The Story of Trey- Chapter 12 Options

[treydog]

Although I had decided to approach House Hlaalu first, I still had some reservations. When I had researched the Great Houses, I had learned enough about Hlaalu and its councilors to be wary. In particular, I was concerned about Crassius Curio. Although he wasn’t the acknowledged leader of Hlaalu, the Imperial councilor was one of the powers to be reckoned with. And even if he was peculiar, he was also extremely able. Add to that the fact that he resided in Vivec, which was full of Ordinators, and my problems were multiplied. Sul-Matuul had warned me that the Temple guardians would be likely to try to kill me first and ask questions after if they knew that I had declared myself Nerevarine. Of course, so far as I knew, no one had denounced me to the Temple- yet. Oddly, that fact made choosing to start with Hlaalu a wiser choice. Theirs was the only House most of whose councilors lived in or near the main seat of the Temple. Better to get in and out before word of my claims reached too many ears. The truth was that I wouldn’t have been happy to be obligated to anyone whose motives I didn’t trust, not just Crassius Curio. The fact that he was a decadent Imperial simply made it worse.

Despite my fears, the Hlaalu councilor was as gracious as ever when I asked to speak with him. He invited me to sit and asked how he could be of service to “one of Redoran’s rising stars.” That complimentary title was his way of telling me that he had sources of information and that he knew who I was. Realizing that the best response would be directness, I asked Crassius to tell me how Hlaalu went about naming a Hortator. The councilor explained that the title was largely honorary, but nevertheless required the unanimous support of the House Council. To achieve that support, one would have to demonstrate that there was a need for a war leader- that a true crisis existed. He then provided a description of the Hortator’s role,

“A Hortator is a champion who leads by inspiration. He challenges opposing heroes in single combat. He goes on long, desperate quests. He goes alone into the citadels of the enemy. He confronts the dangers no one else in the House is strong enough... or courageous enough... to face.”

Much as I disliked that summation, it certainly matched the situation Azura had trapped me into, so I asked if I could become Hlaalu Hortator. As I had expected, Crassius asked for a “small consideration” of 1000 drakes for his vote. He was honest enough to point out that Orvas Dren would NOT support me as things currently stood and that a number of the other councilors would not defy Dren. I willingly paid the bribe and asked Curio for any advice on the other councilors. He listed them and their probable reactions- Dram Bero would likely support me- if I could find him. Yngling Half-Troll would probably need to be “removed.” Nevena Ules and Velanda Omani would follow the lead of Orvas Dren. He suggested that it might be possible to trick or bribe Dren- he could be found at the Dren Plantation. Lord Curio then casually mentioned something that took my breath away- Orvas Dren was the head of the Camonna Tong and was rumored to be involved with the Sixth House. Although my initial reaction was to sharpen my blades and take the shortest path to the Dren Plantation, I restrained the impulse. Considering the influence Dren seemed to wield, killing him might very well prevent me from being named Hortator. And, much as I hated to admit it, sometimes duty took precedence over justice. Finally, Curio gave me directions on how to find most of the other councilors and I took my leave.

Although my mind still whirled with the thought that I would have to go ask a favor of the head of the Camonna Tong, there were other councilors closer by who I could hopefully persuade. Yngling Half-Troll lived in a manor house atop the St. Olms canton, and rumor had it that Dram Bero could also be found somewhere in Vivec. As was true of most Hlaalu councilors, Yngling retained an interesting variety of “hired help,” including a Nord, a Bosmer, and an Orc. Whatever else he might be, Yngling certainly wasn’t biased. Although Crassius had suggested that House Hlaalu wouldn’t mind if Yngling just “disappeared,” I saw no reason to handle their internal squabbles for them. If he was willing to listen, I would do my best to convince Yngling to support me out of his own self-interest. After hearing my story, the Nord proved himself to be as direct as those folk usually are-

“Well, tha’s very interestin’, I’m sure. But it will take 2000 drakes if you want my vote.”

That seemed a small price to pay to achieve my goal and to avoid having yet another death on my conscience, so I willingly paid. It was also gratifying to avoid getting entangled in the Hlaalu power struggle. If Crassius wanted Yngling removed, he would just have to find someone else to do the deed.

The thought of finding someone reminded me- I still needed to find Dram Bero. A few careful questions and judiciously spent coins revealed the fact that the elusive Hlaalu councilor was occasionally seen on the St. Olms plaza, the very place where I found myself. Considering how the Hlaalu seemed to prefer to settle disputes, I wasn’t surprised that one of their councilors chose to conceal his whereabouts. It’s hard to assassinate someone if you don’t know how to find him.

[treydog]

The only thing duller than the next few stages of my dealings with House Hlaalu would be retelling those events, so I shall refrain. I will only remark that I found Bero and he gave me his support. One interesting event did occur which had nothing to do with Hlaalu. While I was seeking information on Dram Bero, I heard rumors about a man named Danar Uvelas, who had gone missing. His wife, who ran a small apothecary shop in St. Olms, was anxious for any word of his whereabouts. As an orphan, I was always moved by stories of missing family members and the loved ones who waited for news. I suppose my interest in such cases was fueled by my secret wish that there was someone, somewhere, who cared about my well-being. Also, after dealing with Hlaalu, it seemed that a favor for someone in need might balance the books a bit, or at least make me feel better. So I sought out Moroni Uvelas, who had the haunted eyes and care-worn face of someone who has loved unwisely and seen too many promises broken. After I had spoken with her long enough to gain her trust, she explained that her husband was a skooma addict and that he tended to hide out in the underworks of the canton when he was on a binge. Usually, he would return after a few days, broke and suffering from the effects of the drug. But this time he had been gone for over a week, and Moroni feared that he had finally succumbed to some disease or perhaps even died in some dark corner. Although she was afraid to find out for certain, she was even more afraid to go on living without knowing. I reassured her as best as I could, and promised that I would go immediately to find the missing man. Azura and Hlaalu and prophecy would just have to wait.

