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- The taxman’s money is one of those situations where one bad decision has caused Trey to have to make a series of even more unpalatable choices…. But he hopes that repaying it will remove the Imperial scrutiny. We shall see how that works out for him…

@McBadgere- In truth, I was afraid to embellish very much… and it took me quite a few runs at the game before I even “found” Processus’ body. Most all my characters went into Addamasartus, where there is a pool with a skeleton and a fishing rod… I got the idea that this was the unfortunate tax-collector… As to the descriptions- Morrowind, even with a low-end graphics card and no mods running- was a truly beautiful and amazing place. Therefore, the setting became a character in its own right. Add to that the fact that I wanted to view it through Trey’s eyes- and he had never been there before… I am beyond pleased that it works for you.

Pirates? Hmmm… let me just make a few notes of my own here… Who me? Nothing. Why do you ask?

And as to his… criminal tendencies… those are perhaps more in his mind than in the world of reality. And he is (like his scribe) much wiser in hindsight. And that “nix-hound in the night time” was just one of those bits that wrote itself, as I was musing on all the convoluted clues from the (far too many) detective stories I have read.

And now we come to the end of the first chapter. I will take that cheering and applause as a sign of approval, rather than relief….

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Back in town I spoke to a couple of citizens and even a guard about the murder of Processus. Normally, I avoid guards whenever possible, but there were so many of them in such a small town, I couldn't ignore them forever without it seeming suspicious. They all had pretty much the same story- that the murder wasn't surprising; Processus wore fancy clothes and jewels while squeezing the common folk for more and more tax money. They also mentioned that he had been seeing Thavere over at the lighthouse; she was the only one who could stand him. By then, I was outside the tradehouse; time to see what this Hrisskar fellow could do for me.

Have you ever been confronted with a dog that doesn't wag its tail and doesn't growl- it just looks at you like it wonders how you're going to taste? That was the feeling I got when I walked into the tavern upstairs and first saw Hrisskar Flat-Foot. He was a big man, a Nord with a forked beard, wearing full armor and carrying a shield in a tavern, in the middle of Last Seed. Beside him was Raflod the Braggart, who might as well have been wearing a sign that said, "idiot sidekick." The two of them seemed enough to fill the room, but there were others, as well- an Imperial, a Dunmer, and a Redguard woman who appeared to be tending the bar. All conversation stopped as I reached the top of the stairs, and five pairs of eyes weighed and measured me. I had the feeling that they had just accurately calculated the value of everything I had to within the nearest quarter-gold. Had I been older and more experienced, I would have ordered a drink and left, or perhaps made some excuse about, "Sorry, wrong turn, looking for the privy." But I was young and broke and in a strange town on a strange island, so I walked up to Hrisskar and asked if he had a line on a job.

He put an arm around my shoulders and said, "You look like you could use a friend, outlander. Perhaps I could be your friend. You can help me recover some gold."

The way he said "friend" made me think of a wolf asking a lamb to come over for dinner. Instead of refusing, I decided to at least see what it was about, so I said, "I'm listening."

It turned out that Fargoth wasn't joking about being shaken down; Hrisskar and his buddies ran the local "protection" racket. For those who don't know, it works like this- if you pay, nothing bad happens. But if you don't, your house catches fire or you get mysteriously beaten up in an alley. Hrisskar had hit a bad streak gambling and had also gotten the idea that some of his "clients," Fargoth in particular, were holding out on him. He wanted me to sneak to the top of the lighthouse and see where Fargoth went as he crept around town at night. If I could find Fargoth's gold, Hrisskar was willing to share. Fearing for my health if I refused, I said I would help, just so I could get out of there with a whole skin.

Back out in the humid night air, I felt like diving into the ocean to wash off the unclean feeling I had from just talking to that guy. Here he was, hanging out in the tavern with a room full of tough guys, but he wanted me to do his dirty work. And all because he was a bad gambler. Lose money? No problem- just put the squeeze on some poor thief- who was he going to complain to?

It wasn't so much that I felt sorry for Fargoth as that I really dislike crooked guards. Everyone else has to choose a side and take their chances- these guys tried to have it both ways. They got to collect their pay, plus what they could skim off the taxes, plus whatever they could collect from those of us who couldn't exactly explain our sources of income. Then, to top it off, they just hung out in the tavern, drinking for free- remember, I had worked at an inn, so I knew all about these people. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't anyone's idea of a knight in shining armor, but at least I worked for what I got and didn't ask anyone else to take the risks for me.

All paths seemed to lead to the lighthouse; there was probably some deeper meaning there, but all I wanted was to get through this mess and out of town. I would talk to Thavere and then go on to the top of the lighthouse. Maybe I could see a way out from up there. Anyway, the view would have to be worth seeing.

