The Story of Trey- Chapter 6 Options

[treydog]

Chapter 6

From the perspective of so many years later, I understand that trying to solve things with violence is futile. If you create a power vacuum in the criminal world, plenty of people will be glad to fill it. Even worse is what you risk losing. Not only is there a physical risk, but the risk of spiritual death. The answer to almost any problem becomes, "Kill it." It is a path of madness and despair. I know, because I came very near to walking that path for a time.

The Camonna Tong in Balmora was crippled, most of its members dead at my hands. I had given Larrius Varro his bloodbath; I had bought the Thieves Guild some breathing space. And it wasn't enough. The blood of my enemies had not put out the fire of my anger, it had only fed the flames. In fighting the monster that was the Camonna Tong, I had become monstrous myself. I had decided to become a hunter, determined to track down and destroy whatever trace of the Camonna Tong I could find. Vengeance sang in my brain and my muscles trembled with the need to strike down all who opposed me. I would seek them wherever they laired and cast them into the darkness. I already knew that Hla Oad was considered Camonna territory; I would start there. I sharpened my blades and prepared my potions and spells. A shadow had fallen across my heart and I could not see any light except that cast by the fires of my rage. Our fates rest on such small things, often unseen and unremarked. You take one path instead of another, never knowing that you have avoided an ambush. You decide to eat at home instead of at the corner club on the night of a devastating fire. Or you stop to talk to a man you have vowed to kill, because of the fear in the eyes of a Khajiit slave.

My sources had told me that most of the Camonna in Hla Oad worked in a smuggler's den underneath Fatleg's. A hidden entrance from the sea allowed them to load and unload boats under cover. So it was that I found myself descending through a trapdoor into a vast cavern underneath the humid little village. Although a part of me simply yearned to begin a berserk dance of death more suited to a Nord warrior, the small amount of control I retained counseled caution. Before I started my vendetta, I should locate all of my opponents and determine if there were any hidden exits. Therefore, I bypassed Llemisa Marys, who never knew how close death had come. Deeper in the cavern I found Relam Arinith and also discovered just how evil my sworn enemies truly were. Standing near Arinith was a Khajiit slave, who seemed to be in the grip of a terrible fever or else overwhelmed by fear. Still, despite her constant trembling, her eyes held mine for a brief instant of mute appeal. Arinith obviously thought I was someone else, for he asked me if I had come to "escort the slave to Balmora." Sensing an opportunity to hit the Camonna Tong where it would really hurt, in the pocketbook, I decided to play along. "Sure, I just got in. What's the deal?"

Arinith told me, "This slave, Rabinna, is my payment for a bargain I made with Vorar Helas in Balmora. Take good care of her- she's not much to look at, but it's what's on the inside that counts."

Here was a chance to free a slave and hurt Camonna all at the same time. I could always come back for Arinith later and, even better, he had just given me a name I hadn't known. Once we got out of the hideout, I could see if Rabinna knew anything, and then send her on her way. Perhaps I could even give her a little cash to make her escape easier. And then I would be free to continue on my planned path of mayhem. After we had exited Fatleg's, I tried to speak to the Khajiit, but she seemed paralyzed with fear. Her eyes were locked on the blade that I had forgotten was still in my hand. Hoping to calm her, I sheathed the sword and tried again. Her fright lessened enough to allow speech, but Rabinna still moaned that her "fate was sealed" and that there was no chance of escape. I asked her what she meant and she revealed the true extent of the evil of which the Camonna Tong was capable. She had been forced to swallow a great many packets of moon sugar, wrapped to prevent their dissolving in her stomach. Once she reached Balmora, Vorar Helas would kill her and cut her open to recover the drugs. When I promised that I would not take her to Balmora, Rabinna was grateful, but pointed out that she could not get far wearing a slave bracer. Anyone who was so inclined could capture her and turn her in as a runaway. And her death would follow in short order. But perhaps, she said, there was a chance.

It seemed that someone named Im-Kilaya at the Argonian Mission in Ebonheart worked to return slaves to their homelands. If only she could reach him, she had a chance. How strange are the fates and how narrow the chances that save our humanity. The choice was before me- save this single life or continue on my quest of death. Ultimately, the life, in truth the soul I saved, was my own. For at that moment, it was the desire of this Khajiit for freedom, for life, that turned me aside from a road that would have led to my damnation. I agreed to take her to Ebonheart. Getting to the Argonian Mission was simply a matter of taking the boat from Hla Oad and making our way through the fortified city. As soon as we got inside the mission, Rabinna thanked me and rushed to the side of a richly-dressed Argonian. When I spoke to him, he identified himself as Im-Kilaya and promised to see that the former slave reached safety. He also gave me his thanks and 400 gold, saying, "Perhaps it will help in funding other missions of good will."

