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]

Well, it's Wednesday, so you all know what that means.... What? NO! Put the hippopotamus DOWN! Down! Honestly. I cannot take you lot anywhere. What it should mean is- time for another... hard to call it an update, since this story is (mumble mumble) years old... "antedate?" Sounds like what you would need after trying one of Trey's early potions... Anyway- story time. Here you go. And thanks so much for reading.

@hazmick- Let’s just say his situation will change. Whether the change will be an improvement or not…. As for the whole skooma and moon sugar thing, Trey has rather… particular… feelings about some things. Legality rests lightly upon him- but morality is a different matter.

@ArtemisNoir2- I admit I rather love that line, too. Whenever someone in a movie says anything like “What’s the worst that could happen?” Mrs. Treydog and I just look at each other and shake our heads.

There are several places where I either point out inconsistencies or incorporate game oddities. That is part of the fun of writing about a game that I love, including all of its flaws.

@McBadgere- Sometimes I worried that I was “tearing it,” to use a phrase I heard when Mel Brooks was discussing the “Puttin’ on the Ritz” scene from “Young Frankenstein.” The idea being that one can work so hard for the laugh that the movie is ruined as a result. But Trey is just… really as he is portrayed.

My dear McBadgere, having read many of your words, you have no need to write like me or anyone else, excepting your own talented self.

And now the truth of the “have you ever had one of those days” line can be revealed. It was based on “The Week of Living Dangerously” by Steve Earle.

Well I woke up in a county jail 'cross the line in Laredo
I had a headache and a deputy staring at me through the door
He said, "Now how you got across that river alive, I don't know
But your wife just made your bail so now you're really dead for sure"

------------------------------------------

So the Census Office wanted me to go out and track down a murderer. And "bring him to justice," a fancy way of saying "execute him." For some strange reason, I had a sudden desire to roll up some dried, shredded hackle-lo leaf in a tube of paper, light the resulting combination with a torch, and inhale the fumes. I didn't know if it would make me feel any better, but somehow it seemed like the right thing to do. I also wanted to turn my collar up and lurk in dark alleys in the rain, but then, I usually felt like doing that. The sun had set on my first day in Seyda Neen, in Morrowind, and for the first time, I was uncertain. Not confused- I had been confused from the time I got here- but uncertain. Before, I had known what I wanted to do, in general terms, at least. I wanted to gather a reasonable amount of cash, outfit myself as well as the limited merchandise here would allow, and hope to somehow cause the Empire to lose interest in me. So far, I had managed one of the three- I probably had the best outfit money could buy- in Seyda Neen. However, I had managed to keep bringing myself to the attention of the Imperial officials, and to spend any money I acquired.

In fact, right after I left the Census Office, I happened upon Vodunius, still moping about, looking like a depressed guar. Remembering Darvame's speculation, I asked Vodunius if he was unhappy in Morrowind. It was then that I got one of the many lessons I was to learn in Vvardenfell. You CAN con a conman, especially if that the conman is a wet-behind-the-ears former stable hand who thinks he knows something about running a game. One key to a successful scam is how well you sell it. You have to get so deep into the story that you believe it yourself. Vodunius was a master.

He replied, "Not happy here? No, I'm not. If I had 100 drakes, I'd be on the next boat to Narsis. I came here to make my fortune, and all I've got is this cursed ring. Say. Would you give me 100 drakes for it? The ring itself is worth more than that, but the enchantment is cursed, and no one will buy it from me. It has a nifty little enchantment that helps you run faster. Problem is, it sucks the blood right out of you every time you use it. Please? You'll be doing me a real favor."

The tale was a thing of beauty. He had been just casually standing nearby looking pitiful when I came off the boat. But he didn't approach me directly with the pitch; he set Darvame up to show me the bait. Then, knowing that I was far from home, he played on my sympathy- "if only I had the money, I'd leave this miserable place." And the crowning touch, the appeal to greed- "the ring is worth more than that, but it's cursed." Classic. And what's more, everything he said was true.

"This ring? Oh, no. You wouldn't want this ring. It's cursed. Of course, it does make you run faster."

