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- One of the great joys of Morrowind (for me) after playing Daggerfall was that the dungeons were navigable without an advanced degree in 4-dimensional spatial astrophysics. And the “worn door” remark is another slight tweak at Bethsoft’s less-than-imaginative interior labels. And this cliff-hanger will be relieved- but I cannot promise not to do it again.

@ArtemisNoir2- Another of the places I had fun with Morrowind was the epithets hurled by various enemies. “S’wit” in Addamasartus and “fetcher” here. Given that Trey is not versed in Dunmer curses adds to the fun.

@mplantinga- I tend to agree that the Dunmner “faux-hawk” hairstyle is a sign of serious mental illness. And evidence of that will be seen again, if I ever get Trey to Balmora. The “note to self” was another place where I wavered over “breaking the fourth wall,” but… it felt like it fit in with Trey’s awareness that someone else is watching over his shoulder. And the treasure will be revealed in a moment.

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

I examined several crates and barrels, revealing the standard assortment of ingredients, armor, and clothing. I was beginning to wonder if there was no textile industry on Vvardenfell. Which reminded me, I was going to have to find a trader soon; all this material was beginning to weigh me down. A couple of locked chests contained around 30 drakes and some cheap jewelry. Then, under a hammock, I found a chest with a better quality lock. Clearly, this was going to be the major trove. Using the better of my lock picks (thanks, Fargoth), I was able to force the lock. And inside, there were--- books. That's right, books. "Ancestors and the Dunmer," "The Annotated Annuad," "The Anticipations," and "The Book of Dawn and Dusk." On a nearby table was the "36 Lessons of Vivec, Sermon 16." I was so pleased I settled down for a long night of reading.

From the first four books, I learned a great deal about the dark elves and their beliefs. Some of it was confusing, some was frightening, but I mainly came away with a feeling of admiration for these people. They did not like foreigners, "outlanders" as they called us; it was only recently that they had even acknowledged that non-Dunmer races were human. Still, they had fascinating beliefs and I resolved to learn more about them. I tossed a netch leather cuirass out of my pack to make room for the books and lay down in the hammock to rest. Eight hours later, I was working my way steadily north toward Balmora, gathering blooms, roots, and berries for my potion-making.

Turning west, I entered a narrow pass and came upon a scene of desolation. The trees were shattered and stunted, largely without leaves; there did not seem to be a single growing thing. The ground itself was covered with ash and lava. As I neared the road to Balmora, I heard a now-identifiable growl and spotted a Nix-Hound up ahead. The creature wasn't blocking the path I needed to take, so I decided to try to slip past. As I moved behind a pile of rocks, a nerve-grating "Skreee" sounded high overhead. It began to rain again; I hoped that would mask my footsteps and lower the visibility. To my relief, the hound moved away and whatever had screamed flew over the ridge.

Near the top of the trail, I made out another Legion fort, which I gave a wide berth. Although it was not a welcome sight, I knew the fort meant I was near a town or city; the Legion soldiers don't like to be far from their comforts. Passing the fort, I moved into a greener country. There was still a fair amount of bare rock, but the trees were healthier than those in the blasted area I had passed through. Even in the rain, it was a lovely place. Soon, I heard the familiar lowing trill of a silt strider and saw a stone bridge and a city limit obelisk. I had reached Balmora.

I stood just outside Balmora, the place where I hoped to find some answers and to perhaps return to my interrupted life. Crossing the two bridges and nearing the silt strider landing, I got my first look at the city. It rested between high, rugged ridges and was split into two sections by a small river. The buildings constructed mostly of plaster over stone, with flat roofs to capture the rainfall. Colorful banners or wooden placards indicated numerous shops and guilds. I had a feeling I was going to like Balmora. Although the plunder from the outlaw cave was weighing me down, the package from the Imperial captain weighed even more, at least in my mind. There would be time to engage in commerce later; for now I needed to discharge what I hoped would be my last duty for the Empire. Passing through the arched entry in the wall of the city, I looked for someone who could direct me to the South Wall Cornerclub and Caius Cosades.