Sanity had returned, and I trembled in reaction to what had nearly become of me. How ironic that my hatred of the injustice of slavery had overcome my determination to exterminate a group I had believed I hated even more. Although I had no doubt that the Camonna Tong "needed killing," I was equally certain that administering that justice was reserved for someone else. For a brief, chaotic time, I had believed myself to be the instrument of divine vengeance, the bringer of destruction. Now I knew that I was just myself, Trey of High Rock- no more, no less. And that was enough.

There was something very interesting going on at the Argonian Mission, but no one there seemed inclined to say much about it. They were polite, but it was clear that they didn't completely trust me. As one who had his own secrets, I respected their caution, but I did wonder what they were up to. As I left Ebonheart, I realized that I was at a loss for what to do next. Before I had briefly lapsed into insanity and planned to exterminate the Camonna Tong, I had made sure there were I had no outstanding obligations- I had not believed I would survive. Now, no one was expecting me to go anywhere or to deliver anything- it seemed that I was free to choose my own path. That momentary vision of freedom and free will came to a sudden stop when I reached up to adjust my collar and felt the chain I wore, the chain that held the Emperor's "gift." Very well, then. I had not seen Caius for some time; better for me to visit him than have him come looking for me. No doubt he would have some sort of "go see this person" job in mind. But that was agreeable- he seemed to know some interesting people.

This post has been edited by treydog: Mar 5 2023, 10:27 PM

[treydog]

As I left Caius' place, all I could think of was that this was madness. I had heard that the Emperor's health was failing, but had thought it was a physical illness. And whatever form of insanity this was, it was contagious, for Caius seemed to be afflicted, as well. Perhaps the madness of kings and emperors was always infectious- in effect, if not in fact. But who would tell the Emperor he was insane, particularly after the business with Jagar Tharn? Still, the idea that I might be the reincarnation of some long-dead Dark Elf hero, come to save the land from the great evil.... Didn't these people understand who I was? I was Trey, bastard-born stable-hand and thief from High Rock. I got on well enough with the Dark Elves, at least those who didn't try to kill me before I could introduce myself; but I was no savior. And the "voices in my head" I talked about were just my imagination or maybe my poor, stunted conscience. There weren't really any voices, at least not most of the time. Perhaps I had been having some odd dreams lately, but I was in a new place, eating exotic food, getting entangled with strange beasts and stranger people- strange dreams weren't surprising. Besides, a lot of people were having trouble sleeping- what about those Dunmer that called themselves "Dreamers?" What about Elvil in Suran? Plenty of people were having problems- they just didn't say so because the Temple would lock them up. And there was another thing- if this business got noised about too much, I had no doubt the Temple would find a nice cell for me. No, this was not real- this was madness of the worst kind, an insanity that had afflicted the entire inner circle of the Empire. Someday, sooner rather than later, some poor fool was going to be blamed and called to account for all this with his life. And I had a feeling that the poor fool's name was going to be "Trey."

When you are threatened, you have several options- you can negotiate, you can fight, or you can run. At that moment, it seemed to me that I was threatened as never before. For me to even attempt to fight the Empire was pointless- it would be easier to just jump off a cliff. Negotiation also seemed to be out- Caius had made his desires clear and had not invited discussion. That left flight- I needed to get away from this insanity. I had already stopped using Balmora as a base, so I was somewhat out of Caius' reach. But was Ald'ruhn really any better? House Redoran might shelter me, but what if they discovered that I was a member of the Blades? Or worse, some of my questionable history? They had a very strict code of honor and some rigid notions of proper conduct- some of my actions might lead to expulsion. The Temple was no better- a word to an Ordinator or high priest regarding my purported "identity" and I would find myself trying to answer some difficult questions. Many young people joined the Imperial Legion only a step or two ahead of the law- if they conducted themselves well, all was forgotten. That avenue was closed to me for a variety of reasons- mostly my dislike of Imperials, but more practically because my description would be too well-known. One thing I knew for certain, I was not going to wander into an Ashlander camp and introduce myself as the answer to their dreams and prophecies. I could just picture the scene: "Hello, my name is Trey and I am a Breton from High Rock, an outlander. And, even though you hope and pray that a violent and painful death will come to all outlanders, I am also the Nerevarine. What's for dinner?"

