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]

@McBadgere- The problem with my brain is that it has to live inside of my head.... Just saying.

And good old Tarhiel- a jab by the Duke University alumni of Bethesda at their hated North Carolina rivals. You know- it was many play-throughs before I actually got to see him falling from the sky.

Yes, introducing yourself as "Trey" does tend to cause people to reach for the cutlery for some reason. Thank you, my friend.

@hazmick- Trey had that one experience with what amounted to a slave bracer, plus his indentured servitude... so slavery is one of "those things" to him. Later on, his collection will consist of Dark Brotherhood headgear...

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One of the few fortunate things about my unfortunate lineage is that I have a decent ability to resist magic. However, it doesn't do any good against elemental magic (think fire and frost spells), so I wanted to be prepared before I went up against the wizard that was supposed to be lurking around Addamasartus. First, I switched to my bow. It was chitin, and not very powerful, but in the close quarters of a cave, that shouldn't matter too much. Next I readied the shield spell known as Dragon Skin (another benefit of my dubious heritage) and glanced over the Summon Skeleton scroll. That may see like excessive preparation to some, but I had a healthy respect for wizards' abilities. And since buying the scroll was sort of what had gotten me into this mess, it seemed only fair to get some benefit from it.

So that was the plan- sneak up on Mr. Wizard, cast Dragon Skin, read the scroll, then pin-cushion him with arrows while the summoned skeleton took the abuse. Plans are wonderful things. They help us feel like we are doing something positive as opposed to running around squalling. Of course, for all the good most plans do, the exercise from running around and squalling would be of more value.

The plan kind of went out the window with Step One, “Sneak Up on the Wizard.” As I eased down the ladder from the slave pen, one of my really spiffy, charcoal-blackened-so-it-wouldn’t-glow-in-the-dark chitin boots kicked loose a pebble. Said pebble proceeded to cheerfully rattle all the way down to the landing where the wizard was standing among some crates and barrels.

Still, that was no problem, he was a long way off, and I could move to Step Two. Hang on a minute, which one was Step Two- Cast Skeleton Skin, shoot the mage with my dragon, throw a scroll at him? As I fumbled with bow, arrows, scroll, and spell gestures, he was running toward me. Apparently his plan consisted of only one step- kill the Breton. He also yelled something about, "This is the end of your spit," which didn't make much sense, as I wasn't cooking anything at the time. Of course, my mouth WAS pretty dry, so maybe that was what he meant. Anyway, trying to figure out crazy wizard battle cries wasn't going to do me any good, so I started pelting him with arrows.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to hit a moving target in a dark cave, shooting downhill with a cheap bow? I think maybe throwing the bow at him might have been better; he might have tripped over it.
"Okay," I thought, "I've got a second, time to read the scroll and get some help here."

That little exercise reminded me why I prefer potions. Trying to read a scroll as some guy comes charging at you with blood in his eye is not fun. Just in time, the skeleton coalesced in front of me- facing the WRONG WAY! "Not me! Him! Attack HIM!" I screamed. With a toothy smile (the only kind he was capable of), the skeleton turned toward the wizard. Relieved that something seemed to be going right for a change, I backed up, cast my Dragon Skin, and settled in to watch the fight.

Skeletons are really good for scaring the scrib jelly out of small children, and the higher level ones make effective guards, but the scroll variety don't stand a chance against a wizard. Mr. Bones absorbed a couple of fire-based spells (oh, wonderful, this wizard WOULD have elemental spells) and disappeared without getting in a hit. I was a little more fortunate; one of my iron arrows found its mark just under the mage's right arm. By now, he was right on top of me, so it was time for sword work again. He managed to damage me pretty severely before a quick thrust to the throat between his raised hands stopped his spell-casting permanently.

In terms of solving my financial problems, the wizard wasn't much better than the first smuggler- all he was carrying was another chitin dagger and a few coins. So there I was, half dead and a lot less than half way toward getting back the tax money. I was beginning to wonder if adventuring was really what I wanted to do. Then I remembered those slaves back upstairs. I had promised them I would finish this.

A few repetitions of my healing spell repaired the damage from the wizard's attack and I moved down to the landing to see what was in all those boxes and barrels. I also wanted to investigate that last enchantment that my Beggar's Nose had indicated. As quietly as I could, I peered down the next passage, and spotted a second red-haired Dunmer woman.

Hoping for a quick takedown, or at least to cause some damage, I drew back the bowstring and let fly. Apparently, at least for me, hitting a non-moving target in a well-lit cave, on level ground with a cheap bow is not easy, either. As soon as the first arrow rattled off the cave wall behind her, she started bobbing and weaving and chucking chitin throwing stars at me. Fortunately, her aim was almost as bad as mine.

Unfortunately, it was only "almost" as bad- those things sting when they hit. Giving serious consideration to using the bowstring to hang myself, I dropped the bow and pulled out Old Sparky the Sword and went for her. And obviously, I prevailed, else you would be reading the Story of Red-Haired Dunmer Smuggler No. 2.