My eye was immediately drawn to an Argonian, who approached with the peculiar gait of her kind. I was momentarily taken aback by her greeting, "The prey approaches," but quickly realized that for Argonians, that was the equivalent of "Good day." At least I hoped so. Her name was Hul, and she was the first free Argonian I had met since coming to Morrowind. Hul cheerfully told me about Balmora; it had chapter houses for the Mages and Fighters Guilds, as well as numerous general traders and specialty shops. The South Wall Club was across the river, at the south end of Labor Street. Thanking the Argonian politely (I always try to be polite to people who have mouths full of pointy teeth), I turned my steps in that direction. It was interesting to see that, although the Empire claimed sovereignty over all of Vvardenfell, there were no Imperial guards. The guards I noticed, and I had picked up the habit of noticing guards, were dressed in yellowish armor, including full-face helms with a flaring neckpiece at the rear. Otherwise they were just like all guards- patrolling, making sure that no one was loitering or looting- in other words, being a pain in the neck for your average thief.

I soon reached the South Wall and paused a moment to examine the building before I went in. It appeared to possess two stories, and possibly a basement. It was well built, but had seen better days. As I approached the main door, indicated by a banner containing what I took to be a picture of a guar, I noted a series of apparently random scratches low down on the left side of the door frame. Then I recalled the words of Yakum, the Ashlander in Pelegiad- "...the Thieves Guild doesn't have public guild halls, they mostly meet in corner clubs or tradehouses." Welcome to Balmora, indeed. Feeling as if a world of possibilities was about to open before me, I stepped inside.

At the bend of the first floor hall was a young Nord woman who served as a greeter and apparently sold a limited selection of goods. She was friendly enough, in a cautious way, so I asked some general questions. She told me a bit about the services available in Balmora and then mentioned the guilds, including the Thieves Guild. When I asked for further information about the Thieves Guild, all she would say was, "Talk to Sugar-Lips Habasi. She's around here somewhere." When I met her, I discovered that Sugar-Lips was a Khajiit and the Mastermind of the Balmora Thieves Guild; not surprising since the Khajiiti's natural stealth and agility allow them to be among the best thieves in Tamriel. She asked me a series of questions designed to determine my skills and pronounced me acceptable to the Guild. I signed the secret ledger and was admitted as a Toad. Not the most attractive title, but I wasn't joining in order to make a good name.

When I inquired about Caius Cosades, Sugar-Lips directed me to Bacola Closcius, the owner of the club.
I then found Bacola on the second floor. When I asked him where I might find Caius, he responded, "Who? Why do you want to know? Who sent you to me? What's this about?" When he finally took a breath, no doubt preparing to fire more questions at me, I interrupted and explained about the package. I also made the guild sign Sugar-Lips had taught me, which calmed him considerably. I was starting to wonder what this Caius fellow did, that he worked so hard to stay out of sight. Bacola directed me to a small house at the north end of the next street to the east, telling me to enter on the ground floor. I thanked him and left, pleased that I now had the backing of a guild and was about to get out of the Imperial Messenger Service (I hoped). My happiness was tempered by the fact that I was about to meet a major player in the strange circumstances that surrounded my exile to Vvardenfell. What was in the package I was supposed to give him? Should I have tried to open it and read it? What if the package simply contained a note that said, "Kill the person who brings this to you"? My thoughts were morbidly drawn to those novels I had read involving lost princes. How did I really know who my father was? What if I was an embarrassment to the Empire, one that they needed to remove quietly, in a backwater city of a backwater province? A body could easily be dropped into that river in the dark of night and no one would wonder, "Whatever became of that fellow, Trey- you know, Breton, liked plants?" And with that thought, I was at the door to Caius Cosades house. Stepping firmly on my fears, I knocked and entered.