raise money.

And speaking of raising money, I needed to get in contact with those smugglers pretty quick- Ergalla wasn't going to wait forever. I scanned the area near the strider landing and soon spotted a wooden doorway in the hillside just above a scummy pond. There were some apparently random markings carved into the door frame that told me this was the place. Those who operate on the fringes have a variety of methods of communication that don't mean anything to the average citizen or to the authorities. Carvings, mud splashes, chalk marks, even piles of stones can indicate places to avoid, people that are good for a free meal, sanctuary, and so on. Most people don't even see them or think they are just the work of children. But I could read the signs well enough to see that this place was a drop-off for contraband. So, full of plans to get into the local organization, I stepped into the cave and almost more trouble than I could handle.

As I entered the cave, I was greeted by the sight of a cheerful campfire, a small boat pulled up against one wall, and a red-haired Dunmer woman. I got as far as, "My name is Trey and...,"

By way of reply she screamed, "You will die!" and ran at me with a dagger in her hand!

This place was starting to get on my nerves. Here I was, just trying to make a dishonest living, and every time I turned around I was tripping over dead bodies or being attacked or asked to do something I didn't want to do. I guess the smugglers were an exclusive club, and I hadn't used the right password. Meanwhile, she was getting closer, so I pulled out the late, unlamented Tarhiel's sparksword and went to meet her. Believe me, I will boldly run away if I have to, but in this case I figured my long sword and armor were more than a match for her dagger and regular clothes. And besides, I was getting tired of all this and was really kind of glad to have an excuse to go a few rounds with somebody.

My skills might have been poor, but hers were non-existent. Using the superior length of my sword, I stabbed and backed away, usually causing her wild swings to miss altogether. Most of the few that got through skidded off my armor and did no damage. Most. One vicious swipe got past my guard and nicked the tip of my nose as I pulled my head back just in time. That did it! I was through playing. Blood dripping from my injured nose, I went into a flurry of chops and thrusts that quickly put her down.

Chest heaving from the exertion, I stood there for a minute, feeling the adrenaline drain away. So now I had taken that irrevocable step. I had killed another person. Maybe it was because she had been doing her best to murder me without provocation, or maybe I was just past caring, but mostly what I felt was tired. I cleaned my sword and cast a spell to cure my wound and then set about seeing how much she could contribute to “Trey's tax replacement fund.” The dagger looked to be worth a bit; she had a few coins in her pockets, and an interesting-looking key, marked with arcane symbols. Trouble was, I was going to have to kill about 20 or 30 smugglers at this rate to make up the missing money. Well, they were smugglers; maybe they had some goods I could confiscate.

A quick search of the entry cavern revealed nothing of worth- a few buckets and the boat, which wasn't going anywhere without more help than I was likely to get. There was also a locked gate, leading deeper into the cave. Before opening the gate, I decided to improve my chances of survival. First, I pulled some logs from the fire and extinguished them. After they cooled sufficiently, I smeared charcoal on my armor and weapons to cut down the reflection. Being quiet does no good if you are shining like a lamp in the window. Next, I activated my Beggar's Nose spell to try and get an idea of what else might be around. It doesn't always show enemies- in fact, it doesn't show people at all. However, the spell does pick out enchanted items and keys, as well as animals. Sometimes a magic source is a scroll or potion; other times it's the magic sword the guy just around the next bend is planning to use to whack you.

At any rate, the spell showed me a cluster of three enchantments to the west, a key to the south, and a single source further away to the northwest. Mindful of the greeting I had received upon entering, I decided to investigate the cluster of sources first and carefully opened the gate. As quietly as possible, I crept up a ladder to the left and came to a landing in front of a locked gate. Now I was getting somewhere. I said to myself, "These people probably keep their most valuable stuff in here." And that turned out to be true, but not in the way I had expected.

On the other side of that gate, I found a Khajiit and two Argonians. And they were slaves. Any regrets I might have had about killing that smuggler evaporated in that instant. Since I grew up practically a slave myself, I despise the practice of slavery. The way I feel about slavery and those who traffic in slaves makes my feelings toward the Empire seem positively warm. These poor wretches clustered around me and said,

"Do you have the key? Will you let me go free?"

Working quickly, I unlocked the bracers and freed Baadargo, Banalz, and Okaw. The slave bracers were the three enchantments revealed by the Beggar's Nose spell. They were worth a few gold, but the mere touch of them turned my stomach, so I resolved to pitch them into the sea. I questioned Baadargo and his companions, but they didn't know much. They had been grabbed, tossed onto a boat, carried off from the mainland, and caged here. That sure sounded familiar. They were in pretty poor shape; it didn't look like the smugglers had given any thought to feeding them. They weren't sure how many smugglers were around- they had seen a red-haired Dunmer woman and a wizard, who had put the bracers on them.

I shared out some kwama eggs I had found one place and another, and told them, "Stay here. I'll clean out the rest of the smugglers, then you can figure out a way to get out of here." I would have given them gold to buy their way home, but I didn't have it. One of the rumors I had heard in town was that there was an abolitionist movement; maybe these guys could find some help to get home. Meanwhile, I had some slave traders to educate on the finer points of swordsmanship. I really hoped they were fast learners, because there was only going to be one lesson and then a final exam.