The Story of Trey- Chapter 2 Options

[treydog]

Chapter 2

"Not everyone who [dumps] on you is your enemy; not everyone who pulls you out is your friend; but most of all, when you are up to your chin in [sewage]- keep your damned mouth shut!"

Jack Beauregard (Henry Fonda) in “My Name is Nobody”


It is now the middle of Last Seed here on Vvardenfell, near the anniversary of my arrival so many years ago. If you were to ask me what I had for supper last night, I would be hard pressed to say. But if you asked me to recall my first days in Morrowind, I would do so with ease. And so I shall.

As I went north out of Seyda Neen, I remembered a promise I had made to a Khajiit and two Argonians. Turning west to the sea, I cast a spell of Water Walking and traveled out to deep water. Once there, I dropped three slave bracers, symbols of a practice I hated with every fiber of my being. Having been a victim of forced servitude myself, a slave in all but name, I would do whatever I could to cripple the foul practice. Promise fulfilled, I turned back toward shore and discovered one of the major limitations of magic: spells do not last forever, nor even as long as one might wish. In fact, spells often expire at particularly unfortunate moments. For example, when the spell-caster is well out into the sea and preaching the evils of slavery to an audience of one. One moment I was gliding across the surface of the water, composing one of the greatest anti-slavery speeches in the history of the Empire, the next I was gasping and trying not to swallow a significant portion of the Inner Sea. For future reference, it is better to compose great speeches and plan grand crusades from a comfortable chair in front of a warm fire.

My situation was quickly noticed by several small green fish, which seemed to be composed mostly of mouths full of long, needle-sharp teeth. If my sword technique on land had improved any, it was not noticeable in the water. My thrashing and cursing would have proved highly entertaining to anyone watching; I believe I overcame the slaughterfish as much by churning the water as by swordplay. Once my attackers floated on the surface, I was able to examine them and discover that, in addition to their impressive teeth, they possessed scales with some properties useful for the making of potions, such as Water Walking. Such as... the spell that I had cast to get out here, the spell that I still knew, the spell that I had sufficient magicka to cast perhaps another 9 TIMES! If the water had churned when I fought the slaughterfish, it positively boiled as I realized that I could have just cast a simple spell. I was much damper and much quieter as I slunk back to shore. On a happier note, I didn't quite drown when I noticed some kollops and dove to check them for pearls.

Back on more or less dry land, I downed one of Thavere's healing potions and decided to practice with that bane of my existence, the chitin short bow. My targets of choice were mudcrabs; they tended to be slow and not require 50 or 60 arrows to kill. That may seem cruel to some, but I had several good reasons. First, I was not a ranger; I didn't go flitting through the forest singing songs to the birds and furry creatures. Second, I needed the crab meat to keep me going- there weren't any provisioners out there. And, finally, I really needed to improve my skill with the bow if I wanted to survive. There were plenty of creatures that could hurt me badly if I allowed them into close range. Other than the mudcrabs and a few rats, I met no opposition. Of course, I did bypass several tombs and caves, feeling that my equipment and skills simply weren't up to the kind of trouble I might find. Besides, undead sort of, um, what's the word ... scared me.

I didn't hurry, but I didn't want to waste time either- I had probably left some enemies behind me- enemies that might prove powerful. I needed to get to a town large enough to lose myself and to perhaps join a guild or two. Guilds can be annoying, what with rules, duties, and membership dues, but they also provide some protection. In the real world, most lone wolves either starve to death or get taken down by the pack. It's a romantic image, but I had to think about survival, not image. As I passed the wizard-shaped depression in the road where Tarhiel had discovered one of the fundamental laws of physics, I turned east, wanting to work my way inland. The coast was humid and muddy; I hoped to find more pleasant travel conditions across the foothills. Also, I had just about all the mushrooms I would ever want; I hoped to find different plants farther inland.

