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]

@ArtemisNoir2- He does try to prevent crime- at least by other people. Leaving the door hanging open would just be... wrong. And reading back over the story has the same effect on me- of course the disk is right here on the desk... and the saved games are on the external hard drive....

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You don't always see trouble coming, no matter how observant you are. And sometimes, even though you recognize that trouble is getting ready to pay a visit, you don't know what form it is going to take. Maybe I should just tell you what happened, so you will see what I mean. Needing to take a walk- perhaps off of a high cliff- to clear my head, I stepped out of the Mages Guild. As I stood there, pondering the idea of maybe dyeing my hair and skin and changing my name to Schlamm of Black Marsh, Heddvild the Barbarian stopped to speak to me. That in itself was a surprise- I didn't think she much liked me. Of course, as far as I could tell, she didn't much like anyone. As her name suggested, Heddvild was a Nord- in this case a female barbarian. Despite her graying hair, I had the feeling she could snap my spine like a toothpick and not even muss her armor. But all she wanted was to pass on a message; so she wasn't the threat. But the message ... It seemed that Larrius Varro, the Legion Champion at Fort Moonmoth, wanted to talk to me about some unspecified subject. Moonmoth was the Legion garrison just outside of Balmora; I had passed it on my way into town.

Every time someone from the Empire wanted to talk to me, it was something I didn't like. I had been: arrested, imprisoned, put into a magical sleep, deported, asked to execute a murderer, and forcibly recruited into the Blades. All of those things were the Empire at work. And now the head of an Imperial Legion fort wanted to speak to me "about something." My brain scrabbled for an escape like a rat in the bottom of a kettle. Imperial Legion, Blades, Camonna Tong, the Dark Brotherhood- danger on every side. Finally, I calmed down. After all, maybe this Varro just wanted to give me a friendly warning; maybe Caius had put him up to it just to remind me that the Empire had a long reach. So I would be a good boy and go see what the nice Imperial Legion thug had to say. First, though, I would see if I could find out anything about Larrius Varro. It was obvious he knew something about me- he had asked for me by name, after all. So I needed to see what I could find out to shift the balance back my way just a bit.

Heddvild was still standing there, and I realized that all of this panicking, planning, and resolving had only taken a few seconds. Since she had passed the message, she might be a good starting place for background on Varro. Her response was interesting. It turned out that Larrius Varro was not a typical Legion strong-arm type. He took the concepts of knighthood and honor seriously. He had actually sworn an oath to clean up corruption. This might be an interesting conversation. Of course, it might go something like- "I have vowed to clean up the corruption here, and I'm starting with you." Still- an honest Legion officer was something I just had to see; kind of like going to the circus.

Fort Moonmoth was just outside of town, but I still made sure that I was fully armed and armored. It only takes one assassination attempt to make me jumpy. And if they were going to throw me in a cell again...well, they could try. Upon reaching the fort, I ignored all the guards and merchants and went straight to the officers' quarters, where I found Varro. For his part, the Legion Champion did an excellent job of appearing unimpressed by me. He explained that he had "learned a bit about my situation" and wanted to tell me a "little story," after which I could ask questions. He also had a "little present" for me from the Emperor, but he didn't know what it was and couldn't remember where he had put it. Maybe after I listened to his story and did some things, he would be able to remember. A "little present" from the Emperor? Like maybe a poisoned dagger between the ribs, along with a tasteful thank-you note, on quality paper? Still, there was something compelling about Varro. We were on opposite sides of almost everything, but I had to respect him. He was the most driven individual I had ever met. He was the kind of man the Emperor sent in when he wanted results and right now. Therefore, I agreed to hear the story. If Varro considered it important enough, there had to be something to it I could turn to my advantage.

It seemed that there was a corrupt magistrate in Balmora who was taking bribes to let criminals go. And an officer who was trying to stop it, but couldn't because the magistrate had powerful friends to protect him. But then the officer realized that nobody was protecting the "bad people" who were paying the bribes. If the "bad people" weren't around anymore, the problem would be solved.

He concluded, "So the honest officer prayed for a bloodbath to wash the bad people away."

The way he told the story, without expression, in a flat voice, was more frightening than if he had yelled and thrown things. He was as serious and unstoppable as a landslide. Because I was already in so deep, and yes, because I was curious, I asked about the "bad people."

"Oh, the bad people are the Camonna Tong. But nobody will tell me who is in the Camonna Tong, because I'm an officer and telling an officer anything is against the code. But the Thieves Guild knows, and they would tell you. I do know there are five Camonna Tong members in Balmora- a scout, a pawnbroker, a savant, a thief, and a smith."

Then, because I don't know how to stop when I'm behind, I asked what he meant about a "bloodbath." He explained that it would be wonderful if the bad people "went away" and weren't able to pay any more bribes. Had I said he was driven? That was the wrong word- he was absolutely insane. He wanted me, ME- to go up against five members of the Camonna Tong. By myself. Discreetly. I immediately started thinking about how I could get away from Balmora and from Varro. He must have read my mind, because he then mentioned that if I headed toward Hla Oad, I should be careful. It seemed that there was a Nord bandit robbing and killing travelers over that way. If I happened to fix that little problem, Varro would be glad to hear about it.

What was it with these Imperial types that they all thought I was some kind of black-clad, sword-wielding, sneaky hired killer? Well, besides the Dark Brotherhood armor. And the magic sword. And the dead smugglers in Addamasartus. And Adanumuran. And the little fact that I was a thief. Okay, fine. But still... Look, I was a thief- I stole money or property. My victims could always get more of either. But if you stole someone's life, how did they replace that?

With the Imperial Legion, the Blades, the Dark Brotherhood, the Camonna Tong, and who knew who else taking such an interest in me, I decided that it was time to move again. But first, because it is always a good idea to know the competition, I would take Larrius Varro's advice and ask around the Thieves Guild to find out who was in the Camonna Tong. The Thieves might not be too concerned about my Dark Brotherhood problem, but they were certainly quite interested in Camonna. With that I mind I went to Sottilde and she gave me all the information I wanted and more: she identified all five members of the Camonna Tong for me. And one of them, the savant, was Sovor Trandel. That's right, Sovor Trandel. Who now had 300 drakes of my getaway money sitting in his pocket. There wasn't a thing I could do about that- if you chase after the money you just lost, you will miss an opportunity to make more. And even more important- don't ever make it personal. Still, it was hard to follow my own advice this time