Thavere's place was painfully clean and sparsely furnished; if Processus had been keeping some of the tax money, he sure wasn't sharing it. She was as nice as my sources had said, really broken up about the murder, and surprised because Processus hardly ever got angry. When I asked about that "hardly ever," she explained that it wasn't so much that he got angry as that she had heard him in a heated argument with Foryn Gilnith over taxes. And she asked me to bring her Processus' ring if I found it- she had given it to him and would like to have it back. Foryn had been one of my three suspects- but I decided I really didn't want to confront him at night. After all, if he had killed once, he wouldn't hesitate to do so again.

Working my way up the steps of the lighthouse, I found an interesting book called The Wraith's Wedding Dowry under a bench on the top floor. I had always been mad for books, and decided this one would be good company while I waited to see what Fargoth would do. As I stood on the platform it seemed that for such a small place, Seyda Neen sure was active late at night. The guards I could understand; they were supposed to be moving around, checking on things. But it appeared that half the town was out there wandering back and forth. They didn't talk to each other, just kept circulating. I waited to see if there was some kind of event or attraction that everyone was going to, but no, they just seemed unable or unwilling to sleep. Maybe everyone was having bad dreams- I had certainly had one on the boat trip over.

After hours of forcing myself to stay awake, I saw Fargoth put out his torch, wade into a tide pool, and put something into an old stump. He then looked around and crept away, every move he made screaming, "Look at me! I'm up to something!" Finally able to sleep, I slipped inside the lighthouse and rested on the bench at the head of the steps until dawn. With the sunrise came certainty- I knew what I was going to do about Fargoth's hiding place and about the murder.

It was the morning of my second day in Seyda Neen, and I was preparing to leave. There were just a few things I had to take care of before I embarked upon the next stage of my new life. Before leaving the lighthouse, I prepared two notes, using some paper I had "borrowed" from the Census and Excise Office and a bit of charcoal. Satisfied with the results, I climbed down the steps, said a polite, "Good day," to Thavere, and stepped out into the new morning.

First, I waded out into the tide pool and examined the stump I had seen Fargoth near. Sure enough, it contained his ring, a lock pick, and 300 septims. I casually removed the lock pick and replaced it with the first note, the one that said, "Find a better hiding place." If Hrisskar wanted to shake people down, he could come out of the tavern and do it himself. I may have been a thief, but I worked for myself.

Next, I walked up to Foryn Gilnith's shack. It was a poorly-built structure, sitting on the mud-flat barely above the high tide line. Not certain how the conversation was going to go, I loosened my sword in its sheath, but didn't draw it. With a prayer to Kynareth, I opened the door.

The interior wasn't much better than the outside- a hammock for sleeping, a few cheap furnishings scattered over the dirt floor. How Processus could have justified trying to charge this poor Dunmer 225 septims in taxes was beyond me. Gilnith was home; he didn't seem all that surprised to see me, although it was hard to tell with that black tattoo across his face. When I asked him about the murder, he confessed immediately- Processus was skimming; he was constantly flaunting his flashy clothes and jewels. The unfairness finally got to be too much. When he asked me what I was going to do about it, I took a deep breath, and said,

"Murder is wrong, although he certainly seems to have provoked you. However, it isn't up to me to turn you in."

Gilnith seemed somewhat surprised by my response; he said the entire Census and Excise Office was corrupt. Then he pulled out Processus' ring and gruffly said,

"Take this to his woman. She's not to blame for this."

Taking the ring, I left quickly. Maybe I didn't much like Gilnith; I certainly didn't like his way of solving a problem. But I wasn't going to be anyone's hired sword, particularly not the Empire's. I had killed in the smuggler's cave and had no doubt that I would have to kill again. I might even profit from it. But I would not take money just for the purpose of killing someone the Empire decided was "undesirable." After all, I was an "undesirable" myself.

My step lighter than it had been since I arrived, I went to see Thavere and return the ring. She didn't ask how I came to have it, and I didn't say. She was so happy to get it back that she gave me two restore health potions. I thanked her and wished her well. My next stop was Arrille's to get rid of Vodunius ring. As expected, I got less than the 100 drakes I had paid; I considered the difference tuition for a graduate course in How Not to be Gullible. I gave an imaginary salute to Vodunius; I hoped he was doing well wherever he had landed.

With some of my remaining funds, I purchased a couple of armorer's hammers; my gear had seen some use and I didn't know how long it would be before I could find an armorer. And now, it was time to leave. Ergalla and Hrisskar were going to wait a long time if they expected me to dispense their idea of "justice."

There was one last stop to make before I left- the Census and Excise warehouse. Waiting until no one was around, I spelled open the lock and slipped inside. I carefully searched all the crates and sacks, finding the usual assortment of weapons, armor, and ingredients. Finally, in a dark corner, I turned up what I had halfway expected- several crates containing packet after packet of moon sugar and two vials of skooma. I left everything just as I found it, except for adding a note, one that read, "I know. And I will be watching."

With that, I shook the mud of Seyda Neen and the stench of Imperial corruption from my boots and started walking north.

Here Ends Chapter 1