My efforts were rewarded with a large variety of plants, including some that would provide healing. Best of all, no Imperial guards jumped out of the bushes to accuse me of lurking with the intent to loiter or treason or whatever else they could make up. As I came up the path to Pelegiad, I almost thought I had been magically transported to High Rock. The buildings looked so much like my home province that I felt a twinge of homesickness. That was quickly dispelled by the sight of an Imperial fort hovering like a black cloud at the north edge of town. Whenever I began to feel that I could breathe freely, I was reminded that the iron fist of the Empire was wrapped around my throat. Seeking a friendly, non-Imperial face, I spied Kunthar, a Nord barbarian. Generally, I find Nords to be likable; they have a simple outlook on life- smash it, spend it, eat it, or drink it. He explained that the Imperial wart, I mean fort, was only one part of the problem. There were also retired soldiers who had settled here and established farms. Pelegiad would not be the best place for me to settle, then. Besides, I had no way of knowing if the Imperial authorities in Seyda Neen were getting ready to send a message for all garrisons to pick up "one Trey, Breton, to be held on suspicion."

Kunthar was a good fellow; he told me about the services available in Pelegiad- the Halfway tavern and inn, two smiths, a trader, even an Imperial Cult shrine. The inn was of greatest interest to me- I needed a chance to clean off the grime of the road and perhaps sleep in a bed. Inside the tavern, I met a peculiar Dunmer by the name of Yakum who spoke a strange variety of Elvish. Among other odd subjects, he mentioned something about a prophecy, apparently some belief of the Ashland Dunmer. It all had to do with something or someone called the Nerevarine. I hardly understood a thing he said, but I liked the old boy; he seemed like my kind of person. After politely ending my conversation with Yakum, I approached the owner, who offered a selection of drinks, food, and best of all, beds. After buying some kwama eggs, I mentally counted my gold and decided I had enough to take a room. That would give me a chance to repair my gear, mix potions, and rest.

Originally, I had planned to just camp on the road and do my maintenance there. But then it struck me that the "clank, clank, ting, clank, clank" of armor repair might be as good as a dinner bell to any creatures in the area. I might as well just start shouting, "Yoo hoo, monster, come and eat me. Got your nice fresh Breton on the half-shell." No, civilization had its benefits, even if I did have to put up with the presence of Imperials. In the quiet of my room, I was able to mix up some Restore Fatigue potions and repair the worst of the wear on my armor and weapons. Best of all, I got to sleep in a bed. It was expensive, but I kind of liked it. Back home, I generally had to share my straw pile in the stable with whatever kind of "wildlife" might be there. That might be one reason why the silt strider bothered me so much; a flea that size would do a lot more than just leave a tiny bump if it bit you. In fact, YOU would be the tiny bump in the silt strider's stomach. The next morning, feeling rested and well fed for the first time, I got back on the road- ready to find adventure, fame, and fortune. What I found was romance.

This post has been edited by treydog: Mar 5 2015, 01:31 AM

[treydog]

@hazmick- Trey’s inner monologues bear a strong resemblance to my own in RL…. Except I think he is funnier than I am- as well as more athletic and far better-looking. I can’t remember now why he took the road to Pelegiad instead of the direct route- of course, he was not going to ride the giant flea- but beyond that it was probably just a poor sense of direction (which sometimes affects NPCs as well- see following installment).

@mplantinga!!!!!- Dr. Planty! So thrilled to see you. Hope life has been treating you well. If I had known that returning to the scene of the crime… um…. "The Adventures of Trey" would bring you back, I would have done it long ago. I think the idea that banging and clanging with hammers on one’s armor might attract critters was a Dungeons & Dragons holdover- and I agree that the fellow guests might be less than pleasant if he worked too late or started too early on the same task.