Whoever got the first spear into me would probably become one of their greatest heroes. The Ashlands seemed to be out, then. But wait, someone else had asked me to go see the Urshilaku Wise-Woman.... Folms Mirel, the wizard working on the master propylon index, had asked me to retrieve one of the indices from Nibani Maesa. I could certainly use the 500 drakes he would pay and the Ashlands might actually be a good place to lose myself. If I appeared to be heading off to the Urshilaku like a good little Imperial spy, Caius wouldn't get suspicious. And if I never came back- it was understood that the Ashlands were a dangerous place. Acting as if I were following orders would also allow me to collect the supplies from Fort Moonmoth- and I had a feeling I might need them. My alchemy apparatus would go with me; I would miss my books, but perhaps I could find a suitable place to live and quietly retrieve them. Even if I had to live in a cave or a tent, my books would make it a home. Perhaps I would be lonely, but at least I would be alive to enjoy that loneliness.

There may be some who are surprised by my decision to flee my "destiny." I ask those people to consider several things- my age, my history, my feelings about the Empire, and finally, the circumstances of my arrival in Morrowind. I had spent the first 17 years of my life unloved and unwanted, a slave in all but name. When I finally broke free of that bondage, my plan had been to study alchemy and maybe have an apothecary shop someday. I knew a little about weapons, but did not pretend to be a great warrior. That I had won my fights so far had been due to equal parts fear and anger. And now, as part of some deep game or some symptom of madness, the Emperor wanted me to pretend to be a reincarnated Dunmer general. And it would be pretense- I had never even seen a Dark Elf until I awoke on that ship in Seyda Neen. More, I could not believe that I was the only person of "uncertain parentage" born during Frostfall eighteen years ago. Oh, I understood what the Empire was up to, at least in part. This cult of the Nerevarine would be a constant focus for anti-Imperial sentiment among the Dunmer. If ever someone came along who could get the Great Houses and the tribes to stop squabbling, the Legions would be hard-pressed. And what of the rumors of unrest back in Cyrodiil itself? The consequences of Jagar Tharn's plots had not yet completely spun themselves out. There was even talk of withdrawing the Legions from Morrowind. So this silly scheme was a desperate attempt to salvage the province through deception. It made a certain amount of sense that they couldn't recruit a Dark Elf to play this role- the Tribunal Temple held such power that no Dunmer would dare participate in this sort of madness. And even someone like Elvil, who had truly believed himself to be the Nerevarine, would never dance to the Empire's tune. After all, one of the most basic tenets of the story or "prophecy" was that the Nerevarine would "drive all the outlanders from Morrowind." And that was where the Emperor's little plan for me failed, as well. First, the Dunmer would never accept me as their savior; second, how could an outlander "drive out the outlanders?" No, I had no desire to be a sacrifice upon the altar of Imperial insanity. And a sacrifice I would surely be, with every Dunmer faction or House competing to be the first to spill my blood.

What I needed was a place to hide until this whole mess went away. Time would cure this royal disease, one way or another. They would find some other fool or come up with some other scheme- what mattered was that I survive. But an obvious rebellion on my part would not do. I wouldn't put it past the Empire to tie me up, throw me in a sack, and dump me in the Urshilaku camp with a note saying, "One genuine Grade A Nerevarine. Test him as you will." They had a history of doing that sort of thing to me already. Therefore, I must give the appearance of obedience. My first stop was Fort Moonmoth for the supplies Caius had purchased. The scrolls, at least, were quite fine, including Purity of Body and Warrior's Blessing. I was less impressed with the potions, perhaps because I was so used to making my own. Next, I went to Ald'ruhn to gather the items I could not do without- leaving my growing library was an ordeal I hope never to repeat. Now the question was how best to reach the Urshilaku camp. It was on the north side of the island, near the Sea of Ghosts. It appeared that I could go due north from Maar Gan, but that would bring me awfully close to the Blight. Traveling from Gnisis to Ald Velothi and then following the coast seemed longer, but might be safer. Finally, I asked the strider driver how close I could get to Ald Velothi by boat or silt strider. He replied that the striders went as far as Khuul, which was northeast of Ald Velothi. Better yet, it only cost a few more gold than travel to Gnisis. The coast route suited me- I always got an itchy feeling between my shoulders when I got near the Ghostfence. Also, along the coast, I could use Water Walking to avoid difficult terrain or unfriendly creatures.

