The Story of Trey - Chapter 3 Options

[treydog]

Chapter 3

What did it matter where you lay once you were dead? In a dirty sump or in a marble tower on top of a high hill? You were dead, you were sleeping the big sleep…. You just slept the big sleep, not caring about the nastiness of how you died or where you fell.

Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep


As I staggered out of the teleport area of the Caldera Mages Guild, waiting for my stomach to catch up, I looked the place over. The building's interior reminded me of High Rock- hardwood floors and plaster walls. Before I had gone five steps, an intense-looking Dunmer wizard named Folms Mirel stopped me and asked if I would be interested in doing some work for him. He looked like the sort who should be working in some underground laboratory, with electricity crackling, full of vapors and creatures in jars. But the word "work" was music to my ears. He had been researching something called "propylon indices" and believed he had discovered a way to create a "Master Index." That was all very interesting, but what in Oblivion was a "propylon index?" It seemed that the ancient Dunmer had created a means of traveling from one of their strongholds to another, using an artifact called a propylon index, keyed to the specific propylon chamber they wished to reach. There were ten of those strongholds still standing on the island of Morrowind and the Master Index would enable one to travel to any of the ten. Mirel was so certain of success that he was willing to pay 500 drakes for each index I brought him. Best of all, he was interested in the experiment for the pure science- once the Master Index was complete, he would give it to me and provide the magic required to power my travel from stronghold to stronghold. That sounded like a great bargain, which made me instantly suspicious. Although I figured there must be a catch, I needed the money so badly I agreed to the proposition.

Mirel was pleased by my agreement and told me that the first index, the Hlormaren, was right there in Caldera. Irgola the Pawnbroker had it. The indices did not display any sign of enchantment, so a Detection spell would not identify it. He described it as a small, grayish stone. After getting directions to Irgola's, I left the Mages Guild and took a look around Caldera. Like Pelegiad, it reminded me of home- stone and timber buildings with thatched roofs, a stone wall that was more decorative than protective, cobbled streets. And, like Pelegiad, it contained a large number of Imperial soldiers. Perhaps this wouldn't be such a good base, after all. Curious about the presence of so many guards in a town that didn't have a fort nearby, I asked an Argonian what made Caldera so important. He summed it up in one word, "Ebony." One of the richest ebony mines ever discovered was located just over the mountains south of town, and the Empire wanted to protect their interest. Ebony was heavy, used for making high-quality weapons and armor, and expensive. The guards were there to ensure that nobody got sticky fingers. Thus enlightened, I went to visit Irgola, hoping he wouldn't have any idea of the value of the propylon index. Another lesson for future reference- pawnbrokers almost always know exactly what something is worth. They wouldn't stay in business, otherwise. Worse yet, the shop had its very own Imperial guard. And worst of all, the index was on a windowsill right beside Irgola. If I wanted to "shop at a 100% discount," I would have to walk right past him and lift the item from under his nose. Getting caught would lose me the 500 gold and the dingus. No, I was going to have to negotiate.

I quickly concluded that Mirel himself must have attempted to get the index from Irgola. And if he had, he had managed to make the pawnbroker suspicious and aware that the item had value. He actually wanted more than 500 drakes for it. With no other choice, I trudged back to the Mages Guild, where I could get better prices, and converted some of my better potions into cash. I hated to part with them; they were mostly gifts from Ajira, but there didn't seem to be much choice. After paying Irgola's price, I brought the index back to Mirel, who paid me the promised 500. This moneymaking venture was going about as well as my others- I was down about 70 drakes. And the experience highlighted a weakness in my training and knowledge. My stealth skills were simply not good enough to lift an item while the owner was watching. What I needed was some sort of Illusion magic to improve my ability to remain unnoticed while going about my business. Although Illusion wasn't one of my better schools, my Breton heritage gave me some natural ability with all magic. Therefore, I needed to ask around and see if anyone in Caldera could teach me some concealment spells. There, my luck took a turn for the better. Eraamion could teach either Brevasa's Averted Eyes or Golanar's Eye-Maze. The first was a little cheaper, but was also an invisibility spell- it would dissipate as soon as I took an action other than movement. Golanar's was a Chameleon spell, just what I wanted.