The “underworks” is really just a fancy way of saying “sewers.” All of the debris and detritus of the cantons finds it way down into the noisome canals and tunnels. Some of that debris is the sort that makes its way there under its own power- people with reasons that are compelling enough to put up with the stench and the rats. Because the man I sought was an addict, I had to check all of the canals, as well as the walkways. It would be easy enough for someone to fall in and drown in a drug-addled state. And I had made a promise that I would find Danar, living or dead. As I splashed down a dark, twisting tunnel that connected two of the main canals, I saw a hunched figure lurching toward me. When I called out, “Danar,” the figure seemed to stiffen momentarily as if in recognition of the name. As I drew closer, the true horror of Danar’s fate was revealed to me. The being that I met was no longer Danar Uvelas, even though it still wore the clothes his wife had described to me. What I met in that echoing tunnel was a corprus stalker. Hopeless though I knew it to be, I tried to break through the madness that the disease had wrought, praying that some spark of Danar still survived. But it was no use- the foul creature simply shambled forward and clawed at me. The struggle was mercifully brief, for I had no desire to do else but end the creature’s pain. As he fell, I caught the glint of silver on the ring finger of one misshapen hand. The ring was a marriage band, inscribed in Elven script- “To Danar, My Husband.” It gave me some comfort, that, even at the worst moments of his addiction, Danar had not pawned the ring. And now it was up to me to carry it back to Moroni and to tell her that she would not have to listen for his knock any longer. Deliberately telling an untruth is wrong in the eyes of some religious folk, but I obviously do not hold such beliefs. And even if I did, I think I can be forgiven for telling Moroni that I found her husband curled up, as if asleep, in a dry section of the tunnels. I told her that he appeared to have gone peacefully, with a slight smile on his face. And I gave her the ring he had kept throughout the worst of his troubles. In return, she gave me several potions of Cure Common Disease, a generous gift from someone who had so little.

Whatever inner peace I received from that episode was severely tested when I went to speak with Orvas Dren. The Dren Plantation was somewhat north of Vivec, and was clearly a prosperous enterprise. The sight of the slave quarters caused a tightness in my chest and an involuntary twitch of my sword hand. Remembering my purpose, I firmly stepped on my more noble impulses, and asked a retainer whether Orvas Dren was home. After an insolent glance at my appearance, the retainer responded that Lord Dren might be home, but that he probably had no desire to speak with anyone of “my sort.” Through clenched teeth I replied,

“Perhaps that is a matter for Lord Dren to decide?”

The guard simply yawned elaborately and pointed toward the villa, then said,

“Do what you want, pal. It’s your funeral.”

When no more encouragement appeared to be forthcoming, I shrugged and entered the house. After wandering around and being gratuitously insulted by guards and servants, I finally found Lord Dren on an upper floor. He was relatively young for someone who held so much power in Vvardenfell, but his eyes were peculiar. It took me a moment to grasp that what I was seeing was the same lack of expression as might be found in the eyes of a dead man. When he first saw me, Dren reached for his sword, but then seemed to have another thought. He released the hilt and sneered at me,

“The servants’ entrance is around back, and the slaves work the fields. Decide which you are and find your rightful place.”

With great restraint, I told him that, if he was in fact Lord Orvas Dren, then I was in the right place. I added that I had come to him because I wanted to be named Hlaalu Hortator. With a smirk, he said that I had showed uncommon sense in coming to him, then asked,

“What is it worth to you? Why do you want to be named Hortator?”

For what seemed like the thousandth time, I ran through the story of the prophecies and how I fit into them. Dren was less than impressed.

“That's the worst story I've ever heard. What makes you think I care about these prophecies? If you're the chosen one, why do you have to come to me? Why aren't you Hortator already, eh? I believe you have wasted enough of my time. Goodbye.”

Sometimes, a dismissal is actually a dismissal. Other times, it is the opening of negotiations. The key is to recognize which is which.

I knew that Dren, like most of Hlaalu, would be susceptible to bribery. In his case, the difference was that it wasn’t about the money, it was what the money signified- respect. So I gritted my teeth, bowed to the leader of the Camonna Tong, and offered him a “gift” of 2000 drakes. With that preliminary out of the way, we were able to get down to business. Dren again asked me why I wanted to be Hortator, what was in it for me? Knowing that his bias against the Empire would provide a lever, I told him that defeating Dagoth Ur would be the key to throwing the Empire out of Morrowind. That was exactly what he wanted to hear. His sneer was replaced with a calculating expression, and he told me,

“I have long believed it was a mistake to turn from the old gods. Perhaps Azura is with you after all. And perhaps not. I will tell you that I've spoken with Dagoth Ur. He promised me the same thing. That he will drive the foreigners from our lands. But I am not one to ignore opportunity, nor am I one to be troubled by rubbing two sides of a coin. If you are a Breton of your word, I am your ally. I will tell Velanda Omani and Nevena Ules to support you as Hortator of House Hlaalu.”

I had to do many distasteful things on the path of prophecy, but I tell you now that shaking the hand of Orvas Dren was more disgusting than wading through the sewers of Vivec. But I was driven by necessity, and so I clasped his hand and answered his phony smile with one of my own. However, I was not foolish enough to turn my back on him when I left.