The trip was largely uneventful- I avoided a Daedric shrine and fought a few beasts, but managed to mostly stay out of trouble. Before long, I found myself looking down on the Urshilaku camp. It was a small collection of cloth and hide tents in a desolate stretch of the Ashlands near the coast. Before entering the camp, I carefully reviewed everything Hassour had told me, particularly regarding courtesy and gifts. I also made sure that my weapons were sheathed but in plain view- I hoped to convey the concept that I was peaceful but willing to defend myself. The wise-woman was likely to be a revered, almost a sacred, figure- I couldn't just go barging into her presence. Therefore, I approached an Ashlander who was working outside one of the yurts. He glared at me, but respected my peaceful approach. Food was usually is short supply out here; some of my ingredients might serve as introduction gifts. Keeping my hands away from my weapons, I carefully opened my pack and laid out kwama eggs, saltrice, scrib jerky, and trama root. With a gesture and a raised eyebrow, I indicated that the warrior could take what he wanted. He selected a kwama egg and said, "You are courteous and not proud. Though you are an outlander, I welcome you. What do you want?"

I explained that I had come to see the Urshilaku Wise-Woman, Nibani Maesa. He then asked if she had sent for me. Although my devious nature inclined me to say yes, I knew that being caught in an obvious lie would shatter my chances. So I answered honestly and said she had not.

"Then she will not see you. You have wasted your time."

Hoping to build up enough good will, I repeated the process with several other of the Urshilaku, with the same results. All of them politely accepted gifts of food and all told me that Nibani would not see me. Finally, I realized that I would have to take a chance, and so approached the yurt that had been set aside for the wise-woman. I entered and was confronted by a tall woman with braided gray hair. She asked me if I were lost or simply rude and demanded that I leave. This was the tricky part- if she insisted, I would have no choice but to go or else have the whole camp come down on my head. Quickly I said, "Your pardon, mother, but I only wished to offer my respects and to give you a gift."

That stopped her from throwing me out immediately; instead she responded, "A gift? Very well, I like gold. What you outlanders call a 'bribe,' yes?"

This was a language I understood. Considering her importance to the tribe, I decided that offering too little would be insulting and so extended 100 drakes to her. She accepted the money, but then said, "Very well, you have paid your 'respects' and given your gift. Now you can go."

Instead of leaving, I offered her another 100 gold, which proved sufficient to keep her talking. Remembering my purpose in coming here, I inquired about the Valenvaryon propylon index. Nibani explained that one of the hunters had found the oddly-shaped stone in a ruined stronghold and brought it to her. The tribe had no use for such an object, so she was willing to sell it.

The negotiation was quickly over, and that should have been that- my goal was accomplished, now I should seek a place to live. But there was something fascinating about these people. I thought about Hassour, about a people that managed to survive in the Ashlands, and about the dreams that had troubled me. The Ashlanders did not shun people who dreamed- they sought to grasp the hidden meanings, unlock the messages of the dreams. And so I stopped and asked Nibani about my strange dreams. She explained that they were a trick of Dagoth Ur, the Devil and Deceiver, who sought to bend me to his will. She counseled me to resist and to listen to my heart. Then, there seemed to be nothing else to say. I turned and stepped outside, preparing for my self-imposed exile. An ash-laden wind swept through the camp, rattling the bone spirit chimes that hung from the yurts. An even greater desolation swept through me as I looked around the camp. The Urshilaku, who had so little, had each other- they were a family. House Redoran considered me family now, called me "Kinsman." If I walked into the Ashlands, I would also walk away from them. If I let fear rule me, I might live, but what kind of life would I have? Long minutes passed as I stood, the wind from Red Mountain seeming to whisper to me and taunt me. At last, I knew what I had to do. I turned and went back inside the Wise-Woman's tent.

Just because the Emperor and his people had gotten the crazy idea in their heads that I was somehow Nerevar reincarnated didn't make it true. And really, all Caius had told me to do was come up here and get tested. As soon as the Urshilaku stopped laughing long enough to test me, this foolishness would be over. As so often happened, I had run screaming from my fear of the worst that could happen. But since it couldn't possibly be true, I would be able to report back to Caius that it was all a mistake. Nibani Maesa wasn't thrilled to see me again. She gave a long-suffering sigh and asked me how I had managed to get lost so quickly. Hoping to get into the discussion by the side door, I said that I had heard something about the Nerevarine prophecies and wondered if she could tell me more. Her reply was neither friendly nor informative- "I am not surprised you are ignorant. And it is not my place to teach you."