My skills needed some work; maybe I could go just outside of Caldera and practice my new Illusion spell. If I combined the Chameleon spell with my natural stealth, I could stalk some scribs or something. It might look silly, but looking silly was better than what would happen if I failed attempting to sneak up on some dangerous beast. Besides, this close to a town, what could go wrong? Surely all those Imperial guards had kept the wildlife under control. Right there, I made two mistakes. First, never, never, never ask, "what could go wrong," unless you are anxious to find out; second, never assume that guards are good for anything except eating pastries and giving an honest thief a hard time. Oh, and a bonus third error, don't assume that "civilization" means the same thing on Morrowind as it does elsewhere in the Empire.

I wandered a hundred yards or so out of Caldera, working my way northeast. Once I got near the ridge, I cast Beggars Nose to identify likely targets for practicing my stealth. I expected to turn up a few scribs and maybe a kwama forager. As I got closer to the mountains, I began to hear an annoying "skreee-eee" sound. Whatever was making it, there seemed to be several of them- the sound was coming from all around me. "Oh well," I thought, "probably just some sort of carrion bird like a vulture. Nasty creatures, but hardly a threat." Just then something came flapping and screeching down the mountainside and began to batter me with wings, beak, and tail. I caught a glimpse of a 4-winged nightmare with leathery, scaly skin and a hammerhead. And the smell.... it was a terrible odor of some animal left dead for weeks in the sun. The stench almost gave me more trouble than the club-like appendage at the end of the tail. I finally got my shield and sword up and began to fight back. It was difficult to strike effectively, as the flying fiend swooped in and darted up and out of reach. Finally, I damaged the wings enough to bring it down and finish it. Able to examine the corpse, I recognized that this was the infamous cliff-racer, a disgusting pest that infested the mountainous areas of Vvardenfell. As I recovered from that battle, I heard the unmistakable growl of a nix-hound galloping up behind me. Then came another pair of cliff-racers. In spite of the seemingly endless attacks, I had the presence of mind to cast Soul Trap on a couple of the cliff-racers. The idea of using the life-essence of those loathsome beasts to power my enchantments gave me a deep satisfaction. It was almost with relief that I saw a doorway built into the cliff-face. The markings indicated that it was the Indalen Tomb. Whatever was in there couldn't be any worse than the constant attacks coming at me from all sides out here. I plunged into the welcoming darkness of the tomb.

Gathering my wits, I cast my detection spell to see what might be sharing the tomb with me. The spell indicated at least three enchantments, as well as three creatures. The otherworldly inhabitants of the tomb didn't seem to appreciate the intrusion of the living- they whispered and howled around me as I moved deeper. It was almost enough to drive me back outside to the cliff-racers, but the lure of those enchanted items drew me onward. The first chamber contained a number of ingredients, apparently left to nourish and placate the spirits of the ancestors. There was also a minor potion and a magic absorption scroll. The final enchantment was a ring called a Sparkbolt that allowed the user to do minor electrical damage to an opponent. I should have stopped there, happy with the ingredients and items, but I decided to push deeper into the tomb to discover what creatures inhabited the last few chambers. On the other side of a locked door was a Scamp- the least of the daedra that Tamrielic summoners conjured from the Plane of Oblivion. I managed to surprise this one and had no trouble dispatching him. The same was true of a second Scamp, resident of another chamber. The last creature nearly made me a permanent resident of the tomb, though. As I entered that final room, a monstrous shape shuffled toward me. It appeared roughly human, but grotesquely malformed, as if someone with no idea of anatomy had hastily stitched the parts together. Bones poked through flesh and openings gaped in the limbs and torso. I was so revolted; I almost didn't remember to defend myself. I have always been particularly afraid of undead; surely this was one of that cursed family of constructs. The beast hit me and I felt my strength and stamina drain away. I was going to have to win quickly or I would be unable to move. Fortunately, the Bonewalker, for such it was, moved slowly due to the way it was made. A rapid series of strokes with the sword caused the vile creature to disappear, leaving only a pile of bonemeal. I later learned that I had been fortunate to not catch a disease from the attack; my damaged attributes recovered in a short time. This expedition had not worked out at all as I had intended. It was time to get back to town and consider what I should do next.