A search turned up the usual paltry stash of coins, plus a lock pick and a probe. Hmmm, she must have been in the trade. Well, turning to smuggling human cargo was a career-limiting decision on her part. No one else seemed about to spring out at me, so I turned to the containers to see what my blood and sweat had bought.

Going through the various boxes, chests, and barrels yielded a mixed lot- weapons, cash, liquor, ingredients, household goods- and clothing. I was just starting to wonder why it was necessary to smuggle cheap trousers when I made an interesting discovery. Lifting out the clothing revealed several packets of a peculiar white, crystalline substance and a couple of small vials marked with a crescent moon. Clearly, these were some sort of alchemical ingredients and potions, but I had never seen anything like them. With a mental shrug, I added it all to the pile.

What with the weapons and the liquor, I thought I might have enough to make up the missing tax money. Still, that last enchantment I had detected pulled at me- maybe it would be the item that financed my future. That is the curse of the adventurer, the seductive voice that says, "Just one more tomb, one more shrine, then you can rest, I promise."

So I piled up everything I didn't want weighing me down while exploring, and pushed deeper into the cave. I passed through another gate into a long, flooded passage. I was able to keep my head above water most of the way, but there finally came a point where I was going to have to duck under a low overhang. Just to be sure, I cast the detection spell one more time- sure enough, the enchantment was on the other side of the overhang. I thought to myself, "If I'm going through all this for a stupid potion of water breathing...."

The submerged area was fairly short and I soon found myself in a half-flooded circular chamber with a high ceiling. A stone ramp led up out of the pool. There in a clump of mushrooms were scattered bones, pieces of armor, and a few coins. The detection spell indicated I was right on top of the enchanted item, but where was it? I turned slowly, scanning the ground for any manmade object. The eerie glow of the Luminous Russula made it harder to see. I knew there were spells of light or night-eye, but I didn't have those. Finally, I took off my gauntlets and crawled on my knees, feeling the ground inch by inch. There! It was a ring. I seemed to remember an old story about a burglar who went underground and found a magic ring... naah, couldn't be. I examined it closely and decided it was what is known as a Thief Ring. A handy item for one in my trade, it could provide a small boost to speed, agility, and personality. It was not a sword or helm of great power, but then what did I expect? People don't just leave really nice swords lying around where anybody can pick them up. With a salute to the bones of my long-departed brother thief, I made my way back to the pile of loot and out of the cave. As I passed the slave pen, I was pleased to see that the three captives had taken the opportunity to escape.

Coming out from underground to find that it was still daylight was a surprise. It felt as if I had spent at least a week in that cave. However, the sun was sinking, and I knew I needed to get back to town and unload all these smuggler goods. Although I couldn't accurately estimate the value of everything, I had a feeling I would be able to pay the tax money and still be well on my way to amassing enough to see about better equipment. In particular, those vials with the crescent moons appeared to be very high quality, not the half-fired clay jugs used for common potions. The more valuable the contents, the more ornate the container. With thoughts of having all the coin I could carry, I strolled into Arrille's and laid everything except the fancy vials on the counter. Those I wanted to save until I saw how the negotiations went.

Arrille's first words came as a surprise, "Get rid of that moon sugar. I don't want any trouble." Moon sugar? He pointed at the peculiar white crystals, a look of extreme distaste on his face. Okay, no problem. I gathered the packets of powder, carried them outside, and hid them. I came back in and laid the fancy vials on the counter in place of the Moon Sugar. His eyes practically popped out of his head. He looked around frantically and said, "I'm not going to buy that skooma from you. Get rid of it and then we can trade." I could hardly believe that this was the same trader who cheerfully took the silverware and liquor without blinking. There was some kind of story here, and I needed to know what it was. So, I cached the "skooma" with the moon sugar, came back inside and said,

"What's the problem with those items?"

"Skooma is an illegal narcotic substance made from refined moon sugar. Criminals use it as a kind of currency. It makes you strong and fast, but also clumsy and stupid. I want no part of it."

The problem of Arrille's delicate sensibilities taken care of, we settled down to haggle. In the end, I had managed to come up with a little over 300 gold. I decided to hustle over to the Census Office before my lack of control caused me to buy back the Colavian hat or something equally useful. Ergalla was pleased to see me. Of course, he was even more pleased to see the money. He started talking about how wonderful it was that I was so honest; in fact, he had needed someone trustworthy for a special job. When Imperial officials start talking like that, I start looking for a fast exit. Whatever they have in mind is going to be "for the good of the Empire" and bad for the person doing the work. Under all the flattery, what he wanted was for me to find out who killed Processus. The job would pay 500 gold. That sounded like a WONDERFUL plan- track down a murderer, get proof that he had done it, and squeal to the Empire so they could execute him. But no, I had misunderstood- the Empire wasn't going to execute the murderer- that was MY job.

You ever have one of those days when you wake up on a boat with a headache and a one-eyed dark elf staring at you? And you get a feeling that says, "This day could not possibly get any worse?" Don't trust that feeling. It can ALWAYS get worse.