So she was going to make this harder than pulling teeth. Struggling to maintain my composure, I spoke the words that I had feared would doom me, "I fulfill the prophecies and wish to speak with you and Sul-Matuul."

She didn't laugh, she didn't shout, she didn't say anything for what seemed to be a very long time. Instead, she looked deeply into my eyes and even brushed an impersonal hand across my forehead, as if checking for fever. "I do not believe this. You do not look like the Nerevarine. And yet you do not speak as a madman or a fool. Speak to Zabamund in his yurt. He is a gulakhan- Sul-Matuul's champion, and he will decide. If he gives permission, you can enter the Ashkhan's yurt and speak with Sul-Matuul."

That really wasn't the answer I had wanted. I would have preferred if she had called me an idiot and told me to go away. This gulakhan might decide that I needed killing for giving offense to the Urshilaku. Still, I had made up my mind to play this game out- I didn't want to give Caius any reason to believe that I had ducked the mission.

Zabamund's yurt was one of several that were set up close to each other to form a sort of inner area within the main camp. The gulakhan was a stocky, muscular Ashlander, dressed in chitin armor. It was easy to see why he was the Ashkhan's champion- he would be a difficult opponent. Along with the scars of battle, his face showed the intelligence and wisdom necessary for a truly great warrior. Knowing how important a test this was, I first told Zabamund that I wished to offer him a greeting gift. He accepted my offer of gold as suitable and asked me to state my purpose. I replied that I had come to discuss the Nerevarine prophecies with Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa. Disbelief plain in his voice, the gulakhan asked, "Why should we speak to you of these things? Who are you, that we should trust you?"

Here, I walked the razor's edge. If I offended the gulkhan, the best I could expect would be to get thrown out. At worst, he might challenge me. And even if I won, I would still lose- the rest of the tribe would finish me. Looking at this great warrior, I did not believe that stories of my epic battles against mudcrabs and nix-hounds would impress him. The key was to prove my seriousness, to show that I was not simply prying into Ashlander secrets. So I related all I knew of the Nerevarine cult and the Sixth House, drawing on all the information I had gathered for Caius. The depth of my knowledge surprised and perplexed Zabamund. Finally, he agreed that I should see Sul-Matuul. Although the Ashkhan might be annoyed with him for passing me on, he believed he could live with that anger.

Sul-Matuul had a commanding presence, not least because of the enchantments that swirled around him. Although he was not a large man, the Ashkhan of the Urshilaku was an imposing figure. The years of seeing to the survival of his people had etched deep lines into his face. After I had entered his yurt, he simply waited for me to explain my presence. When I explained that Zabamund had sent me, he relaxed slightly and said, "That's interesting. Why would he send you to talk to me about the Nerevarine prophecies?"

Remembering my manners, I said, "First allow to offer you a gift out of respect."

That formality out of the way, we settled down to serious negotiations. He noted that an outlander like me could not become a part of the Nerevarine cult and thus could not be told of the prophecies. But then, as I was composing a regretful message explaining my failure to Caius, the Ashkhan added that I could be adopted into the tribe- made a "Clanfriend." If I were named Clanfriend, I would be an Urshilaku and allowed to hear the Nerevarine prophecies. In fact, he had an initiation rite in mind that would prove whether or not I was worthy. If I passed the rite, he would adopt me as a Clanfriend and allow Nibani Maesa to test me. I had a very bad feeling about this "initiation," but didn't see that I had any choice. The only path open to me was to go forward. I just hoped I wasn't walking off a cliff. Steeling myself, I said, "Tell me what I must do."

"You must undergo a harrowing. You will be judged by the spirits of the ancestors. Go to the Urshilaku Burial Cavern and bring me the Bonebiter Bow of Sul-Senipul, my father. His spirit guards the bow deep within the caverns. Bring me this bow and I will name you Clanfriend."

He then gave me directions on how to reach the Burial Caverns. This just got better and better. The Ashlanders weren't even going to bother to kill me themselves, they were going to let their undead ancestors do it. If I haven't mentioned it before, I really don't like tombs. Tombs have dead bodies. And bodies that should be dead and aren't. And those creatures get really upset when you try to take things away from them. The only thing I liked less than the undead was angry undead. Particularly when they were angry with me. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Perhaps I would be lucky and get eaten by some nice, normal Blight monster before I ever got to the burial cavern. And perhaps I would succeed and be named Clanfriend. That was the most frightening possibility of all.