Returning to Caldera, I asked Mirel about the next index. This time, it sounded a bit better; the Marandus index had been packed up with a lot of junk and stored in the St. Olms Temple at Vivec City. A trip to Vivec made sense; several of the pilgrimage shrines for the Tribunal Temple were located there. I might as well do the pilgrimages- I needed all the help I could get- even from gods I wasn't sure I believed in. Feeling that a city would be safer than the wilderness, I prepared for my foray to Vivec. It should be simple enough to find the Marandus index. After all, how big could the place be?

[treydog]

@hazmick- Yes well... Trey's learning curve is steep enough that it is actually a number of degrees past vertical... And the suicidal/homicidal bandits in Morrowind are one of the few real complaints I have about the game. They really should have been given a "flee" script for when they are clearly losing. Ah well- that's what the Construction Set is for....

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I awakened after finally sleeping through a night without being attacked by assassins, rats, or anything else. Refreshed, I went looking for Sharn. She was visibly agitated by my approach- but calmed down when I mentioned Caius. Whatever she was working on made her extremely tense. She agreed to provide information, if I would do her a favor first. With a sigh, I asked what she needed. I was getting used to being the errand boy for all of Balmora. She wanted a very specific item, the skull of an enchanter named Llevule Andrano. The skull was supposed to be in the Andrano Ancestral Tomb south of Pelegiad. I wondered what she wanted with the skull, but decided not to ask. After all, why do Orcs do most of the things they do? They are a strange bunch, with odd notions of honor and duty. And when an Orc gets focused on an idea it is easier to stop a boulder rolling down a mountainside. If Sharn's price for the information was some skull, I would go and fetch it. And I have to add that she was generous enough to give me a Fireblade and some scrolls in case I ran into trouble. Of course, her concern was worrisome- if she was willing to throw around those items, what did she know about the tomb? That was the problem with working for others- they never gave the hired help the pleasant jobs. As long as I could remember, I was the one who got to shovel out the stalls while others rode the horses. This was the same song, different verse.

Before leaving town, I decided that I really should make amends with Sugar-Lips at the Thieves Guild. After all, they were the first people to accept me here in Morrowind. So I asked Sugar-Lips if she had any work for me and got another shoveling job. It seems that a rogue Khajiit named Ra'Zhid had made off with some Dwemer artifacts that "belonged" to the Guild. He could be found at Fatleg's Drop Off in Hla Oad. The Thieves mastermind told me, "If he won't give you the artifacts, find them and take them." I was to look for a Dwemer goblet, bowl, and tube. Maybe I wouldn't have to go as far as Hla Oad to find those items; I seemed to remember some Dwemer things lying around a bit closer to home. As a way of solidifying my standing in the Guild, I did a little trading with Sottilde. She didn't have much merchandise and couldn't pay the best prices for what I sold, but the idea was to establish a rapport. With the enemies I was making, I needed whatever friends I could find. Thinking that the artifact quest would be easily accomplished, I headed back up to Arkngthand.