The hook was set, and he landed me without a struggle. There went almost all of my remaining gold. I would like to say that I was tired and preoccupied with what to do about Ergalla's "offer," but the truth was, I got taken. With hardly a thought, I pocketed the ring and started thinking about where I could sleep. Turned out there were no beds to be had in Seyda Neen. I briefly considered entering one of the houses, but there were just too many guards and citizens around. Then I remembered a cave nearby with a nice campfire already built. And I knew the previous occupants wouldn't have any objection to my moving in.

Back in Addamasartus, I settled down to look at the tax rolls and see if that would provide any clues as to who had murdered the tax collector. I hadn't made up my mind what I was going to do about it, but the memory of the body left out there for the crabs haunted me. That, and the fact that whoever did it hadn't bothered to take the money. This was revenge, a crime committed out of hatred rather than for gain.

As I scanned the list, I quickly narrowed it down to those who hadn't paid. I didn't think the killer would pay their taxes, then kill Processus and leave the money. The ones who hadn't paid were: Eldafire, Fargoth, Fine-Mouth, Foryn Gilnith, and Vodunius Nuccius. Vodunius- the man I had just given 100 gold so he could leave town? But no, if he was the killer and needed to finance a getaway, he would know right where to find 200 drakes. So not Vodunius. That left four, Eldafire, and three whose names began with "F". I was sure that meant something...but what? Now, if Processus had managed to scratch an "F" in the mud with his dying breath, it would have meant Eldafire did it, because it would really be an "E" that he wasn't able to finish. But, no, he hadn't left any dying messages. As I tried to make sense of it, I seemed to hear a voice say,

"Then there was the curious incident of the nix-hound in the night-time...."

What? It was time to get out of this cave and do something. I didn't mind it when I heard a voice in my head that made fun of me, but when it assumed an Altmer accent and started giving me advice on solving murders- no thanks. The key to anything is to talk to people. As a thief I knew that there was always somebody watching or listening, even when you believed there was no one around. The other thing that drove me was sitting in that cave, thinking about what had happened to the smugglers. Had they always been indifferent to human life or had they gradually become so corrupt that, finally, slaves were just another form of merchandise? One thing I knew, I would not end my days lurking in some cave like a troll.

I needed to create options for myself. The Empire had me over a barrel; I needed to do something to make money. One option was to accept Ergalla's offer and turn hired killer. Another was to keep gathering ingredients and try to get good enough at mixing them to make potions that wouldn't poison people or turn their tongues blue. But that would take time, and when you are 17, you just can't imagine taking a month (or a year!) to do something. But wait, when I first talked to Arrille, he mentioned somebody named Hrisskar who had had a run of bad luck gambling. How I could turn a profit from someone who was supposedly broke, I didn't know, but it wouldn't hurt to talk to the guy. With that, I left the cave and its ghosts behind. The past was past; I needed to ensure my future.

This post has been edited by treydog: Feb 24 2015, 09:46 PM

[McBadgere]

My dear McBadgere, having read many of your words, you have no need to write like me or anyone else, excepting your own talented self.

Bless you and your never ending words of encouragement, even in the face of that which gets shoved under yer nose to read... ...

What I mean is...The ease with which you take Trey and spin this completely awesome tale from simple game situations is nothing short of awesome...

I mean, yeah, later on you say you start to add your own stuff in...And then we get to BOTM and Athlain, Athynae and the supporting players...

But here, you've got Trey, and he does stuff...All of it exciting, yet still full of descriptions of the places, events and those he meets...And it's all there, and funny and...Interesting...

We're...What, six episodes in or whathaveyou...And he's done tonnes in one day...

Now me, I'd still be on the sea, having decided that my character somehow managed to wake up during it...And then - because I think these things are likely to happen - there'd be a Pirate™ adventure happening...Likely captured by a ship crewed by Dwemer constructs - "Parrot" included - and the Captain would be a 10,000 year old, two-headed Centurion called - because you know me, like to mess with Elder Scrolls nomclature just a bit - Dave...Er...Hang on...

*Thinks*...

*Makes notes*...

And, the thing is...You know damn well that this isn't beyond the realms of possibility, doncha?... ...

That's my point...I wish I could keep these things together and straightforward and amazing, like you do...



Anyways, to this one...

D'you know...Didn't like it...*Sniff*... ...

...

NARF!!...

Loved it!!!.. ...

Brilliant stuff, so funny...

Loved that he got taken in by the Elf and his patois...(Eh?! Eh?! )...

And then that Sherlock bit at the end made me laugh...Again...

Fantastic story...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...