@Grits- The thing about that whole fiasco with the water-walking and the fish is… it really happened in the game, including the epic (snort) battle with the slaughterfish instead of just casting the spell. Trey may be funnier than me- but his mind is equally distracted. Chased down the wandering period from the copy-pasta and put it back. It was probably chasing after a willowy semi-colon…

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In the spirit of total honesty (at least as far as you know), I must confess that one of my reasons for leaving my joyous existence as an indentured servant in High Rock was the hope of finding romance. Although I was not a bad-looking fellow, my station in life told against me. And it was probable that I was not always able to remove the marks (and smells) of my work in the stable. That, too, had a negative effect on my chance for romance. Of course, I had no firsthand experience of love, anyway; what little I thought I knew came from books. For some reason, the innkeeper and his wife did not begrudge me the privilege of reading books. Perhaps because they were themselves illiterate, they did not recognize the value of being able to read. I had been fortunate enough to come to the attention of a wandering alchemist, who sensed my talent and taught me my letters. "Books," he said, "are the most powerful thing in the world. They can outlast any empire, defeat any sword ever forged." All that may have been true, but what I loved were stories of adventure and daring escapes, of a young man with a mysterious birthmark who overcame great odds and was revealed to be the lost prince. The only marks I had were from the knotted rope the innkeeper used on me if he felt I was moving too slowly. I even read the so-called "ladies' books" of poetry and romance. Some of them struck me as foolish, but still, the idea of a beautiful noblewoman falling in love with a commoner had some appeal. And, to my great surprise, I found out that that sort of thing really did happen. Of course, as with most revelations, it was not exactly the way I expected it to be.

Getting an early start, I left Pelegiad by the north road, making my slow way to Balmora and this Caius Cosades person I was supposed to meet. Although I had tried, I had not forgotten the package I was to deliver, nor the instructions that accompanied it. The words, "...suffer the fate of all traitors" had a way of staying in one's mind. I had not walked far when I saw a breath-taking woman standing beside the road, looking clearly distressed. She was beautiful; she was wealthy; best of all, she was a Breton, one of my own people. I approached her carefully; it wouldn't do to appear threatening; Breton noblewomen are delicate creatures, easily frightened. Sweeping a low bow, I said,

"May I be of some assistance to you, my lady?"

"Yes. Have you perhaps seen a bandit in the area?"

My heart skipped, for a variety of reasons. Should I reveal myself as the charming and mysterious rogue, Trey of High Rock? Or should I exercise caution? As it turned out, neither was necessary, for she continued:

"He was a dark elf--a strong, dashing dark elf. He took my jewels."

It appeared my reputation had not preceded me after all. She simply needed someone to recover her lost valuables. Still, might it not seem heroic if I overcame the fierce bandit and..? But no, she really wasn't concerned about the jewels; she wanted to find the bandit. She was rather taken with him. She said his name was Nelos Onmar and that she expected he was in Pelegiad, for he had said something about heading north. That last confused me somewhat, for I had just left Pelegiad behind me to the south, but perhaps love befuddles one's sense of direction. What she needed was for some kind person to carry her glove to Nelos as a token of her regard. Perhaps I was as soppy as Maurrie, or perhaps I wanted to believe that if ONE lovable rogue could find romance, so might another; in any event, I agreed to deliver the glove. Besides, I happened to know exactly where Nelos Onmar was; I had left him in the common room of the Halfway Tavern in Pelegiad. Turning south I retraced my steps and soon delivered the glove and all that it conveyed. To his credit, Nelos seemed genuinely moved; he had felt a spark of something, too. He, in turn, gave me a note to carry to Maurrie. If this didn't resolve itself soon, I was going to become very familiar with the road north of Pelegiad. Trey of High Rock, rogue, thief…, messenger boy. Gah! This was what reading those romances did to you.

Fortunately, Maurrie had no further need of Trey's Messenger Service for Lonely Ladies; she suggested I look up her friend Emusette Bracques in Tel Aruhn and then departed for Pelegiad with a smile and a good turn of speed for someone wearing a long skirt. I, on the other hand, felt a sudden lack of motivation. I moped slowly north, thinking morose thoughts, and felt it was fitting that a thunderstorm blew up and began soaking me to the skin. Finally shaking off my gloom, I decided that suffering for love was all well and good, but what I needed was shelter. Just then, I saw a cave to the left of the trail. Either the identifying marks had worn off or there never were any; I believed the cave was unoccupied.

It is useful to remember that when you are depressed and caught in a rainstorm on the road, that there are worse things than getting wet. And some of those things live in caves.