Once inside the ruin, I searched through all the rooms and halls, with mixed success. I found plenty of mugs, goblets, and even several bowls; but there was not a single Dwemer tube to be found. I also found two or three more smugglers, who weren't any smarter than their late colleagues. Yes, I killed them, and no, I don't really want to talk about it. The list of people who had fallen to my weapons was growing longer and I felt their spirits hovering around me every time I tried to sleep. That was just another reason I didn't much like going into tombs. It seemed to me that a lot of what powered religion was belief. That may sound like an obvious remark, but hear me out. The Dunmer believed in ancestor worship and built the Ghostfence with the spirits of departed heroes. And the thing is, it worked. That meant their belief wasn't just faith without a visible result- the results were there for anyone to see. So what would have happened if no one much believed in spirits? Maybe they would have gone on to wherever spirits back in good old High Rock usually went. But here, because of the belief of thousands of people, spirits tended to hang around. And I had been instrumental in creating a good number of spirits who had no reason to wish me well.

I got out of the creepy ruin and made my way down the foyada to the south road. Another reason I wasn't looking forward to messing about in another tomb was that I vividly remembered what had happened in the Indalen Tomb outside of Caldera. Very bad critters tended to populate tombs, and they tended to do very bad things to the people who disturbed them. Besides, I felt kind of sorry for poor old Llevule Andrano; I hoped when I died, people wouldn't be playing around with my head- or any other bits and pieces. The road to Pelegiad was pretty quiet; I only encountered a few rats and mudcrabs, which gave me a chance to practice my archery. The tomb was right where Sharn had said it would be, south of Pelegiad on the right side of the road. I stepped inside and immediately cast Beggars Nose. The detection spell showed me at least six creatures scattered around, as well as three enchanted items. No wonder the Orc sent me instead of leaving her cozy corner of the Mages Guild. Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I headed down the stairs. Have I mentioned recently how much I dislike undead?

At the foot of the steps was a dead body, and not one that belonged in the tomb. This unfortunate was a would-be looter who should have gone into a different line of work- particularly because he did not have the right equipment. One thing that makes undead difficult is that it takes weapons made from silver or some other rare material to damage most of them; this guy had a chitin axe. Today's handy adventurers tip is: "If you are going to go mucking about in tombs, don't try to do it on the cheap." My point was proved almost immediately when I was attacked by an ancestor ghost- probably the same one that had taken down the fellow sleeping the final sleep on the floor. Even with my Sparksword, I had trouble damaging the ghost- after all, what are you hitting when you swing at an incorporeal spirit? Nevertheless, I prevailed and moved toward the next door. The detection spell showed me that there was a beast of some kind lurking in the corner to the right of the door, probably waiting to ambush whoever stepped through. Spells are wonderful things; they can make your life easier. Unfortunately, if you come to depend on them too much, they can also make your life shorter.

I eased through the door and immediately wheeled to the right to confront a Bonewalker. That was the same kind of undead that had nearly killed me, so I was very focused. In fact, I was too focused, and nearly paid the ultimate price. I went after the Bonewalker with a fury fueled by terror. So intense was my concentration that I didn't even notice the skeleton archer on the other side of the room. The Bonewalker hurt me a bit, but I was able to defeat him. It was only when a nearly fatal arrow grazed my neck that I realized the fight wasn't over. I scrambled to get back out the door, taking two or three more arrows before I could slam it shut. That would have been the perfect time for a Lock spell- if I had had a Lock spell.

Instead, I cast a healing spell on myself and was able to get set just before the skeleton burst through the door. Knowing that I had to negate the advantage the bow provided my bony adversary, I rushed him and swung wildly with the sword. I figured that even if I missed, I might throw his aim off. It wasn't easy, but I finally defeated him and found that he had a nice supply of arrows, including some 50 that were enchanted. I was thankful that he had wasted the iron ones on me- the enchanted arrows would almost certainly have been fatal. Why he had held the good missiles back, I didn't know. Of course, most undead don't have any brains- literally. They only do what they have been enchanted to do. Maybe the creator of this fellow had instructed him to only use the good arrows on certain targets. Battered and bleeding, I cursed all wizards, particularly the Orc who sent me to do this little "favor" for her. So there I was, lucky to be alive, and the only skull I had seen belonged to the skeleton archer that had nearly killed me.